The Asylum 7

NOTICE: All the Standard warnings about being of age, being aware of your community standards apply to the following story! Please read no further if you are underage 18/21--or live in a conservative area--or are offended by explicit sexual stories. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone is strictly coincidental.

Synopsis: Men and boys who commit crimes are taken to an island for punishment. They are put through inspections and into sexual service rooms. In this section, the Irish Republican terrorist is subjected to first meaningful training that will permanently transform him, and the story of the Palestinian terrorist Mohamment, will follow.

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Playroom No. 1: A Terrorist's Lament

In recent years we have been doing a landmark business in terrorists. After all, in the global village, terrorists are the enemies of every nation, and unless you kill them, they always seem to return to the stage. Many governments merely want them to disappear, not to die. The disappearance seems to have a greater effect on recruiting than martyrdom since it seems so unresolved. Velasquez has quietly and effectively made contacts throughout the intelligence network around the world. While the overwhelmingly heterosexual agencies are bothered at one level with the enslavement of their male cronies, there is also a sweet sense of revenge that is associated with turning their most wanted foes into someone's permanent sexual slave.

On a recent trip to Europe and the Middle East, Velasquez brought home two stunning specimens that would make the days and nights on the Island just a bit more interesting in the immediate future. The first was from Northern Ireland, a delicious piece of meat named Cormack Kerry. Cormack was 5'9" tall, with a beautiful set of brooding green eyes, and strawberry blond hair that seemed to forest his entire, well proportioned body. He wasn't skinny, not by a long shot. Instead, he was built like a wrestler, and his mentality was just about at that level, not to mention his personality. He was sullen and angry...unable to understand how one of the splinter IRA heroes could be in bondage and under the control of a bunch of dick-brained Spanish speaking fucks. He did not act scared, because he expected worse if this were a British prison or militant Protestant group, but how his activities with the provisional splinter wing was tied to what he thought were these dumb Latins, did not seem to either move him or worry him...at least not yet.

Cormack was taken into the infirmary for my physical exam, and that was his first realization that this was not the usual kind of incarceration. I had him shackled standing, with his back bowed out to me. A support bar with a back brace forced his lower back and hips toward me, while his arms were stretched backwards and up. His feet were on the ground, but I had his shoes and socks removed. The room was warm enough, about 70 degrees, so that while he was not cold, but he also wasn't too warm. The white tile which covered the walls, and the antiseptic stainless steel carts, sinks, and instrument panels all suggested a modern torture chamber. But at least initially, Cormack looked bored with his situation, and contemptuous of me.

I had the men leave him ungagged when he was brought in, but his head was immobilized. I wanted to gag him myself. so I walked up to him with a short vibrator gag. He didn't seem to recognize the device, not even what it was used for. I took a fleece lined, spring loaded, clamp and gently applied it to his straight, handsome nose. That done, he looked at me like I was going to suffocate him, and his first thought was to spit at me. Just as he opened his mouth to hawk, I deftly slipped the slender, round vibrator enclosed in soft plastic in the orifice, and buckled the straps around his protesting head. Once in place, his lovely Irish curses and unintelligible hate were beyond any recognition. I looked down at his pale, wide feet. They were heavily muscled, and high arching, with narrow heels and long, curving toes. They were size eleven, big for a small man. But Cormack was an athlete, and had chosen the IRA as the best place to act out his manhood rituals, learned at an early age on the angry streets of Belfast.

I began to unbutton his shirt. He wanted to kick me in the balls, but was firmly secured, so all his hands could do is scrabble helplessly as his breathing quickened out of anger, and his gibberish continued from behind the dormant gag. Once I pulled the flaps out, and shoved them aside, I used a sharp pair of shears to cut open his t-shirt, he returned to his proud defiance...waiting to take whatever painful punishment I could devise like the hearty man he was. I wanted to disabuse him of that notion, and so started to talk as I opened my palms against his arching pectorals, and flat, muscular stomach: "Macky, this isn't what you think. You're not hear to suffer pain and hurt. No, no, much to the contrary. You are hear to learn absolute pleasure. You are going to be trained to enjoy this perfect body of yours. I know that in the past, you've looked at sex as a mechanical affair, simply something that a man has to do in order to reaffirm his identity and a necessary distraction from the business of killing and maiming to take the tension off those hefty, sweaty balls that hang between your legs." As I spoke, my palms rotated across the hairy flesh, and my rough finger pads just gently grazed the puckering, round, pebbled tit flesh, poking through the coarse reddish-blond curls. "But Macky, those days are over for you...permanently. Most of the young men who come to visit me are just hear for 6 months or a year. But you have been assigned to us on a permanent basis. Oh, we'll put you back into the world. But when we do, you're going to be a different man, Macky. Your dick isn't going to get hard any more in anticipation of shooting someone, or beating the shit out of someone. Your dick is going to respond on command to serve the needs and tastes of others, and in the process, you're going to shoot what will seem like hundreds of gallons of sperm. So sit back and enjoy the ride, Macky. Your killing days are over, and your days as a sex machine are about to begin."

He looked at me both contemptuously and nervously, like he'd heard crap like this before and wasn't intimidated. Still, no one had ever used this kind of scam on him...shit like "sex machine" and "gallons of jizz...", shit like that. But other fags in army clothing had run their hands over his body, and then hurt him like any guy would do to another he could control. But this shit seemed different, he seemed to think...my hands were so soothing and now I had licked my index finger on one hand and was rolling one tit while my other finger screwed gently into his navel, scratching and tickling. The nipple hardened, and the tickling was causing him to breath even faster...and what was this, was the front of his fatigues beginning to push out?

