Arriving at the Medina Asylum for Wayward Boys on an island off the coast of Belize, I was amazed at the beauty and the seclusion of the site. I had taken almost an hour to take the boat ride from Remolpan to this small island where the asylum was located. According to my guide, who worked for the Director, this asylum had been built almost thirty years earlier, and had served as a haven for young men who were in trouble or without homes from all over the world. I had been recruited as a young physician who could assist with medical services. The previous doctor, an aged Argentine, had died a month earlier. I had been approached almost a year ago, had visited the island, and after much thought had decided that the offer of a five year contract and more money than I could hope to make in my small practice (plus fringe benefits), were worth the commitment to this obscure, remote place.
Mr. Velasquez, the Director, met me at the office. "Hello, Dr. Vernon, I am delighted that you will be staying with us. I have arranged for you to examine the latest group of boys to arrive at the island for a stay. Then later, I would be honored if you joined me after dinner for an evening of entertainment." My cock stiffened in my white suit pants when he smiled mischievously and winked when he mentioned "entertainment." I proceeded quickly to the examination rooms, I wanted to begin immediately.
Exam Room 1
As I pulled on my white smock cock, and washed my hands, I could see the young man strapped into the gynecological chair in the middle of the room. A small stainless steel cart was next the chair, and on it were all the tools I would need. Each exam room was outfitted in a similar way, though in some there were padded tables rather than chairs.
The dossier on JEREMY ALLEN CARTER indicated that he was 21 years old, a runaway from his parole for petty theft from a small county in upstate Vermont. He had been in and out of juvenile facilities since he had been sixteen, but until his recent arrest had been working as a mover for a local company. He had fallen in with a couple of older guys who were pilfering from moving jobs they were assigned. Mr. Velasquez's connection in New York City had arranged for Jeremy to be picked up in a small town where Jeremy had run out on his bail prior to trial.
He was 5'11", 165 lbs., blond hair with dark roots. His eyebrows were dark brown, as was the hair under his arms, in his ass crack, and running from between his pecs down past his navel to his groin. Jeremy had classic if common features, a sharp nose, small ears, green eyes, and thick blond hair on his arms and down his legs, curling down to reach both fingers and toes. His pale ass was firm and flexing, as I walked in front of him.
His strong legs were strapped into the stirrups, spread wide apart and raised. I ran a finger up the pale sole of a nicely shaped and muscled size 10 foot, long toes curling reflexively to avoid the ticklish sensation; I smiled.
Jeremy was gagged to allow his breathing and indecipherable grunting and groaning, and his eyes were wide. He had just arrived an hour before, and had no idea that he would be a patient at the asylum for as long as Mr. Velasquez thought appropriate, usually not longer than six months to a year. No one would find him, no one was prepared to look.
His arms were fixed to soft lined brackets above his head on the chair, exposing the muscular, pale underarms. I noticed that small drops of sweat that rolled down his arm pit, to his torso. On one upper arm was tattooed the name "Mary" and on the pale skin below his tan line and above his cock bush was a cobra poised to strike. Like the short (five inches), sharply curved pale cock that jutted up towards me---not erect, but permanently arched to strike even when flaccid, his cobra reflected a pride he would not exercise on his own again for some time. His eyes followed my every move, his breathing beginning to increase in speed. My eyes were fixed on the dark, fat plum of his dick knob, with its deep piss grove and wide flange. If his prick was short, it was thick and the huge prick tip was a palm full.
I spoke in measured, calm tones: "Jeremy, I need test your reflexes and make sure you're in good operating condition. Don't be frightened, I won't hurt you, but you need to cooperate." I emphasized the last word, and stopped smiling so that he could not misunderstand my intent. His eyes widened, and he grunted behind the gag, but he looked fearful as much as his useless attempts to gyrate and get loose suggested resistance.
My fingers went up to his eyes, looking into each with the scope in a very official and focused way. Next I looked into his ears, and then used my finger to tickle each one after I had finished. His head moved to avoid my touch, but I looked at him and shook my finger, reminding him of his duty. He just looked wide-eyed as I proceeded. I scratched a nail under each arm, making him gasp and rock to avoid the irritation. I used the same nail to etch his firm abdominal muscles, then probed it into his belly button, worrying out any lint that might be hidden as his stomach muscles flexed and roiled to eject the ticklish invader. I moved between his legs, leaned over and placed both of my palms against his firm breasts. The taut pecs stiffened even more, and when my thumbs and forefingers closed on the pale, pink paps---his dick erected and his grunts increased as he pressed back into the chair trying to shrink from my touch. I wet both sets of fingers with a long, calculated lick of my tongue, and then returned the fingers to roll his titties till they were red, stiff, and jutting. Then I drew my fingernails across each, alternating my scratching and rolling till his breaths became gasps, his eyes closed, and his dick started to drip clear fluid from the well below his piss lips.
I lowered my lips to his right nipple, then drew my ragged nails against his scrotum as it rested on the padded chair, now moist with his perspiration. He jumped, and his eyes opened from both sensations, and then I scratched lightly against the cord of flesh that led back to the darkness behind his big boy balls. I smiled as I looked into his terrified eyes.
Stepping back, I slipped on the surgical gloves, and dipped my finger into a lubricant jar on the cart. I picked up several small dildoes, some with spikes, and one slender one with a band of horsehair bristles sticking out behind the small artificial prick tip. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and he grunted and groaned, pleading with me. I put all the devil tools down, there would be many more days to try those. Instead, I simply raised the stirrups, lifting his legs further and forcing his butt to raise off the edge of the chair. The seat parted, and I had an unobstructed access to the clenching muscled butt, and the dark hair that could not protect his virgin ass hole from my investigation. Gently spreading away the sweat musky hair in the crack, and scratching lightly at his knotted portal, I insidiously tickled and wormed the long, thick forefinger of my right hand up his gripping, resisting hole. By using my other hand to scratch and tickle his armpits, his tits, and ears, I could get him to briefly unclench his asshole, and my finger would slip up a bit more each time.
When I reached the hard little joy button deep within his bowels, his eyes rolled then closed and his gasps and grunts increased behind the gag. His butt sought to raise away from my worrying finger, then reflexively, he ground down bouncing his starved prostrate against my firm finger. I reached up with my other hand, and closed my callused fist around the now sloppy wet spike of his 5" cock, curved like a half-moon up toward his navel. As he bounced, I spiraled my fist, palming the fat prick knob, scrubbing its tingling tip and focusing on where his curved rod exposed the piss lips and circumcision scar. In less than a minute, Jeremy spasmed, his butt gripping my finger tight, his glans swelling obscenely. Using my thumb to scrub the piss lips, and poking my index finger mercilessly against his prostrate, I forced Jeremy to spit long ropes of thick gism into the air. I lowered my mouth, and sucked up the remaining cum as it rolled out of his prick, knowing that he was HIV negative according to his chart. He ground his ass to escape the ticklish sensation of my vacuuming lips on his prick knob, but that only forced him deeper onto the irritating finger deep up his bowels. Then I removed my mouth, and went back to a slow and deliberate massage of his dick knob with my fist while my finger still poked the now exhausted nut up his butt. Uggggghhhhhhh, Jeremy groaned, hoping that I would stop, his handsome features wet with sweat and jerking from the continuing sensitivity of his prick tip, and the pressure uncomfortably continuing up his ass. I had already decided to work out another load.
Jeremy needed practice; those balls might need to produce three or four loads per occasion, and you never knew when he might be attacked to a milking machine for the pleasure of some guest. I could imagine the sucking, twirling attachment, sliding up and down his curved, fat spike, and adorned with little attachments that could masturbate a dead man. I looked at his curled toes, fuck what a piece of flesh. He would be a favorite in the playrooms.
I temporarily removed my finger from his asshole, and took off the
glove so I could tickle under his arms and on the soles of those sexy feet.
But I continued jerking his prick, and much to my satisfaction, Jeremy
stayed hard and started to leak pre-cum all over again. Yes, he would be
a favorite in the playrooms.
Exam Room No. 2
Next door to Jeremy, whom I left for the orderlies to clean up and return to his cell, was another young man. He was lying on his back on an exam table, his arms stretched over his head, gagged with a funnel gag, his legs raised up, spread, and attached with soft cuffs to a bar hanging down from the ceiling. DOUGLAS MARION HARDING was an ex-security guard from Utah. He had left Kansas, and a working class home to make it on his own. In Utah he had stayed on his own, making few friends and spending his nights (according to Mr. Velasquez's operative), grinding his 7" cock into his mattress, fucking the sheets for up to a half hour before he would unload a thick, viscous load and then fall asleep with his pale, muscled ass exposed. There were fuck magazines in his apartment, some on the floor by his bed, but they did not indicate whether it was the sight of hard dick rummaging up the young twats and scrubbing hard clits, or the sensation of that cock getting massaged by the masturbating glove of a girl's wet pussy that drove young Doug into fuck heaven.
Doug was 26, 6'1" and 185 lbs. He had pale skin, almost ruddy, and black hair. Beyond the thick, wavy hair on his head, his hair was confined to the bush above his dick, beneath his balls and up his crack, along his legs, below his butt and on his forearms, underarms, fingers and toes. His firm chest was without hair, but had two luscious pink nipples that jutted downward. His cock, butt, and feet were pale looking, as if protected and vulnerable.
I walked up to the table, and ran my hands up one his strong, muscled legs. The long toes on that foot, curled, trying to reflexively protect what was completely at my mercy, but their length prevented him from protecting them. I caressed the narrow, pale heel of his foot, then scratched my fingernail across his sole, and then into the meaty arch of his size 11 feet. His toes wiggled wildly, and he gurgled around his gag, wheezing as I tickled his foot. Since he could not move, I grasped the foot held captive in a stirrup, and then using the other hand scratched all five fingernails up and down his pink, ticklish foot. He squirmed and gasped and gurgled, and his hands scrabbled uselessly above his head. As my finger tormented him beyond his endurance, his cock hardened. I alternated from one foot to the other, until his prong was fully erect, jutting above his navel, with its wide, fat helmet red and wet from with pre-scum.
Pausing for a moment, I slipped on a glove whose index finger was ribbed with bumps. Then I thrust the finger into nearby lube, and then parted his hard ass cheeks to get a look at the pale pink portal hidden under his dark fur. Doug ground his ass on the table, squirming to avoid my probing finger. But without the ability to move, my worming finger reached its objective with-out any difficulty. Pausing to scratch at the entrance to his boy pussy, I slowly worked my finger up the hot, spasming hole. Moving my finger back and forth, I worked it deep up his butt. The knobby whorls on the finger poked and rubbed his ass lining until I reached the hard little nut that was my objective. Using careful aim, I poked and rubbed that pleasure button, causing his ass to bump and grind onto the exam table now wet with his perspiration. Doug was helpless, his eyes wide, his dick drooling, he had never had anything up his hole, much less something as insistent and experienced as my thick, thrusting finger. His ass really bounced, his legs straining to close against the restraining stirrups, struggling prevent my unobstructed and insistent finger-fucking. Doug's chest heaved, his nipples hardened and jutted. I pinched them briefly, and tugged on them, causing him to close his eyes and force the paps toward my plucking fingertips. I wet the fingers of one hand, and rolled the reddening tits till they were as hard and firm as his dick. With titties this sensitive, he was going to make many a client in the playrooms happy.
