After he is securely cuffed and stripped of his shorts, the Coach Devereaux is chained up and left alone to contemplate his fate while the boys prepare their playroom.
Academy Thugs 5: Rendezvous at the Old Station House (Page 2)
by Amalaric
Art by Amalaric
Series: Academy Thugs
Devereaux stood, trembling with impotent rage and depthless humiliation…on proud display. The irony wasn’t lost on Joey Rosinsky as the pride was all his. The handsome blond PE coach, at last safely secured and completely helpless, did, indeed, present a fine sight. Pete, acutely aware of the barrel of his own gun pressed against his balls, had promptly obeyed Joey’s command, securing both hairy wrists within the cold embrace of stainless steel. Securely cuffed, he was then ordered to raise his arms and clasp both bound hands behind his head. Joey, almost reluctantly, removed the barrel of the pistol from between the coach’s clenched thighs but still kept the head of the prod in position just above the elastic waistband of his briefs. ‘Get the rest of his clothes off,’ He nodded toward Boz, ‘but leave his briefs for now; I like the sight of a man wearing nothing but a loincloth.’ ‘Right, Joey!’ A grinning Boz Harding set immediately to work and in no time at all Pete’s pooled levis, desert boots and white athletic socks joined the pile of discarded clothing on the filthy floor. Finally, his ankles were bound with a second set of cuffs that, nevertheless, possessed a slightly wider spread, allowing the big jock just enough leeway to shuffle on command. At last, Joey Rosinsky broke the contact between Pete and the electric prod and joined Boz six feet in front of the tall captive in order to survey and savor his prize.
‘I can’t fucking believe this!!’ Boz, nearly beside himself with excitement, drank in the sight of the shackled PE coach stripped down to his briefs- back straight, hairy chest thrust forward, with arms raised and force-flexed, hands clasped firmly behind his handsome head, flattening the slabbed muscle of pecs and abs and exposing deep pits. Joey had ordered Pete to spread his legs as far as the short chain on the ankle cuffs would allow and the muscular length of his tanned legs, glinting with short blond fur, completed the picture of masculine symmetry. ‘Go ahead,’ Joey smiled, ‘and play with him some more; I know you want to. Besides,’ he added, ‘I get a kick out of watching the, um, foreplay.’ ‘Can I haul his cock out and mess around with that for a while too?’ Boz’s eyes, entreating as a puppy’s, begged for the ultimate treat but Joey shook his head, ‘Save that for later, dude…’ yet, arching a dark eyebrow, he added mysteriously, ‘let’s see how creative you can get without dropping the poor guy’s shorts.’
The slow smile that creased Boz’s face signaled his comprehension and the game immediately commenced. Devereaux winced as the punk’s spidery fingers danced across the hairy expanse of his chest, teasing both bronze nipples to scandalized erection. With the memory of the electric prod still vivid in his mind, the PE coach forced himself to stand rigidly still even though every other instinct, other than the remembered fear, shrieked of the necessity to lower his arms and violently push the loathsome pervert away. What Devereaux was unable to control, however, were the involuntary flinches and tremors as Boz Harding stroked and prodded the tense muscles of his back, chest, and abs. For his part, Boz found that, and the obvious added embarrassment it caused the big stud, to be great fun and he amused himself by lightly stroking the rippling fleshscape of Pete’s naked torso for several minutes until, finally tiring of the game, he turned his bright attention to the distinct bulge in the captive’s tight briefs. ‘You’ve already seen his cock, right Joey?’ Joey nodded and licked his lips, noting a crystalline bead of nervous sweat meander across the golden expanse of Devereaux’s taut diaphragm. ‘You bet,’ he said, ‘and it was all you could hope for- the stud’s hung like a fucking horse…and,’ he added, ‘with big, packed nuts that, I swear, could double as ping pong balls (Hey!!! That gives me an idea…).’ Grinning, he dared the blushing prisoner to look him in the eye, ‘What do you say, coach? Must have taken two jockstraps to keep all of that hot meat inside your gym shorts.’ But Devereaux kept his silence, visibly shaking with tension as Boz casually fingered the head of his penis pressed against the thin fabric of his briefs. ‘OK, dude, enough warm-ups, it’s time to put Coach Devereaux through some real paces.’ Joey sensed that Pete was nearing his breaking point and, though he had no worries that the hobbled captive could ever escape, he was nevertheless concerned that the muscular coach was still quite capable of lowering his arms and doing Boz Harding some real damage before being subdued by the prod.