I lowered my tickling hand to his crotch, and grasped his genitals through the pants. Yes, he had hardened, and the seven inch cudgel was fat and hard above those big, drooping beauties that were filled with scum. Velasquez had done his usual surveillance on Cormack before he had taken him prisoner with the help of the British intelligence. Velasquez had video-taped Cormack screwing some mousy Catholic girl silly. His taut ass checks, covered in the red-blond fur, had pounded the narrow hips beneath him into submission, while his hard and thick crow-bar had roiled her clit continuously. She squealed and begged as he screwed and screwed, pulling up her legs, and driving in deep. Her hands clawed at his back, leaving scratch marks, and his firm feet dug deep into the bed, so he could gain leverage as he fucked her into oblivion and soothed the itch in his starch filled balls. When he finally came, he seemed to shoot for almost a minute, and then he rolled off of her, almost in disgust, throwing an arm over his head, as she leaped after him and devoured his still drooling cock into her mouth, causing him to raise his legs and flinch slightly. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how sensitive his fat dick head was after a cum and when his only slightly retracted foreskin was probed by a tongue or a finger. Instead, he let her perform his absolutions, cleaning his body, even raising his legs to lick gently at his hairy cleft. That's what women were for, in Cormack's twenty-five year old mind, just there to serve men's needs during the war. Now that dick that hardened whenever his body was touched, would serve me well, and betray Macky every time he had a session.

I lowered his pants, and used my hand to frig his impressive seven inch cock. Its wide body and similarly sized knob were truly a girl's best friend. I could imagine how women must have dreamed of riding up and down the rigid boner as they sat on top, giving their hard clits a good work out on Cormack's randy rod. But now, the combination of my plying fingers, gently pinching and tugging, then rolling the round, pebbled nipples in their hairy forest, and my thumb rubbing up and down and forcing the tight, delicate foreskin up and over the rosy knob, turned his prick into a hard poker. I then took a clip and pulled his foreskin up taut over his expanded knob, clipping the skin closed over the piss lips. Then I attached two clips to his hard, pebbled tit cones. Each had a wire to the console, and then I attached a fourth to the hanging bag of his duck egg balls. Then I took one of the slender, horse hair covered dildoes and after liberally coating it with lubricant, gently inserted it deep up his bowels and harnessed it in place. When I turned the dials on the console, a combination of a low current of electricity to his tits, dick and balls was accompanied by occasional small shocks, randomly programmed into the coordinated clips. These forced Macky to jerk suddenly, or clench his bowels, and each time he did, he gave his prostrate the incredible inner masturbation of the irresistible horse hair. When I left him, Cormack eyes were wide with the sensation of the horsehair up his butt, and his dick was a hard spike, responding to the sensations in his tits, balls, and barely protected dick head.

For the first time, Macky began to react, especially when I turned on his vibrating gag on low. The sensations overcame him, he could not concentrate. The tickling of his tongue and palate by the unpredictable buzzing of the telescoping gag, plus the incredible sensations coursing through his anus, tits, balls and dick had begun the inevitable transformation of this hardened terrorist. He moaned and gurgled behind the gag, whining for something, and I left him to walk over to the other part of the room hearing his grunts and squeals...."aaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeee.....aaaagghhhhhhh.... oooooooooohhhhhhhhggggggg......aaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee......!

The other prisoner wheeled into the infirmary that night had come from the West Bank of Jerusalem. Jeez these young middle eastern men were fucking gorgeous. This one, was almost pale skinned, but his legs, arms and chest were thickly coated with black, wiry hair which became a forest up his butt crack and under his arms. His narrow face, was punctuated by a handsome, thin mustache, and his twenty-four year old frame was covered in muscles that were taut and firm, down to his even paler size ten feet, with their curled toes. At 6' even, he was a luscious treat, served up by Saudi operatives working with Arafat's secret police who were determined that the Palestinian-Jewish accords would work if only for the sake of the peaceful need to export oil.

Mohammet Nazir was a pious boy. He had followed the example of his brothers and his father keeping himself in the way of God. He did not defile his body or sacrifice his virtue for easy pleasure. He keep his traitorous hands from touching himself, and his painfully swollen testicles testified to his duty and honor. He lusted after veiled girls, but shyly kept to himself and his duties. By day he worked for his Uncle, and by night he was a son of the holy war. He prayed devoutly and kept to himself. The men talked of their women in private times, but the single men were expected to listen and hope, longing for the day when marriage would provide them relief for the tension in their groins that turned to anger at night.

Many nights, Mohammet would sleep fitfully, tossing and turning, and suddenly he would wake in up in a sweat, his firm muscles coated with a fine sheen of perspiration and his stomach and chest covered with the starchy scent and sticky coating of sperm. When this happened, the young man would pray even more, hoping that there were not dishonorable thoughts, impure thoughts, that were leading to his shame. His long nine inch spike was always half hard, swinging out in front of him unless he wore tight shorts. The wide, large circumcised helmet had a very large flange and deep piss lips. The dark meat of his prick was contrasted to the ruddy prick head, looking so succulent and smooth. Mohammet was as horny as he was angry, his dick always betraying him, and swelling unexpectedly.

But if Mohammet was pious, he was also merciless. He had participated in several viscous attacks on tourists, and was with two others when they captured a handsome, young Israeli student who had gotten lost while driving to visit a friend in one of the settlements. He and the two other young men had taken the Israeli youth to a location in the hills, and spent an evening torturing him. They stripped the boy, and tied him out to the cool sands of the evening. They put biting, stinging ants on his body after smoothing sweet jam on his tits, his balls, and up the crack of his muscular ass between the widely spread legs. The worrying ants started to feast on the sensitive tips of the nipples, and chewed on the tender flesh of the roiling nuts. They invaded the crack of his ass, and tried to bite their way into his protesting, clenched asshole. The jam had been sensuously worked into the tight knot, tickling the inner lining of the boy's fundament. The ants biting, would cause the poor youth to lose control of his muscles at moment's, and the ants would take their advantage, working relentlessly to get to the jam in the recess of his hot cavity. But the coup administered by the sadistic young men was yet to come. They let Mohammet coat his hand with the sticky jam, and he took up the boy's five-inch, flaccid penis. Holding the organ up, he began a slow and deliberate slide with his rough palm and fingers. The fist caused the frightened boy to spring an immediate boner, and much to Mohammet surprise, his own semi-hard organ filled with blood, painfully trapped between his thighs and in his pants. When the young man's eight inch erection surged in his hand, he deliberately coated the wide fat plum of the head, working the jam into the sensitive piss lips and around the flange and over the glans. Between the delicious sensation of the fist masturbating him, and the incessant biting of the ants, the young man moaned helplessly:
aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh....Aaaaagghhhhhhhhh.....mmmmmmmmgggggghhhhhh..... uuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhh!