Next I left his titties, and reached up with my hand and began scratching gently but deliberately in his exposed, hairy armpit. His eyes, snapped open, he squealed behind the gag, and combined with a renewed effort from the fuck finger on my other hand, Doug was helpless. His stomach muscles turned rock hard, his tits pointed out stiffly, his hands grasped at the air. He groaned and hiccuped behind the gag, and his ass bounced wildly. His toes suddenly curled, and with gurgling gasp, his fat dick knob widened, going glassy smooth---the red tip as fat as it could get---then it spit out ropes of thick, white gism up to his neck, across his pecs, and finally pooling in and above his navel. I hadn't even touched his dick.
I look a plastic spoon and scooped up his copious cream and dripped it down into his funnel gag. I watched his epiglottis bob as I continued to fill the spoon with his protein and feed it to him. I whispered softly into his ear as he swallowed against his will, "we're going to have to feed you lots of boy cream, Doug. I like the way you look swallowing gism." He tried to move his head to express his displeasure, to say "no", but he could only keep swallowing in order to continue to breath freely when I gently pinched his nostrils.
Before I left, I took his still erect cock and milked the final cum
from his tubes, and then smoothed in into his ticklish glans, rolling my
fingers around the ticklish prick tip that had never had this kind of treatment
after he would cum against the soft sheets of his bed. I was making his
prick tip expand helplessly from the unwanted stimulation. I couldn't wait
to see Doug when his prong was inserted into the bristle milker, relentlessly
massaging his dick head with the stiff, tickling bristles, causing his
cock to feel like a million little ants were nibbling on his delicate knob,
drooling scum and shooting gism.
Exam Room No. 4
Brendan Evan Doyle was a punk. Velasquez's men had found him living in North Texas, by the Oklahoma border. He worked, sometimes, as a mechanic and gas station jockey in a run-down truck stop.
This 6'3", 210 lbs. piece of meat was a sun bleached blond with dark roots. Dark lashes, dark hair in his pits and on his pubes and running between his pecs down his belly to his cock. But his thick legs had a thick blond fur on them from ankles to the dark mass in his ass and crack. Each toe and each finger had a curly blond tuft. This boy at twenty had too much testosterone, and not enough places to dump his sperm.
The operatives had seen him and his 8.5 inch long, thick cock when it was thrust through a glory hole at the station where he worked, and watched as he ground his crotch against the partition, his knuckles turning white from the pressure as he gripped the top of the dirty metal. A thirtyish businessman, with his suit pants and briefs around his ankles, and his thick five inch cock sticking up hard and wet, sucked the stiff stalk and fat knob until Brendon shot a quart of goop down the guy's gullet. He'd bounced against that partition like he was going to knock it, down, his tight, pale ass mounds pounding against the flimsy wall, and his unbuttoned shirt had allowed his jutting nipples to get rubbed and chaffed against the rough, chipped paint on the worn metal.
Another time, he was shacked up with a red-head he'd picked up at the local country-dancing dive, and fucked her all night until she couldn't even groan and beg for him to do it some more. He'd shot four loads up her oily cunt with her on top, with him on top, with her on her knees, and him bouncing her on his lap. Velasquez's men knew he was worth the time.
The night they took him, he'd crashed and burned at the bar, trying to pick up a skinny blond that he'd hope to fuck into submission. He'd gone home drunk, and after watching a fuck flick, he'd jerked his boner for thirty minutes. He had his briefs around his ankles, slumped back against his couch, his size twelve feet planted firmly on the floor, his long toes gripping the carpet. His right fist slid slowly up and down his turgid cock and every few jerks, he spent time to knead the fat, broad helmet in his fist and palm, then returned to jerking his overheated meat. He rubbed the other hand over his chest, moving down to squeeze his big, low hanging balls, and occasionally to scratch a fingernail against the thick cord that ran between his dick root and asshole. He carefully avoided running his nails against the hairy port between his muscular ass cheeks, because he was so sensitive he knew it would cause him to shoot too soon.
Eventually, he raised one leg up on the arm of the couch, and spread the other wide, sliding his ass down to the edge of the couch, finally enclosing his distended and swollen prick tip in his fist and allowing his callused palms to send him over the edge. Eight long, heavy spurts of cum shot five feet into the air, splattering the screen of his television while the fuck scene ended with some guy's cum spurting onto the face and mouth of a big titted slut and her lipstick red lips. He fell into a drunken sleep on the couch, and that's how the operatives had been taken.
Brendon was on his stomach on a padded, elevated bench. He was securely strapped down, and his legs were spread wide with his feet attached to a spreader bar dangling from chains which held it from the ceiling. his hamstrings were strapped to the bench, his knees bent, and his feet waving from the bar where lined cuffs held them up and out. His feet were pale and exposed, their wide size twelve dimensions fully available for any attentions. For such a big guy, who obviously played softball and pick-up basketball, his feet were smooth and uncalloused. His dick and balls hung beneath his stomach, clear of the padded surface. The position of the bench made his ass thrust up and out. His arms were secured behind his back, then cinched up and pulled upwards toward a chain suspended from the ceiling. His head was supported under his chin, and the head gear into which he was secured only left his nose and ears free. His mouth was gagged by a soft prick shaped dildo that was part of the helmet, and a chain on the top of his head pulled the helmet back slightly keeping his head up. His nipples were just visible because of the arch caused by lifting his head.
I walked up to him, the room illuminated only at his location and at the nearby cart with devices to titillate and assist in my examination. He had been washed and given an enema to clean him out. His skin smelled clean and masculine, particularly under his arms where his natural scent, feed by his fear, had returned in spite of the bath. I leaned over and whispered: "Brendon, you know how good it felt to fuck, and to jerk that big dick of yours..." (I noticed that in spite of himself and his position, his fat hog extended beneath the table, slowly growing to its eight and one half, long inches with just a hint of a curve near the head toward the right.) "You know how you liked to have girls on their knees between your legs, and guys on their knees in bathrooms, suck your dick until you shot wads of cum, at least once and often twice a day? You know how good it felt to slide that dick up some girl's cunt and feel her muscles grip you when she came four or five times before she milked the cream out of your nuts? Those days are over, Brendon. For the near future, your big dick is no longer in your control, but it will stay hard as much as possible. You will be allowed to cum if you're a good boy, but if you're not, you'll be kept hard and not allowed to cum." As I spoke, to keep him hard I rotated my fingers on the head of his boner, gently so as to prevent him from ejaculating, yet firmly enough to tickle his prick and keep it stiffly waving under the table. His muffled grunts behind the gag kept me from understanding what he was trying to say. So I continued, beginning to induce drops of pre-scum which I used to baste his piss lips and dick tip.
"You're a big boy Brendon, those huge balls hanging between your thighs are full of cum. Play with your tits, and your dick gets hard. Scratch your hairy asslips, and you get a drippy boner. Just seeing a girl or a dick in a cunt makes your prick drool fuck-snot. You stained your jockey shorts every day just from getting hardons you couldn't control. The freedom of those days are past Brendon. That big cock won't be your business or your problem; it'll be ours. Your dick will be used to satisfy clients, and your gism will be drained for you to drink, to lick from girl's cunts, or milked to sell to people who will make it into exotic potions or make-up for rich women in distant lands. Tonight, we going to start with a simple test to see how your react to the devices we use here to get that fuck-stick to shoot its wad on command."
Humming absently, while Brendon gurgled and burbled behind his gag, eyes alternately defiant and wide with fear, I set to work. I gently greased, then attached two clips to his tits after I had roiled them into mini-hardons. The nipples' rubbery, stiff surfaces were perfect for clamping with electric stimulators. These clips, wired to a console, would generate a low grade charge that went through the gell medium and made a person's titties feel like they were being masturbated. The sensation was spectacular. Just rolling my own tits with the slick gell on my fingers made my hard dick feel like someone was stimulating my prostrate. It was weird, but effective, and a guy's dick or a girl's clit felt like they were about to explode in a monster cum. But the stimulation alone, wouldn't do it, just make the person feel like squeezing their thighs together and flexing the muscles that control prick or pussy.
I greased a short, narrow dildo with a harness that kept it in place, and was wired to the same console. After tickling and scratching Brendon's hairy port, I wormed a gloved finger with more of the gell up his shit shute. Clean from the earlier enema, his ass smelled good after I worked the grease up as high as I could reach with my stiff, rough finger.
Brendon's dick, started dripping long strands of pre-cum, and I could only imagine what he was whimpering and whining behind his gag as the gell began its irresistible sensation deep within his bowels. I gently worked the small plug back and forth against the clenching knot of his asslips, and gradually as he weakened the tapering head and stalk, covered with bumps that could change temperatures, vibrate, and rotate independently when the controls were engaged, slipped in. I knew Brendon was going to have the ride of his young life. If all the girls he had reamed could see how his hairy ass pussy would grip and his dick would throb, they would have squealed with lust.
Finally, I pulled down his big, rigid pole and inserted the spongy and unusually long as well as wide helmet, now slick with pre-spunk, into a short clear plastic sleeve. The gell-greased nozzle gripped right behind the head of his cock, but did not extend further up the shaft. Small fibrous wires that felt like little itchy hairs as they pricked into the flange around his dick tip and across the helmet, but did not hurt, were fixed into the plastic. Finally, on the bottom of the sleeve was a small stiff brush on a sliding track that automatically kept lubricated with awful gell, and rubbed against the area where Brendon's circumcision scar was located. The sensitive labs of the piss lips were fully exposed to the bristles that were able to move back and forth independently and automatically on the slide; their insistent action enhanced by the vibrating of the tube. When the wires within were activated, and the dials set, Brendon's big dick knob was stimulated and irritated by the electric current and persistent bristles, and his asshole was massaged by the vibrating, whirring nodes on the plug. Add to that my fingers gently tickling under a hairy armpit, a firm inner thigh, and on the bottom of the big, pale, exposed feet, and Brendon's massive, manly body was reduced to an overheated, straining, gasping, whimpering slave. At the same time, he rigid fuck pole was only being stimulated, it was not being masturbated. The long, thick stalk was left unattended, and without the friction to massage it to ejaculation, Brendon was left with an excruciating erection, and without relief.
Within sixty seconds, the bloated balls, unrelieved for days, climbed to the pinnacle, then remained poised, climbed and remained, climbed and remained. Finally, the stimulation, even without masturbation, was so intense, that the tethered boy-man, his toes curled, his hands scrabbling helplessly, he ejected viscous squirts of steamy spunk. Brendon's mewling was muffled, and his hands chest heaved, and the tickled toes flexed from the terrible tingling all around his prick tip and deep up his ass: "mmmmppphhhh...... uuuuuuummmmmmnnnnn" he groaned from behind his gag.
