GayBondageFiction

Demi-God Hercules is sexually violated while fighting the cunning Hydra in this tentacle bondage story by Otherside.

Hercules – Part 1: Hercules and The Hydra
by Otherside
Series: Hercules

Introduction

Hercules, the demigod son of the god of heaven and thunder Zeus and the mortal woman Alcmene, is renowned for his great strength and endurance that no man in Greece can surpass. He was living peacefully with his beloved wife, Megara. Together they had three beautiful sons. But the jealous Hera sent madness on Hercules which caused him to murder his own family. Hercules’ perfect life was ruined with his guilt persecuting him.

In order to cleanse himself from his guilt, Hercules consulted the Oracle of Delphi. The priestess told him to submit himself under the rule of his cousin, Eurystheus, king of Mycenae. Hercules did so; he went to Mycenae and humbly submitted himself to King Eurystheus.

Eurystheus is of a cunning and envious nature. He’d heard stories about his cousin Hercules and his adventures and about how the people of Thebes admire and idolize the demigod. It seemed that the name of his cousin is so renowned in the land of Greece that it almost outweighed the name of a king.

And so when Hercules came before him, Eurystheus thought of ways on how he can make Hercules’ life a little harder. The king of Mycenae accepted Hercules’ service and started toying on the demigod.

Eurystheus tasked Hercules to do certain labors that would be impossible for a mere mortal to accomplish. The first task was to kill the lion in Nemea. There’s no weapon on earth that could wound the fearsome lion. However, the lion was no match for a demigod’s strength. Hercules easily choked the lion and killed it. He returned in Mycenae carrying the dead lion on his back. Eurystheus, upon seeing the demigod’s success, proved to himself that Hercules possessed incredible might. The king of Mycenae felt threatened and frightened. He refused to let Hercules in his kingdom. He just gave his next order through a herald.

The next labor of Hercules is to kill the monster inhabiting the swamps of Lerna. It was a monster known as Hydra.

Hercules and Hydra

It was a long travel that Hercules took in order for him to reach the swamps of Lerna. Sweat trickled down his face as the hot rays of the sun shone on his tan muscular body. He sported short brown hair and beard encircling his mouth and chin. Hercules’ face reflected the beauty of a god and the masculine features of a man. He was an ideal image of masculinity and strength.

In the middle of his journey, he met his nephew named Ioalus. Iolaus was of a great beauty too, having a muscular body and handsome face. Being a great charioteer, Iolaus offered his uncle a ride to the site. Hercules accepted his nephew’s help and he rode on the chariot with Iolaus.

When they finally reached Lerna, the men decided to stop at a nearby town before the demigod faced the horrible monster. They entered a tavern offering wine and other alcoholic drinks. Hercules liked to drink especially when he was about to go to a great battle.

“Another man was devoured by Hydra,” said one of the men in the tavern.

“That monster is such a plague. I wonder when will the gods act to stop that monster from terrorizing us,” uttered another man.

Hercules approached them and declared with confidence, “It’s not the gods who will subdue that monster, I myself will kill it.”

The men laughed upon hearing Hercules’ words. “Who do you think you are to say that you will kill the Hydra. The Hydra has taken many lives. Any creature that happens to wander in the swamp will surely be eaten by the monster.”

“I assure you I will kill the monster,” Hercules said shortly. The demigod turned to his nephew, “Let’s go Iolaus. I’ve drunk enough. Let’s go and kill the Hydra.”

Iolaus stood from his seat and followed his uncle. Hercules gathered his weapons and the two of them went on their way.

“You are going to your death!” the man shouted at them as they exited the tavern.

The two ventured deep into the woods. On their way to the swamp, they met a hermit living in the deep woods.

“I know who you are. You are the son of Zeus. You are Hercules,” the hermit declared.

“I am,” Hercules claimed. “Do you know where the swamp of Lerna is?”

“Why are you looking for the swamp? Don’t you know that a horrible creature is living in there?” the hermit asked.

“I know about it. The Hydra isn’t it? I am here to kill it,” Hercules answered in firm voice.

“You are a brave man to face the hydra. Go straight on your way and you will reach the swamp and there in a cave, the Hydra dwells. May your father guide you,” the hermit told him.

Together with his nephew, Hercules continued and they finally reached the murky swamp of Lerna. He easily spotted the mouth of the cave where the Hydra lives. He took some of his arrows and coated it with some fabric strips while Iolaus took some stones and rubbed it together to make some fire. He set the fabric coated tips on fire. He aimed the flaming arrows to the mouth of the cave. One by one he shot the flaming arrows until the mouth of the cave was covered in flames. A loud roar came from the cave and the horrible Hydra finally came out from its lair.

The thunderous roar of the Hydra broke the silence of the swamp. A serpent like head came out from the cave.

“That’s the Hydra? Looks like a giant snake,” Iolaus uttered.

Soon after, multiple heads started to come out from the cave. It was revealed that the Hydra has nine heads.

“Now it doesn’t look like a snake anymore,” Iolaus said.

Aside from multiple heads, the fearsome Hydra also had multiple tails that act as coils or tentacles. It’s body, like a snake, was covered by scales and in its mouth were rows of sharp teeth.

“Face your death now Hydra!” Hercules yelled as he took his sword and charged at the monster.

The monster replied with a roar from its nine heads. Hercules and Hydra started to face each other. Hercules attacked with his sword. He attempted to wound the monster but the Hydra was fast enough to evade the attack. Hercules slashed the monster and he was finally able to wound it. The monster roared in pain. The Hydra attacked with one of its heads. The demigod did another slash with his sword and chopped off the head. The neck that once held the head wriggled in pain. But to Hercules’ surprise, two heads started grow from the wounded neck! The chopped off head was replaced and an additional one emerged.

“The head grew back into two!” Iolaus exclaimed.

“It’s a challenge I must accept,” Hercules uttered. The demigod yelled aloud as he attacked the Hydra. He was able to cut one of the coils of the monster.

The Hydra roared louder. The monster’s eyes were burning with rage. Hercules charged once more to attack the monster. The monster opened one of it’s mouths and a harsh breath came out. The harsh chemicals in the monster’s breath dissolved the fabric of Hercules’ shirt. The demigod decided to just rip off his shirt. His muscular torso was revealed, his shoulders and chest were broad and muscular. Muscles bulged on his abdomen.

Hercules attacked once more again chopping off one of its heads. “Iolaus! Burn the wound with fire!” Hercules shouted to his nephew.

Iolaus took a tree branch and set it on fire with the flames he had created earlier. With the burning branch, Iolaus burned the open wound hindering the head from growing back.

The Hydra roared and kicked Iolaus off with one of its coils. Iolaus lost his hold of the burning branch and stumbled on the ground.

“Iolaus!” Hercules shouted in concern for his nephew.

“Don’t worry, I’m still alive,” Iolaus said as he tried to stand up.

“You’re going to pay for hurting my nephew!” Hercules said to the monster as he attacked again.

The Hydra sprayed Hercules with its harsh breath. Hercules evaded the breath but the gas was able to dissolve the fabric of his remaining garment. Hercules was now completely naked.

“Hercules, you’re naked. All of your body was now exposed. Retreat now and try to kill the Hydra another day!” Iolaus told him.

“There’s no way I’m going to retreat! I’m going to fight the Hydra with or without clothes!” Hercules said.

The demigod was unmindful even if he was all exposed. His penis was still soft and drooped in front of his huge pair of testicles that dangled between his muscular legs. Hercules attacked the monster once more. His genitals bounced between his legs as he ran toward the monster cutting off another coil.

The Hydra refused to let the demigod win attacking once again with its breath. Hercules was close enough to be hit by the breath causing irritation on the skin of his left arm turning it red with a burning sensation.

“Aaah!” Hercules groaned.

Hercules ran around to avoid the Hydra’s breath but one of its coils caught his foot. Unable to escape, the Hydra breathed on him again. Hercules was able to cut off the coil before the breath could reach him but the harsh gas touched his broad muscular chest. Hercules ran to safety behind a huge rock.

“Aaah! Aaaah!” Hercules groaned in pain as his chest flashed red and felt as if on fire.

Hercules emerged from the rock and faced the Hydra once more. He attacked the Hydra and chopped off one of its heads. Iolaus quickly grabbed the burning branch and burned the wound. Hercules attacked again while avoiding the Hydra’s harsh breath. He chopped off another head then another. Iolaus took care of burning the wounds to prevent the heads from growing back. Hercules continued attacking the Hydra until only two heads remain.

The Hydra was exhausted and severely wounded. The monster knew it must think of a way to get rid of Hercules or else it would die. The Hydra thought of a plan. The monster roared and a huge crab came out from the mud.

“The monster called a friend for help!” Iolaus uttered.

Hercules was about to attack but the crab grabbed his foot with its pincers.

“Aaaah!” Hercules groaned in pain. He kicked the crab away and punched it with a great force that it broke its shell.

The Hydra took the opportunity to attack Hercules wrapping its coils around the demigod’s arms and feet and held him securely. Hercules’ arms and feet were spread wide as the coils held them firmly in place.

Hercules struggled to break free but the coils were too strong. Then another coil grabbed his most sensitive part, his penis!

“Aaaah!” Hercules screamed as the coil wrapped tightly around his penis.

A pair of coils travelled to his chest. The tips of the coils touched his nipples and Hercules started to feel heat in his body. Another coil approached the demigod’s penis and touched its sensitive head.

“Aaaah! Ooooh!” Hercules’ groan turned into moan of pleasure. His penis started to grow. The Hydra loosened its grip on his penis to give it space to erect. The monster continued its dirty tactics until the demigod’s private member was fully erect then the Hydra tightened again its coil around Hercules’ penis.

“Hercules! The Hydra is distracting you by using your sexual drive!” Iolaus yelled at him but the demigod’s mind was distracted by the pleasure.

The Hydra’s coil started to move up and down along Hercules’ hard penis. The slimy feeling of Hydra’s skin added some pleasure, it felt like Hercules was pounding the tightest and slimiest vagina in Greece.

“Oooooh!” Hercules moaned as the coils continue playing with his nipples as well as with the head of his penis. The coil that held his penis moved up and down along the shaft causing precum to start spurting out.

“Hercules!” Iolaus shouted.

Hercules finally came back to his senses but the pleasure was still distracting him. “I have to kill you,” Hercules uttered in the middle of the overwhelming pleasure.

He struggled to move his right arm so that he could use his sword. He was able to move his arm and chop off the coils playing with his nipples. Then, he proceeded to cut the coils wrapping around his arms. Both of his arms were free, he proceeded to cut the coils around his feet. But the Hydra wouldn’t let Hercules free. With a coil still around his erect penis, the Hydra moved another coil and plunged it inside Hercules’ ass!

“Aaaaah!” Hercules screamed as the coil entered his anus. He dropped on his knees with his hands on the ground. The coil moved in and out of his anus. “Aaaaah!” Hercules groaned. “Ooooh!” He started to moan as the coil moved in and out of his anus and another coil moved up and down along his erect penis.

“Hercules!” Iolaus shouted.

“Ooooh!” Hercules moaned. He tried to stand up and approach the monster though he could barely walk with the coil still in his anus. With a slash, he was able to cut one of its head.

Iolaus rushed to burn the wound. “Hercules cut the remaining head now!”

Hercules aimed his sword and slashed the only remaining head but the sword could not cut through its neck! The Hydra roared as it pounded harder on Hercules’ anus and moved along his penis faster.

“Ooooh! Aaaaah!” Hercules moaned as the pleasure was reaching its peak. His penis was throbbing and his precum was drooling. Hercules fell on his knees as the pleasure overwhelmed him.

“I will kill you!” Hercules yelled. He stood up and his incredible strength allowed him to lift up a gigantic boulder with an ease.

“Aaaaaah!” Hercules yelled as he smashed the boulder on the monster. The coils in his anus and around his penis dropped as the Hydra lost it’s life.

“Aaaaaah!” he yelled. And as the boulder crashed the Hydra, Hercules’ hips started to move involuntarily. His precious cum started to squirt from his hard huge penis. His testicles dangled as he ejaculated his cum which landed on the boulder that crashed the Hydra.

“It will be the mark that I, Hercules, killed you,” the demigod declared as he stepped his foot on the boulder. The remaining drop of his cum fell on the boulder.

Iolaus quickly approached his uncle. “You were able to kill the Hydra!” he greeted his uncle. Iolaus ripped his shirt and handed it to Hercules. Hercules took the fabric and wrapped it around his waist to cover his privates.