But his grunts turned to cries of anguish when the ants discovered that at the top the sticky nuts was a tall pole covered with tasty jam. They rushed up the stalk, biting and when they reached his bloated dick head, they especially worked the tender flesh, seeking the wide ridge around the glans, invading the piss lips and nipping over the smooth, oozing glans. Instead of going soft, the dick hardened, and while the young Arab men watched, cursing the helpless young Israeli and mocking his sexual arousal, he eventually succumbed to the sensations of a thousand little jaws, chewing and nipping his overwrought flesh. In a moment of sudden surrender to the incredible sensation, the young man arched off the ground, held only by his bonds, and shot long streams of sticky sperm into the air. The young man laughed and then cursed the boy again, calling him names associated with weakness and even worse. But while his gism squirted over his torso, the business-like ants chewed and nibbled, leaving him writhing and begging to have his sensitive glans protected from the attack. Little did the others know, but Mohammet had shot his own sticky juice in his pants. Only the darkness and his long coat covered the evidence of his excitement. He liked watching the young man helpless and aroused, and he liked seeing the squirting scum, shooting in long ropes up into the air. They untied the boy, and left him naked in the sands to be found by his own, while they went back with his clothes to tout their triumph and their righteous act of defiance. Later than night, Mohammet ejaculated in his sleep, having dreams of the erotic scene of torture again.

Mohammet was in the same room as Cormack. He was on a flat, wide exam table, with his hands attached to a spreader bar which kept them open and exposed, but useless. His feet were widely spread, and also attached to the same spreader bar. He had a head harness with a funnel gag attached that muffled his groans and complaints. His balls were cinched in bondage, and gently secured down toward the foot of the table. Already, the huge, curved penis was at full attention and the overly wide knob, thicker than the stalk, was bloated and wet with clear goo from his robust excitement. Now Mohammet was in the very bondage that had excited him when he and his friends had caught victims on the East Bank, and he could neither hide nor control his sexual arousal. I pulled the curved cock from his stomach, and secured it toward me with a small bolster and a little strap that held it upstanding. Using a small electric brush, with a half inch length and 1/8 inch width of stiff horse hair, I began a slow investigation of his musky erection. I started at the thick ridge on the bottom of his dick, and turned on the brush. It's whirring bristles shook back and forth, and I applied the stiff undulating thing to his exposed base and worked slowly and methodically up the captured prick meat. The fat knob bloated even more as the wicked bristles irritated the throbbing penis, and the wide piss grove filled with more sticky sap that dripped down and coated the path I was working up with remarkable patience.

In recent years we have been doing a landmark business in terrorists. After all, in the global village, terrorists are the enemies of every nation, and unless you kill them, they always seem to return to the stage. Many governments merely want them to disappear, not to die. The disappearance seems to have a greater effect on recruiting than martyrdom since it seems so unresolved. Velasquez has quietly and effectively made contacts throughout the intelligence network around the world. While the overwhelmingly heterosexual agencies are bothered at one level with the enslavement of their male cronies, there is also a sweet sense of revenge that is associated with turning their most wanted foes into someone's permanent sexual slave.

On a recent trip to Europe and the Middle East, Velasquez brought home two stunning specimens that would make the days and nights on the Island just a bit more interesting in the immediate future. The first was from Northern Ireland, a delicious piece of meat named Cormack Kerry. Cormack was 5'9" tall, with a beautiful set of brooding green eyes, and strawberry blond hair that seemed to forest his entire, well proportioned body. He wasn't skinny, not by a long shot. Instead, he was built like a wrestler, and his mentality was just about at that level, not to mention his personality. He was sullen and angry...unable to understand how one of the splinter IRA heroes could be in bondage and under the control of a bunch of dick-brained Spanish speaking fucks. He did not act scared, because he expected worse if this were a British prison or militant Protestant group, but how his activities with the provisional splinter wing was tied to what he thought were these dumb Latins, did not seem to either move him or worry him...at least not yet.

Cormack was taken into the infirmary for my physical exam, and that was his first realization that this was not the usual kind of incarceration. I had him shackled standing, with his back bowed out to me. A support bar with a back brace forced his lower back and hips toward me, while his arms were stretched backwards and up. His feet were on the ground, but I had his shoes and socks removed. The room was warm enough, about 70 degrees, so that while he was not cold, but he also wasn't too warm. The white tile which covered the walls, and the antiseptic stainless steel carts, sinks, and instrument panels all suggested a modern torture chamber. But at least initially, Cormack looked bored with his situation, and contemptuous of me.

I had the men leave him ungagged when he was brought in, but his head was immobilized. I wanted to gag him myself. so I walked up to him with a short vibrator gag. He didn't seem to recognize the device, not even what it was used for. I took a fleece lined, spring loaded, clamp and gently applied it to his straight, handsome nose. That done, he looked at me like I was going to suffocate him, and his first thought was to spit at me. Just as he opened his mouth to hawk, I deftly slipped the slender, round vibrator enclosed in soft plastic in the orifice, and buckled the straps around his protesting head. Once in place, his lovely Irish curses and unintelligible hate were beyond any recognition. I looked down at his pale, wide feet. They were heavily muscled, and high arching, with narrow heels and long, curving toes. They were size eleven, big for a small man. But Cormack was an athlete, and had chosen the IRA as the best place to act out his manhood rituals, learned at an early age on the angry streets of Belfast.