But the worst was yet to come for Brendon. As I whispered into his ears about how wicked the bristles could be, and how a big boy like him could be reduced to a milked bull, and how I couldn't wait to spend a night jerking his dick while he was tethered on my lap, I also let him know I had set the dials for thirty minutes. He would be milked and sucked by the mechanical apparatus till his balls felt as if they had been squeezed in a press. Already the wicked bristles and the relentless dildo were continuing to work him after the ejaculation. He wrenched back and forth, trying to evade and escape the tickling, drilling, penetrating, vibrating sensations. But the machine whirred on, and his dick, without a conscience and any control, erected and was tickled and goaded into more sensation. His eyes were wide...and he seemed to panic as he saw me preparing to leave him to the machine, gasping and groaning behind his gag.
Before I left, I sat on the floor and scratched my nails on the exposed soles of his big, well shaped, feet, sniffing them as they perspired and gave off a sexy musk, watching as their heavily muscled, pale, tender and vulnerable forms jerked as I toyed with them. His unruly dick burped more cum as he lost control of his muscles. We'd keep Brendon for a while, he was so fun to watch and play with. I'd have to get him together with Carlos, or maybe Ian and see what kind of games I could think of.
Playroom No. 3
Carl Joseph Stephanovsky was a fraternity boy from a small eastern private school. His parents were in disbelief when he was accused of the rape of a coed his sophomore year. Only his father's money from a Midwestern tire business located in suburban Cleveland had saved him from a life sentence. But Carl was not impressed by his good fortune. His father was furious with the cocky attitude that Carl had displayed in private, claiming that the girl had asked for what she got, and unwilling to show any remorse for some 'whining cunt that was damn lucky to have his seven inches up her drippy coz.'
Carl was a stone beauty, physically. Five foot ten, 165 lbs., with long legs, perfectly shaped calves and feet, a chest with sloping pecs and jutting coned nipples, and a face with deep eyes, long lashes and a perfect nose. His hair was blond, but his eye-brows, crotch hair, the hair under his arms, on his chest, and up his ass crack was a thick, dark brown. The hair on his head was straight, cut short on the sides but with a hint of a wave on top. Between his pecs, the hair was bunched, then dropped in a straight line to his navel, then down to his crotch where there was a thick shock of it above his cock. His balls were relatively hairless except where they disappeared toward his crack, where the dark whorls thickened again until they became dense up his inviting crack. His legs and arms were covered in thick blond curls. Stretching toward his nipples, the hair that was so dark between the pecs grew light and furry, but did not obscure or hide his jutting cones. On his toes and fingers, the hair was blond and thickly curled.
Mr. Velasquez's operatives had a wonderful tape of Carl, whacking his pud in his parent's home during the trial at a time when he could not be seen with a woman. On the tape, Carl had his heels planted on his bed and jammed up under his ass. His knees were spread wide, and his asshole barely visible through the dense forest of dark hair. His tits were hard and pointed down, one hand was behind his head, the other stroking up and down his turgid, rock hard circumcised dick. The fat helmet slipped noisily into his grinding fist, then popped out as his rough palm slide down the stalk to bounce on his fat duck eggs. Carl was a drooler, the slick, clear pre-scum burping out when he rolled his palm up the cock, and dripping over to lubricate the exposed and vulnerable prick tip when his calloused fist closed around it. Every so often he would allow his thumb to swipe up the clear goo and smooth it into the knob, making Carl's toes curl and his chest hunch.
In a shocking discovery for Velasquez' men, tough talking and belligerent young Carl eventually took the hand behind his head, licked the long index finger, and as his fist slid faster and faster up and down his pecker, he gently screwed that finger up his butt and drove it up and deep. Finally, after rooting up his hole for while, his closed eyes shot open and bulged, his fist kneaded just below his prick knob, and his finger seemed to be scratching something high up his ass. Ten long jets of scum bathed his chest, face, and shoulders, finally giving way to dripping and drooling clots that rolled down his fist.
After a particularly angry argument with his father, Carl was thrown out of the house. He cursed both parents, and said they could "fuck themselves"; he could make it on his own. That night, after a binge of drinking and an unsuccessful attempt to pick up a women at a bar, Carl checked into a cheap hotel and crashed. The operatives found him still in his suit, in a drunken stupor on the bed when they took him.
Carl would be spending at least a year with us, by contrast to the 6 months most young men were kept. We chose six months because after that time, it was difficult to keep them either cocky or hopeful, and their sexual appetites would diminish. But Carl was an exception. He was so angry and resistant, and his crime so heinous, we decided to keep him for our sport.
He was not allowed to cum for long periods of time, because his official duty was to simply to lick cunts that had just been fucked by either guards or other inmates. His pleasure was not our interest. On this day, he was strapped on his chest on a gurney in the playroom. His head was propped up by a support under the chin, his arms pinned in the middle of his back, and his legs kept apart by a spreader bar at the ankles were cinched by a chain in the middle of the bar to his wrists in the middle of his back. Beneath him, his full balls and hard dick drooped through an opening in the gurney. He was gagged with a bristle dildoe that could vibrate. If you've never had your tongue tickled, or placed a whirring vibrator into your mouth and against your palate or tongue, you don't know the sensation. Try it sometime with an electric toothbrush, and you'll get a sense of how helpless it can be to have something vibrate and tickle your tongue or the roof of your mouth without being able to escape.
I sat in a low chair next to the gurney and whispered softly to him: "Carl, I am attaching a clip to your balls, and one to each of your big toes, and maybe later I'll reach under and attach them to your titties. But the one I like most, is the one I'm going to attach to a narrow but long dildo that I will insert up your butt hole. Take a look Carl, see how this dildo has these dull plastic spines all over the knobby end, and down the shaft? When I turn the dials on the console, it will not only cause the dildo to vibrate, it will cause it to rotate slowly and randomly, moving one direction, then another"
Carl's eyes went wide, and he alternately begged and threatened me: "Please, mister...come one. I'm sorry about kicking that guard, or whoever it was. Shit, lemme outta here, fuck...I'll kill you and every other fucking person here if I getta out...you fuckheads, assholes...lemme outer here...please mister, come--on, my dad rich...he can make it worth your while...."
I responded patiently: "Carl, your dad doesn't give a rat's ass where you are right now. You'll go back to him alright, but a better man." As he hissed and yelled at me, he watched with wide eyes as I greased the dildo, then gently spread his hairy cheeks. Using my finger to tickle and loosen him, I filled his freshly douched hole with lubricant, then gradually worked the slender dildo up his rectum. He clenched, gasped, and cursed as the wicked spines on the knob slipped up his trench, and made contact with his hard little nut. But I did not let him get too much action, because I did not want him to ejaculate too soon.
"Carl, just one more thing. We need to cap your dick so you can't cum." As I spoke, I rolled my calloused fingertips around the remarkably fat helmet of his dick knob, gathering the precum and smearing around his flange, tickling him enough to make him gasp and whine from the long absent sensations, but not enough to spurt his soupy cream. Then I harnessed his handsome dick in a cock cage that would not let his boner get stiff enough to shoot. He would almost be there, but just as he would try to expand his knob enough to shoot his cum, the wires on the cage would discourage him in painful restraint, and his hard-on would subside momentarily, then the struggle would begin once again.
I turned on the dials to send a current through his toes, and balls, but did not start the dildo yet. Carl responded beautifully: "aaaaaaagggghhh, jesus, fuck, shit, piss....stooooppppp, oooooohhhhhh my nuts, oooooohhhhh, fuck stop, aaaaahaahhhhhhh ffffuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkk." His toes curled spasmodically, the long muscular digits flexing for release from the electrical buzz causing them to ache erotically and prevent him from controlling the natural expansion of his uncontrollable dick.
Then I had the first girl wheeled in. She was on her knees, her legs spread wide and cinched; her arms tethered behind her back. Her big tits were clipped with a current running through them, and her hairy beaver was wet with her own girl cum and at least two or three loads of guard or inmate gism. The girls were gagged so Carl could not even enjoy their moans as his tongue went to work. I warned him that if he did not clean out every curd of cum, I would leave him on the dildo for a full day.
His tongue shot out like a bullet, and he began to slurp and slop into the glistening lips of the girl, searching out each little bit of cum and cunt juice. When she released her clenching cunt muscles, and a big wad of cum rolled into his mouth, he tried to pull back, but that's when I turned on the dildo. His eye's bugged, and his tongue thrust back to the girl's snatch, and he worked like a man possessed, begging and moaning as he could:
"oooooohhhhh jesus, ooooooohhh fuck, oooooooh my goooooooodddddd, slurp, slurp, stop---stoopppppppppp, oh fuck, help me, help me,......... slurp, slurp, ooooohhhhh mister, please stop......I'll lick anything slurp, slurp, ohhhhhhh ssssshhhhhittttt.....plllleeeeassseee stopppppppppp!" Then his tongue slopped right back into that wet hole and scrubbed the clit while he thrust, making the girl juice more and more and allowing the cum to drool down into his siphoning mouth.
I took a tooth brush and began a slow and deliberate investigation of young Carl's feet. His feet were wide at the balls, and muscled, heavily muscled. His ankles were thin, and the hair and veins on their pale expense of his feet made them seem so masculine and at the same time absolutely vulnerable. The brush worked its magic wickedness over those smooth, white soles, up under the toes, and then back to the high arch and heel. He vainly tried to curl and uncurl them as I focused on one spot or the other for up to ten or fifteen seconds, while the electrical current distracted him confusing his already hopelessly over-stimulated brain. His cries were punctuated by laughing, begging, and screaming, as his feet caused him to lose control of his dick that erected painfully in the cock cage. I kept Carl going through three girls, then he just plain passed out.
That's when we removed his cock cage, and sat leisurely playing with his beautiful tool, giving his dick a gook work-out. When he awoke, he found his dick still painfully hard, and could feel that it had been rubbed and massaged, tickled and masturbated, but he still had not been able to cum while unconscious.
I scheduled Carl's cums for once every two weeks, at my discretion. I would arrange a dinner party so the guests could watch and help Carl shoot his wad. He would be placed in the center of our dining table, tethered with a spreader bar under his knees, to which his arms and his ankles were attached. He was gagged, and would spin on a large human sized lazy susan so that each guest would be able to reach his nipples, his balls, his asshole hiding below, and that fat rod. He was milked three or four times during the meal either by hand or mechanically, with the bristle glove, bristle milker, or electric brush. In any case, he squealed and shot, squealed and shot, until he would almost pass out from the sensation and the draining of his balls. One of the favorite pastimes was for people to use stiff bristle toothbrushes on his big feet. Those long toes, and muscular feet were enticing toys to play with, as was using the brush under his neck, on his ears, under his arms, or along his firm abdominal muscles, always gave guests a thrill, especially since he was so ticklish that he would whine behind the funnel gag, dripping sweat from his exertions to avoid the wicked brushes and tickling. Then the next day it was back to the playrooms to lick cunt and sometimes the boys' asses. I decided to take him up on his offer of licking anything, and arranged a night when he was made to suck the toes of at least ten boys in the asylum. It was going to be a good year, with young Carl, and at the end, his unruly cock and hungry asshole would be ready for some lucky person to manage.
