A sexy red-head drifter is brought to the farm and suffers a similar fate as Colton and his friends. Very sexy manips by Amalaric!
Stepson's Doom - Part 14
by Kronmire4
Art by Amalaric
Series: Stepson's Doom
While the dejected Colt Murray spent those next days working in the fields during the day and dreaming about his escape plans at night, he failed to notice a new arrival at the farm, that bucolic place which had mentored him during his adolescence but which had by now become a hated prison for himself, his pal Charlie, and others. On this crisp spring morning while Colt toiled under the sun in a distant hayfield (under the watchful eye of the lascivious Pratt) closer to the main house there appeared a twenty-something adonis named Red Summers; of course "Red" wasn't his given name but an understandable nickname due to his bright shock of close-cropped hair; young Summers was of Irish stock, at least six feet tall, well-muscled and wearing tight jeans and even tighter muscle shirt. Upon arrival he was unconscious, barefoot, and sprawled in an ungainly heap in the back of Byron's pickup truck. Byron and Potter had brought the fine young hunk to the Caldwell farm after telephoning Les Caldwell and getting his OK. Les was waiting for them in the garage as they drove in, and he approached the back of the pickup to have a look at this new prey. What he saw pleased him, but his innate caution brought on some questions: "Say, guys, he's a beauty -- but what do you know about him?" Potter and Byron grinned at each other conspiratorially and then Potter explained: "Well, Les, it seems our old pal, Captain Carville of the state police station, told us about this guy he'd found hitchhiking along County Road 67; upon questioning the kid he found out his name was Jake Summers but went by the name of "Red" -- no surprise there!" The three men laughed at that, and Les reached over the pickup fender to fondle the sleeping youth's brilliant head of hair. Potter continued: "Carville said there really wasn't anything to hold him on, that he was hitchhiking from his old home grounds in Kansas and had no known family; no one expected him or would check on him, so he gave him to us after giving him a little knock-out concoction. The chief thought our little "fraternity" would like the lad as an addition to the mix. Don't you agree?" Before Caldwell could answer, the subject of the discussion began to stir, stretching his powerful limbs and rolling back and forth on the pickup bed; his hands were tied behind his back, so Red was effectively neutralized as far as putting up much of a fight. Before the boy became fully conscious again Les and the two others picked the young man up and lifted him out of the vehicle.
Standing Red upright as he struggled to find his unsure footing, the lad's eyes still closed, Les commanded: "Let's get that shirt off him -- I want to see that torso in the flesh." His two henchmen untied the lad's roped wrists and then peeled off the shirt, exposing a broad, alabaster-hued upper body with rippling muscles overlaid with a sheen of attractive perspiration -- even in the semi-dark but open-ended garage the shafts of light illuminated an impressive physique. Groggily the boy allowed the men to turn him by his arms, but his head was still reeling, not understanding what was happening to him. At last he opened his eyes and blinked several times to allow his blurred vision to clear. His speech still a bit slurred, Red blurted out: "WHAT'S GOING ON? WHERE AM I?" Before he could create any kind of fuss, the men pushed and pulled the youth toward the barn's far corner where a tall beam was nailed against the building's wall, iron shackles and chains imbedded in it up and down its length; it took little effort to lift the lad's wrists upward and fasten them into the uppermost metal housings -- he was immobilized, clad only in those tight jeans. Again Les ignored the protesting prisoner's grunts and mutterings and ordered Potter to strip off almost the last vestiges of clothing from their helpless captive. All three men stood back to admire their handiwork -- and Red was indeed a spectacular addition to the fold -- that gleaming near-nude body, now dressed only in his tight cotton briefs, struggling and straining those perfect muscles, it was more than could be hoped for by these amoral fiends. Red was by now fully awake and knew he could do nothing physical to get out of this strange predicament. His chest heaved as he wondered just what kind of trap he'd fallen into. Again he called out: "WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT? WHY AM I STRIPPED?" Les now looked coldly into the boy's frightened but arrogant eyes and replied: "Don't worry, son. There's nothing you can do about this. We'll tell you what you need to know -- as you need to know it." Once more Red cried: "BUT I'M A POOR KID FROM KANSAS, TRYIN' TO GET TO CALIFORNIA! NOBODY KNOWS WHERE I AM, AND NOBODY'S GOT ANY RANSOM TO GET ME OUTTA HERE! LEMMEE GO, YOU CRAZY PERVERTS!"
The men just looked at their prize cooly for several seconds as the boy's glance went from one to the other of them, finding no mercy in any of their impassive faces. After another minute Les calmly directed Potter to call Pratt and tell him to bring back Colt and lock him up, then to call the others and have them all meet in the garage as soon as possible. Potter went to do as he was told, then Byron approached the trembling new stallion and reached out to stroke the boy's damp, heaving chest, running his fingers down those superb abs, pressing and poking all the soft and hard parts of this strange new body so brazenly stripped and available for the taking! Red watched for several more seconds before crying out: "QUIT IT, YOU BASTARD! I AIN'T THAT KIND! GET OFFA ME -- NOW!" Byron chuckled and kept on exploring the young man with both his hands now. As he did so, Red had a frightening memory of the time when he was in a railroad boxcar only a few weeks ago, freeloading his way across the Kansas plains, and how he was desperate then for escape from the railroad cop who caught him and wanted to throw him off the train that very minute; but to his shock and revulsion the man told him he was willing to let him go if he'd let him "do things" to him. There was no choice at that crucial moment -- Red had never let any man have his way with him, but he couldn't let himself be kicked out and taken to jail, so he reluctantly allowed the slobbering railroad honcho to reach into his pants and feel him up -- he wanted to vomit but lifted his shirt and let the guy shoot his load onto his bare chest before finally pushing him up and off his body. At least nothing worse happened -- that time! But he was beginning to think that now might be another story.