I began to unbutton his shirt. He wanted to kick me in the balls, but was firmly secured, so all his hands could do is scrabble helplessly as his breathing quickened out of anger, and his gibberish continued from behind the dormant gag. Once I pulled the flaps out, and shoved them aside, I used a sharp pair of shears to cut open his t-shirt, he returned to his proud defiance...waiting to take whatever painful punishment I could devise like the hearty man he was. I wanted to disabuse him of that notion, and so started to talk as I opened my palms against his arching pectorals, and flat, muscular stomach: "Macky, this isn't what you think. You're not hear to suffer pain and hurt. No, no, much to the contrary. You are hear to learn absolute pleasure. You are going to be trained to enjoy this perfect body of yours. I know that in the past, you've looked at sex as a mechanical affair, simply something that a man has to do in order to reaffirm his identity and a necessary distraction from the business of killing and maiming to take the tension off those hefty, sweaty balls that hang between your legs." As I spoke, my palms rotated across the hairy flesh, and my rough finger pads just gently grazed the puckering, round, pebbled tit flesh, poking through the coarse reddish-blond curls. "But Macky, those days are over for you...permanently. Most of the young men who come to visit me are just hear for 6 months or a year. But you have been assigned to us on a permanent basis. Oh, we'll put you back into the world. But when we do, you're going to be a different man, Macky. Your dick isn't going to get hard any more in anticipation of shooting someone, or beating the shit out of someone. Your dick is going to respond on command to serve the needs and tastes of others, and in the process, you're going to shoot what will seem like hundreds of gallons of sperm. So sit back and enjoy the ride, Macky. Your killing days are over, and your days as a sex machine are about to begin."

He looked at me both contemptuously and nervously, like he'd heard crap like this before and wasn't intimidated. Still, no one had ever used this kind of scam on him...shit like "sex machine" and "gallons of jizz...", shit like that. But other fags in army clothing had run their hands over his body, and then hurt him like any guy would do to another he could control. But this shit seemed different, he seemed to think...my hands were so soothing and now I had licked my index finger on one hand and was rolling one tit while my other finger screwed gently into his navel, scratching and tickling. The nipple hardened, and the tickling was causing him to breath even faster...and what was this, was the front of his fatigues beginning to push out?

I lowered my tickling hand to his crotch, and grasped his genitals through the pants. Yes, he had hardened, and the seven inch cudgel was fat and hard above those big, drooping beauties that were filled with scum. Velasquez had done his usual surveillance on Cormack before he had taken him prisoner with the help of the British intelligence. Velasquez had video-taped Cormack screwing some mousy Catholic girl silly. His taut ass checks, covered in the red-blond fur, had pounded the narrow hips beneath him into submission, while his hard and thick crow-bar had roiled her clit continuously. She squealed and begged as he screwed and screwed, pulling up her legs, and driving in deep. Her hands clawed at his back, leaving scratch marks, and his firm feet dug deep into the bed, so he could gain leverage as he fucked her into oblivion and soothed the itch in his starch filled balls. When he finally came, he seemed to shoot for almost a minute, and then he rolled off of her, almost in disgust, throwing an arm over his head, as she leaped after him and devoured his still drooling cock into her mouth, causing him to raise his legs and flinch slightly. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how sensitive his fat dick head was after a cum and when his only slightly retracted foreskin was probed by a tongue or a finger. Instead, he let her perform his absolutions, cleaning his body, even raising his legs to lick gently at his hairy cleft. That's what women were for, in Cormack's twenty-five year old mind, just there to serve men's needs during the war. Now that dick that hardened whenever his body was touched, would serve me well, and betray Macky every time he had a session.

I lowered his pants, and used my hand to frig his impressive seven inch cock. Its wide body and similarly sized knob were truly a girl's best friend. I could imagine how women must have dreamed of riding up and down the rigid boner as they sat on top, giving their hard clits a good work out on Cormack's randy rod. But now, the combination of my plying fingers, gently pinching and tugging, then rolling the round, pebbled nipples in their hairy forest, and my thumb rubbing up and down and forcing the tight, delicate foreskin up and over the rosy knob, turned his prick into a hard poker. I then took a clip and pulled his foreskin up taut over his expanded knob, clipping the skin closed over the piss lips. Then I attached two clips to his hard, pebbled tit cones. Each had a wire to the console, and then I attached a fourth to the hanging bag of his duck egg balls. Then I took one of the slender, horse hair covered dildoes and after liberally coating it with lubricant, gently inserted it deep up his bowels and harnessed it in place. When I turned the dials on the console, a combination of a low current of electricity to his tits, dick and balls was accompanied by occasional small shocks, randomly programmed into the coordinated clips. These forced Macky to jerk suddenly, or clench his bowels, and each time he did, he gave his prostrate the incredible inner masturbation of the irresistible horse hair. When I left him, Cormack eyes were wide with the sensation of the horsehair up his butt, and his dick was a hard spike, responding to the sensations in his tits, balls, and barely protected dick head.

For the first time, Macky began to react, especially when I turned on his vibrating gag on low. The sensations overcame him, he could not concentrate. The tickling of his tongue and palate by the unpredictable buzzing of the telescoping gag, plus the incredible sensations coursing through his anus, tits, balls and dick had begun the inevitable transformation of this hardened terrorist. He moaned and gurgled behind the gag, whining for something, and I left him to walk over to the other part of the room hearing his grunts and squeals...."aaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeee.....aaaagghhhhhhh.... oooooooooohhhhhhhhggggggg......aaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee......!

The other prisoner wheeled into the infirmary that night had come from the West Bank of Jerusalem. Jeez these young middle eastern men were fucking gorgeous. This one, was almost pale skinned, but his legs, arms and chest were thickly coated with black, wiry hair which became a forest up his butt crack and under his arms. His narrow face, was punctuated by a handsome, thin mustache, and his twenty-four year old frame was covered in muscles that were taut and firm, down to his even paler size ten feet, with their curled toes. At 6' even, he was a luscious treat, served up by Saudi operatives working with Arafat's secret police who were determined that the Palestinian-Jewish accords would work if only for the sake of the peaceful need to export oil.