Sometime I'll have to tell you about the time I had him preview the films of our girls getting fucked, cumming and begging for more dick. He sat in my lap, while I lazily jerked his straining, drooling rod, until I was able to make him spend almost a half of an hour begging and pleading me to do things to his body in order to make him cum. He asked me to do things that he had never asked a man to do, and offered to do more( "....aaaahhhhhh, I need my tits pinched, please, scratch my fucking tits, uuuuugggghhhhh, fingerfuck me, aaahhhhhhh... yeah....deeper, please, rub my fuck-button, oooooooooohhhhhh fuuucccckkk... yeah....., please make me cum, please work my dick....ooooooohhhhh I needed to be worked"). Finally, we began a string of patiently induced ejaculations that rocked his body almost beyond tolerance...but you can't imagine how fucking sexy he looked, that big body getting worked over and begging me to do it while he shot his thick, tangy scum.
Playroom No. 5
Jefferson Booker Stevenson was a specimen. He was 6'2", 190 lbs. and without an ounce of fat on his ebony body. His specialty before he had come to the island had been cunt. He was fond of finding lonely white girls in San Francisco singles bars, sweet talking them with his college educated rap, and then long-dicking them till they thought they had died and gone to heaven. He was a cunt lapper par-excellent, making girls get on their knees, while he swallowed their pussies like peeled fruit, lapping his long tongue deep into their groves and rasping it against their tingling clits. His favorite trick was to get a girl completely out of control with a popular drug added to drinks, and then invite his white track buddy, Ricky Davis, to join him so the two punks could pump gism into every orifice the girl had. On several occasions, a the girl did not know that two guys had fucked her repeatedly until the next morning, if then. Sometimes, Ricky would slip out late the same night, and some glazed girl thought she had dreamt that Jeff had more than one long dick.
And what a dick. Jeff had a 9" curved scimitar that had a big wide head, but a long skinny body until it reached his balls. His slender foreskin closed over the snout snugly, and only retracted enough to allow his gism to squirt out. By contrast, his buddy Ricky had a short thick cock, 6" long and 3 1/2" wide, with a wide, fat dick tip that a fist could barely encompass. During the day, the two were S.F. State students, but from Thursday to Sunday they were the dick twins, soothing their aching schlongs in the tight orifices of young girls.
Mr. Velasquez was directed to the two young men by the mother of a girl who had become pregnant after an episode with 'mutt and Jeff.' The girl had been too embarrassed to admit she had been raped, and then three months later she was pregnant. Once her mother learned what had happened, she wanted to go to the authorities. But her daughter is a highly regarded athlete, and she did not want her story to become public and affect her career. They handled the matter privately, but the mother sought out Mr. Velasquez in order to get her pound of flesh. For us, that meant quite a bit of flesh was going to fall into our hands.
We set our two heroes up. A girl who is a friend of one of Velasquez's operatives in the S.F. Bay Area went to a bar frequented by Booker and Jeff. She let them lure her into a corner, and when they weren't looking, she exchanged her drink with a member of our team for another, and gave them something that would work slowly but surely. By the time they had her get into their car, they were feeling woozy. It didn't take long for Jeff to pull over to the side of the road, in a dark part of the downtown, and for the men in Velasquez's trailing van to pick up his cargo of blubbering, drunken and drugged, manflesh.
When Booker and Jeff next opened their eyes, they were in my exam room. They had been carefully secured, next to each other, in reclining stirrup chairs. Each had has legs up and spread, with his ass over the opening in the split vee of the chair. Hands were fastened to collars around each neck, so they were immobile, and each waist was tightly and carefully strapped into place. An obligatory gag was fastened into each mouth, I did not want them to be able to plead with me, or talk to each other. But I made sure their chairs faced one another when I began my work. I wanted each to see what I would do in my exam to the other. I rolled up in my chair to Booker first. Slipping on a thin plastic surgical glove on my right hand, I lubed my index finger and approached his wide spread legs.
His eyes widened in terror as I moved toward him, and I noticed that Jeff's hands were scrabbling and his legs straining as if he could escape. That's when I began my explanations.
"Mr. Stevenson, why the wide eyes and the surprised look? Did you think that you and your friend here were going to get away with drugging and raping girls for the rest of your lives? Well my fine friends, your days of being responsible for your cocks is now past. I hope your enjoyed your time well, and can remember how it was when these long and thick members were under your control." I used my free hand to pick up Booker's long, thick cock. It was, as always, half hard. As my hands gently slid up and down the long, curved stalk, and my thumb grazed his circumcision scar as I slipped the tight foreskin just slightly down and up over his fat mushroom, it got completely hard. The wicked banana curved to the left, and its thick ridge was big wide like the dick knob itself...the kind of meat that women love and guys like to flaunt in locker rooms.
"Well Booker, this big boner is now part of a sperm bank, one we use to sell semen to interested parties around the world. You and your buddy will be milked on a regular basis, for business purposes. Neither of these pricks is going to be in any cunt for a while. But maybe if you're good boys, and cooperate, you'll get a chance at making some pussy feel good. If you're not good, well, I'll just attach the milker to your hard pricks, and let it suck the scum from your balls until you scream in pain." At that moment, I began a steady motion with my rough thumb pad, massaging the slimy cock lube that had begun to drool from the snout of Booker's dick head, and at the same time my insidious finger began to tickle and scratch at his nether portal. I could hear him yelling from behind the gag, but I just smiled.
Booker's taut black buns were small half moons, with a long, thick strip of woolly black hair lining his crack, hiding the pink portal of his asshole. As my finger finally got a gentle entry through the tight ass lips, it began a relentless mission of finding his hard little fuck nut. I knew no finger had every been up this bung, and the howls and efforts of the ass muscles to squeeze my finger told me he was resisting as best he could. When my fingertip finally had screwed it way up his hot hole, and touched his prostrate, he shot seven long stream of scum out from the cock tip that was barely revealed from the thin, delicate foreskin that clung tightly to the ridge of his knob. My thumb kept roiling the prick tip after the cum, and Booker's eyes closed from the ticklish sensations, his prick pulsing and unable to go soft, and his hips jerking from the wicked sensation. As I slid the other finger out of his ass pucker, I turned and smiled at the terrified Jeff as to say, "you're next...." Two of my assistants then rolled up large enema bags, with cute little nozzles, thin but covered in spikes and bumps. As I left, I could hear the groans and grunts as the nozzle's were gently inserted into each bung as a prelude for enemas on a regular basis.
That was four weeks ago, and today, the boys were in Playroom No.
5, ready for a day's work. I explained to them that there were several
witnesses in the room today. One was the mother of a women they had raped,
and several others were girls that they had raped and in at least two cases,
their current boyfriends. Jeff pleaded, as he had from the start, not to
humiliate them in front of other guys:
"Don't, please, don't do this...not in front of guys...shit, no man, please. You've had your fun, you've got us here, they drain our nuts every other day...please Doc, not in front 'a people...hell no...please Doc, I'm beggin' ya." By contrast, Booker looked at me with undisguised hate, but he knew it would do no good to say anything, though his uncooperative nature would have him doing something today he had not yet done to date.
I had Jeff strapped onto a bench with his legs held apart by a spreader bar. His arms were secured over his head, and stretched out so his firm chest muscles were completely exposed. I had one assistant slip a thin dildo gag into his protesting, pleading mouth, and secure it with head straps. The dildo was wired to a console next to Jeff, and when it was turned on would hum wickedly against his tongue and palate, creating a tickle that's hard to deal with. I had two little clips gently attached to each of his nipples, and they also were wired to the console. Through them would run a low current that would keep Jeff's tits hard and send a message straight to his dick. His cock was kept away from his stomach with the assistance of little bolster. As a result, the already hard and drooling boner was aimed upwards. In addition, clips with wires were added to each of his big toes, and one to his big fat ball sack, hanging low between his legs.
Booker was wheeled over on his stomach, attached to reclining sedan that supported his legs, sides, chest, and had an apparatus to support his head, but without him able to move it. I reached down and slowly frigged Booker's prick until I had massaged the tight foreskin just to the ridge, then after coating his cock with gel, I had my assistants role him up to Jeff's widespread legs. Jeff got the idea immediately, and tried futiley to close his legs. I had purposed only had Jeff worked with short, dildoes. Now he was going to experience the real thing.
After carefully massaging Jeff's bung hole, and stretching it slowly so it could take Booker's cock, my assistants who had kept Booker's cock primed, inserted the fat head into Jeff's spasaming shit chute, moving Jeff's big balls to the side. I kept Booker right at the entrance while clips with wires were attached to his nipples, his toes, and his nuts. Then I brought in the coup de grace. The gentle little garden snake which we had trained to roil and move when inserted into a cunt or asshole, was brought before Booker's eyes. He looked incredulous as I took the snake out of its canister, and displayed it too him.
"Booker, see this little fellow. He's harmless, but he hates being confined. I'm going to slip him up your asshole. He always seems to get confused, and wriggles up rather than out, then he gets frustrated, and writhes and convulses until he can escape. Funny thing is, he can never get out until I pull him out. So he'll be in there massaging your prostrate for a while. Booker eyes were wider than I had ever seen them, and his hateful sneer had turned into pure fear. He shook his eyes, since he could not move his head, and he finally begged:
"Muuuuuthhher fucker...hey mannnnn....you caint put no snake up mah butt.... Oh sweet jeeeeeesus, naaah, man you crazy....you sick....that damn snake'll kill me....ohhhhh god damn....somebody get this crazy dude outta mah face.....ohhhh mah gooooddddd....noooooooo....NOOOOOOOOOO!"
I had the attendants put some lube deep up Booker's bowels, and then the thin little snake was admitted, head first. The I gave instructions to Booker as he whined and screamed for the snake to be taken out.
"Shuuuuhhh Booker...stop yelling, you wont' hear what I have to say, and then you won't be able to do what you need to in order to get that snake out of you. Shhhhuuhhh...there, that's it, calm down." Booker's eyes were wide with terror, and he panted as he tried to control himself, perspiration dripping from under his arms, and from his forehead. "You are going to suck Jeff off, no once, but three times. He will need to cum three times, and each time he does, you are to swallow every drop of his scum. We have monitors that will let us know when he ejaculates, so don't try to fool us. But the only way he's going to cum is with you fucking him silly, and working that big fat apple head of your dick against his tingling fuck nut. But you can't cum, cause if you do, you won't be able to make him cum. Of course that snake is going to make you want to cum immediately, cause you know how you and that little prostrate of yours are... hungry little fucker, that loves to be stroked and worked. So you'll have to find a way to keep yourself from cumming, while you fuck old Jeff silly and make him spurt three good loads deep down your throat." Booker's eyes had gone soft, he was pleading in desperate, low groans, moans and whispers, for me to have mercy, to get the snake outta him, and to let him go.