Hercules dipped his arrows on the monster’s poisonous blood then took one of the heads as a proof that he killed the monster. The two of them left the swamp. On their way to the woods, they again met the hermit.

“You are victorious in killing the monster,” the hermit uttered upon seeing the head carried by Hercules. “It’s my honor to receive a demigod as a guest. Take some rest in my abode and I will treat your wounds,” the hermit offered.

The two accepted the hermit’s offer. They went inside the hermit’s house in the middle of the woods. The hermit made an ointment from herbs and applied it on Hercules’ arm and chest. Hercules felt a relief as the cool ointment touched his skin. The hermit gave them clothes they could wear and served them food. After they had eaten, the two thanked the hermit and made on their way back to Mycenae.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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A submissive bondage virgin is trained by his dominant celebrity boyfriend in another hot story by Billy Mist.

Boy Toy
by Billy Mist

My name is Drake and I’m in a monogamous relationship with a gorgeous, smart and very sexy man. But this story isn’t about him. It’s been years since I even thought about another man in terms of sex and or cheating. But every now and then I sit  back and reminisce to the days when I was with the first man who changed me. When I say changed I don’t mean changed my hair or they way I dress. I mean the way I lust, the things I want and the things that make my mouth water. He changed the simple nuances of sexuality that make my cock jump in my pants. I don’t want to use his real name here for obvious reasons, so for the sake of this story let’s call him Michael.

I was living in midtown at the time and working in PR. A far cry from my new place as a house-boy with the love of my life. As a part of my position, I was required to go to many celebrity parties and industry events. Try explaining how boring this gets to anyone else and you’ll get looks of confusion and bewilderment. But Michael got me. He knew the trivialities of fundraisers and celebrating the newest bullshit endeavour that some B-List celebrity had suckered their friends into paying for. I was over it. This particular party was at a very famous museum in New York City. I’ll keep that part a mystery too because I don’t want to risk giving you unnecessary information. I was working quite a long day and was at a level of exhaustion and frustration that is quite common in my old profession. Around midnight after a series of speeches and some toasting with vintage bottles of Perrier Jouet Belle, I took a chance to hide behind one of the many marble pillars supporting the massive space and inadvertently collided with a blur of blue eyes and curly black hair. As tends to happen when two people collide there was a bit of a mess and a moment of being mortified followed by an awkward minute of laughter and napkin dabbing. I was profusely apologizing when my eyes traveled from the wet spot I had made on this poor man’s pants up to his Versace vintage graphic button down and then I stopped at his mouth. His perfect wide teeth were framed by soft pale lips glued into a wide Cheshire grin, outlined by dimples on either side. I allowed my eyes to travel upwards further to a button nose that was sitting below two almond shaped pools of Caribbean blue. His thick but perfectly groomed brows were furrowed in his laughter. I recognized him instantly and I became a crimson frown in an unbearable state of shame. I had seen many of his films and in fact had masturbated to thoughts of him on numerous occasions. I didn’t recall seeing his name on the list of invites and so I had to assume he was there with a date. Likely some gorgeous vapid model type or perhaps another self important film star, god knows that our party was full of them.

I stuttered more apologies as he put out his hand to stop me, still laughing. These hands were now the focus of my attention. Manicured, buffed nails and a minimal amount of dark hair with long fingers and a strong grasp. This would be the first time those hands touched me. Later I would come to know the things those hands could do to a man. The kinds of things that brought you to your knees in pleasure and brought you to your knees in pain. The kind of hands that could torture you until it felt so good you begged for the mercy of release because the only thing left to do was to cum and let these hands rocket you to somewhere else, somewhere off this planet.

I came up from my one knee and let his hand rest on me while he assured me that I was not in fact at fault and that he was responsible for the mishap. He signaled me to stay put and he walked off. ‘Great,’ I thought to myself, ‘I never look where I’m going.’ I sat, hands shaking now, waiting for his return. Moments later he returned with the same grin and two more glasses of champagne. Gratefully I accepted and we clinked. This small gesture of kindness made me want to please him. His celebrity made me want to please him. His larger than life presence and that beautiful, beautiful smile all left me wishing I could please him.

I introduced myself hastily and nervously and he gave me his name, confirming his identity and almost shyly to me and under his breath, added, “When are you finished here?”

I was less taken aback and more surprised which he recognized on my face and immediately began to explain himself, “I didn’t mean it the way you think i did. I apologize it’s just i thought maybe i could take you for a drink to make it up to you. It seems I’ve ruined your shirt.”

I looked down to see the remnants of his glass of Perrier on the front of my shirt. The material clung to my chest, revealing my hardened nipples and the top of my chiseled abdominals, a result of combining very little time to eat with my strict fitness regime. I saw his own eyes travel from my perked nipples down to my abs and still further down! He was checking me out. His eyes came back to meet mine and now it was his turn to be embarrassed. I could see a rosy flush come to his cheeks. Later in our time together  I would see that same flush dozens times as we shared intimate moments. But for now all we could do was smile at each other.

“I can let my assistant close up shop here if you like. I’ll chalk it up to a business discussion.” I chimed.

A half hour later we left the party together. The first of many parties we would leave together.

It was months later when I learned the first lesson in fetish pleasure that Michael would give me. This was a party that he had thrown. His apartment was somewhere we spent minimal time, not to say that it wasn’t absolutely magnificent. We were a very active couple as a result of the nature of our career choices but we traveled together under the guise of me being his publicist mainly because he hadn’t come out to the public. As he explained it to me it was an opportunity for me to meet many of his friends and for them to meet me. I was glad to be included in his life in this way and as always, I wanted to please him.

The party was everything expected. Decadent, fabulous and filled with beautiful people. The night started with a dinner party and ended with a small plate of cocaine, a new 100 dollar bill rolled neatly with a rubber band around it and bottles of vintage wine and champagne. I had never really partied much after college but now the night had dwindled the gathering down to a small group of four people and Michael was looking to me imploringly. I picked up the bill between my fingers daintily, pinky up, as if it made a difference. I snorted half the white powdered line in one swift motion and coughed. There was a numbness spreading down my throat and a tingle that erupted over my skin traveling outwards to all my limbs and leaving in its wake a trail of goosebumps and hairs on end. I smiled and went in for the other half, Michael’s hand resting gently on my lower back. The second half went down easier and his touch became deeper as i bent over, making my pelvis come alive. I felt a swift rush and an immediate sense of urgency. I looked over to my gorgeous boyfriend to see him smiling at me.

Like any other time this happened, I felt a surge of longing for him. Only this emotion was now intensified by the high I was floating on. The plate went around the table of friends and when each had had their share Michael stood up and spoke. “I thought maybe we could get to know each other more. I mean, the way that we all know each other.” he said as he nodded to his two remaining friends who smiled back at me as if I was supposed to know what he meant. He turned to me, his blazing blue eyes now large and intense. “I have interests.” he paused. “I have specific interests in things I have yet to share with you. More specifically, I have sexual interests. And I want them to be your interests.” He looked to his friends who were looking to me. “I only want you to experience the kind of pleasure that we have discovered and shared, because I care for you. Because it pleases me.” This was my weakness. My need to please him was greater than all other needs. My need to satisfy him had existed since that moment I spilled my vintage champagne over his perfectly pressed shirt.

He sauntered over the a closet in the hallway that I had never opened before and motioned for me to follow. Grins spread on our guests faces. This whole time we were together I had assumed this closet was for cleaning supplies but to my shock it was set up like a hardware store. Red paint bloodied the walls inside and a black spreader bar harness hung from the ceiling. The sides of the closet were lined with black peg boards on which various tools hung. In my shocked state I could make out leather handcuffs with chain links dangling off them. I saw blindfolds made of leather. I glimpsed towards the middle of the left wall to see ropes in various thicknesses and lengths hanging invitingly. On the right side I could see things that I never imagined my sweet, sweet Michael would have. Enormous, thick, veined dildos hung menacingly. A series of whips with varying tips lay flat against the black surface. My mouth went agape. Michael’s hand came to my shoulder, comfortingly. I looked to the back of the closet to see a clothes rack of shiny materials, leather outfits, full head to toe bodysuits. Some of the suits were open in the front and back. I swung my head right again to look above the dildos where a shelf with lubes and powders and jars of strange waxes lay.

“I want you to want this.” Michael said, eyeing me wide eyed. “I want to own you. I want you to put on a suit and be all mine, all of you, every inch, until i tell you to take it off. Can you do this for me? Can you let me take you and make you belong to me?” he asked me. I looked at the other guests and back to him. “They are here to help,” he said,” I can send them away if you like but I promise you they will make this better for you, for us.”

“What do i do?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear, sending a shock down my spine, “Whatever I say.”  

My cock came alive with his breath in my ear.  His voice was my kryptonite, something i could not deny. My urge to please him was ever present. “I. I. I want to but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” I stammered.

Michael took me by the hands. Behind him I could see his friends begin to unrobe. One was larger, more muscular and had a full erection by this time. His cock was pink, smooth and shiny. He had strong legs and dark hair. The other was smaller, a twink. He was thin and lanky but he had the most massive penis I had ever seen. His balls were hanging below a soda can shaped cock that made my jaw drop. His long brown hair hit his shoulders and his smile was one sided, reminding me of Elvis.  

I was shaking, nervous and my high was wearing off. Michael signaled one of the friends and he brought me the plate of cocaine which I gratefully helped myself to, the taste still in my mouth as Michael kissed me, deeply, his tongue running over my numb teeth and tickling my own. He pulled my shirt over my head gently. My nipples were hard and he kissed one, grabbing it between his teeth and pulling it. I gasped and the two men came closer to us. He removed the bar from the ceiling and brought it to the living room attaching it to a wire that I had noticed dangling on other occasions. Only I never knew why.

Michael came back to me and motioned for my hands, which he cuffed, getting rougher now. “I want you to put this on, “ he said, reaching far behind me to grab a black latex suit with a mask and a hole where the crotch should be. “I found that covering the face helps with shyness. It excites me as well.”

And with that he stripped my pants off me in one swift motion. I was ashamed and tried to cover myself, but he slapped my hands away. “You belong to me now, darling. There is no need to be ashamed. Everything you do will be as you are told to do. Every motion, every movement, every sensation will be an order from me.”

He was talking as he was dressing me, carefully zipping my body into the skin tight suit. He pulled the mask over my head and to my relief the mouth and eyes were cut outs, letting me breath and see easily. I looked down and saw my exposed cock, dangling, semi hard. My hands were cuffed and hanging loosely at my sides. I looked back to Michael who was talking to me, but I wasn’t hearing what he was saying, my mind wandering. He slapped me and said my name.

“Now baby, i don’t want to hurt you but daddy needs you to pay attention to him when he talks ok? How can you be a good slave if you don’t pay attention?” he asked calmly.

I was failing him. I needed to be better at pleasing him. I wanted to make him happy. His happiness was everything. I hung my head, “I am sorry daddy. I can do better.” I said ashamedly.

He cooed at me now, “That’s a good boy. Come with daddy.” and he took me to the living room, my genitals and my backside exposed to the party guests who were looking at me like a piece of meat. I wanted to feel ashamed but the urge to please him was stronger than that. He pulled my arms over my head and attached the cuffs to the bar. I had butterflies in my stomach.

“Daddy is going to tie you up,” he said as I looked up at my hands which were restrained above me and I looked back at him and he shook his head, “no no baby, down here.” and he grabbed my cock and my balls hard which made me cry out.

“But.” I began to protest and he raised his hand far behind and hit me, hard, on my semi hard cock.

“Daddy doesn’t like you arguing with me. Are you going to be a good boy?” he asked. I shook my head fervently. I did not want to be hit again. I wanted to please him, so I went slightly limp and let him have control of me. He took my cock and balls again in his hands and powdered it with baby powder, pulling several ropes from his pocket. He motioned to the thinner house guest and ordered him to put his fingers inside me. I wanted to struggle, to cry out against it and to tell him no but as I heard him spitting on his fingers and I saw the immensely satisfied look my boyfriend had on his face I relaxed against his fingers and instead pushed against them feeling them slide into me and I began to move myself up and down on them.