It seemed to Red like hours of tormenting abuse as Byron hungrily stroked and caressed the straining youth's hot body, spending considerable time reaching into his shorts and examining his warm, sizable cock and low-slung balls. Then, temporarily satisfied and with a mounting erection of his own growing inside his khaki pants Byron stood back and let Caldwell have a turn. Les had only a few minutes of private exploration on his own before Pratt, Coach Blackert and Potter entered the garage, followed right behind by Chief Carville. They all hooted and hollered when they beheld the trussed-up and all-but-nude athlete in the corner, and Caldwell and Byron acknowledged their attention, with Les calling out: "Welcome gentlemen. And you too, Chief. So glad you thought of us with this fine gift." Summers looked back and forth between the two men with apparent disgust, but he said nothing. Chief Carville laughed and said, "Yeah, men -- I knew since you let me into your little…uh…club…that you might like some new blood. Glad I was able to oblige." Everyone laughed at that and all eyes were fixed on the increasingly embarrassed object of their attention.
While the others watched, Caldwell strode over to a nearby rack and removed a cattle prod from the assortment of torture implements on display there. He quickly approached the prisoner and placed the tip of the device against the boy's left nipple before he said: "Now son, either you cooperate or you'll have to get used to a LOT of this!" With that statement, just as Red started to speak, instead he let out a frantic scream of unimaginable pain: "YEEEEEEOOOOOOOW!" Caldwell kept the prod's button pressed for only a second, but it was enough to send a spasm throughout the youth's strong body. There were several seconds after the scream before Red looked up through terrified eyes and stammered out: "Please! No more! No more! I'm begging you!" Caldwell brought his face close to that of his captive and said: "Say 'Sir' when you are allowed to speak, boy." A few more seconds passed before Red responded: "Yes, SIR." All the spectators were much amused, then Coach Blackert asked: "What now, Les?" Caldwell mused for a moment and then said, "Well, we need some more information about this new inmate, don't you think? Bring over that doctor's scale against the wall, Blackert." The coach did as he was directed, then Caldwell again placed the tip of the cattle prod against Red's chest and told Potter to unfasten the shackles. As that action was being accomplished Les firmly told the kid: "Just remember, there's lots more pain to come if you try to escape or refuse to obey. Understand me?" Red nodded as he brought his arms down to his sides and rubbed his sore wrists, then he thought quickly and answered verbally: "YES SIR!" Laughter filled the garage again while Caldwell maneuvered the boy over to stand on the medical scale. Pratt moved the gauges and recorded the boy's weight: "185 pounds. Excellent." Next the lad was ordered to go through some exercises and taking of vital signs and then re-shackled to the corner brace. At this point Coach Blackert went over and slowly lowered the ginger athlete's briefs, exposing what all knew would be an excellent package -- the hairy genitals were more than acceptable, and every man watching wondered when they would see some action from them. The coach continued to slide the sweat-dampened cotton garment down the hairy thighs and calves before forcing them off the boy's feet, leaving him fully exposed for the men's continuing pleasures.
There was only one window in the garage, and Red turned his head to look out of it, hoping against all hope that he might see some sort of rescue, anything that might end his present ordeal, but no help appeared. Interrupting his thoughts, he noticed that Potter was once more unfastening the shackles at his wrists, but he also felt the cattle prod pressed against his bare abdominals; he was afraid to move before being told, although every fiber of his being wanted to lash out at his captors and run for his very life. Still, the memory of that earlier stab of pain had stayed with him, and he didn't know how many more of those he could take. It would be better, he knew, to wait and see. This time Potter and the coach led him over to a long ceiling beam and fastened his wrists wide apart to it, his whole muscular form stretched to its limit. Next the two men knelt down and placed shackles around his ankles and fastened them to chains that pulled both legs apart as well -- he was effectively spreadeagled, his only motions mere inches as he struggled for a release that he knew could not happen. 
Suddenly there appeared at the open garage door several other men -- could it be rescue at last? Those hopes were dashed immediately as the new men began glad-handing the others in the building, laughing and casting admiring, disgusting glances at Summers' naked body. One of them set up a camera and tripod, focusing it on his stetched-out bare form -- he turned his face away, blushing furiously at the thought that all his torments to come would be recorded and used by more and more people for whatever nefarious purposes he couldn't even imagine. Only because his gaze was turned to the far wall did Red see what could be in store for him -- the rack from which the cattle prod had been produced -- there were many, many more tools there, some of which he knew nothing about their purpose. Yet the boy was smart enough to know that he was about to find out! The men settled down on seats and benches, bringing out drinks and getting themselves comfortable, the camera was starting to snap pictures, and Red Summers was the main attraction this warm day; he dropped his handsome red-headed countenance down on his chest and awaited his fate.
An hour or so later Colt Murray, alone and secure in his cell some distance away from the garage, awoke from a sound sleep to hear loud cries -- cries of pure, absolute terror, obviously from a male voice. The screams rose and fell with some regularity, joined now and then by other men's shouts and by what sounded like raucous, dissonant laughter. He couldn't imagine what could be happening -- or to whom, but it wouldn't take long for him to find out!
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