Stepson’s Doom – Part 9

To pay for his night alone with Colt, Martin Byron must make the ultimate sacrifice – turning over his son to the horny group of men.

Charlie Byron

Stepson’s Doom – Part 9
by Kronmire4
Art by Amalaric
Series: Stepson’s Doom

Only half an hour after his glorious solo adventure with Colt Murray, Martin Byron, exhausted from his sexual exertions with the helpless golden stepson of his friend, entered his own house just as the sun was rising on another day. He knew he would be too tired to attend the evening’s barn “festivities”, but that last night was more than enough to compensate; he was only interested in getting some well-deserved sleep. He had forgotten that his wife and daughter had left yesterday for a few days with their cousins a hundred miles away– in a way, that was a relief. But now he began to be tormented by what he must do before he could find sleep — he quietly crept up the staircase and slowly opened the door to his son’s room; as expected he found Charlie sleeping soundly — funny how teenagers could work and play for hours on end, but they slept hard, too. He didn’t want to awaken the lad but pulled up a chair, the only sound in the bedroom being the boy’s steady breathing. The father reached down and gently tousled the boy’s short, brown hair. He pulled back the sheet, uncovering the athletic form of the sturdy lad who was clad only in his jockey shorts and a form-fitting tee shirt, the brown hairs sticking out on the fellow’s thighs and calves. Mr. Byron’s gaze drifted up to admire his son’s firm torso through his thin cotton shirt, the taut nipples jutting out prominently from his well-developed young chest, and those strong arms which could ripple with muscular abandon when aroused, now lay at peace, their own brown curly hairs covering the forearms and tapering down to those strong, masculine fingers. Buried in his pillow, dreaming no doubt of girls and parties, the boy exposed his prominent face with its roman nose, hard jaw and suntanned visage. Although Charlie was his son, the father could not help but admire his beauty.

A subtle knock at the door downstairs interrupted Byron’s reverie, and he quickly and quietly made his way down the stairs to open the kitchen door. As expected, Les Caldwell was standing there grinning at him. Les only said, “Well, Byron, is Charlie ready?” The enormity of what he had promised now finally hit Martin Byron like a hay bale falling on him. What had he done! But he knew — and he knew he couldn’t go back. Before his adventure with Colt last night Les had had a conversation with him; basically, Les promised that Byron could have his way with young Colt — alone — from time to time, but only if he would surrender his own son to the perverted group of men he called his friends. Byron pleaded, “Les, couldn’t we rethink this? He’s my only son!” Les put his hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Well, Martin, if that’s the way you want it.” He paused as he watched Byron give a short shudder of relief, then continued: “Of course, this means you will never have another session with my stepson. It’s up to you, of course.” Byron was conflicted like no other time before in his life, and he watched as Caldwell smiled his little conceited grin — Caldwell wasn’t concerned — he knew what would happen. Byron shook off his indecision and said, “Well, you know as well as I do that I can’t do without Colt. May I some day be forgiven for this, but I must sacrifice Charlie.”

Caldwell, never unsure of the outcome for a moment, said, “Don’t worry, Martin. You’ll be able to visit the boy whenever you like — and even observe our little group’s ah…er….sessions with him — but perhaps not tonight. Besides you need your rest. No need to come upstairs with me. Is he asleep?” Byron nodded mechanically and couldn’t meet his neighbor’s gaze. “Fine. I have some chloroform with me. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” Byron sat down on a kitchen stool rather unsteadily. In less than five minutes he heard Caldwell on the stairs and soon he emerged in the kitchen with Charlie slung like a sack of flour over his shoulder; he knew the boy would be unconscious for at least an hour — long enough for Caldwell to get him back to his own farm. In his free hand Les had a couple of pairs of Charlie’s jeans. Noticing them Byron said, “Do you want more of his clothes?” Les replied, “No, he’ll only need jeans for the forced farm labor after he gets, shall we say, acclimated to his new home. The rest of the time he’ll be nude. Now I’m glad we built those new cells next to Colt — this way, the best friends can still be in touch every day — that’s what they wanted.” Then Caldwell laughed his fiendish laugh. Charlie’s limp body was quickly deposited in Caldwell’s pickup truck and Charlie’s father felt the last, bitter pangs of conscience as he watched the vehicle drive off, knowing that his son could never come home. But his lust for young Colt overwhelmed that conscience, and it never bothered him again. He fell fast asleep when he hit the bed.