I saw the great pleasure this gave my boyfriend and with this my cock grew hard. I was watching him intently, all the while moving my hips. He took first my balls and wrapped them, going around each one individually and then the entire sack as a whole. I want to say that it was uncomfortable, and it hurt, but it was also erotic and pleasurable in the way that it pulled them down and squeezed around them enveloping me in a constant pressure hold. I could feel them more now than i had ever noticed before. They seemed to throb and tingle. Then he took the same rope and began to wind it around my now very hard cock. Around and around, tightly he wound the rope all the while stroking my very sensitive sack.

“Does baby like this?” he cooed. I shook my head fervently. “Does baby want daddy to touch him more?” he asked. I again shook my head. “First,” he said,” I need you to be a good boy and take our friend deep inside you. You musn’t struggle. I want you to open up wide, ok ?”

I shook my head and opened my mouth but the moment I realized that in fact my mouth was too high up for me to take anyone inside it I felt a pinch behind me as the smaller guest was forcing himself into me. In this moment of pain I could not hold my cries inside and I let one escape. The agony was harsh at first, pressure now enveloping both my stretched hole and my tightly wound dick and balls. Michael came close to me and kissed me deeply, stifling my cry while I was being plunged deeply from behind.

A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead and Michael looked me in my eyes before he slowly ran his tongue up along my face, following the path the sweat had left behind. Then he took me in his hands and reached between my legs to grab the cock that was stretching me apart. He pulled it out of me and rubbed my ass, putting one finger inside me and swirling it around. That felt incredible. I was immensely relieved and I was given the chance to relax now. His motions turned faster and faster sending swirls of pleasure throughout my tightly bound regions.

He nodded to the other man from the party who out of the corner of my eye I could see was stroking his cock. He came up behind me, his breath on my neck and I could feel Michael guiding his cock into my ass, slowly slipping it inside me. He stood up and kissed me again, plunging his tongue into my mouth in sync with the pumping cock behind me and this time I felt pleasure. Michael began to touch me lightly on my cock, which was now tied swollen against the ropes. I felt his breath close to me now and realized my eyes were closed tightly.

“I want you to beg daddy. Beg daddy to make you cum.” he said to me looking in to my eyes. I could see his beautiful blue pools staring into me and I began to plead with him, my asshole growing tighter and my insides humming around the cock that was pushing in and out of me. I was relaxing against it and it began to slip in and out rubbing against my pleasure zones. The sensations and sensitivities began to grow more intense. I felt it running through my entire pelvis like a volcano bubbling.

“Oh my god, oh my god, please. I cant take it anymore,” I cried out, “Please Michael please, help me. I help me cum.” I begged. I was begging him now, almost on the verge of tears, all the sensations happening at once, overloading my senses. Michael dropped to his knees, still looking into my eyes and pulled the rope from my cock. The pain shot through me at first and then at once turned into the most intense pleasurable sensation when I saw my cock disappear into his perfect soft lips. He plunged me into his orifice, running his tongue along the bottom of my delicate cock and over the head, the heat of his tongue being followed by the coolness of his wet trail.

Things i never noticed before the rope became apparent to me. I felt every inch of his mouth on me and every so often he touched my balls, lightly, and sent me shivering. From behind the cock that was plunging in and out of me became more rigid and its owner confessed he was close to orgasm.

“Can you cum for Daddy?” Michael asked looking at me.

“Daddy I’m going to cum,” I whined in a voice I did not recognize, “I am going to cum so hard. Please Daddy make me cum.”

I looked below at my gorgeous boyfriend taking my cock into his mouth deep and hard and felt the imminent explosion and the dick in my asshole began to pulse hard and I heard the grunting of an orgasm in my ear. I exploded into Michael’s mouth. I was cumming so hard it almost burned, my balls pulling up tight into me and my cock pulsing so hard down his throat. I shook all over and the orgasm continued. The pleasure spread from my cock down my legs and around my hips, warming me from the inside out with waves and pulses. I felt the man slip from inside me and rest his cock in between my ass cheeks. I looked down at Michael, who was so pleased and smiling at me, proud. I fell in love with him so hard at that moment. He stood up smiling and gently undid my cuffs, moving a stray hair from my face.

“You made Daddy so happy.” he said smiling.

How could I ever go back to the way things were before? Why would i want to?

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Three frat pledges endure a humiliating fraternity initiation that awakens unknown desires in the latest story from Quick Drawl.

Princess, Cunt & Hemorroid
by Quick Drawl

“Get undressed, bitches!”

Brandon gulped. He’d known there would be a lot of shit to go through but the idea that he’d have to get undressed in front of a group of people hadn’t occurred to him. He turned his head and looked at another pledge. He didn’t know his name. The pledge master called him “Cunt.” The pledge master called Brandon “Princess.” Cunt wasn’t moving. He looked just as shell-shocked as Brandon.

He turned his head the other direction. He knew Alex. Alex was his roommate. Alex stood, also shell-shocked. “Did you fucking hear me, Hemorrhoid?” Hemorrhoid. That was Alex’s pledge name. “I said get your fucking clothes off. Now!”

For a moment, Brandon thought about leaving. Fuck the fraternity. Fuck it all. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it occurred to him. He couldn’t leave. His father had been a Sigma Tau. His uncles and grandfather, too. His great-grandfather had been in the fraternity, and his great, great uncle was one of the founders. A Forrester who couldn’t get into Sigma Tau Epsilon would be more than just a black sheep. Hell, all the promises about his place in the family’s business would disappear. He’d still get a job but it would be some humiliating middle-management thing.

“Princess! What the fuck are you waiting for?” Brandon didn’t think but automatically reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. It was strange to feel so exposed. He worked out. He worked out all the time. He was on the swim team, got a scholarship his parents almost forced him to give up because Forrestters didn’t take charity. It was only when they learned how competitive the scholarship had been and how many students Brandon had beat out that they changed their mind.

The point was his body was a source of pride. It was intimidating. When his shirt came off, the attractiveness of every male in the vicinity dropped by a few points. It was strange not to feel the swell of pride he usually would and instead to feel dreadfully embarrassed. He looked at Alex and then at Cunt. Alex was slowly pulling up his tee shirt. Cunt was unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t you fucking stop there, Princess! Get your pants off.” Brandon felt his face grow hot, and he imagined his skin had to be bright red. He didn’t want to drop his pants, especially given that his dick had somehow decided the situation warranted excitement. He didn’t have a raging erection but he could feel his pants growing tighter. The idea that getting naked in front of everyone might result in a hard on was terrifying.

Still, a life in lower management and thinly hidden disapproving looks from his parents, his grandparents, and every uncle, aunt, cousin, and servant was more terrifying.

He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. When his hands reached the zipper, the proximity of his fingers to his cock seemed to make it swell again. He tried to think about ugly girls and ugly things, anything to keep his cock under control but as he unzipped and slid his pants down to his ankles, it only got worse. He hoped the bulge in his briefs could be misinterpreted as just his normal, flaccid cock. It wasn’t tented or anything yet but it wouldn’t be long before there was no question about it.

Fuck.

What kind of a guy got turned on surrounded by other guys because he was being forced to undress. It took a bit of effort to get the pant legs over his feet, and he had to pull his shoes off to make it work. By the time he stood again, his pants, shoes, and shirt remained in a little pile at his feet. He wore only his underwear and gym socks, and his damned dick was refusing to obey his mind. At any moment his arousal would be noted, and the humiliation would start in earnest.

He looked to the left and right. The others were still undressing, and thankfully it appeared that the pledge master intended to wait until they were done before continuing. By the time Cunt stood in just his underwear, Brandon felt a hell of a lot better. Staring at the other two kept his arousal in check. He also felt better about things because Alex had both of his hands clasped in the front, obscuring the sight of his crotch. Alex had to be dealing with involuntary arousal, too. Misery loves company, he guessed.

“What the fuck are you assholes doing?” The pledge master’s voice drew Brandon from his thoughts. “I didn’t say take off some of your clothes! Get the fuck undressed! Now!”

Cold fear gripped Brandon. All of his clothes? Jesus Christ. He hadn’t been naked in front of anyone he didn’t intend to sleep with ever. Well, he hadn’t been naked in front of anyone he didn’t intend to sleep with except taking showers in locker rooms, and that was different. When everyone was naked it was pretty much the same as everyone being clothed. It was a hell of a lot different than being on display while people completely dressed watched.

Cunt was naked by the time Brandon moved again. He imagined it was pretty damned silly of him to gain some confidence because Cunt had a smaller penis than he did but it pushed him past his fear and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slid his underwear down over his thighs and then past his knees. He realized when they reached his ankles that he was bent over completely, showing his ass to the group of frat boys behind him, and he hurriedly stood up straight. He didn’t want to bend over again so he used his toes to wiggle his feet out of his socks, kicking the underwear and socks into the pile of clothes.

Immediately his hands moved in front of his crotch.

Big mistake.

The contact with his hands got his cock excited again, and he felt embarrassment creep over his neck, cheeks, and ears. He imagined he looked like some kind of a fucking lobster. He pulled his hands away from his dick and let his arms hang at his sides, hoping he could get things under control if there was no stimulation.

“Look at the big cock on Princess.” The sarcasm in the pledge master’s voice was terrible and it got worse. “And look! It’s getting bigger.”

It was.

Goddam it, his cock was getting bigger and now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t do anything to keep it from happening. He felt embarrassment creep over him, and the shame only grew worse when the pledge master said, “Hemorrhoid’s cock is growing, too. Of course, Hemorrhoid has a tiny prick. I guess Princess gets turned on by little pricks.”

Brandon tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, unfocused on anything at all but even though he enjoyed a measure of success in blocking out any clear sight of the fully-clothed fraternity brothers watching, there was no way to avoid the unmistakable fact that his cock was fully erect now and actually pulsing. He might not be focused on the clothed men around him but he knew for a fact everyone had no trouble at all focusing on his embarrassingly obvious hard on.

Even if he somehow could have tricked his mind into forgetting about the damned situation between his legs, the pledge master’s running commentary brought it all back to front of mind. “Looks like we got three fags, here, boys. I mean, Cunt isn’t getting hard but that’s probably because he saw Princess’s cock and realizes just how tiny he is. Jesus. He’s even smaller than Hemorrhoid.”

Brandon felt a momentary burst of pride and then the heavy weight of humiliation. Sure, he was human enough to care that his cock was impressive but in these circumstances, his size was more of a liability than anything else. If he wasn’t a fucking blue and purple pole of steel, maybe the size would be an asset. Maybe the pledge master would praise him for being the only one of the pledges who didn’t get off on men.

No luck with a boner practically screaming that he loved dick.

And he didn’t love dick! At least, he didn’t love any dick other than his own.

“Jesus, Princess. You must really like cocks. You like sausage, Princess? Do you?” Brandon stood silently and hoped that the question was supposed to be rhetorical. Fortunately, the pledge master turned his attention to Cunt. “It wouldn’t matter, though, would it, Cunt? I mean, is that a dick or a clit? Hell, I’ve seen bigger clits. Spread your legs and show us your pussy.”

Everyone laughed and then someone from the crowd said something that sent a wave of humiliated fear crashing down over Brandon. “Make Princess find his pussy.”

There were a few hoots and hollers followed by tense silence that seemed louder than anything spoken, yelled, laughed, or groaned before. The pledge master stepped forward and smiled wickedly. “I think that’s a great idea, actually.” He turned toward Cunt. “Get over here, loser.”

The fear that rose up inside of Brandon was all but debilitating. What happened next was scarier. Cunt moved closer, and Brandon could see he was shaking slightly. Brandon could definitely sympathize with that response. The pledge master said, “I think Cunt should prove he’s a guy and Princess is going to help him prove it.” He pushed Cunt closer until they stood right next to each other and Cunt’s shoulder pressed against Brandon’s bicep. “You both start stroking. Whoever cums first loses.”

Brandon didn’t understand why cumming first would mean Cunt wasn’t a man. He didn’t really think about it, though, because the idea that he’d have to jerk off in front of everyone was terrifying. Evidently, though, Cunt was relieved that self-pleasure was in order and that he wouldn’t have to suffer through Brandon touching him to “find his pussy.” He immediately reached for his crotch and began rubbing and then moving his fist over his shaft. Brandon stared in shock, still terrified about doing this in front of everyone but similarly relieved. He reached for his own cock and began stroking. The touch of his fingers on his shaft was far more enjoyable than it should have been.

The pledge master laughed. “I pride myself on fairness, and this just isn’t fair.” Brandon froze. The statement was obviously intended as the lead-up to something horrible. He was right. “The deal is the one who cums first is the loser. I can’t let you guys jerk off yourselves. You’ll just do a bad job so you don’t cum. Jerk off each other.”