Mohammet Nazir was a pious boy. He had followed the example of his brothers and his father keeping himself in the way of God. He did not defile his body or sacrifice his virtue for easy pleasure. He keep his traitorous hands from touching himself, and his painfully swollen testicles testified to his duty and honor. He lusted after veiled girls, but shyly kept to himself and his duties. By day he worked for his Uncle, and by night he was a son of the holy war. He prayed devoutly and kept to himself. The men talked of their women in private times, but the single men were expected to listen and hope, longing for the day when marriage would provide them relief for the tension in their groins that turned to anger at night.

Many nights, Mohammet would sleep fitfully, tossing and turning, and suddenly he would wake in up in a sweat, his firm muscles coated with a fine sheen of perspiration and his stomach and chest covered with the starchy scent and sticky coating of sperm. When this happened, the young man would pray even more, hoping that there were not dishonorable thoughts, impure thoughts, that were leading to his shame. His long nine inch spike was always half hard, swinging out in front of him unless he wore tight shorts. The wide, large circumcised helmet had a very large flange and deep piss lips. The dark meat of his prick was contrasted to the ruddy prick head, looking so succulent and smooth. Mohammet was as horny as he was angry, his dick always betraying him, and swelling unexpectedly.

But if Mohammet was pious, he was also merciless. He had participated in several viscous attacks on tourists, and was with two others when they captured a handsome, young Israeli student who had gotten lost while driving to visit a friend in one of the settlements. He and the two other young men had taken the Israeli youth to a location in the hills, and spent an evening torturing him. They stripped the boy, and tied him out to the cool sands of the evening. They put biting, stinging ants on his body after smoothing sweet jam on his tits, his balls, and up the crack of his muscular ass between the widely spread legs. The worrying ants started to feast on the sensitive tips of the nipples, and chewed on the tender flesh of the roiling nuts. They invaded the crack of his ass, and tried to bite their way into his protesting, clenched asshole. The jam had been sensuously worked into the tight knot, tickling the inner lining of the boy's fundament. The ants biting, would cause the poor youth to lose control of his muscles at moment's, and the ants would take their advantage, working relentlessly to get to the jam in the recess of his hot cavity. But the coup administered by the sadistic young men was yet to come. They let Mohammet coat his hand with the sticky jam, and he took up the boy's five-inch, flaccid penis. Holding the organ up, he began a slow and deliberate slide with his rough palm and fingers. The fist caused the frightened boy to spring an immediate boner, and much to Mohammet surprise, his own semi-hard organ filled with blood, painfully trapped between his thighs and in his pants. When the young man's eight inch erection surged in his hand, he deliberately coated the wide fat plum of the head, working the jam into the sensitive piss lips and around the flange and over the glans. Between the delicious sensation of the fist masturbating him, and the incessant biting of the ants, the young man moaned helplessly: aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh....Aaaaagghhhhhhhhh.....mmmmmmmmgggggghhhhhh..... uuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhh!

But his grunts turned to cries of anguish when the ants discovered that at the top the sticky nuts was a tall pole covered with tasty jam. They rushed up the stalk, biting and when they reached his bloated dick head, they especially worked the tender flesh, seeking the wide ridge around the glans, invading the piss lips and nipping over the smooth, oozing glans. Instead of going soft, the dick hardened, and while the young Arab men watched, cursing the helpless young Israeli and mocking his sexual arousal, he eventually succumbed to the sensations of a thousand little jaws, chewing and nipping his overwrought flesh. In a moment of sudden surrender to the incredible sensation, the young man arched off the ground, held only by his bonds, and shot long streams of sticky sperm into the air. The young man laughed and then cursed the boy again, calling him names associated with weakness and even worse. But while his gism squirted over his torso, the business-like ants chewed and nibbled, leaving him writhing and begging to have his sensitive glans protected from the attack. Little did the others know, but Mohammet had shot his own sticky juice in his pants. Only the darkness and his long coat covered the evidence of his excitement. He liked watching the young man helpless and aroused, and he liked seeing the squirting scum, shooting in long ropes up into the air. They untied the boy, and left him naked in the sands to be found by his own, while they went back with his clothes to tout their triumph and their righteous act of defiance. Later than night, Mohammet ejaculated in his sleep, having dreams of the erotic scene of torture again.

Mohammet was in the same room as Cormack. He was on a flat, wide exam table, with his hands attached to a spreader bar which kept them open and exposed, but useless. His feet were widely spread, and also attached to the same spreader bar. He had a head harness with a funnel gag attached that muffled his groans and complaints. His balls were cinched in bondage, and gently secured down toward the foot of the table. Already, the huge, curved penis was at full attention and the overly wide knob, thicker than the stalk, was bloated and wet with clear goo from his robust excitement. Now Mohammet was in the very bondage that had excited him when he and his friends had caught victims on the East Bank, and he could neither hide nor control his sexual arousal. I pulled the curved cock from his stomach, and secured it toward me with a small bolster and a little strap that held it upstanding. Using a small electric brush, with a half inch length and 1/8 inch width of stiff horse hair, I began a slow investigation of his musky erection. I started at the thick ridge on the bottom of his dick, and turned on the brush. It's whirring bristles shook back and forth, and I applied the stiff undulating thing to his exposed base and worked slowly and methodically up the captured prick meat. The fat knob bloated even more as the wicked bristles irritated the throbbing penis, and the wide piss grove filled with more sticky sap that dripped down and coated the path I was working up with remarkable patience.

 

Milking Mohammet

You will recall that the day that Mohammet and Cormack arrived, they were kept in the same Exam Room. Mohammet was on a flat, wide exam table, with his hands attached to a spreader bar which kept them exposed, but useless. His feet were widely spread, and also attached to the same spreader bar. He had a head harness that immobilized his head, and was fitted with a funnel gag. His balls were cinched in bondage, and gently but firmly secured down toward the foot of the table to restrict his movement. His huge, curved tan penis was at full attention and the overly wide dark red knob, thicker than the stalk, was bloated and wet with clear goo from his fear and excitement.