My assistants wheeled him up to Jeff's prick now stiff from the sensations of the dildo in his mouth, the buzz at his nipples, toes and balls, and the thought of Booker's big fuck stick deep up his asshole. As they moved Booker forward to slip Jeff's coke bottle dick deep in his mouth, his own cock, covered in a thin but impenetrable rubber, coated with gel and a French tickler, slip home in Jeff's resisting bowels. Jeff's eyes opened wide when the business end of Booker's prick and the ribs on the French tickler made contact with his prostrate.
In the meantime, I had the console turned on to Booker's balls, toes, and tits. You could hardly tell which was boy and which was snake. Everything seemed to roil and writhe, as best it could, within the confines of the restraints. So began a relaxing afternoon for our guests, served tea and deserts, able to chat and remark as they watched Booker suck dick for the first time in his life, and Jeff get the kind of screwing he never knew was possible.
Later, after Jeff had shot his wad the obligatory three times, and the writhing snake had been pulled from Booker's well worked asshole, I invited the fiancés of the two girls to pick a man. Jeff and Booker were then strapped down on a low gurney, and each man was able to slide his erect boner up the holes of the two, while plying their tits, and talking shit to them about being faggots with dicks up their butts. To help the cause, I had both boys own pricks inserted into a bristle sleeve, and as they were fucked, their young cock flesh was massaged into yet another unwanted ejaculation by the merciless bristles, scrubbing and tickling their boners relentlessly.
That was the first of many performances from Booker and Jeff, that is when they weren't on the milkers. Eventually, Jeff's big body, which was kept in good shape through exercise and work, was made as a gift to an Asian businessman who owned an island. He liked to keep Jeff blindfolded, arms cinched behind his back, a small buzzing dildo up his fundament, and his legs kept apart with a spreader bar while he lazily massaged the big fuck knob with just his fingertips in bristle tips while his other hand gently pinched and tugged Jeff's taut nips. I'm told that Jeff learned he could cum four or five times a day from such work, when he wasn't sucking his own dick or licking a hairy asshole. Booker was given to an American businessman who owned sports teams. He had always admired African American athletes, and now he had one to play with every day. I'm told he found ingenious ways to wring sperm from the hefty bull balls of Booker, and to make that long dicked boy squeal with pleasure from the ways in which he dick was milked and sucked dry.
By the time these two young men were thirty-five, they would be ready to be obedient and cooperative citizens.
Mr. Velasquez told me we would be having an unusual guest at the hospital. It seemed that while our men were working to bring another "patient" to the asylum, they ran into a detective from the vice squad of the police department in Kent, Ohio. Our men were hot on the trail of tough little red-head by the name of Carey Douglas who was a nineteen year old delivery man for the local overnight mail service. Carrey was 5'9", with ruddy complexion, bright blue eyes, and dark auburn hair. His arms, legs, toes and fingers were covered in a thick, fire red fur, but his eyelashes, eyebrows, the hair under his arms, up the crack of his ass and trailing from between his pecs down to his dick was dark. The men knew that he frequented an adult book/video store down-town in order to get his 6" curved cudgel sucked as often as possible. Young Carey would take a long lunch, end up in his brown uniform in the back video booth with the largest hole through which to stick his jutting prick. He might toke up on a joint, and lower his pants and briefs to his shoe-tops, and gently stroke his pork before a crooked finger would beckon him to put his hips up to the wall, and slide his hairy balls and dick through the hole. For some reason, Carey would always take a brief look before he slipped his prize into the mouth on the other side of the wall. For some reason, he was a bit picky, always making sure that whomever was on the other side looked manly, was young and was appropriately on his knees before the fat spike that made young Carey so proud.
Carey had no family to speak of. His only sister was ten years older, had married when Carey was still a boy, and moved West. She had purposely put distance between her and the family, wanting to escape the emptiness of an alcoholic mother and an abusive father. Carey's mother had died three years earlier, and he and his father rarely spoke. His aimless lifestyle, wasted skills, and lack of motivation made him a perfect candidate for the asylum. What the men did not know was that Carey had caught another eye. Vice squad officer Mark Maloney also had been following the progress of young Carey Douglas.
As it turned out, Officer Maloney had taken the time to put some extra hours of off-duty investigation into his effort. At night, when he was not on the streets looking for stray kids and young punks like Carey, Officer Maloney was at home reviewing video and audio tapes he had made surreptitiously. He particularly like the young red head, whose sharp and handsome features made him a favorite of Mark Maloney. One tape that Officer Maloney had made from the front side of the booth in which Carey had his fat prong sucked, captured the whole event from beginning to end. Using his cover of authority to pursue a legitimate "investigation", Maloney had coerced the young attendant who worked the cash register at the bookstore to give him access to the rear booths through a storage closet. There he spent a day making tapes of those whom he wanted to pursue privately outside of the his working responsibilities. He had carefully filed the tape of the young manager from the bank downtown who loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and lowered his suit pants and clean white briefs in order to stroke his long, thin cock to a bursting ejaculation. The part of the action that had brought a smile to Maloney's face, was when the young banker turned his head from the straight porn film he had selected, to look through the hole in the wall to watch his neighbor. When the neighbor had stuck his fat prick through the hole, the young banker wanked his own turgid pecker with one hand, while he stroked the jerking prong sticking through the hole with his other hand, his breath coming in gasps, his legs spread, his hips slumped, so he could surrender to the feeling of his fist sliding up and down his own stalk while he jerked his neighbor's rutting prick to its own spitting cum. While the two men cleaned up after their episode, Maloney went outside to write down the license plate of the banker when the young man left. Later when he had called on the banker, the young, married man had agreed to come to Officer Maloney's country cabin, and spent one night a month receiving 'public' instruction from the good officer. Maloney particularly liked attaching electrodes to the sensitive nipples of the pale, blond banker, and another to secure his pale, thin foreskin over the end of his fat, drooling prick tip. The young man's arms were secured behind his back, he was blindfolded, and a vibrating prick gag was secured in his mouth buzzing incessantly on his ticklish tongue. Officer Maloney's had the helpless young man positioned on his lap, with the cop's 8" fat-knobbed cock rooted deep up the banker's ass, strumming his prostrate. The sadistic vice officer slowly cranked up the handle controlling the electrodes on the nipples and prick tip until the young man, his head lolling, toes curling, and his ass bouncing, squirted cum through his helplessly rigid but clipped tool, out of control.
This same story had been repeated on other nights with other men. There had been a community college football player who could not resist a finger up his ass, a gas station attendant who could not make his dick go soft even after his balls had been drained, a Mormon college student on his mission who ejaculated without being touched every time a vibrating prick gag was inserted into his mouth, and several other married men in the town. Officer Maloney always got his man, and sometimes his woman. In at least two cases, he had managed to get into the beds of the married men, using their wives like he used them. His own physical beauty and compelling attitude made them acquiesce to his demands. He loved tying up the wives and using vibrators, feathers, and electrodes on their nubile bodies, while the husbands were forced to service him. He particularly liked fucking the women while their husbands watched, cumming up their dripping, squealing cunts. Then he would make the husbands lick and suck the scummy pussies clean, while he kept the bound men's hard cocks under control in his calloused fist, often working a buzzing vibrator up their clinging assholes, or pinched and scratched their sensitive tits. When they came, they licked his palm clean of their own scum like the dogs he had made them into.
Office Maloney, though, had a thing for redheads. He had particularly enjoyed the wife of one of the men he had entrapped because she was a redhead. Her clit seemed extra sensitive, extra long, and her tits just seemed made for pulling and pinching. She squealed like a stuck pig every time his stiff boner pistoned up her clinging, gripping hole, and scrapped back and forth on her turgid clit. He liked fucking her from behind in front of the mirror in her bedroom, while her husband was on his knees, bound, licking the connection between pussy and cock. In Maloney's mind, all red heads were sexual animals that needed to be trained and regularly exercise. Watching Carey Douglas squirm while wet lips rolled up and down his short, thick boner--grunting, his face contorting in lust, playin' with his jutting nipples through an unbuttoned shirt and rolled up t-shirt--all that and the way his taut butt cheeks flexed as he rammed his rod down the throats that milked him--convinced Maloney that Carey had to be his next catch.
Carey was captured with Officer Maloney at the cabin in the woods by Velasquez's men. Carey was delivered to the examination room with his baseball cap on backwards, and in a pair of white crew socks and unlaced hiking boots. Each wrist was secured to the respective ankle on the same side of the body. He was on his knees on the exam table, with his chest forced outward by the bondage--his back supported by a padded rest. A spreader bar kept his knees apart, and made possible access to his hairy asshole. He had a ball gag that allowed him to breathe through holes in the ball. When I ran my finger up his taut, muscular legs, running my fingers through the thick fur and gently scratching the inside of his flexed thigh muscles, his balls roiled in their hanging sack, and his boner sprung up rigid and wet. I scratched his hairy armpit, eliciting squeals through the gag, and attempted gyrations to avoid the tickling sensation; "awwwwwwwww, aaaaaahhhhhh; eeeeeeeeiiiiiiiii." I did the same thing to his tight abs, and pulled and rolled his pink, coned titties that stiffed and reddened automatically as if they needed to be touched. The way those tits hardened, and his eyes rolled, promised fun to come. When I left him, his rigid boner was wet with pre-scum, and the slender probe I had gently inserted up his butthole, covered with horsehair bristles and dipped in the wicked, unbearable itching gel, was whirring quietly deep within his bowels. He would be fucking himself for at least an hour before I returned, and his dong would be primed and ready... especially since I coated his prick knob with the same gel, and already the red little bumps were popping up on the fat helmet, and under the flange, while his muffled grunts and wide eyes told the tale of the sensation. Officer Maloney was right about young Carey Douglas, those red-headed types were hot numbers.
But for the next hour, I would be with Officer Maloney...aaaahhhh jesus, the thought made my prong drip. Maloney would have been impossible to subdue physically, so Velasquez's men had shot a small dart into his naked buttock, and within seconds he was slumped over Carey who had been trussed up on the bed. Maloney's hard dick had not yet entered into the vulnerable nether hole between Carey's furry thighs, so his balls were still full of scum.
I had Maloney placed into another exam room in an unusual device. It was an old-fashioned set of stocks, with his head through a hole facing forward. His body was bent at the waist in a seated position, and his legs came through the bottom with his feet firmly secured, but freely accessible. Instead of his arms poking through holes the front, next to his head, they were secured together above his head to a ceiling hook, exposing his arm pits. His ass was resting on a platform behind the stocks, with a hole beneath his crack. His dick and balls were pulled through an opening in the stocks so that they could be freely accessed. The whole apparatus faced a huge wall mirror. Since Officer Maloney liked to watch, I thought it would be fun for him to see what was going to happen to him. On his handsome head, his uniform hat sat smartly, making him look like a very sexy cop in danger, his mouth gagged to prevent him from speaking but in a way so that we could hear his attempts.