Brandon’s heart sank. His hand remained frozen on his shaft. In fact, it seemed like his whole body was frozen. He managed a glance at Cunt. He, too, wasn’t moving at all. The pledge master said, “I guess I can make both of you give Hemorrhoid a blowjob instead of just the loser.” Brandon felt the paralysis squeeze him like some kind of vise.

Not Cunt. He immediately got busy. Brandon felt his hand pulled from his cock and pleasure flooded him as Cunt began stroking. He stared down and looked at the hand moving on his shaft. That was a mistake. Now, every sensation has a visual cause, and that made it harder to resist the growing need within him. He gulped and reached over to Cunt, wrapping his fingers around the smaller shaft and stroking. He didn’t want to do it but the thought of not only having to suck off Alex but to do it in front of everyone was too much to handle.

Everyone laughed, and the shame of the situation made Brandon want to cry but he kept stroking. The pledge master laughed as well and Brandon, who’d returned his gaze to an unfocused, straight-ahead look, suddenly felt something cold on his hand. He looked over and saw a splash of creamy white. For a moment, he thought he’d won but realized it was lotion of some sort. A moment later the pledge master squirted it over his cock and over Cunt’s hand.

Cunt’s hand.

Goddam it, it felt good. Brandon desperately wanted to hate it but it felt good.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on what he liked when he jerked off. That made him slow down immediately and then switch his hand around so that his thumb was facing the base of Cunt’s cock instead of the tip. It was more awkward to move that way but he when he masturbated like that, it always got him right to the edge quickly. He didn’t know if it was just the newness of the sensations or if it was something else.

Cunt immediately let out a moan, and it was gratifying in a strange and relieving way but only briefly because of course everyone laughed and Cunt immediately silenced himself. Brandon felt a bit triumphant but fought the feeling down because it seemed to make the way the other man moved his hand over Brandon’s cock feel better.

He concentrated on doing more than move his hand, making sure to squeeze his fist tightly and to make the head of Cunt’s cock open his hand up as he stroked toward the base. He also squeezed as he moved back up so that from the pinky to the final O formed by the thumb and index finger, every movement put tight pressure over the crown and the tip. They were Brandon’s most sensitive parts so he imagined they had to be Cunt’s as well.

As for his counterpart, the man just stroked fast. Brandon had to keep from laughing at him. He was doing far more to stimulate, and he knew Cunt had to love the feeling. Compared to cunt, Brandon was a dick master.

Fuck!

What the hell was he thinking? Who the fuck cared if he was a dick master? He would have felt insulted if anyone else called him that, so why did he take pride in it now? He stopped trying so hard for a moment but when Cunt let out a sigh of relief, reality came back full force and he began the multiple stages of pressure approach again. Cunt moaned but this moan was filled with fear.

He had him!

Brandon moved his hand faster while still squeezing in an attempt to approximate a cock going into a hole. Oddly, he thought of an asshole instead of a pussy. That was strange because he’d never been into anal sex at all. A girl he’d dated wanted to try it back when he was a junior in high school and, of course, he’d obliged. Both of them had been disappointed by the whole thing and from then on, it was pussy and mouth all the way.

Fuck, was he gay?

Why the hell else would he be thinking of making his hand feel like an asshole instead of thinking of making it feel like a pussy. Like a cunt. Like a cunt for Cunt.

He chalked it up to the situation. He kept stroking and then almost stumbled as he felt pleasure welling up. Fuck. Cunt wasn’t even trying but Brandon was getting close. He moved his hand faster still and Cunt moaned loudly. Brandon thought for a moment about what might set him over the edge, and even though it was awkward, he reached with his hand and cupped Cunt’s balls. That was all it took.

“Fuck! God! Fuck, yes!” Cunt screamed and Brandon felt his cock jerk and watched as an improbably giant spurt erupted from the head of Cunt’s dick. Cunt said, “No! Damn it! No!” and moved his hand faster. Brandon kept stroking, suddenly filled with a sense of power that felt strange not only because he’d won the contest but also because he’d managed to make Cunt cum. Why the hell he should feel so excited about making him cum was beyond him but it was also undeniable.

He kept moving and staring at the cum spraying from Cunt’s cock. Cunt’s moans were tinged with embarrassment, humiliation, and fear. For some reason, that made them sound a hell of a lot better for Brandon. He kept jerking until cunt took his hand off Brandon and used both of his hands to push Brandon’s away. “Fuck! You win, alright!” he said as Brandon watched the last spurt jet out before it became a dribble.

He had won! He’d won and he made Brandon cum. The excitement over that was profound and also curiously disappointing. He’d been so fucking close and now he wasn’t going to get to cum. “Good job, Princess,” the pledge master said. “On your hands and knees, Cunt. You better get right to it, too. Otherwise I’ll come up with something worse.” The rest of the frat boys hooted and laughed but the fear of whatever could be worse worked. Cunt got on his hands and knees. The pledge master made him crawl up a little bit and then made Alex get in front of him.

Strangely, Brandon noticed first (even as Alex’s cock entered Cunt’s mouth) that for some reason nobody had forced Cunt to remove his very loud orange baseball cap when they were undressing. Sure, it was hard to avoid noticing it because of how bright the thing was but noticing the color of the cap was idiotic since it was moving back and forth because a college freshmen frat pledge was sucking on another college freshman frat pledge’s dick. “You better do better than that,” the pledge master said. “There’s no what Hemorrhoid will like that, and I might have to let him fuck your ass so he gets off.”

The words had the desired effect. Almost instantly, Cunt turned into some kind of a blowjob pro. At least, from the way Alex moaned, it seemed like he sure as hell seemed like Cunt had instantly developed remarkable cocksucking skills. Brandon stared, and it was astounding from his vantage point to realize the whole situation turned him on.

He stood right behind them, and even though he couldn’t see Cunt’s lips on the shaft, he could see that stupid ball cap moving and he could see Cunt’s ass moving as well. Fuck his ass? Suddenly the thought of shoving a cock in the guy’s ass was a pretty damned exciting thought, and it was strange because instead of seeing a pussy underneath Cunt’s tiny rosebud asshole, there was a ball sack hanging down.

He wondered if anal sex hurt.

It hadn’t hurt his girlfriend. It had just felt strange and uncomfortable. Since she hadn’t been into it, it hadn’t turned on Brandon. Now, though, he imagined thrusting into Cunt and imagined it really causing Cunt pain, imagined it would hurt like hell but he would still thrust in over and over. He wondered if he could reach down and stroke Cunt as he fucked him, if he could make Cunt cum despite the pain.

A new wave of humiliation washed over him as he realized he was fantasizing about gay sex but he brushed it aside. Hell, Cunt was a hell of a lot more humiliated.

And Brandon’s hard on was painful.

He moved around to the side without noticing he was moving. Cunt’s eyes were closed. There were tears on his cheeks, though.

The Pledge Master said, “What the fuck is this?” and Brandon was about to move back to where he’d been but stopped when the Pledge Master continued. “He’s not going deep enough. Make him go deep, Hemorrhoid or I’ll make you suck his dick and since he just came, he’ll probably last forever.” Immediately, Alex put his hand on the back of Cunt’s head and pulled him forward. Brandon watched as his entire dick disappeared into the other man’s mouth until his lips were right at the base. When Alex let him go, Cunt came up and gasped. A moment later, he opened wide again as Alex pulled him back.

Brandon felt sudden pleasure and realized he’d started stroking himself without thinking. He tried to stop but the sight of Cunt’s throat expanding and his obvious reluctance was just… just…

Fuck. It was just perfect.

Brandon couldn’t wrap his mind around it all. Was it just seeing a blowjob? It couldn’t be. He’d seen a shitload of porn and had even been to some crazy parties over the summer in his dorm room where he’d received blowjobs from one slut and watched another slut give his roommate a blowjob.

It wasn’t just the blowjob.

It was Cunt giving it.

Or getting it actually. Clearly, Alex didn’t want to have to give Cunt a blowjob and he was making sure there was no way the Pledge Master could question his compliance.

He fucked Cunt’s face.

He thrust in several times, and then one thrust knocked the ball cap off. The violence of the moment was exquisite as hell, and Brandon moved his hand faster over his cock. Strangely, he began wondering if he could make himself cum at the exact same moment as Alex did.

Alex held tightly to Cunt’s head but the guy wrenched his mouth away, choking and gasping. The pledge master said, “Princess, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing jerking off right there. Still, I can use you. Get behind Cunt and get ready to fuck his ass if he tries to pull away again.”

Brandon moved over quickly, excitement filling him as he watched Alex begin fucking Cunt’s face again. He kept stroking and the pledge master didn’t stop him. Oddly, he desperately wanted Cunt to pull away so that he would get to fuck his ass. As for Alex, he began moaning, so Brandon began moving his hand faster as he looked at Cunt’s ass.

God! It felt so fucking strange to want that ass.

Brandon couldn’t remember a time he ever wanted a woman as much as he wanted Cunt right then. He realized he was going to cum and wouldn’t be able to hold back. Fortunately, Alex groaned right then and Cunt started choking. Choruses of “Make him swallow!” filled the room, and Cunt began struggling. The struggle was too much and Brandon felt pleasure explode over him. Cum shot from his cock, landing right of Cunt’s asshole and balls.

The pledge master said, “I thought I told you to fuck his ass if he tried to back away!”

Brandon couldn’t hide his delight. He was cumming as he pressed against Cunt’s asshole. Cunt tried to move away so Brandon used one hand to grab hold of his ass and thrust forward hard. Cunt wailed against the base of Alex’s cock and choked more.

As for Brandon…

Well, fuck. He’d felt incredible things before but pushing through that resistant little ring of muscle of the best thing he’d ever felt. The resistance was profound and the snugness of the fit was impossible. Cunt struggled terribly, and that only made the sensations better as Brandon continued to spurt crazily inside of his ass. He began thrusting, fucking Cunt hard and fast as he realized he would quickly become too sensitive to take any more.

“Swallow, Cunt!” the pledge master shouted.

Brandon kept fucking.

“I said swallow!”

Cunt did. He swallowed and the pledge master said, “Okay, faggots. Line up.”

Brandon got three more thrusts in before backing away and, breathing heavily, standing in line. He would have thrust a hell of a lot more but he already felt far too sensitive. He stood and stared as Cunt wobbled to his feet. He looked devastated but even though Brandon felt a stab of guilt, he felt a terrifying shockwave a malicious glee.

Cunt made his way to the line and turned around to face the pledge master.

“Alright you worms!” the pledge master shouted. “You’ve finished initiation. Anybody ever speak about this to anyone and you’re kicked out of the fraternity. For now, go get cleaned up. You’re still maggots until tomorrow. Then, you’ll be brothers.”

Everyone filed out, leaving only Alex and Cunt with Brandon. Brandon turned to Cunt and said, “God. I’m so sorry for all that Cun—” He paused. “What’s your name?”

Cunt smiled weakly. “Frank.”

Alex said, “Well. We got through it.”

Brandon nodded. “Was it worth it?”

Cunt… uh, Frank… laughed. “There’s no way in hell I could handle not getting in after that.”

So the initiation was over, kind of. That night, he heard noises coming from Alex’s room. Clearly, Alex had a girl over to try to reclaim his masculinity. Brandon made his way to Alex’s room. More often than not, if there was one girl, there were two. Alex always invited him to join in. He opened the door and stepped in.

Then he stared in shock. There weren’t two girls. There was Alex. Cunt, Frank, was there as well and Cunt had his mouth on Alex’s cock.

Alex looked up and blushed. “Uh, Geena and Sarah couldn’t make it over.” Frank pulled his mouth off and said, “Uh… um. I could do you, too.”

Brandon’s cock grew instantly hard and he dropped his shorts.

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A straight married man is ambushed by a group local teenagers who overpower & tickle him until he cums over and over again in this hot classic gay tickling story by Wayne Courtois.

The Story of Sam
by Wayne Courtois

Getting up from the sofa where he’d been watching a baseball game, Sam opened his front door and found Fred and Jason there. They were two neighborhood kids – Sam guessed they couldn’t be over 19 – who seemed to spend a lot of time just looking for trouble. Sam had never encouraged them to visit, but sometimes they just walked in the door, like now, and made themselves at home.

“Hey, Sam,” Fred said, flexing his biceps. He was flexing his muscles all the time, as if he were as proud of his build as Sam was of his own. “Where’s Mary?”