David, the Jewish right wing terrorist had his hips positioned just over Mohammet's funnel gag, his hard prong aimed toward the funnel hole. His own head was near Mohammet's impressive obelisk. As our work progressed, the dripping pre-sap from David's overheated boner fell into the funnel, and slowly collected into a critical mass that oozed down the silicon coated surface into the firmly secured mouth below. David, upon my instructions, had carefully explained to the young Arab the situation he was in, being careful to say just what I requested in order to prevent me from adding to his own excruciating sensations from the wicked little electrode stuffed up his fundament. Mohammet, who squealed like pig when David finished his explanation and bucked futilely in his bonds could not stop his errant prick from the lascivious pleasure it got from my little bristle brush I was using to tantalize the fat tip. I continued to milk David's fat porker with my other hand, and sap continued to flow from it down into the funnel. In the meantime, the little brush returned to the very wide flange of the oversized dick knob of steel hard Arab prick. With one hand forcing more of David's copious drool into the funnel, and the other selecting the most sensitive spots on the helplessly exposed Arab boy's flange, I was in fuck heaven. I watched Mohammet's hands scrabble uselessly above the bar, his toes curling tight, and his asshole spasaming, trying to escape the merciless tickling of his rarely touched dick head.

I began to smooth my thumb back and forth over David's sweet plum, and his dick went rigid from the ticklish sensation, his asshole tightening around the little electrode lodged deep up his butt. He gasped, and pleaded with me to spare him with his deep Israeli accent..."Please, please....I've done what you asked, don't make my dick harden, I can't control my muscles when you rub my knob, and then the dildo rubs and shocks me....deep ....please.....aaaaaahhhhhhhh....." I responded by reminding David why he was here. "David, do you remember the Palestinian teenager you caught near one the of settlements. You and your friends took him to a basement, stripped him and spent the night fucking him. And while you did it, you masturbated him ceaselessly, and made him lick his own cum from a dish. He begged to be freed, and you and your friends with their big circumcised dicks, just laughed and fucked, filling him with wads of cum. Then you sold him to a while slaver, and that boy is somewhere in another Arab country, being used day and night for someone's pleasure, his hard boy dick drained constantly. To be sure, he was no innocent, but he also was no terrorist. He was just a teenage boy, only five years younger than you, and he cried and begged to be returned to his parents. But you hardened your heart, and now I am going to harden you dick so that you are constantly reminded of why you are here."

As my thumb picked up the pace, ruthlessly grazing the pebbled dick meat, David's ass began to grip more tightly the wicked little electrode which responded happily to the pressure with little jolts of energy aimed at the young man's fuck nut, and the bristle along the sides of the casing ground against his rectum lining, not so much painfully as to drive him almost insane with the scratching sensation along his whorish tunnel. Within a minute, he spat long streams of sticky sperm into the funnel, wailing and grunting as his sweet cock shot and shot, panting as he came, showing how much of a young and randy boy he was. I loved watching as his wide, pale feet clenched, his long toes curling with the overwhelming sensation as my fingers kept grazing the insatiable flange of his bloated cock head.

At that moment, just as involuntarily, Mohammet's gullet began to bob has he was forced to swallow the copious flow of starchy spunk that filled his mouth. You could just hear him humming as he vainly tried tocommunicate his displeasure through each swallow. The tone of those humms moved up the scale as I allowed the bristles of my little hand wand to scrub rapidly over his bonerized fuck tip, which made his knob expand in helpless response. The huge turgid stalk vibrated from the tickling and its rigidity was now coupled with an obscene expansion of the overwrought tip. The tingling flesh, so stretched and smooth, was assaulted without mercy by the bristles, and suddenly, the wide and deep piss lips opened and began squirting long ropes of thick scum. David was too preoccupied with his own ejaculation to concentrate, and the Arab's cum hit him in the face, and in his gasping mouth. I wanted more..."OK, David, now suck that big dick...use your tongue to slurp up that fuck snot, yes....that it's lick boy, lick as I work his big knob with this brush....yeaaahhhh...that it, that's it." The broken Jewish boy licked with abandon hoping that by doing so I would slow my relentless thumbing of his cock lips. In turn, his long slurping tongue was driving Mohammet to knew levels of pleasure and coupled with the way the bristles followed the tongue, the straining Arab boy was lost in an uncontrollable ejaculation...his oversized, over stiff erection being worked mercilessly by the other captive and myself. To watch that huge prick vibrating as it was strummed by the two of us made me ejaculate in my pants...SHIT, what an incredible sight!

After a suitable period of rest, perhaps fifteen minutes, I then had three older Jewish militants wheeled in, restrained on their knees on a round supported platform that could spin around above the tethered Arab's head. The men, between 29 and 40, were firm bodied and muscular, even more so now that they were in rigorous physical training and hard work when they were not in the Playrooms or Exam Rooms. Knees spread with bars, arms cinched up behind their backs, and three electronically connected little electrodes (like the one I had used on David), secured up their grasping hairy bung holes. I had them and gagged but made sure they could see one another in this humiliating situation. Then I ordered David to spin the platform so he could get to the body of each man with ease. His responsibility was to milk each man into Mohammet's funnel, which he did when I encouraged him by turning up the number of little electric shocks from his own ass prod secured and locked into his nether portal by a belt locked to his waist and between his legs. I even attached little clips to his heavy, hanging ball sack, so that the shocks would occasionally hits his fat nuts. With great dexterity and determination, David went from man to man, twirled their tits, sliding his rough fist up and down their betraying erections. Each man had been kept without ejaculation for two weeks, though every morning, every night and on occasions during the day they were made to sport dripping erections against their will, being masturbated by boys, men, and some of the women captives. Thoroughly embarrassed, these conservative Jews who saw themselves as righteous, were now the playthings of the staff and guests to the island. Their pricks, unused to such constant attentions, were only too happy to erect for the unaccustomed stimulation, no matter the source. Now the 29 year old's thick five inch plug with its fat, wide helmet, the 33 year old with his eight inch slender prong with a long smooth knob, and the 35 year old with his seven inch sideways curved cock, were hard and sticky, and ready to experience the relief the starved flesh craved, though without any hope of controlling the sensations that were driving them, or their humiliation in front of one another. Each grunted his pleasure through the respective gag, oohhhhing and aaaaahhhhing as David set about to milk them down Mohammet's gullet by playing and plying their trussed bodies.