I sat down on a stool in front of Maloney, and began to speak to him in measured tones: "You know, officer, you've been abusing your office, taking advantage of your authority. As a consequence, you'll be spending at least a year on this island with us." As I spoke, my hands, gloved in surgical gloves, dipped into a beaker of the itching gel, and I began to gently massage his 8" prong into an unwilling, but helpless erection. He did not know that the slippery gel that was giving my fist free play on his precious fuck stick, would soon turn it read and covered with angry bumps, desperate for the relief of some type of scratching. My other gloved hand, gently wormed up his virgin asshole, parting the dark hair and tickling and scratching until I was able to work the gel deep into his rectum and baste his prostrate with it. His grunts and groans of pleasure, slowly changed, and his eyes widened as he realized what I had done. For my part, the gentle words continued.
"Maloney, for the next year, you will be unable to touch your dick without permission. You will touch others, though. You will jerk, suck, be fucked, and fill your mouth with gism. You will wipe the hairy asses of other men after they have used the crapper, you will hold penises that need to piss in the morning and at night, you will clean under foreskins, massage and lick feet, you will suck pussy that has been filled with the cum of other men. You'll be so busy, you won't have time to thick about how hard you dick will be. When you cum, it will be as a party favor for dinner guests--strapped and gagged, or attached to the automatic milker; your sperm will fetch a good price on the international market." At night, you'll be strapped into bed, but before you fall asleep, your body will be played with, tickled, touched, rubbed, pinched, and your dick jerked to a stiff erection, then left to sleep on the verge of a satisfying cum. By the time you leave, Officer Maloney, you'll be a good, obedient boy, ready for service to men who learn your secret." By this time, Maloney was squealing behind his gag...eeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.... aaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh...oooohhhhhhhh...nnnnnnnggggggg." His ass bounced as best it could, and my finger wickedly kept rubbing gently, tickling, but not soothing the terrible itch up his hole. I had picked up a handled brush with coarse bristles in my other hand, and was softly scratching the bristle on this part, then that part, of his rigid, dripping stalk. When I rubbed the fat helmet, the hive-like bumps seemed to expand, and his prick burped pre-cum that only added to the effectiveness of the bristles and the maddening tickle that made the defenseless knob expand even more.
While Maloney grunted and gasped, I moved away to get a few more devices. I could not tell whether he was just shocked or he was begging by the way his eyes moved wildly and were open so wide, but I ignored his excruciating pleas or cries. I returned with two electrical boxes, with mechanical arms that were flexible. The arms had what looked like back-scratch hands at the ends, with hard plastic bristles. Each finger on the hands was independently flexible, and moved randomly. I fixed them before Officer Maloney's secured feet, and as he watched I turned on the dials on each. Maloney's size twelve feet were pale and soft, with surprisingly few callouses. His long toes left a wide gap between the ball of his feet and finger like appendages. His narrow heels and high arches looked so soft and vulnerable. Immediately after I switched on the boxes, the arms lowered and began to rasp the plastic hands, and the hard bristles on each finger, up and down the pale, smooth soles of the bound officer's feet. His toes immediately curled to avoid the bristles, but the device was designed to respond to pressure, so as he moved his feet as best as he could the arm honed in to force the scratching bristles against the ticklish flesh.
When Maloney spasmodically flexed his feet, the bristles would move back just enough to keep their rasping at a level that would drive the man insane. As he yelled behind the gap, and gyrated as much as he could, I calmly took a six inch dildoe, covered with small plastic spikes, and installed it in a stand below his ass. I slowly worked the slender dildoe, greased with more gel, up his fundament. The poor man did not even realize what was happening, he was so focused on getting his feet away from the mechanical tickler. But when I switched on the power to the buzzing dildo, Officer Maloney was sent up to heaven, as the wicked plastic spikes alternately scratched his inflamed ass lining, and poked his irritated prostrate. He bounced helplessly, and I loosened his bonds enough to make sure he had room to fuck himself silly. Little did he know that the dildoe had an opening that would periodically release more gel from a tube of the stuff contained within it. He would be itching himself until the dildoe was removed.
"You know officer, I think I'll give you one last ejaculation for
old times, then I'll leave the machines to help you to the next two or
three. He hardly heard me as his head moved back and forth, his grunts
and squeals were pitiful and loud through the gag, and his body jerked
right and left. Using a pair of golf gloves with horsehair bristles on
the fingertips, I grasped just his fat, hard, dick tip. I rotated my fingers
all around his flange and knob, making it expand to a glassy surface, and
making the bumps stand up red and rigid in search of any relief. I slipped
my other hand around the stocks, and grasped one of Maloney's turgid titties,
hard and pebbled. I pulled and scratched the nipple as I rotated my fingers
on the fat dome of the huge prick helmet, and suddenly Officer Maloney
spurted ten long ropes of thick, white gism into the air. My fingers continued
to play on for about a minute, making him squeal even more loudly: "eeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee...mmppppppppp-ggggghhhhh....ooooooo
Then I got up to leave, carefully painting Officer Maloney's cock
with another coating of gel. Like the instinctive animal he was, his dick
had gone hard again, and the tickling up his asshole, on the soles of his
feet, and on the knob of his dick started him up the spiral to another
ejaculation--only this time without any masturbatory help. His eyes looked
terrified as I moved toward the door, leaving him in this condition. But
I tried to reassure him: "don't worry Officer Maloney, I'll be back in
about an hour...then we'll begin your physical exam...we'll need to flush
that ass with some special enemas." He grunted in fear, seemingly to yell
for me to help him, as I closed the door and headed back for young Carey
Douglas and the spunk in his starchy balls.
Playroom No. 4
After a delicious dinner with Mr. Velasquez and some of the senior members of the staff, we retired to Playroom No. 4 where Hans Schmidt and Ian McVeigh were waiting for us.
During the dinner, a couple of sixteen year old Bosnian twins were our servers, naked and erect during the entire time. Their pale, muscled flesh was available to us to pinch, pull and prod during the meal. At one point, Mr. Velasquez masturbated first one then the other. They were ordered to stand next to him while he gently frigged their six-inch dicks into cums onto his ice cream. One bent his knees, and closed his eyes as his pale foreskin was gently tugged up and down onto the sensitive, fat knob of his cock. They were not allowed to resist any actions for fear of a severe punishment, so the boy's hands were clenching helplessly at his sides while Mr. Velasquez chatted non-chalantly while doing his best to stimulate the young man. Finally, as the boy began to breath deeply, and his knees really dipped, Mr. Velasquez reached up with his other hand to pinch and roll the boy's lovely pink teats while he continued to frig with the other, making his thumb rub and irritate the sensitive prick lips. He had the boy hold his ice cream dish under the throbbing member to catch every drop of the gism that rocketed from the hard dick. The boys had not been allowed to cum for over two weeks, sleeping on their backs at night with their hands secured. The identical twin had to perform immediately after his brother, with the added requirement that the one who had finished was made to tickle his brother's ass lips, and pinch and pull his teats so the ejaculation would not take as long. It didn't since the sixteen year old boy was not accustomed to stimulation and surrendered quickly to its many sensations. The second twin came squirming and groaning while his brother's finger threatened to squirm up butt and his prick was being frigged mercilessly by Mr. Velasquez. Watching him stand up on his long toes and muscular feet as his dick unloaded on the ice cream was as good as desert. I would have to spend a night seeing how much spunk I could wring from those two teenage sets of balls, and get them together with our wayward police officer to see what they might like to do with him.
In Playroom No. 4, Hans was on his back, tethered carefully to a bench. His arms were strapped to the front legs, and his feet were extended up and spread wide, attached to a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling. His pale Germanic skin shone in the bright light focused on his body. He began to speak, but I put my fingers to my lips warning him. He closed his eyes in abject despair and acquiescence. I rolled a mechanical fucker up between his legs, and let him watch me screw in a five inch knobby dildoe, slender but pebbled and with ridges so as to massage his shit chute in ways to elicit the most exquisite and uncomfortable sensations deep up his bowels.
Hans had been an AWOL soldier in the German army. Velasquez's men had found him in the company of a beautiful blond whom he had been fucking non-stop for several days, after a drunken binge. Hans had been one of the out of work East German boys, 23 and uneducated, who had taken the army as his only option. Bordering on Neo-Nazi, he was punk personified, and his dick was closer to his brain that any other aspect of his life. Unable to cope with the military discipline, he had run away, gotten drunk, and ended up doing what he did best: fucking. Now his 9 inch curved and slender prong was prevented from fucking anything. He was kept hard and horny, and like so many others, milked when allowed to cum. That dick needed to learn manners in the best German tradition, and to follow instructions. It's pale covering of thin foreskin was currently clipped shut with a plastic clothespin to prevent him from shooting his scum prematurely.
I rolled and pinched his nipples until they were hard and pebbled, then gently attached metal clips with wires leading to the control console nearby. I added a wire to the end of the dildoe fucker, so that when it moved, and vibrated, it would randomly send a small jolt of electricity deep up Hans' furry ass; nothing dangerous, but deliciously random and sure to give him a reason to clench his cock and ass, and harden his dick almost painfully.
I removed my dinner clothes, while Mr. Velasquez sat nearby playing absently with Ian whose body was secured on his lap, gagged. They watched as I lowered my ass onto Hans' strong, face. I switched the dials on the console, then grasped a long handled bristle brush to used on his extended, strong feet.
"Hans," I said in a mocking and threatening tone, "I want you to thrust that tongue though the hair in my ass crack and find my little hole and lick and flick, and make me feel like some of those cunts you liked to lap, or I'm going to keep these machines going and keep your fuck stick clipped all night....do you understand me?" I distinctly heard a muffled "Yaaaaaa," between slurps of his tongue. That tongue that had been used to scrubbing clits and trawling between twat lips and up into squealing pussy holes, was now slurping on my hairy asspucker, thoughtfully cleaned for the occasion. I rubbed my hard prick, letting the dripping pre-scum keep my fist lubed and my dick meat throbbing; aaaahhh Jesus, it felt good to have this helpless young man at my disposal.
Hans' toes curled and pointed, jerked and twisted in their bonds, struggling to be away from the wicked, hard bristles on the brush that I flicked around his feet, but I aimed at insteps, under long toes, and along his heels to prevent him form concentrating on anything but the prickling, tickling, scratching sensation. I could hear him yowl and gasp between licks...eeeeeiiiiiiiiiiii, aaaaahhhhhh, nnnnno-oooooooo! But Hans' fuck stick never lost its hardness for a moment, and from the clipped, pale skin at the snout of his cock, I could see the clear drips of pre-cum drooling out onto his washboard stomach. Each time that knobby dildoe hit his joy spot, he wanted to cum, but could only burp more pre-cum while his fat dick tip struggled to expand out of its clipped confines.