“She went into town for the day,” Sam said. “Probably won’t be back until late tonight.”

“Hey, Sam,” Jason said, “the phone’s out at home. Can I use yours?”

“Help yourself,” Sam said. “You know where it is.” He got eye contact with tall, dark Jason and thought, this kid’s got the devil in him. He turned to Fred and said, “It’s hot. Can I get you something to drink?”

Fred swelled up his chest. “I’ll have a beer.”

That’s some chest, Sam was thinking. I never noticed he was such a well-built kid. Well, he is only a kid, but what the hell, why not give him a beer. He went to the kitchen, where Jason was on the phone, and got two cold ones. When he left the room he thought he heard Jason saying, “Yeah, he’s alone,” and wondered vaguely what that meant.

Sam and Fred sat on the sofa. Suddenly Sam was feeling very warm. He felt like stripping off his t-shirt, but he was shy about showing his body, not wanting to flaunt his beauty. Well, what the hell. He wouldn’t mind showing these kids what a great body looked like. He stripped his t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, and spread his arms out along the back of the sofa. That feels good, he thought, and while he was at it why didn’t he slouch down a little and give his groin some show? There was something great down there, too.

Fred hadn’t opened his beer yet. He was slowly shaking the can. “Better not do that,” Sam said, “or-” But it was too late. Fred popped the top, and beer sprayed under Sam’s arm, soaked his armpit and trickled down his ribs onto his belly. After the initial shock, Sam found himself trapped by the sensation, that had grabbed hold of his body. Christ, he thought, what am I feeling? There was no way to control the laughter that welled up in him. “Hey, that tickles!”

“Sorry, Sam,” Fred said. “Maybe I can help.”

Sam saw from the look on Fred’s face that what he’d done hadn’t been accidental, that he was looking for trouble now-or had found it. He reached a hand out, fingers curled slightly, and brought it slowly toward Sam’s ribs. Sam was still laughing a little, and it made him laugh more to see this kid reaching out to touch him, holding his hand like someone who was about to tickle you.

“Hold it.” Jason stood in the doorway. Fred drew back. Sam groaned, thinking of the strange feeling he’d had, as if he’d actually wanted this kid to tickle him. Well, the feeling had passed, and the beer was drying on its own.

But Jason held up a thick, rough terrycloth towel. Ii, can help,” he said, walking toward Sam, spreading the towel across both hands. “I’ll dry you off, Sam.”

“No,” Sam said, but it came out as a kind of laugh.

Jason had that evil look in his eye. “You’re not all that ticklish, are you, Sam?”

Hearing Jason say the word “ticklish” sent a spasm through Sam, and without thinking he crossed his arms over his bare torso. “It’s none of your business how…ticklish I am.”

Jason was standing over him. “I’m gonna dry you off, Sam.” Sam lay there, somehow powerless, while Fred pulled Sam’s legs sideways, up on the sofa, and got at the head of the sofa to pull Sam’s arms back over his head. Startled, Sam almost fell onto the floor, but then Jason was straddling him. He slowly lowered the towel to touch Sam’s exposed, helpless body. At the first touch of the towel Sam squirmed. “Come on, Sam,” Jason said, “Just take it easy. Take . . . it. . . easy.” And the towel came-all the way down, Jason’s fingers pushing through it to tickle Sam’s ribs.

It was just a mild brushing at first, but Sam kept thinking about what might happen. Supposed Jason started getting serious? It made him weak, thinking about it, and that only sensitized him more, and as Jason kept rubbing the towel over Sam’s ribs and up into his armpits the intensity of feeling increased. Sam tried to resist laughing but after a couple of minutes of non-stop tickling he couldn’t control it. Laughter burst from him, and he thought about what could happen if Jason threw the towel aside and used his bare hands. And what if Fred got into the act? Suppose they tied him down so they could both tickle him at once? Just the thought of that made him shout with laughter.

“Oh, yeah,” Jason said, “we’re gonna get this guy.” He let the towel slide along Sam’s belly and down to the floor. He held up his bare hands, fingers shaped into claws, and said in a husky voice, “You see these? You know what these could do to a guy?”

Sam, trying to catch his breath, was hypnotized by the sight of those hands. “You…you could really torture a guy,” he said.

Fred laughed, holding Sam’s arms tighter.

Jason brought his hands down slowly.

“They call me the ‘Torture Master’,” he said.

Jason started gently, exploring all the areas that the towel had sensitized, as if he were making a battle plan. Then he began tickling harder, beginning with the spots that were least sensitive. Sam was squirming and laughing, but he felt he could take it if it didn’t get worse. Then he remembered that he’d told them his wife wouldn’t be getting back till late. He wasn’t expecting any visitors or phone calls. These kids could tickle him for up to ten hours! It was a wild thought, put into his head by increasingly wild sensations that had him moaning and groaning. His prick was getting hard, and when Sam got hard there was no hiding it – that cock had to stand out, stand up. The force of his erections had torn jockstraps apart, and sometimes he had to duck into an-alley after getting big on the street, that prick rising like a flagpole in his Jeans, and beat off against a brick wall. And the way he was starting to feel, that giant cock just might destroy his jockstrap and running shorts both. That would scare these guys away.

Or would it?

Soon there was no time to think., his head went haywire as Jason’s tickling became harder, relentless, merciless. By the time he was screwing his thumbs into Sam’s ribs Sam was protesting and pleading: “No! Oh, no! Please! Don’t do this to me! Come – come on, J-Jason – ha ha! No! What are you doing!”

Jason had moved his quick, strong fingers to Sam’s armpits, testing all over for spots that would make Sam beg for mercy as he never had before. Sam saw the glazed look in Jason’s eyes, saw the swelling in Jason’s jeans. Then Sam’s cock leaped right through his jockstrap and shorts with a violent tearing sound. Jason backed out of the way to let that stiff cock rise, staring at it in amazement. Then he tore at the front of his jeans, exposing his own super-hard cock. He started jacking off, seeming to work himself up to a quick climax, then stopping short. His cock was as hard as it could ever get, and he licked his lips as he looked all over Sam’s body, remembering places. Sam knew the kid was sex-crazed, and a sex-crazed teenager would stop at nothing.

Fred was breathing heavy. “Hey, help me out,” he said. Jason went up to him and opened his jeans. Tilting his head back, Sam saw Fred’s enormous cock waving in the air, stiffening.

“Oh, yeah,” Jason said, his voice trembling, “we haven’t even started tickling this guy.”

“No!” Sam cried, trying to keep from laughing even though Jason wasn’t touching him. “You don’t know how ticklish I am!”

“You don’t know how ticklish you are either,” Jason said, “because you’ve never been tickled by me before.” He began to lower his hands, his fingers shaking.

There was a knock at the door.

Thank God, the torture was over! They would have to let him answer the door, he could get away from them. But neither of them moved immediately. The knock came again. “You have to let me up to answer the door,” Sam said. “It’ll look suspicious if you don’t. It might be my brother.”

“You don’t have a brother, Sam,” Jason said. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get the door.” He got to his feet, took off his t-shirt and walked stark naked toward the door. “Don’t even think about getting away. Fred will take care of you.”

And before Sam could even try to escape Fred swung around and was on top of him, all over him, pinning Sam down-completely with his muscular, shaking body. He used force alone to reach every part of Sam’s body, getting at the most sensitive spots and squeezing in a way that made Sam shout. In spite of his strength Sam couldn’t do anything but feel more and more helpless, more and more out of his mind with this brutal, almost painful tickling. Someone had to come through the door to help him, he’d be saved any second. But the seconds lasted as he reeled in and out of consciousness under this incredible assault, Fred’s hands tickling him everywhere at once. “Help!” Sam shouted, out of breath. “H-help me! Whoever you are! Ha ha ah, ohhhhhh, ohhhhhh, this…guy! Hee hahahaha, he’s oh God tickling me! Help me!”

But no one came to help him. Instead he heard deep voices whispering; and when he managed to see through his tears he couldn’t believe what he saw: there were five new guys surrounding him. This made a total of seven. They weren’t doing anything. Weren’t they going to help him? Couldn’t they see that he was losing his mind?

What if they just stood around and watched?

What if they all joined in?

“We haven’t even tickled his feet yet,” Jason said. “Let’s check out these feet.”

And Sam felt, along with everything else, his sneakers being tugged free and his socks stripped from his ticklish feet, and knew that they, maybe all seven of them, were going to tickle his feet. There were hands on his feet now, bending back the toes, stretching the soles taut. . . and Sam shouted in a new frenzy as those wild fingers attacked.

Soon Sam barely heard, over his own hysterical shrieks, Jason’s voice. It sounded like something out of a dream:

“We’re gonna have a real good time with you, Sam. All of us. And we’re not gonna waste our strength holding you down. So we’re gonna tie you down. We’ll take you into that dining room and tie you down to that table. And we’ll tickle you and do anything else we want.” He gave an evil laugh. “You just might get tickled to death.”

Suddenly the tickling stopped, and when Sam had managed to catch his breath he said, “You won’t do it…I won’t let you…I’ll fight you…”

“You won’t be fighting, Sam. Because before we move you we’re gonna tickle you helpless.”

And immediately Sam felt hands all over his body, finding the most ticklish spots, digging into him until his body was stiff and arched and tears streamed down his red face.

By the time Sam was tickled helpless he was far from reality. Sensations had filled his head completely, and he barely knew when they were dragging him to the table because at least three of them were tickling him as they dragged him. They tied his legs spread-eagled to two corners of the heavy table, then tied his wrists together and tied them to the light fixture overhead. Then hands fell on him, all possible combinations of hands. In his half-crazed state he could tell when there were two hands, or four hands, or six; when there were more than that his body was one solid bloom of unendurable torment. Some of them were using all their young energy to squeeze his ribs and dig their nails into his soles, while others stroked him more gently in an agonizing, teasing way. For a moment his vision cleared so he could see the kid who was tickling his ribs in a wild, excited way, and he saw a naked body with one of the biggest hard-ons he’d ever seen. This guy’s hands were jerking like crazy all over Sam’s chest and ribs, and his thighs were shaking, and it wasn’t long before he was prodding that thick cock into Sam’s side. Soon all of these incredibly built, sex-crazed kids had stripped and were rolling and poking and stroking their rock-hard, dripping cocks all over Sam’s body.

Suddenly there were two hands on Sam’s cock, which was the wettest and hardest of all, and two more hands playing with his balls and stroking between his legs. There were hands tickling his arms, armpits, ribs, belly and feet all at once. As the guys got more excited, their tickling became even more intense. All the tickling sensations Sam felt seemed to be gathering force in his cock, which was being stroked to the bursting point. Then came a shock, as someone came up behind him and shoved a thick feather along his spine.

Sam came, shooting as he’d never shot before. His cock was a fountain of cum, pulsing with ecstasy all along its length, while the shaking, moaning, lust-crazed guys forced every drop of cum out of him and brought themselves off, thick ropes of cum shooting up Sam’s sides.

Then he fainted.

This is how they revived him. They tied his arms down this time, tied his ankles together and raised his legs toward the ceiling. This exposed his asshole completely, and he came to with a new, paralyzing fear that they were going to touch him there. “No, don’t!” he said, though they were only teasing that sensitive surface slightly, stretching it a little, preparing it for what they were going to do. “Don’t, don’t, don’t,” Sam said, though they were not really tickling him. It was the anticipation of what they could do that had him jolting, laughing.

A long white feather appeared in front of his face. And another. And another. Soft, full, diabolical touching him, just hovering where he could see them. Then they disappeared. He knew where they were going. They were going to tickle his asshole with feathers. He quaked and shuddered and begged them for mercy.

But they still weren’t tickling him. Not yet. They were being quiet. Too quiet. Sam lay still, listening to his own breathing. Was the torture session over at last? Were they going to let him go?

The feathers passed in front of his eyes again, slowly.

More silence. Sam began to think they were touching him with light strokes that he barely felt, but he wasn’t sure. Then he felt them again – or did he? He struggled against his restraints. Were they going to do it or weren’t they?

He thought he saw the feathers again, just below his field of vision, but he wasn’t sure. He groaned and twisted helplessly against the ropes that held him fast. The anticipation was getting to be too much. He lost hope that they were going to let him go; they were going to keep tickling him, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. So let them start already! End this agony of waiting!

“G-go ahead,” Sam said.

“Hey.”

“What did he say?”

They moved closer around him. Sam saw hungry faces. He could only hope to get it over with. “Go ahead,” he said again.