I made sure the men were kept as needy as possible in advance of any session, and put into heat the moment they were to be used. To make sure they lost control of their cocks, I mixed the new nettle powder in a wonderful, overly thin and drippy lubricant, and then had David slip on a surgical glove so he could dip his hands in the concoction and apply it like a gravy being used to baste the hard fuck rods of the helpless men. As David roiled his fist up and down the men's pricks one at a time, just long enough to get them crazed and horny and in sweet agony from the ungodly itching produced by the nettle powder and lubricant, but not long enough to satisfy the sweet rub that each thrust their hips to receive, I switched on the little electrodes resting against their respective joy buttons. The electrodes were connected by wiring and a devilish computerized program I controlled with a little remote receiver. The way the electrodes worked, each time one gripped the dildo in his rectum, sensors caused the others to buzz or fire a brief little spark. The random quality of the sensation, coupled with the fact that once triggered, the firm ass muscles spasmodically gripped the electric prongs, kept the program firing. Buuuuuuzzzzzzzzz....pssssssttttt.....buuuuuzzzzzz, buuuzzzzzzz....psssst.....zzzzzzzzzzzz....... hhhhhssssst. The thrashing, groaning men were forced into wonderful and painfully stiff erections, galvanized by the fabulous sensations up their assholes, and David's relentless fingers which rolled their tits, tickled their navels, scratched their abdominals or twirled into their arm pits (all now also enjoying the effects of the irritating nettle juice). Their torsos heaved with the maddening sensations of the scratching nettles. David was even was allowed to go behind them and scratch and tickle at their big, muscled feet, while he slid his fist up and down their turgid fuck poles. They gasped, groaned, and thrust out their chests, as they twisted to avoid the deep and intermittently shocking penetration up their bung holes, the cruel tickling and scratching of plucking fingers on their pointy little tits and other parts, as David skillfully jacked them into long, spurting cums into the funnel gag still fixed in Mohammet's mouth. There reluctant ejaculations were a thing of beauty, their cries of forced pleasure coming as whines from behind their gags:
"eeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiii.....aaagggggghhhh....aaaaahhhhhhh!" Nothing like men who cannot resist you making them shoot their sperm. Privately they live for the pleasure of their hard cocks, but now they are exposed to others who are amused to watch them act like dick whores. Strong, previously arrogant men who now have their sex managed, their raging dicks controlled for them, their masculinity kept beyond their touch much less their control. These extremists would return home to be good fathers and quiet men, able to squirt gism on command for those fortunate to know about their past on the island.

In the meantime, the young Arab's fluttering tongue and croaking throat were drenched in the slimy fuck juice from the overloaded balls of the primed Jewish men, and once again his Adam's apple bobbed as he was forced to swallow their combined wads of tangy gism. At the same time, I was seated between his spread thighs gently scratching at his anus, sliding a vibrator with its horse hair collar just inside the clenching lips, just slightly too and fro, rubbing his rectum lining and bumping and buzzing his hard little fuck nut unexpectedly. At the same time, I cupped my fist around the knob of his once again erect cock, and cork-screwed it to wring little gasps and groans from the strapped boy whose erection was immediate and unrestrained; a prick always ready for rough frigging and other excrutiating attentions.

David masturbated the men to two more spurting ejaculations each, and added two more of his own (thanks to the incessant buzzing and little shocks up his own hungry man pussy), to the thick, viscous cocktail which Mohammet swilled. The tough men were reduced to straining whores, wailing and begging from behind their gags to have David soothe their nettled dicks and torsos, For the last ejaculation, I had him add electric clips to their tits and balls, and I buzzed them as he frigged their strained but ever hard peckers. In the meantime, using the bristle glove, finger bristles, and an electronic milker, I worked three more sweet loads of sperm from Mohammet's hefty balls, and then drained them down the funnel gag as well for good measure, asking him how much he liked his own cum and wondering out loud if he had ever sucked his own cock? By the time he was returned to his room, and tied down for the night, he was babbling and sobbing, begging us to let him go...promising anything to return home. But all the way back to his room, that oversized wang was semi-hard, unable to fully comply with its master's wishes.

Once back in his room, spread and tied down to his bed, I sat next to him slipping my hands under his sheets, gently rolling his tits and tugging on the hard tips. I had David translate for me once again. I explained to Mohammet that his cock which could have been used to make many babies, would now be milked on a regular basis to satisfy customers of the Asylum who had helped us obtain men like himself. Once every two weeks he would be put onto the mechanical milker with its moving ultrasonic tube, which caused the dick to feel as if it was being swarmed by a nest of hornets and at the same time sliding up and down a tight, wet pussy. He would be unable to stop fucking the milker, and his young, thick cum would be drained from his nuts until they were empty. With a combination of special drugs and vitamins, good food, hard work, exercise, and constant stimulation, he would be kept ready for another day on the machine. If he was good, after a year, we would consider letting him leave the island, in the trust of a client who would train him for domestic use. Until he reached 30-35, depending on his attitude and conduct, he would remain in the service of the client, being masturbated, fucked and humiliated for guests, privileged customers, and good friends in the home of his new owner. But for the remainder of this year, his dick and balls would be trained to perform and to deliver for me on the island.