Some hours later, long before the monthly “fun” would begin, Charlie woke up in the darkened Caldwell barn; still groggy from the effects of his sedation, at first he thought he was having a bad dream. Then he noticed that his wrists were aching — he couldn’t move them as they were evidently tied firmly above his head. From the sounds and smells he knew he was in some sort of rustic building, probably a barn. He remembered only going to sleep in his own bed, and now he was immobilized in some strange place. He started to yell: “HEY! WHERE AM I? WHAT’S GOING ON? LET ME OUT!!!!” There was no response, only the low snorts of nearby horses and other farm animals. Finally the boy gave up. Then he had a new hope — that this was all a joke played on him by his friends! Yeah, that was it — they’d be whooping and hollering and laughing when they came to free him. Sure, that must be the way it was. But as the minutes and hours dragged by, no one came, and Charlie’s limbs ached with pain — even his ankles were secured to the wooden floor beneath him. Then he thought he heard some more sounds, the rustling of chairs or clothing or something, but he knew he was imagining it. At long last he heard a loud bell ring, and then he blinked as strong lights came on, spotlights beaming down on his stretched-out lanky body. He was able to twist his neck around and saw that he was on a raised platform in the Caldwell barn. But why? As he continued to look around he saw another shackled prisoner about ten feet down the platform, secured the same as he was but also with a tight gag around his mouth — no wonder he had heard no sound from that stranger. But why were they both here? That question was about to be answered.

Another switch was pulled and softer lights illuminated the rest of the barn — including a row of seats directly in front of the platform holding the two young prisoners. By now Charlie Byron’s eyes had adjusted from the long period of darkness and noticed, one by one, that there were four men he knew in that row — Brent Potter, Elliott Pratt and Dave Blackert, followed by the barn’s owner, Les Caldwell. All were staring strangely at him, and Charlie felt uncomfortable hanging defenselessly in front of them wearing only his tight tee and his jockey shorts. But still he felt this might just be some kind of sick joke. Then Les Caldwell got up and came onto the platform, standing between the two captives. Facing the audience of neighbors, Les announced: “Gentlemen, tonight due to his rough time last night my stepson Colt will be unable to be with us.” There was a subdued groan at this news, but Les continued: “Never fear — he will be with us next time. And in the meantime we have not only that new arrival you …er…arrested last night, but also the son of our other neighbor, Martin Byron. I think all of you know Charlie here.” The men liked what they saw. Caldwell said: “Now men, you all know why we are here. We all like punishing handsome young men — and using them for our own erotic pleasures. Martin is not with us this evening since we are introducing his son to a new way of life….” This last comment was punctuated by loud guffaws from Coach Blackert. At this point Charlie yelled: “But Mr. Caldwell. What are you doing to me?” Caldwell grinned his wicked leer and replied, “Well, son tonight we are going to get to know you MUCH better than you could ever imagine!” The audience exploded with laughter, and Elliott Pratt shouted, “Get on with it, Caldwell. We want to see what the boy has to offer!” Caldwell acknowledged that request by circling around Charlie and then took out a pair of shears and, starting with the bottom hem of the boy’s shirt, began to slowly cut it all the way up to the neck seam; he then equally slowly used his fingers to tease the cotton fabric to each side, fully revealing the muscular lad’s torso, a firm upper body that elicited gasps of excited anticipation from the three men out front. Charlie had a light patch of brown hair across his chest, tapering down to his navel which had considerable hair extending down into his for-the-time-being covered crotch. The brown, large nipples were partially erect and were fully so as Caldwell’s fingers gripped and twisted them, bringing a short burst of angry snorts from young Byron: “STOP IT! KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELF!” Ignoring the rude outburst Caldwell took the shears and clipped away the sleeves of the tee so that the remains of the shirt fell to the platform; Charlie was bare to the waist now, and his panting and struggling made his fine abs stand out in raw relief. Les licked his own lips as he ran his hands over the unwilling captive’s hot body. Charlie could do nothing but strain and sway in his restraints, hoping against hope for rescue. Surely his dad would notice his absence and search for him! That’s it! He put all his faith in his dad. His dad would never let him be used by these horrible men — all he needed to do was wait. Les Caldwell knew the kid was thinking just that — and he wanted that hope to be nurtured as long as possible before dashing it. Ah, thought Caldwell, the innocent hopes of youth, how sweet — and how impossible! The violation of this virgin male was near, and his shock and humiliation that it was all due to his father would make the delights of this night even better. Les Caldwell’s hands drifted down over Charlie Byron’s heaving chest, down further over his panting belly, and finally extending to the straining boy’s loins.



  1. Avatar of Ron6677

    Ron6677 - January 1, 2018, 4:55 pm

    if i am not mistaken, this is a re-write…nice job kronmire…hope this is why it took so long to get this….would love a few more pictures but please keep them coming….thanks so much

  2. Avatar of scotts60143

    scotts60143 - January 2, 2018, 1:02 pm

    Great new chapter! Love the slow stripping…first the T shirt then next the undies? Very well written, and of course, love the Amal nips!

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