“Go ahead with what, Sam?”

“You want us to do something, Sam?”

“What have you got in mind, Sam?”

He could barely see, between his legs, a feather poised to attack his vulnerable asshole. The suspense was unendurable. He said what he’d thought he never would say to them:

“T. . . tickle . . . me.”

“What was that?”

“What did you say, Sam? Speak up.”

He knew they were going to make him repeat it. “Go ahead and do it. If you’re going to do it, do it.”

“Do what, Sam?”

He shouted: “Tickle me! I know you’re going to tickle me, so do it! Tickle me!”

Seven voices at once started talking about tickling. “Tickle him? Tickling? He wants us to tickle him…Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s in for…but he asked for it, yeah, he’s asking for it.

Jason’s voice rose above the rest: “Get him!”

Sam had no way of knowing what it would feel like to have a feather touch the tender virgin flesh of his asshole. The shock came barreling up his body into his head. He tried to fight but could not escape from the wracking sensations that had him screaming and screaming beyond control, leaving him not enough breath or coherence to beg them to stop, to tell them that he would do anything if they would only stop.

At the same time there was a great heaving urge in his loins. And when an active, greedy tongue began tickling his asshole he came, feeling hot cum shoot along his body just before he passed out.

He did not know, as he slowly became conscious again, how long he had been out. He longed to return to that blissful state of unconsciousness again, but sensations were dragging him awake once again – not along his poor tortured ribs, armpits of belly, not between his legs, but where his feet were tied together down at the end of the table. There was only Fred at his feet, Fred alone tickling his feet, but God what sensations! Sam came fully awake, determined not to show that this foot-tickling was driving him mad; but when Fred saw Sam opening his eyes he stepped up his attack. He was getting to know Sam’s large, tender feet very well – the high arches where a light touch made Sam gasp, the sensitive spots at the base of Sam’s toes, and of course those taut, ticklish soles that responded so violently to Fred’s feathers. No wonder Sam couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Stop! Oh stop! Please! Ha ha ha ha…not there! Anyplace but there! Hee ha ha ha ha no, no…oh God stop tickling me! Stop! I can’t stand it! Oh my feet, oh my God, somebody make him stop!”

“Listen to me, Sam,” Fred said. “You stop yelling now, just for one minute.” He stopped tickling, and very slowly Sam got quiet again, catching his breath. “What I’m gonna do,

Sam, is tickle you…And his fingers were moving now, teasing those feet…”and I’m gonna keep tickling you until you come.”

“No!” Sam-cried. “No, d-don’t, oh stop. . . I can’t, can’t come anymore! Ahhhhh, ohhhhh, no!”

“I’m gonna keep tickling you till you come,” Fred said, “That’s all there is to it.” And he took a thick, fuzzy pipe cleaner and twisted it between Sam’s toes. “I’m gonna tickle all in between your toes. I’m gonna use my fingers, my tongue, these feathers, and something else.” Sam could not see through his tears but he heard what sounded like the click of a ball-point pen. And a deep hard line of sensation had Sam screaming again as the pressure of that ball point moved slowly down the center of his sole, and up again, slowly…and down again. . . .

And the assault didn’t stop, not even for a second. It was only Fred tickling his feet while the others watched, but he seemed to be doing the work of all of them. Sam tried wildly to control himself so he could speak, to make Fred understand that he couldn’t come anymore. It might be hours before he could get hard again, and if this tickling lasted for hours it would be the end of him. “I won’t stop until you come,” Fred kept saying. “I want to see you come, Sam.”

And it seemed like hours, it seemed that his feet had felt all the tickling torture in the world, until Sam started getting hard again. In slow motion, as Fred tickled and tickled and tickled, Sam’s cock rose higher and higher. Then there were two more hands on him, pumping his cock up and down as Fred kept tickling…and miraculously Sam came again, shooting even harder than before, almost passing out again but struggling to hold on, dying to know if they were finally going to set him free.

Fred moved away from Sam’s feet, and for a moment all was quiet. Then Jason appeared at Sam’s side with two feathers, which he gently laid down on Sam’s stomach, drawing them ever so slowly across that ticklish flesh as Sam tried to suck his stomach in, to twist, to do anything to escape that incredible stimulation taking his breath away, making him shout with new energy…”Not my stomach! No! Jason, please! I can’t take it anymore!”

“Guess what I’m doing, Sam?” Jason said. “I’m tickling you till you come, all over again.”

And that was what each of them did, each choosing a part of Sam’s helpless flesh and working it over, no matter how long, until a crazed, screaming Sam came again, and again and again. By the time they were through they had emptied his bladder too, soaking Sam’s legs and belly with piss. At strange moments Sam seemed to be able to step back and observe this scene, this poor tortured guy being tickled to death by seven horny kids who were themselves coming, coating his body with cum over and over. At other times the full ferocity of this torment overwhelmed him and he was screaming again, screaming as well as he could in a voice that long since become hoarse. And he knew that, if they ever stopped, he would never be the same again.

“EVERYBODY OUT!”

That was the cry that sounded when the lookout spotted Sam’s wife’s car turning into the street.

Within a few minutes they pulled on their clothes and were out of the house, leaving behind a Sam still tied to the table, still gasping and choking out laughter as if they were still tickling him, as if he’d be feeling these sensations for the rest of his life.

He was barely conscious of reality when Mary came through the front door.

“Sam! What has been going on here! Oh, Sam.

Sam tried several times to speak. Through swollen eyelids he saw Mary approach the table. He knew what she was seeing, he knew that the smell of male sex in the room was overpowering. Finally he managed to speak: “These guys . . . young guys. . seven of them…tickling me…you wouldn’t believe it…hours and hours…” That was all he could say for the moment. He just lay there exhausted.

“Sam, oh Sam honey, did you say they were tickling you?”

When he could speak again he tried to tell her: “My ribs, my feet, under my arms, and everywhere else. They were all tickling me, all at once . . . no, Fred was tickling me first. No, it was Jason. The last thing I remember they were working me over one by one…”

“Well, Sam.” She seemed to be sniffing. “It’s obvious that other things went on too.” There was a hard frankness in her voice as she said, “I want to know how many orgasms you had.”

“Oh…at least ten.” He lay wondering why she wasn’t laying a cool hand on his forehead.

On the floor was one item they had left behind – one soft, white feather. Mary picked it up, looked at it, and looked thoughtfully over her husband’s naked body.

“Why, Sam,” she said, coming closer, “Just think…I never even knew you were ticklish.”

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The muscle boys’ ordeal continues with a forced run on the treadmill and a failed escape attempt.

The Ordeal of Cort and Ryder – Chapter 5: The Treadmill and Escape(?)
by Ragnar1963
Series: The Ordeal of Cort and Ryder

Hour after hour, mile after mile, Cort ran the treadmill, sweat streaming from his chiseled young body. Stride after stride, his bare feet–fresh from suffering the excruciating needle torture while bound to the tiger
bench–pounded on the spiked rubber surface, each step agony, his exhausted body forced to trudge on under threat of a most painful mishap should he falter with his cock chained to the post.

Dax, his cruel overseer, goaded him on with slashes at his legs and ass from a riding crop, taunting Cort with laughter–and even worse, with visions of his lover Ryder undergoing the same grueling punishment. Cort
tried to remain tough under his suffering, but the thought of his best stud bud forced to run for hours on the torture treadmill was as agonizing as the relentless footpain.

The dungeon was kept hot, and Cort’s ripped bod was dripping with sweat, making his muscles glisten in the torchlight–a very erotic effect not lost on Dax, who lusted after the young muscle boy and whose cock stayed
rigid throughout the ordeal.

“You think this is bad, slave?” taunted Dax as he made Cort’s handsome young face wince with a hard lash across the runner’s glutes. “Wait until you see what Hondo has planned for you next! He’s just tiring you out so you cooperate during the next session!”

“Fuck you! AAGHHH!!!!”

Dex instantly answered Cort’s insolence with three brutal slashes against the back of his thighs.

Hour after hour, mile after mile, Cort pounded forward on the torture treadmill… completely losing track of time…. it could have been hours or even days before Dez dragged his struggling muscular young bud into the
chamber.

“CORT, NO!” Ryder shouted as he saw his friend, arms yoked, running helplessly on the torture device. Dax flipped a switch and the treadmill suddenly stopped.

“AAAHHH!!!” Cort lost his balance and pitched forward, landing painfully on his knees on the hard rubber spikes.

“Time to switch ’em up!” yelled Dez cheerfully as Dax unmanacled Cort’s cock, aching from the hours of relentless tugging. Cort flopped sideways off the treadmill onto the stone floor, exhausted, watching with horror as
Ryder was locked into the same position: arms yoked, cock shackled to a post at the front end of the treadmill.

THWACK! “Get up!” Dax lashed at Cort’s body over and over until the muscle head struggled to his feet,
wincing and limping, barely able to walk after the twin tortures of the tiger bench and rubber spikes.

“No… Ryder, no!….” he muttered helplessly as Dax drove him on with more strokes of the crop, ordering him
to stagger back to his tiny cell as Dez switched the machine back on and Ryder realized he would be forced to run with bare feet on the spiked treadmill.

“FUCK YOU BASTARDS!!!! FUCK YOU!” Ryder’s shouted and the steady thwap thwap thwap of treading feet on rubber echoed in Cort’s ear as he was taken from the chamber back to his cell. Dax unlocked the yoke from the muscle slave’s aching arms and pushed him into the stone cubbyhole, clanging the iron barred door shut behind him as Cort collapsed, exhausted, his tortured soles throbbing… merciful sleep overtook him in seconds….

Ryder suffered most cruelly in his hours on the treadmill, his bare feet tortured by the hard rubber spikes just as Cort’s had been, his legs and ass also lashed by Dez’s riding crop spurring him to keep up the pace, his
chained cock also aching from being yanked with each one of the thousands of cruel steps the running boy was forced to take… Buckets of sweat wrung from Ryder’s muscled body made it gleam and glisten in the
torchlight, just as his friend Cort’s had. Hour after endless torturous hour, the young man ran, naked feet pounding mile after mile on the conveyor belt of painful spikes.

Ryder had no idea how long he had been suffering on the treadmill when Dax returned and said, “Boss says that’s enough.” The tortured lad nearly sobbed with relief as the treadmill was shut off, his cock unchained and
his arms unyoked. Collapsing into Dez’s brawny arms, Ryder was barely able to walk, much less resist as he was dragged back down the corridor from the torture chamber to his cell… each step of reddened aching sole on
stone was agony for the exhausted boy.

“Gotta get you rested up for our next game,” said Dez ominously as he bent down and unlocked the boys’ cell door…. “UUUGHHHH!!!” Dez had the wind knocked out of him as Cort suddenly sprang from the cell and head-butted
the strongarm in the gut! Thudding into the far wall of the corridor, Dez was doubled over; Ryder, mustering all his remaining strength, raised his arms and brought both his fists crashing down on the back of Dez’s neck
and head, nearly knocking him unconscious, while Cort immobilized the goon with a swift kick to his nutsac. “AAAAGHHH!!!!” Dez crumpled to the floor helpless as Curt grabbed his friend’s arm, wrapped it around his own
shoulders, and began to help the lamed Ryder stagger down the corridor.

They soon discovered the ancient castle Hondo had turned into a prison for young musclemen was a maze of stone tunnels and passages… the two naked lads, Ryder hobbled from the recent treadmill torture and Cort dragging
him on as best he could, made their way through endless passages, frantically seeking an exit and finding no way out…

…meanwhile, Dax had discovered Dez rolling on the floor moaning from his nut kick, and found to his horror that the two young captives had escaped. He reported this immediately to Hondo…

…Cort and Ryder struggled on desperately, bewildered and completely lost. They couldn’t have found their way back to the cell or the torture chamber if they had wanted to… on and on they staggered through the maze
of corridors, Cort’s bare feet still sore from the hours on the treadmill, Ryder’s freshly tortured soles even more painful…

…Furious at finding his guard overpowered by the two missing captives, Hondo screamed an order to Dax: “TAKE THIS IDIOT ANIMAL BACK TO THE CHAMBER AND STRING HIM UP! HIS PUNISHMENT WILL BE MERCILESS!!!”

“But, Boss…” Dax whispered nervously, afraid of what Hondo would do to his friend–or worse, what Hondo would force Dax to do to him. “Should we look for the boys?”