I looked over to see that Mr. Velasquez had slipped on a baseball glove with the wicked horsehair bristles completely surrounding the middle finger. I knew where that glove finger would soon be. Ian McVeigh had been a brooding poet in London, away from his Native Scotland when the Asylum's crew found him. He had run away from a huge pile of debts, hoping to hide away, screw girls and write his dark diatribes. Ian was also a cunt-lapper supreme, dating different girls for the express purpose of ending up between their legs slurping and siphoning juice from their drooling pussies. In turn he loved to have his 6" beer bottle dick sucked and plugged up the tight, constricting cunts of pretty girls. They would carefully peel the tight foreskin back from his impossibly thick stalk, and reveal the fat plum of his dick knob. It had a flange almost a 1/2 inch wide near the piss well, and girls could hardly fit the wide dick head in their dainty fists while they slid their lips over his prick tip, or tried to insert it into their pouty cunts.
Ian had always been squeamish about anything up his ass, apparently because it would make him cum almost instantly. But when Mr. Velasquez told him he would be whipped on his sensitive dick head if he came without permission, (and once they had done it [though not hard enough to leave a mark] to make sure he understood), he spent an inordinate amount of time trying to clamp down on invaders up his bowels and at the same time control his overwhelming desire to shoot bolts of cum the moment a finger breached his ass pucker, or poked his prostrate. For almost fifteen minutes, Ian had been on Velasquez's lap, arms cinched up high behind him, legs kept wide with a spreader bar, and the horse hair finger, dipped in lube, earnestly fucking him while his titties were pulled like a whore in heat. His body wrenched and jerked each time either the tit or his prostrate were touched, and his fat fucker was basting in man sap, burping out of him as he fought desperately to keep from cumming.
Ian and his last girlfriend had been kidnapped together from his apartment. It turned out that she was in a scam, stealing funds from older women who lived in her building to support herself. The girl was used in some of the playrooms as incentive for the boys kept at the asylum and as diversions for some of the guards. This particular girl had been chosen because she absolutely loved tongue, and her clit was so sensitive that whether tongue, dildo, prick or finger, she could cum endlessly and in loud, articulate tones (yeah, I like screamers...girls or boys).
Ian was removed from Mr. Velasquez's lap where for a few final moments his dick had been gently jerked and his tits pinched and rolled to warm him up for a good spunk. He was now strapped kneeling on a prayer bench, with his pale, wide size 12 feet shackled and spread apart to the corners. His arms were roped behind his back, then cinched up and attached by a short chain to his slave collar. His head was secured on the top of the bench. To each of his big toes, a wired clip was affixed. Between his legs was a stand that reached up to his fat, duck egg balls. His thick cudgel was stretched against the flat vertical surface of the stand, aiming it down between his legs. Velasquez took some powder and mixed it with a liquid in a small dish from a nearby cart. Then he used a q-tip to spread the mixture up under the clean foreskin, all around the fat glans and under the sensitive flange. Within moments, Ian's hands began grasping and scrabbling into the air behind his back, and he began to chant in a sweet Scottish brogue.
"Aaaaahhhh, Mister Velasquez, pleeeze, I'mma asking you please, Sir. I kinna take it, oooooohhhhh gooooodddddd...Mr. Velasquez, it itches Sir, it itches so bad. I kin feel little bumps on my prick for Jesus sake, oooooohhhhh, my god, aaaaaahhhhhhh, fuck, piss, shit......make it stop itchin'.....ooohhhhh ....aaaaggggghhh." As he squealed and begged, Ian's long toes waggled back and forth, trying to curl and then straightening from the intense tickling on his prick knob.
I love to hear these big boys beg, and Ian's 6" frame, blond hair and good looks, and those long sexy, hairy toes and fingers, made my dick pulse. Mr. Velasquez, not unmindful of Ian's need, took a strange small cylindrical brush, like a tiny bottle brush but with stiff horsehair bristles along the tip, and he inserted it within the tight foreskin where the deep colored glans was now covered with small red bumps from the wicked mixture that had been smoothed into it. Velasquez switched on the little electric brush, and began a slow, methodical scratch of the fat plum and its flange underneath the foreskin. With the prick aimed down, this stimulation alternately soothed and made more ticklish the irritated prong tip. Ian felt the need to cum, but the direction of his thick dong kept him from ejaculating. The sensation was excruciating. At the same time, Velasquez deftly re-introduced the lubricated glove finger with the bristles up the bung of the dark blond haired cleft between Ian's perfect pale ass cheeks. In seconds he was screaming for mercy!
"Aaaaaaagggggghhhh, Missssterrrrr Velaaasssssquuez, plllleeeeeaaase, ooohh-hhhhh gooooooodddddd, for the loooooveee offffff goddddddd, stooooop, I canna cummmmmm, oooooooohhhhh, dooon't maaaake meeeeeee....oooh-hhh fuckinnnnnnn chrissssssst, mooooother fuuuuucccccck...aaaaaahhhhh your killinnnnnnn meeeeeee!" Ian, screamed, and begged, and moaned as his dick swelled and he fought the one sensation that itched and irritated his dick head to make him lose control at the same time he fought to cling to the wicked bristles prickling his prostrate and scratching the lining of his guts so he would not cum.
Velasquez kept whispering to him not to cum, because if he did, he would stretch his dick out, secure it, peel back the sensitive foreskin and take a short whip with stinging leather strips to his dick knob. Ian's dark red locks and underarms dripped perspiration, and his rubbery nipple nubs chaffed against the bench, adding more stimulation to his overwrought nervous system. The coup de grace came when Velasquez turned the dial on the console that controlled the wires attached to Ian's big toes. The nicely formed feet tensed, and the low current vibrated through Ian's whole body, churning the sperm in his balls and making the bristles seem even more wicked as they scrubbed his dick head and routed up his asshole. Finally, at about the same time I unclipped Hans', long slender, rigid prong, Ian gave up the ghost. Both young men exploded wads of cum. I caught Hans' gruel, and made him lick my full, coated palm clean by threatening him with dire consequences if he didn't. When Ian shot, Velasquez let his dick out of its unnatural position. The handsome poet squealed when Mr. Velasquez took his palm and rotated it on the overly ticklish dick knob during and after the ejaculation. Ian could not stand his dick tip touched after a cum so Velasquez made sure to massage it with his calloused palm until the boy's eyes closed and he was reduced to whimpers, his toes tightly curled. Yet hid dick never went soft.
We gave both boys about a fifteen minute break before we strapped them into a sixty-nine position with one boy on top of the other, and made them deep throat each others pricks. Hans'' curved cock stretched into Ian's throat and Ian's fat prong stretched Hans'' lips. We told them that until them made each other cum we would introduce into their respective assholes dildoes smeared with the same irritant that was used on Ian's dick earlier. Those buzzing and whirring dildoes, grinding the irritant into their guts, and our added touch, tooth brushes on their exposed feet, resulted in a twenty-minute work-out that ended with both men shooting another thick, viscous wad down each other's throats. Jesus it was fun sitting at the tethered pale, wide and muscular feet of Hans, working that brush under and between them, while Velasquez was concentrating on the instep of Ian's long, muscled pale feet with their long sweating toes.
After a short pause, we left Ian strapped on Hans'' lap, his arms tethered overhead, with the German boys dick up his ass wearing a French tickler covered with horsehair. The bristles aggravated the bumps caused from the irritant up Ian's fundament, and that caused his weary cock to erect again. We told Hans' that he would not be allowed to leave and go back to his room until he made the helpless Scottish boy cum again, plus we had inserted a nettle leaf up Hans' asshole as incentive. So Hans', wearing gloves with rough denim lining the palms and fingers, rolled Ian's tits with one hand, while he masturbated the groaning, drooling boy with the other. Finally, the long, curved scimitar up Ian's asshole made his tired cock spit one final cum, dripping and drooling rather than shooting while the rough denim tortured the fat glans of the Scottish lad as his brogue filled the air with pleas, shouts, and little yells. His long toes curled and gripped and his head rested against Hans' chest, moving back and forth futilely, begging Hans' to spare him from the milking fist and rooting bristles. But the German boy, though sympathetic, was determined to get the nettle out of his bucking ass and relieve the itch that forced his cock to grind against Ian's prostrate. It was wonderful to know that these boys, who would only have touch pussy before they arrived at the Asylum, would be forced to fuck and suck other handsome men for the foreseeable future. Even after Ian had spunked, it seemed that Hans enjoyed gently milking the wilting prong and pulling the red, stiff tits until the attendants separated them. Ian's luscious body, and fat cock would be off limits for several days while he recuperated.
Exam Room No. 3
You will recall that Carey Douglass had been captured with Officer Maloney in the cabin, then transported to the island by our operatives. Carey was left in the examination room with his baseball cap on backwards, and in a pair of white crew socks and unlaced hiking boots. Each wrist was secured to the respective ankle on the same side of the body. He was on his knees on the exam table, with his chest forced outward by the bondage--his back supported by a padded rest. A spreader bar kept his knees apart, and made possible access to his tight pink asslips, and hairy asshole. He had a ball gag that allowed him to breathe through holes in it, but was not intended to cause him pain. When I returned to him, after securing Officer Maloney for his first hour of work on the island, I found that his boner was still taut, drooling drops of clear teenage sap. I walked up to him, perspiration dripping from his forehead and down from his forested armpits. His eyes rolled from the sensations up his asshole, then squeezed shut demurely, almost as if to say 'please, I'll do anything, please let me go.' I placed both palms on his sweat drenched chest, and smoothed them out against the dark red coils that framed the bottom of both his bulging pecs. Then using my thumb and forefinger, I rolled, then gently pulled and squeezed his pink, coned titties that were still stiff and irritated. Once again the pink tips hardened, his eyes rolled, and the long thin, slightly curved prick with its usually fat helmet, burped more pre-scum.
