The Asylum 2
by Glaucon55
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.
Exam Room No. 4
Brendan Evan Doyle was a punk. Velasquez's men had found him living in North Texas, by the Oklahoma border. He worked, sometimes, as a mechanic and gas station jockey in a run-down truck stop.
This 6'3", 210 lbs piece of meat was a sun bleached blond with dark roots. Dark lashes, dark hair in his pits and on his pubes and running between his pecs down his belly to his cock. But his thick legs had a thick blond fur on them from ankles to the dark mass in his ass and crack. Each toe and each finger had a curly blond tuft. This boy at twenty had too much testosterone, and not enough places to dump his sperm.
The operatives had seen him and his 8.5 inch long, thick cock when it was thrust through a glory hole at the station where he worked, and watched as he ground his crotch against the partition, his knuckles turning white from the pressure as he gripped the top of the dirty metal. A thirtyish businessman, with his suit pants and briefs around his ankles, and his thick five inch cock sticking up hard and wet, sucked the stiff stalk and fat knob until Brendon shot a quart of goop down the guy's gullet. He'd bounced against that partition like he was going to knock it, down, his tight, pale ass mounds pounding against the flimsy wall, and his unbuttoned shirt had allowed his jutting nipples to get rubbed and chaffed against the rough, chipped paint on the worn metal.
Another time, he was shacked up with a red-head he'd picked up at the local country-dancing dive, and fucked her all night until she couldn't even groan and beg for him to do it some more. He'd shot four loads up her oily cunt with her on top, with him on top, with her on her knees, and him bouncing her on his lap. Velasquez's men knew he was worth the time.
The night they took him, he'd crashed and burned at the bar, trying to pick up a skinny blond that he'd hope to fuck into submission. He'd gone home drunk, and after watching a fuck flick, he'd jerked his boner for thirty minutes. He had his briefs around his ankles, slumped back against his couch, his size twelve feet planted firmly on the floor, his long toes gripping the carpet. His right fist slid slowly up and down his turgid cock and every few jerks, he spent time to knead the fat, broad helmet in his fist and palm, then returned to jerking his overheated meat. He rubbed the other hand over his chest, moving down to squeeze his big, low hanging balls, and occasionally to scratch a fingernail against the thick cord that ran between his dick root and asshole. He carefully avoided running his nails against the hairy port between his muscular ass cheeks, because he was so sensitive he knew it would cause him to shoot too soon. Eventually, he raised one leg up on the arm of the couch, and spread the other wide, sliding his ass down to the edge of the couch, finally enclosing his distended and swollen prick tip in his fist and allowing his callused palms to send him over the edge. Eight long, heavy spurts of cum shot five feet into the air, splattering the screen of his television while the fuck scene ended with some guy's cum spurting onto the face and mouth of a big titted slut and her lipstick red lips. He fell into a drunken sleep on the couch, and that's how the operatives had been taken.
Brendon was on his stomach on a padded, elevated bench. He was securely strapped down, and his legs were spread wide with his feet attached to a spreader bar dangling from chains which held it from the ceiling. his hamstrings were strapped to the bench, his knees bent, and his feet waving from the bar where lined cuffs held them up and out. His feet were pale and exposed, their wide size twelve dimensions fully available for any attentions. For such a big guy, who obviously played softball and pick-up basketball, his feet were smooth and uncalloused. His dick and balls hung beneath his stomach, clear of the padded surface. The position of the bench made his ass thrust up and out. His arms were secured behind his back, then cinched up and pulled upwards toward a chain suppended from the ceiling. His head was supported under his chin, and the head gear into which he was secured only left his nose and ears free. His mouth was gagged by a soft prick shaped dildo that was part of the helmet, and a chain on the top of his head pulled the helmet back slightly keeping his head up. His nipples were just visible because of the arch caused by lifting his head.
I walked up to him, the room illuminated only at his location and at the nearby cart with devices to titillate and assist in my examination. He had been washed and given an enema to clean him out. His skin smelled clean and masculine, particularly under his arms where his natural scent, feed by his fear, had returned in spite of the bath. I leaned over and whispered:
"Brendon, you know how good it felt to fuck, and to jerk that big dick of yours..." (I noticed that in spite of himself and his position, his fat hog extended beneath the table, slowly growing to its eight and one half, long inches with just a hint of a curve near the head toward the right.) "You know how you liked to have girls on their knees between your legs, and guys on their knees in bathrooms, suck your dick until you shot wads of cum, at least once and often twice a day? You know how good it felt to slide that dick up some girl's cunt and feel her muscles grip you when she came four or five times before she milked the cream out of your nuts? Those days are over, Brendon. For the near future, your big dick is no longer in your control, but it will stay hard as much as possible. You will be allowed to cum if you're a good boy, but if you're not, you'll be kept hard and not allowed to cum." As I spoke, to keep him hard I rotated my fingers on the head of his boner, gently so as to prevent him from ejaculating, yet firmly enough to tickle his prick and keep it stiffly waving under the table. His muffled grunts behind the gag kept me from understanding what he was trying to say. So I continued, beginning to induce drops of pre-scum which I used to baste his piss lips and dick tip.