SWISH! CRACK!!! Hondo’s riding crop lashed out across Dax’s face. “DO NOT QUESTION MY ORDERS!!! You know escape is impossible! First I will punish this fool as he deserves, then I will deal with the prisoners!”

Immediately Dax dragged Dez, still unable to stand upright, back into the torture chamber… Dropping the helpless hunk of meat onto the floor, Dax quickly wrapped chains around his ankles, securing them tightly and
linking them to a pulley hanging from the ceiling… Hondo, meanwhile, in a towering rage, looked over his vast collection of whips, floggers, and other cruel devices for corporal punishment, selecting just the right one
for the torture beating of his hapless guard…

…”Where are we? We have to get the fuck out of here!” Ryder moaned as the two young men limped down one stone passage after another…

…SWISHHHHH! CRACK!!!!! “AAAAGGHHH!!!!!” SWISH! CRACK!!!! “AAAAGHHH!!!! OH, GOD, PLEASE, HONDO!!!” SWISH! CRACK!! “AAAAAIIIEEEEE!!!” Musclehead Dez was dangling from his ankles like a side of beef. Dax had torn off the
victim’s shorts, and he hung nude, screaming and writhing as Hondo attacked his thick muscles over and over with a hideous lash of braided rawhide strips with sharp stones knotted into each braid… brutally torturing every inch of Dez’s muscled body he could reach, from dangling arms to chained feet, as the strongarm shrieked piteously for mercy…

… Unable to make another step in the endless stone maze, Ryder collapsed against a wall as his friend and lover encouraged him to keep going.

“C’mon, bud, I gotcha.” Ryder looked up into his friend’s beautiful blue eyes.

“How can we escape this hellhole?” he whispered as Cort leaned in to kiss him deeply and passionately… Both studs felt a stirring in their groins, and the rush of lust and budding erections gave Ryder the strength
to keep staggering forward, though utterly lost…

…After inflicting dozens and dozens of rage-filled cruel lashes on the musclehead’s hanging body, Hondo at last realized Dez had passed out. Throwing the hideous torture device to the ground in disgust, Hondo
strode, without a word but still fuming, out of the torture chamber. Dax rushed forward to release and care for his friend…

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE!!!!” The voice boomed suddenly out of nowhere, shocking Cort and Ryder and making their blood run cold with fear. “NO MAN HAS EVER ESCAPED MY CASTLE!!!” The two young men were baffled at the voice coming from an unseen source–there must be some network of surveillance cameras and speakers! Near panic at the idea that Hondo could see where they were, Cort and Ryder rushed blindly on… “HA-HA-HAAAAAA!” Honda’s mocking laughter echoed down the stone corridors as the two lost, naked captives kept running.

“AAAHHH!” The two lads turned a corner to suddenly find Hondo standing before them! Clad only in black leather boots and pants, he threw back his head and laughed cruelly at his captured quarry. They instinctively turned to run the other direction when–BANG! an iron portcullis of thick spiked bars slammed down inches in front of them, blocking their way! Turning back to Hondo in panic and anger, meaning to rush their captor and fight him, they ran at him when–BANG! another set of spiked iron bars crashed down between them!

TRAPPED!!! The lads had never felt such fear as they did now, realizing they had been recaptured by their torture-mad abuser! Cort rushed forward to grab the iron bars and frenziedly scream “AAAGHHH! YOU SICK FUCK! LET US GO! LET US FUCKING GOOOOO! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!”

Hondo met their empty threats with more chilling mocking laughter! “Escape is IMPOSSIBLE!” he barked! “And for those who foolishly attempt it, believe me, the punishments will be more agonizing than anything you have experienced so far!!!”

“NO! NOOOOO!!!” Cort beat his fists frantically on the heavy iron barred gate.

“HA HA HAAAAA!!! Back to the torture chamber for you two! There you will suffer a torture unlike any you have ever dreamed of, much less suffered!!!”

Honda reached for a small remote-control panel on his belt… passed a button… and—“AAAAGGHHHH!!!” the stone floor opened beneath Cort and Ryder and the two lads plunged into a yawning black hole!

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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An arrogant and philandering CEO crosses the wrong employee and learns that “Payback’s a Bitch!” in this hot humiliation, cum control, milking and forced shaving story by Grizzly. Photo from […]

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Payback’s a Bitch! – Part 1
by Grizzly
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Cocky CEO Vince Cunningham is forced to cum load after load while his disgruntled employee revels in milking him of his sweet jizz until he’s completely drained dry. Photo by Men on Edge.

Payback’s a Bitch! […]

In a final ultimate humiliation, the hairy stud is shaved of all his manly body hair. Photo by Men on Edge.

Payback’s a Bitch! – Conclusion
by Grizzly
Series: Payback’s a Bitch
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A young man who desires his older sister’s Army grunt boyfriend, seizes an opportunity to tie him up and make him beg in this erotic bondage story from new author Don.

Dominating Jackson – Part 1
by Don
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The cocky straight soldier is tied up, stripped down and cock teased until he’s aching for relief while younger “step-brother” enjoys his new found power over him.

Dominating Jackson – Part 2
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A prisoner gets bound & flogged.

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A cute twink is roughed up and spanked by a muscle dude.

A privileged straight guy has a rather invasive experience when he stops by the local police station to pay his parking fines.

Paid in Full
by Quick Drawn

“Have you ever hurt yourself?” Gregory shook his head. The woman behind the thick glass panel sighed and rolled her eyes. “I need you to answer verbally.”

“No.”

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself now?”

Gregory swallowed. Jesus. This was just a traffic issue. Sure, he needed to take care of the damned parking tickets but why were they asking questions like this? “No.”

He watched her check a box on a triplicate form and then separate the layers. She pulled out a yellow copy and slid it through a window in the glass. “Hold onto this and go sit down in section A until someone calls your name. He took the form wordlessly and did some calculations. They’d taken his watch when he arrived at the jail but he’d been able to glance at it before he was handcuffed at the intersection. It was quarter to four then. About thirty or forty-five minutes had passed. As soon as he got a call, he’d get bailed out.

Of course, it was Friday. Hell, it was right on the edge of Friday night. It might be hard to get ahold of Andi, and that meant there might be a bit of embarrassment but even allowing for having to get ahold of someone else, he should be out by six-thirty or seven.

“Loring!” Gregory’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. A burly guard stood with a clipboard. He looked like a bodybuilder, and it seemed like his uniform could only barely contain biceps. Gregory didn’t know what to do so he raised his hand. “Are you Loring?” Gregory nodded. “Then get your ass up and over here.”

Gregory managed eleven employees. He made more than a hundred thousand dollars a year. He wasn’t a criminal. Sure, he’d neglected the parking tickets but a quick call to his lawyer would fix all that. He stared in shock and realized that nobody had talked to him like the guard talked to him since he was a kid. As he stared in shock, the guard stepped forward. Before he knew what was happening, the guard had his hand wrapped around Gregory’s upper arm. A quick yank got Gregory to his feet.

“Ow! Fuck!” Gregory yelled as he twisted his arm away from the guard.

“Are you gonna give me any shit?” The guard yelled directly into Gregory’s ear and the shock of the violence was paralyzing. He couldn’t respond, which only made the guard angrier. “You hungry, you fuck?” Again, Gregory couldn’t respond. The guard said, “I’ll give you a fucking pretzel, then.” Everything was so fucking confusing but it didn’t matter a moment later. Pain shot through his shoulder and his cheek felt scratchy. It took him a moment to realize his arm was twisted behind his back and his face was pressed against the rough, crumbling concrete wall.

Gregory didn’t know what to say but the guard, thankfully, let go. “Don’t give me any more shit. Follow the yellow line.”

The pain receded to dull discomfort but his arm felt weak. He nodded and then blurted out, “Yes, sir,” without really thinking about it.

The guard seemed to chuckle and said softly, “You’re going to fit in nicely here.” There was malice behind the words, and Gregory felt a cold shiver but he tried to ignore it and instead looked at the floor where the sickly yellow line was painted. He walked along the line next to the wall and found himself directly behind another inmate who stood in front of a beat-up counter next to a cart with a jar of that orange mechanic hand cleanser and an enormous roll of tan paper towels. Gregory understood the purpose a moment later as a guard took something that looked like an undersized paint roller and rolled ink over the other inmate’s hands. A few seconds later, he stood in front of the guard. Two or three minutes later, finished with his fingerprints, he followed the yellow line to another station while drying his hands with the paper towels.

The stations seemed to go forever, and it seemed particularly stupid. He was fingerprinted twice more, once digitally and then once with an inkpad rather than a roller. He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind the redundancy. He was interviewed again with the same questions about suicidal thoughts and then asked if he had any enemies inside. It seemed to go on forever and all he wanted was to make his damned phone call.

The yellow line appeared endless but he finally finished with the stations and was directed to an open door. He stepped through, carrying with him six or seven pieces of paper he’d been handed along the way. The moment he stepped through, the enormity of the situation hit him. The room beyond the threshold was—well, hell. It wasn’t a room at all. It was a cell. There was a stainless steel toilet in the corner right next to a tiny sink. The wall was cinder blocks, and there were cinder block benches jutting out from the wall.

And there were criminals.

Real criminals.

Fear hit him hard, and Gregory scanned the benches for an empty seat. There were two. One was next to a giant of a man wearing leather. He looked like some kind of biker, the kind of biker who got arrested for running drugs and killing dozens of people. The other space was next to a wiry looking Hispanic engaged in a lively, profanity riddled conversation about domestic violence and the bitch who sent him back to the Factory.

He chose the biker and sat down, trying hard to believe he didn’t chose based on race. He listened silently to the conversation and eventually determined that the Factory was the name for the intake center, the place processing the prisoners. He wanted to ask about phone calls but he was afraid. Fortunately, he didn’t stay long in the cell. A guard leaned over the open doorway and rattled off four names. Gregory’s was one of the names and he followed the biker and two others out of the cell. They walked two cells down and into another cell.

There were two others there, and one of them talked on a phone attached to the wall. For the first time since his arrest, Gregory felt relief. His arm still hurt like hell, and he certainly wasn’t pleased with the company but there was a phone. He waited while the man on the phone played lovey-dovey with someone he kept calling Babydoll. He wanted to hurry the guy up but didn’t have the courage to be confrontational. When the guy finally hung up, he stood and started for the phone but the biker got there first. Wordlessly, Gregory returned to his seat.

Perhaps it was the fear he felt driven by the entire situation but the events repeated, and the other prisoners got to the phone while Gregory waited, outwardly patient but internally overwhelmed with urgency. When the phone was finally clear, Gregory leapt to his feet and rushed to call his lawyer.

“Grant! Fernandez! Loring!” The shout from a guard startled him, and he almost dropped the phone as he turned to see the biker and one of the others walking toward the door. The guard rolled his eyes. “Which one of you losers is Loring?”

“Sorry,” Gregory said lamely. “I haven’t made my phone call yet. I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t expect laughter to be the result, and he certainly didn’t expect the inmates to join in on the laughter. He tried to shrug it off and walked to the phone.

“Loring, get your ass over here right now.” The guard wasn’t loud but the tone of his voice left no question at all about the expectation of obedience.

He sheepishly made his way over to the doorway, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone but the desperate need to get out of jail overcame his good judgment. “When can I make a call?”

The guard stared at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Years of privilege characterized his response. “I’m entitled to a phone call and you have to give it to me.”

The moment the words left his mouth he felt stupid for saying them. The guard didn’t yell, though. Instead, the guard simply smiled. “I guess we ought to make you comfortable, huh? I suppose that’s fair. Get back inside and make your call.” He pointed to the remaining inmates. “All of you come with me.” Gregory watched them file out and then stared as the door closed with an ominous clicking sound that reverberated throughout the cell.

Finally, he shrugged and made his way to the phone.

Naturally, he got Andi’s voicemail. He cursed himself for somehow committing to memory the number for his lawyer’s office but not her cell phone. He left a panicked message, hung up, and dialed again just in case. Voicemail again. He sat down and tried to determine if she’d be back in her office today or even back at all over the weekend.

Then the door opened again. Gregory looked at the guards who entered. There were three, the first who’d twisted his arm so terribly before; the second, who’d called him and then let him stay to make his call; and a third. The three guards were strangely similar. They weren’t like triplets if Gregory looked at their faces but from the neck down they were identical. They were all tall and muscular and—

Muscular?