I leaned down to look at his ass pucker. Spreading the dark, thick auburn hairs, I could see sweat dripping from around the hole where the slender probe I had gently inserted up his butthole, covered with horsehair bristles and dipped in the wicked, unbearable itching gel, was still whirring quietly deep within his bowels. He had been fucking himself for at least an hour before I returned, and I noticed that each time the vibrating probe made contact with his fuck nut, he jerked and tried to swivel his ass, uncontrollably scratching the desperate itch up his hole, and trying to soothe it at the same time by forcing the hard core of the little dildoe against his molested prostrate. Walking behind Carey, I slipped off the unlaced hiking boots, and pulled off the damp white sweat socks. Jeez this kid had nice feet. Slender at the heel, they widened to the balls of his feet, with long, curved toes. His pale white skin was muscled from exercise, and the feet had a clean sweaty, but not raunchy scent. There's nothing like the exposed feet of a strong, young man. They are so vulnerable, so tender, and yet the source of such strength and power. I imagined how these big size eleven feet had looked running up and down a basketball court, protected and exuberant as they carried their owner through hard games and demanding exercise. But now they were mine for at least six months. Young Carey would find that we would tend to those feet very carefully at the Asylum, keeping them dry and clean when they were not being exercised, oiled and smooth, soft and yet strong. That way, they could serve in the Playrooms, and be a special joy on a night when I had some brushes or my rough nails to run under them. I'd suckle those toes, then tickle them mercilessly, and then I'd make young Carey choose between being tickled or whipped on them. Oh, we wouldn't damage or hurt him, but we'd make him think his only option was to submit. And then we'd have fun watching a boy who'd never had too many people even touch his handsome, athletic feet, play with them constantly. For my part as I was now examining him, I tickled an instep while I scratched the balls of the other foot. Carey jumped, and in doing so fucked himself deeply on the slender, jiggling rod deep up his fundament, burping ever more streams of the pre sap down his turgid fuck stick. He must have hit the spot right after an hour of being primed, because without me touching his boner, the long stiff dick wet rigid against his belly and slightly curved, and the fat knob expanded obscenely. Young red-headed Carey closed his eyes, and squealed through the air holes in his gag: "aaaaaaa... aaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeee.....aaaaaaahhhhhhh......uuuuuuugggghhhhhh...ooooooo....!" and then, the wide piss lips opened to shoot nine, long streams of sticky boy jizz, finally drooling dregs to baste the overheated fuck knob. I smiled, at the exhausted Carey, and walked around to talk with to him. As always I spoke in quiet, calm tones, my deliberate and articulate style contrasting to the earthy, harsh words as he still gasped, recovering from his forced ejaculation. "Carey, you've been a naughty boy. At night, you would beat that pud at home, and went to glory holes and anywhere you could to get that over-heated boy stick serviced. Your troubles with Officer Maloney were as much the result of your conduct, as his. But those days are over, for both of you. The only time you'll cum after tonight for the foreseeable future is when we've got you legs bent over your head, and that long prick stuffed into your own sucking mouth...and maybe when we've got you attached to the milker. The way you shoot scum, that stuff will fill the orders we have in a number of specialty markets; you'll be a star producer and a useful generator of income for our hospital. But the rest of the time you'll be kept hard and horny, while your body is kept strong and firm."
"At night, you'll be strapped into bed naked and on your back, a sheet bar keeping your blankets off your body. Hands will tickle and search your naked flesh, irritating and worrying all the places that you'll long to have caressed. And then, when your rod is ripe and ready to squirt, you'll be left to sleep. Every morning, others will hold your dick for you while you piss, and you'll be watched, then wiped after you shit. Your dick will be masturbated several times a day to keep you horny. But your fingers will be kept from your private parts, even your sensitive titties. During the day, you'll be in a cock cage, and as often as possible, you'll have a little vibrator harnessed up your bung to help keep your focus, and your dick half hard and dripping. But an unruly boy like you has to be managed. You red heads get too horny and hot for your own good. Your dick will be managed from this day forward, and when you return to civilization, you'll be a good boy with a dick ready to serve whomever needs it, but like a Catholic altar boy, you'll always need someone else to relieve your sex heat. We'll improve your mind as well as your body, but your sexual appetite will be rendered ready but only satisfied with permission. See how just telling this to you has caused your big boy boner to get hard and wet again? You need discipline Carey, and that nine inch crowbar that used to be your pride and joy will be kept strictly under control and supervision for the good of everyone." Tears rolled down the soft, rosy cheeks. And the baseball cap now made him look more like a little boy, rather than the physically mature young stud he was. But no matter, he was about to leave his careless life behind, and be placed into a regimen that would lead to a life of financial success, and sexual performance unimagined when he used his callused fist to try and subdue his stubborn erections.
I pulled up a chair in front of Carey, and pulled over one of the rolling carts. On it were numerous wonderful devices designed to elicit the most out of sexual animals like him. For the next six months, devices like these would assist in preparing him for a life of permitted performance, and complete sexual release. I switched off the little vibrator, and slowly pulled it out of his asshole, the little bristles still glistening with the melted gel that continued to cause his rectum to itch furiously.
I took an eight inch little glass rod, that looked like a drink swizzle stick, with some stiff bristles protruding from one end. From the other, was a wire that attached to a console on the cart. When I switched on the current at the console, I took the buzzing device and held it up for Carey to see. His eyes opened wide with expectation, and a little fear, though while his torture had been excruciating it had not been very painful. I spoke to him as I moved the wand toward his bowed body, spread before me on the exam table: "This little magic wand is designed to 'tickle' your fancy, Carey. You will find that these little bristles are electrically charged, and when applied to places like your nipples, your navel, your ear lobes, your fingertips, your toes, and even the tender little lips of your boy pussy, or on the firm muscles of your abdomen or your thighs, that you will jump, like the shocks you get from playing with an electric train battery. The current creates a sharp, prickling sensation, that will speed up your breathing and your heart rate, but won't hurt you. Still, when I move it from spot to spot suddenly, and even touch it to your big hanging balls, or that fat knob on your lovely penis, it will dramatically catch your attention. But I won't let you be too distracted with my magic wand. Because while I'm using it, I will also use this...."
Carey began to scrabble in his bonds, his fingers flexing against the cuffs, his toes curling and his hips moving as much as they could with the spreader bar holding him in place. On my other hand was a glove, like a golf glove, only at each finger-tip and in the palm were a set of bristles, and from the palm end was another wire that connected to the console. The moment I touched my index finger to one of Carey's pointy tits, the bristles swirled in an oval as if they were a floor polisher in miniature. His rubbery nubbin jumped up to greet the tantalizing brushes as they soothed, itched and irritated at the same time. And when I closed my index finger and thumb together, the circular action, going in two different directions from each finger pad on his tit was sensational, causing his dick to lurch against his stomach, and splatter more sticky lube on his firm abdominal muscles, and into his hairy navel. "You see Carey, you won't have to worry about the shocks from my wand, because when these little soft brushes cling to your tit, search into your ear, tickle under you nose, burrow into your arm pits, investigate your feet, or soothe your ass crack, you'll be laughing too hard to think about the shocks.
Just for starters, I closed my glove fist around his prick stalk, and let the many little brushes gently spin polish his aching boner below the sensitive flange, while used the wand on his tits. The teenage fuck freak just went ballistic, thrashing and moving his head, gasping and gurgling, and whining behind his snug gag.
"nnnnnooooooo.....aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.......ooooooooooo hhhhhhhhhh...nnnnnoooooo....eeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.......mmmmmmmpppppphhhhhh ......ggggggaaaaaaaaaa...! I moved the wand alternately to each of the big hanging teenage balls now smelling sweetly rank with sweat and the starchy scent of sperm, and as the shocks sent him skyward, I slipped my fist up to let the whizzing finger bristles polish the sticky lube into the helpless cap of his unruly fuck stick. I think he began to lose his voice, and he was certainly about to shoot another load, when I moved the glove hand to his feet, and the wand to his navel.
Yes, young Carey and I were just beginning this special session. I spent the afternoon wringing four thick sets of scum from his big, robust balls, before I begin his supervised deprivation. I wanted him to remember how sweet ejaculation could be, and to have him hot and nasty for it behind those innocent green eyes, and that boy next door smile. The first ejaculation occurred when the wand was sparking his ass pucker through the thick red bush that hid the button hole, and just the thumb pad was whizzing against his circumcision scar. The way the huge plum of his oversized dick knob expanded and then the piss lips widened to shoot the jizz was truly memorable. His tits were like sharp tacks, jutting stiff and hard through the light fuzz and above the dark red curls that swirled just under his hard pecs. The strawberry nubs looked so delectable, that as he shot helplessly, I fastened my lips around one and sucked and twirled my tongue over the roiling, rubbery, dart. The next cum took thirty minutes to produce, but was as satisfying as the first two. I used the gloved hand to tickle up and down his thighs, into his hairy navel, under his sweat drenched arm pits, and into his ears, finally settling on his handsome, sexy feet. He squealed through the gag, laughing like a little boy tickled mercilessly, while I used the rod up and down his mindless erection. Ah, here was a boy whose dick hardened uncontrollably whenever his body was experienced a foreign touch. Velasquez described how once while they were stalking Officer Maloney and Carey, they watched as Maloney made the boy pull up his t-shirt before they entered a little hamburger joint out of town. After rolling and pinching the kid's tits, Carey had virtually splayed himself out against the car seat to be worked. Then Maloney had taken inside, and found a back booth. While the kid ate his dinner, Maloney unbuttoned Carey's jeans, and slowly masturbated him out of the sight of others. Later in the car, out on a dark and deserted road, he had stripped the boy naked and lay him over his lap, slowly fisting the kid's unrelenting bone, while he played with the tender tits. They said young Carey shot jolts of sperm well over his head, and all over his chest as Maloney grinned and milked the oversensitive fuck tip. He shot his load for me while the bristles danced over his heels and insteps, and the wand played about the flange of his aching wiener. While he only shot two ropes of cum this time, de drooled delightfully much more. The final cum was a special treat. I removed Carey's gag, and while he pleaded and begged, I fixed a two wide, short vibrator. I inserted the vibrator into his protesting mouth, and told him that if he dropped it, I would use a cock whip on his dick head. Then I turned on the vibrator and it tormented his palate and tongue, rattling his teeth when he was not careful. While he focused on keeping the vibrator in his mouth and avoiding the ticklish sensations it caused, I used the wand on his stomach, nipples, navel, balls, and toes. Eventually, my gloved fist rolled up and down his hapless fuck rod, hard against his will, and used the thumb on the broad helmet while the fingers were deployed around the overly sensitive flange. When he shot his cum, the sticky boy sperm merely rolled out of the dick lips, and drooled over his stalk. But I kept the bristles going until he could not stop himself, and spit out the vibrator to plead for his tortured glans:
OOOOOHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUCHHHH.....NNNNNOOOOOO...STOP, PLEASE
STOOOOOPPPPPP...I CAN'T TAKE IT....AAAAAAHHHHHHH.... NOT MY DICK
That was an afternoon to remember, and I found young Carey and irresistible boy toy, so ready to shot gism and so sexy. After two weeks of deprivation, after that afternoon, his most recent cum was his best. I slipped the bristle milker on his randy dick tip, but left his stalk without hand or mechanical stimulation. Then I used an electric dildoe with its french ticklers to massage his gripping anal walls, and the famous little wand here and there on his lovely body, especially his tit tips. The sticky juice that bolted out in ten long shots, and then drizzle down his prick, made quick a scene and a fantastic video. I then massaged into the aching, oversensitive prick knob, and the expression on his all-American face, and the helpless wails for mercy were enough to make me shoot off in my pants.
Whenever I get together with Carey alone, I have him recite every one of his memories of being sucked and drained before he came to the Asylum. He is required to go into extensive detail, and use the most nasty and vulgar language he can to describe how he felt and what was done to him. All that while I am working his lovely fuck stick towards an eventual explosion of sperm. Shit, I love to watch a randy boy cum without relief. Whenever we were through, Carey would sleep like a baby in spite of his fears about the next six months.
(to be continued...)
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