Pete Devereaux was frog-marched to another part of the labyrinthine building with recourse to the persuasive authority of the electric prod that Joey kept charged at its lowest level. Just to make things interesting, he occasionally brushed the prod’s snub tip against one of Pete’s pumping muscles and reckoned, by the intensity of the surprised yelp or resigned groan, that it must have resembled a bee sting; irritating, to be sure, but not overly debilitating. On the contrary, the shambling buck made good time as he was directed to a small room and ordered to take a seat on the cold floor where, though his ankles were released from their shackles, he remained immobilized as his arms were raised by a secure chain attached to the cuffs on his wrists. ‘Take a break, coach,’ Joey smirked, ‘Boz and I have a few preparations to finish up over in the…um…play room. We’ll come back for you in a little while and then, well, it’s time to rock and roll.’ Stepping through the open door, he switched off the overhead light and, when the door was shut and bolted, Pete Devereaux was plunged into a darkness that matched his desolate spirit.
The hour or so spent waiting in the darkened room, however, also gave the handsome blond captive time to reflect and, miraculously, Pete discovered new depths of inner strength and a renewed flicker of resolve aimed at resistance. Got to kill that fucker. The thought, like a bright red mantra, helped him to regain his focus…got to kill that fucker, and GET OUT OF HERE…and even to begin, albeit tentatively, always fighting a dark undercurrent of debilitating anxiety, to form a plan.
The sound of the sliding bolt was quickly followed by a blinding glare of light as Joey and Boz, having completed preparations for the torture of Pete Devereaux, returned to fetch the captive. Pete blinked prickling tears from his sky-blue eyes, battling a vertiginous feeling of disorientation as the brightness assaulted his senses. ‘Rise and shine,’ Joey chirped,’ releasing Devereaux’s cuffed wrists from the restraint of the overhead chain. Rubbing chaffed wrists, still secured by cold steel, and ambling slowly to his feet, Devereaux made a snap decision and, fast as lightening, landed a solid kick in the vicinity of Joey Rosinsky’s groin before ramming both cuffed fists straight up the side of Boz Harding’s thick skull. Joey squealed like a stuck pig, clutching his groin, while Boz went down in an unconscious heap on the concrete floor. Now I’m gonna kill the little fucker…and get that damn prod, and my gun…and the key to these cuffs… Pete’s narrowed eyes shouted blue murder as he tensed to cross the narrow room where Joey stood massaging his bruised nuts and, recognizing the outraged coach’s intent, he swallowed hard attempting to push the pain away…and scrabbled through the open door. Joey quickly disappeared into the long late afternoon shadows that filled the abandoned building. Devereaux, though right behind his adversary, had somehow already lost the initiative. Stripped to his undershorts, with wrists still closely cuffed, he plunged into the gathering darkness of rambling corridor and abandoned space, completely disoriented yet somehow certain that the wily Joey Rosinsky knew all of the twists and turns of the old building very, very well.
‘Shit!’ Devereaux cursed as the shard of glass sliced into the sole of his bare foot. The abandoned building was littered with dangerous trash. He had been wandering through deepening shadow for twenty minutes without spotting his adversary but, nevertheless, sensed that Joey was nearby…and the fucker still possessed both the electric prod and Pete’s loaded pistol. Finding, and neutralizing, Joey Rosinsky was, however, only one of Devereaux’s objectives; escape from the station house to the safety of a city street or pubic space, even stripped to his briefs and handcuffed, was an equally important parallel goal. Should have paid more attention coming inside, Pete thought ruefully, though he had obviously had other urgent matters to consider and, besides, was unaware that Joey had carefully bolted all doors feeding to an exit and, of course, the exits themselves. Leaving the dead-end of yet another litter-strewn room and turning a corner into a corridor he had no recollection of having seen before, the coach was both surprised, yet oddly unsurprised, by the sight of a grinning Joey Rosinsky standing a few feet in front of him. ‘Payback time!’ Joey giggled, and thrust the business end of the charged prod straight into his PE coach’s groin.
Pete Devereaux had a vague recollection of a blinding white light that, impossibly, was felt before seen. The explosive pain, blossoming like the mushroom cloud of an exploded nuclear warhead just beneath his balls, was so exquisite in its intensity that the agonized shriek gathering in his throat was still-born; choked back by a reflexive convulsion so massive that he nearly swallowed his tongue. There was, of course, another reason for the silence as, a split second after the onslaught of agony, Pete’s vision became obscured by a tsunami of throbbing light and he fell over, mercifully unconscious, embracing the cold oblivion of a moldy carpet.