Calling them muscular was like calling Orson Welles a good director. It was like calling Beethoven a good composer. It was like calling a nuclear bomb a weapon. Muscular? These men were like gods but scary gods whose pantheon primarily consisted of giants with bodies capable of lifting trees from the earth and tossing boulders over mountains. Gregory stared at them and action heroes, boxing movies, wrestling matches, and bodybuilder images filled his mind.

The new guard tossed a bundle of orange fabric in Gregory’s direction. “Loring, get undressed,” he said. Gregory sighed and picked up the bundle. It was a jumpsuit, ugly orange with block black letters that read INMATE along each leg and COUNTY JAIL across the back. There was no way to pretend all of this would blow away. He wondered if he was stuck for the entire weekend. He vaguely recalled the courts being closed on Saturdays and Sundays but that was from a civil matter a friend dealt with. Surely there was night court and weekend court for criminal stuff, right?

“Do we have to strip you ourselves, Loring?”

The idea curiously thrilled him even as it shocked him and frightened him. He instantly began undressing, kicking off his shoes first and then lifting off his shirt. He looked around for somewhere to put it and paused because he didn’t want to drop a hundred and twelve dollar piece of clothing on concrete. The matter was decided for him when the first guard grabbed the shirt out of his hand and stuffed it into a mesh bag. “Hurry it up, Loring.”

Sighing, he unbuckled his belt and then his slacks. He unzipped and let the pants fall to his ankles before stepping out of them. He reached down and picked them up. The guard snapped them away from him and stuffed them into the bag as well. Gregory reached for the ugly jumpsuit.

“What the fuck are you doing, shithead?”

The guard was loud as hell, and the sound made Gregory jump. “I’m changing like you said,” he said weakly.

“Nobody told you to change, fucker! We said to get undressed. Let me tell you something, ass wipe. Obedience is your friend here. Silence is your friend here. Now shut up and do what you’re told.”

Gregory froze then took a deep breath before putting the bundle down on the concrete bench. He realized he was afraid but more than any other emotion, what ran through him was primarily anger, or more accurately, offense. People didn’t talk to him that way. He wasn’t some piece of shit criminal. What the fuck? It was a goddamn Porsche he drove when he got the fucking tickets. Why were the assholes treating him like some kind of fucking criminal?

He lifted his eyes up and looked at the guards. Who were these testosterone-fueled assholes to treat him like this?

“You got something to say, asshole?”

“N-no.” It was amazing how all of his indignation-fueled bluster seemed to disappear almost instantly.

“Then get the rest of your goddamn clothes off!

“All of them?”

Two of the guards laughed. The other didn’t but his voice seemed filled with laughter as he said, “Are you fucking stupid? Get undressed or we’ll get you undressed.”

Gregory was pretty sure he’d never felt the particular combination of fear and humiliation that cascaded over him. The fear was stronger than his desire to avoid future humiliation, though, so he swallowed hard and put his hands on the waistband of his underwear and pushed it down to his ankles before stepping out.

“Your socks, too, dirt bag.”

Dirt bag? Jesus.

He bent over to get his socks off but stopped when a different guard said, “No. Keep the socks on. They’ll keep the shackles from causing damage.”

Shackles? What the fuck?

Before he had a chance to think about that, though, the guard who’d instructed him not to take off his socks stepped forward. Gregory noticed a patch on his shirt right above the breast pocket with Deputy Flores embroidered on it. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed nametags before. He wondered if the man was Latino. He sure as hell didn’t look like he was. He turned and looked at the other guards. One stood behind the other, so he could only see one other name. Deputy Hayfield.

“Put your hands out in front of you.” He turned back to Flores. The man didn’t have any kind of an accent. He stared and lifted his hands, utterly bewildered and afraid now. The man clicked cuffs around his wrists but Gregory kept his eyes on Flores’ embroidered name rather than looking down until he realized the cuffs felt heavier than the cuffs put on him during his arrest. He chanced a glance down. There was a chain hanging down from the chain between the cuffs. Larger cuffs hung in the air just an inch or two above his ankles.

He lifted his head to tell Flores the manacles were too short but he stopped when he realized just how stupid it would sound. He felt arms on his shoulders and he believed it was Hayfield who said, “Don’t even think of trying anything funny.” He wanted to protest, to say anything about not trying anything at all but he found himself unable to speak as Flores knelt. Crazily, with the man in front of him and his face just inches from Gregory’s exposed cock, Gregory became suddenly terrified he’d get an erection. He wasn’t aroused at all but that didn’t make the fear any less profound.

Flores pulled on one of the large cuffs and that pulled Gregory’s upper body down a little as Flores snapped it in place over his ankle. As terrible as the situation was, he found himself suddenly grateful he was allowed to keep his socks. His wrists already felt sore from the way the cuffs pulled at them. The other larger cuff clicked into place and Flores stepped back.

“Who’s gonna start?” he said.

Start what? Jesus. Why hadn’t he reached his lawyer?

“I will.” It was the guard whose name Gregory hadn’t seen, the first guard who’d twisted his arm.

A moment later, cold fear washed over Gregory as he felt something slick against his asshole. “What the—”

“Shut the fuck up!” The violence in the guard’s voice was terrifying but even more terrifying was the sudden intrusion of something into his asshole. It stretched him uncomfortably.

“Shit, he’s tight as hell.”

“And you’ve only got one finger in him.”

Fuck. A strip search? “I’m here on parking tickets,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up! What? Are you trying to hide something?”

Gregory started to straighten up and immediately hands on his shoulders pushed him forward. He ended up leaning against the wall face first. The chain from his wrists pulled at his ankles in a horribly uncomfortable way but he was right against the built-in concrete benches so the corner of the bench pressed against his shins. That essentially meant that he couldn’t adjust in any way at all to get some slack in the chain. For all intents and purposes, he was helpless.

Fuck! Helpless and in pain. The uncomfortable feeling in his ass exploded into pain. “Fuck, Fontaine. One to three right away?”

Everyone laughed. Fontaine said, “Hey, I lubed it.”

There was more laughter. Someone, and Gregory thought it was Flores, said, “That lube is for getting rings and shit off for property. There’s other lube for strip searches.”

“I gotta get my thumb in.”

Gregory tried to protest but the pain was such that he felt mute. He managed a kind of wheezing moan, and that was it.

Flores or perhaps Deputy Hayfield said, “No. Go for the pinky first. That’s the only way to get your whole hand in.”

Whole hand? Gregory immediately and involuntarily jerked upward. That made pain shoot through him not only from his ass but also from his shins and then his knees as the shackles made him lose balance so he slammed down, ending up kind of bent over the bench except his weight pushed his wrists against the corner. Everything hurt like hell, and the smack of his cheek against the bench had to bruise his damned jawbone at the least. On the bright side, Fontaine’s fingers left his ass.

For about five seconds.

Everyone laughed again as pain erupted over Greg’s body. He screamed but the scream only brought more laughter. “There you go, man,” one of the deputies said. “Now put your thumb against the palm of your hand and squeeze it in.”

“Fuck! No!”

“Shut up, asshole.”

That was it. Well, that and laughter was it.

“But I’m just here for parking TICKETS!” The last word came out as a scream because pain became impossible agony as Fontaine grunted. There was impossible pressure at his ass, impossible pressure. After the scream, he couldn’t even breathe. He managed to turn his head and if he could have managed it, tears would have flowed from his face. He saw something impossible. Fontaine’s arms were huge.

He had his shirt rolled up all the way to the middle of his bicep and the muscles there seemed far too big for the shirt, like it would tear. The arm was straight, and Gregory’s eyes traveled down to his elbow and his almost-Popeye like forearms. Then it ended. His arm disappeared. It just disappeared.

Into Gregory’s ass!

Like he floated above his body, Gregory looked at his asshole, impossibly stretched around Fontaine’s wrist. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He could only see the place where the hand disappeared. He was able to let out a pain-filled whine, and that was it. He desperately wished he could form words a moment later when Hayfield said, “You got to move your hand around if you’re going to find anything.”

Gregory could only respond by turning his head again and as the pain, heightened by movement of Fontaine’s fingers, assaulted him he stared at the concrete of the wall. He could feel tears welling up now.

“Now you’re behaving, Loring. Good boy.” There was laughter in Flores’ voice. “Unless we find something.”

“How long should I look?” Fontaine said.

“Fuck,” replied Hayfield. “He’s getting a hard on. Don’t look long or he’s gonna cum all over the fucking bench.”

Gregory realized with horror that Hayfield was right. He had a fucking erection. It made no sense. He hurt like hell. Suddenly, pain exploded over his balls as Fontaine slapped them hard with his free hand. “What are you? Some kind of pervert?”

Again, Gregory couldn’t respond. He was especially horrified because his cock remained hard. “I can’t find anything,” Fontaine said. “Guess he’s clean.”

A moment later, Gregory’s ass was empty but the speed and force of Fontaine’s withdrawal prevented him from feeling any relief for it. In fact, when Fontaine pulled his hand out, it sent jagged splinters of hurt through his body that seemed worse than what had happened before. He shook from it and managed to scream briefly before settling into a soft guttural weeping.

“Fucking wimp,” one of the guards said. Gregory couldn’t tell which one.

Suddenly his ass was full again, and he heard Flores say, “We should all check.” Gregory screamed but instantly cut himself off when Flores said, “Shut up. I can’t concentrate. Keep it up and we might have to figure out a way for all of us to search you at the same time.”

Gregory shut it. He shut up as Flores moved his fist and did it for a very long time. He shut up as Hayfield did the same thing. He shut up when Fontaine took another turn and then Flores did. Hayfield got called on his radio to handle a group of intake inmates so he didn’t take a second turn. Fontaine instead took a third. Despite the torture, Gregory managed to keep from screaming, letting out whimpers and moans of pain instead.

And he stayed hard.

His dick stayed hard for the entire time, and none of that made sense.

When Fontaine finished with him, Gregory resigned himself to Flores’ next turn. It didn’t happen, though. Instead, Flores snapped. “Get the fuck up.”

It was torment to stand but he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. He got to his feet, and he realized his hands were almost numb. Almost. They certainly weren’t functional but he couldn’t call them numb with all the pain emanating from his wrists.

Wrists? Hell, the pain still emanating from his ass was terrible.

He heard a strange wet sound and turned around. It was the sound of a glove hitting the floor. It was strange because even though he saw the thin plastic and then watched Fontaine pull off the other one, he didn’t realize they’d worn them. Flores stepped forward and Fontaine moved behind him and grabbed his shoulders again. Gregory wondered why he wasn’t afraid and realized he was too exhausted to be.

There was no reason for it at the moment anyway. Flores reached down and uncuffed his hands. The cuffs clattered to the floor and then Flores knelt and uncuffed Gregory’s ankles. Fontaine let go of his arms when Flores stood back up. He walked to the door, opened it, and called out, “Loring coming out.”

Fontaine turned Loring around and said, “Get dressed.” Gregory reached for the orange jumpsuit and Fontaine laughed. “No. Your street clothes.”

“What?”

“You’re getting a court date and a release. That’s why you’re in this cell.”

“But—”

“Hey, at least you got to exercise your right to a phone call, though, right?”

With that, Fontaine joined Flores at the door, the two joking around with someone outside and talking about the most recent episodes of some HBO drama. Wordlessly, Gregory dressed himself, no easy task given the state of his body.

Forty minutes later, he stepped out of the jail center. Forty-eight minutes later, a taxi took him to a rental car company because he wouldn’t be able to get his car until Monday. An hour after that, he checked into a hotel room, not because he didn’t want to go home but because he wanted to reward himself or more accurately, give himself some consolation after the horrible day.

Two hours after he checked in, his hooker arrived. She was young and blonde and actually skilled but as she sucked him, he realized he wasn’t making progress. It made no sense but as her fingertips caressed his balls he suddenly wanted her to do something he’d never wanted before. “Put a finger in my ass.”

She didn’t seem to mind, and she didn’t mind when he asked her to make it two. By the time she had three in there, though, she seemed uncomfortable. She told him it would be an extra two-hundred more for her whole fist.

He paid it.

It hurt like hell.

It hurt like hell even as he came in the blonde whore’s mouth.

He gave her a substantial tip and asked her to come back the next evening. Hell, he couldn’t get his car until Monday anyway. Might as well spend the weekend at the Carlton.

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A hot new bondage and spanking art series from the very talented Franco featuring hot guys tormented by mysterious monks in a variety of ways.

Hot Guys Tormented by Mysterious Monks
by Franco

Enjoy the story? Please let our authors know by commenting below. It rewards their hard work and encourages them to write more!