I had David continue with a story about a young Hezbollah guerrilla from Lebanon who had been in the service of the client to whom Mohammet would likely be sent. The man lived in Turkey, and had a quiet and secluded estate on the coast. There he managed a stable of young men who were purchased with his family wealth, and maintained for his pleasure and service. The young Lebanese had been identified as one of the conspirators who had bombed the American Marine barracks in Beirut in the 80's, but had eluded both the American military, the CIA, and the Jewish intelligence. But of course Velasquez and his operatives found out about him, and through an Irish Republican agent who made a fat paycheck for his cause with the information. The arrogant young terrorist spent two years at the Asylum from 1985-87. When he left, the anger and resistance that marked his defiant young life was gone. Now the young man, a healthy thirty-five year old, working as a laborer in Turkey, raising a family quietly. During his stay with my Turkish colleague from 1987 to 1997, he often found himself on a rotating platform at his owner's dinner table. There before an array of wealthy friends, the young man would be tied so that one hand is cinched up to the middle of his back, and both legs are attached to a spreader bar behind him. He would be on his knees. His free hand was gloved, and the palm and fingers were covered with horsehair, an Asylum invention that still is admired around the world. The horsehair is thickly coated with an itching compound developed in Turkey, often used on the clits of women kept as sex slaves. It causes the clitoris to expand and harden, and the itching it produces is said to drive women almost mad. They will ride men wearing French ticklers until they have spent enough times to faint and lose consciousness, unable to stop the uncontrollable itching in the tiny nodule of flesh which makes them drip juice and orgasm endlessly. But in the case of the young man there was a wonderful scheme designed to make use of the powerful aphrodisiac. First, he could not be touched by the audience watching him spin around on the man size lazy-susan on which he rested. He was in a glass case which was carefully sealed to keep him inaudible to those on the outside. His body was greased with a coating of honey syrup at strategic locations, at and up his asshole, on his nipples, in his navel, under his arms, on the soles of his feet, the insides of his thighs, under his chin, and all over his hairy, hanging balls. Then, his master smiled as he walked toward the cage. David almost whispers to Mohammet, as he explains that the young man knew what was about to come. I can feel that Mohammet's dork has gone hard again, and he has begun to drip the precum that should be fully expended from his overworked nuts. He is transfixed by the words coming from David's mouth.

David continues, describing how the Lebanese youth began to plead, to beg, but the dinner guests could only see his desperate expressions, the movement of his lips and his one gloved hand reaching out in supplication. The host reminds him why he was there, and that even though his time at the Asylum was over, he must be managed and kept docile to live a life of repentance for the crimes he had committed. Then the owner slipped a metal cylinder into small plastic tunnel and then shut the outer door. With the flick of a switch, the cylinder opened as did the inner door of the plastic tunnel, and out buzzed a horde of voracious little beetles, their pinchers clicking and their feet scrabbling. The mighty mites swarmed over the body of the captive, as he screamed and howled for mercy. But his master reminded him, if he could use the glove on his dick to bring himself to three straight ejaculations without pause for the guests, he would be removed and the beetles cleaned from his body. But until he completed his mission, he would be chewed and clawed by the rasping and rapacious vermin. Sobbing in defeat, the young man grasps ed his strangely half hard prick, a mighty nine inch bat, with a wonderful long, sleek helmet and an incredibly wide flange. As his hands closed around the stalk, the wicked compound took over, and he ground his teeth and tightened his mouth in a grimace as the irreversible itching overtakes him. His hand, like some mechanical device, begins rapidly sliding up and down the steely prick and over the bloated fuck tip. Between the nipping of the insects at the sensitive and exposed parts of his body, and the roiling of his fist, the young man seems to lose himself, his eyes glazed, occasionally rolling to the back of his head, as the incredible sensations overtook him. He is well on his way to the first spurting ejaculation, the biting at his tits making them harden and erect, the knawing at his anal knot making him clench his taut buttocks, the rooting in his navel making him tighten his muscles...even his toes curl as his soles, toes and instep are clawed. He was known to shoot nine or ten long streams of scum, coating the glass case in which he was bound, and drawing admiring ooh and aahs from the audience. But his hand could not stop, the itching gained strength as his sperm mixed with the compound, and his hand moved to soothe as much of the pimpled dick meat as it can and at the same time is working the big dick to another spurting ejaculation. Now howling in agonized ecstasy, his fist coiled around the fat prick tip, kneading it and using the bristles to help him to another quick cum.

There were times he could not finish his mission for one reason or another...mostly because he succumbed to the wicked beetles. But on occasion, he would wring the mandatory third ejaculation from his tortured pecker, and his master allowed him to merely rub his thumb back and forth over the ticklish prick tip to make his body jerk spasmodically as he is rolled out to relief from both the glove/compound and the instinctive beetles who will bite until they are washed from his body with powerful hoses. This owner now has a drop dead gorgeous Serbian youth who worked in Bosnia to rape girls and then in the spirit of ethnic cleansing, kill Moslem men. He now enjoys the same little show, but I understand their are some refinements with other kinds of insects which enable them to literally crawl up to his taut butt cheeks and invade his resisting anus, and into the foreskin of his eight inch schlong. Such an inventive people those Turks.

Mohammet is erect again, and although he was thoroughly drained earlier, I allow my fist to very gently swirl up and down his stalk and over his fat helmet, while I tugged his titties for good measure. I made up my mind that at least once, I would spend the night between his tied legs and suck his dick into oblivion. First of all, I love to smell the ball sweat on his healthy gonads, and then the idea of a long close encounter with his powerful dick meat is too much to resist. Having a man who does not understand why he constantly achieves erection, and cannot control them, is a delight beyond imagination. After all, a doctor has to keep up his own health, and there is nothing like the taste of healthy young male protein, spurting out of unruly pricks and untamed balls and down a siphoning mouth and throat. Mohammet would be one of the jewels in the crown of the Asylum for the next year before he joined his Serbian colleague in terrorism in Turkey.

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