"You're a big boy Brendon, those huge balls hanging between your thighs are full of cum. Play with your tits, and your dick gets hard. Scratch your hairy asslips, and you get a drippy boner. Just seeing a girl or a dick in a cunt makes your prick drool fuck-snot. You stained your jockey shorts every day just from getting hardons you couldn't control. The freedom of those days are past Brendon. That big cock won't be your business or your problem; it'll be ours. Your dick will be used to satisfy clients, and your gism will be drained for you to drink, to lick from girl's cunts, or milked to sell to people who will make it into exotic potions or make-up for rich women in distant lands. Tonight, we going to start with a simple test to see how your react to the devices we use here to get that fuck-stick to shoot its wad on command."
Humming absently, while Brendon gurgled and burbled behind his gag, eyes alternately difiant and wide with fear, I set to work. I gently greased, then attached two clips to his tits after I had roiled them into mini-hardons. The nipples' rubbery, stiff surfaces were perfect for clamping with electric stimulators. These clips, wired to a console, would generate a low grade charge that went through the gell medium and made a person's titties feel like they were being masturbated. The sensation was spectacular. Just rolling my own tits with the slick gell on my fingers made my hard dick feel like someone was stimulating my prostrate. It was weird, but effective, and a guy's dick or a girl's clit felt like they were about to explode in a monster cum. But the stimulation alone, wouldn't do it, just make the person feel like squeezing their thighs together and flexing the muscles that control prick or pussy.
I greased a short, narrow dildo with a harness that kept it in place, and was wired to the same console. After tickling and scratching Brendon's hairy port, I wormed a gloved finger with more of the gell up his shit shute. Clean from the earlier enema, his ass smelled good after I worked the grease up as high as I could reach with with my stiff, rough finger. Brendon's dick, started dripping long strands of pre-cum, and I could only imagine what he was whimpering and whinning behind his gag as the gell began its irresistable sensation deep within his bowels. I gently worked the small plug back and forth against the clenching knot of his asslips, and gradually as he weakened the tapering head and stalk, covered with bumps that could change temperatures, vibrate, and rotate independently when the controls were engaged, slipped in. I knew Brendon was going to have the ride of his young life. If all the girls he had reamed could see how his hairy ass pussy would grip and his dick would throb, they would have squealed with lust.
Finally, I pulled down his big, rigid pole and inserted the spongy and unusally long as well as wide helmet, now slick with pre-spunk, into a short clear plastic sleeve. The gell-greased nozzle gripped right behind the head of his cock, but did not extend further up the shaft. Small fibrous wires that felt like little itchy hairs as they pricked into the flange around his dick tip and across the helmet, but did not hurt, were fixed into the plastic. Finally, on the bottom of the sleeve was a small stiff brush on a sliding track that automatically kept lubricated with awful gell, and rubbed against the area where Brendon's circumscion scar was located. The sensitive labs of the piss lips were fully exposed to the bristles that were able to move back and forth independently and automatically on the slide; their insistent action enhanced by the vibrating of the tube. When the wires within were activated, and the dials set, Brendon's big dick knob was stimulated and irritated by the electric current and persistent bristles, and his asshole was massaged by the vibrating, whirring nodes on the plug. Add to that my fingers gently tickling under a hairy armpit, a firm inner thigh, and on the bottom of the big, pale, exposed feet, and Brendon's massive, manly body was reduced to an overheated, straining, gasping, whimpering slave. At the same time, he rigid fuck pole was only being stimulated, it was not being masturbated. The long, thick stalk was left unattended, and without the friction to massage it to ejaculation, Brendon was left with an excrutiating erection, and without relief.
Within sixty seconds, the bloated balls, unrelieved for days, climbed to the pinnacle, then remained poised, climbed and remained, climbed and remained. Finally, the stimulation, even without masturbation, was so intense, that the tethered boy-man, his toes curled, his hands scrabbling helplessly, he ejected viscous squirts of steamy spunk. Brendon's mewling was muffled, and his hands chest heaved, and the tickled toes flexed from the terrible tingling all around his prick tip and deep up his ass: "mmmmppphhhh...... uuuuuuummmmmmnnnnn" he groaned from behind his gag.
But the worst was yet to come for Brendon. As I whispered into his ears about how wicked the bristles could be, and how a big boy like him could be reduced to a milked bull, and how I couldn't wait to spend a night jerking his dick while he was tethered on my lap, I also let him know I had set the dials for thirty minutes. He would be milked and sucked by the mechanical apparatus till his balls felt as if they had been squeezed in a press. Already the wicked bristles and the relentless dildo were continuing to work him after the ejaculation. He wrenched back and forth, trying to evade and escape the tickling, drilling, penetrating, vibrating sensations. But the machine whirred on, and his dick, without a conscience and any control, erected and was tickled and goaded into more sensation. His eyes were wide...and he seemed to panic as he saw me preparing to leave him to the machine, gasping and groaning behind his gag.
Before I left, I sat on the floor and scratched my nails on the exposed soles of his big, well shaped, feet, sniffing them as they perspired and gave off a sexy musk, watching as their heavily muscled, pale, tender and vulnerable forms jerked as I toyed with them. His unruly dick burped more cum as he lost control of his muscles. We'd keep Brendon for a while, he was so fun to watch and play with. I'd have to get him together with Carlos, or maybe Ian and see what kind of games I could think of.
Playroom No. 3
Carl Joseph Stephanovsky was a fraternity boy from a small eastern private school. His parents were in disbelief when he was accused of the rape of a coed his sophomore year. Only his father's money from a Midwestern tire business located in suburban Cleveland had saved him from a life sentence. But Carl was not impressed by his good fortune. His father was furious with the cocky attitude that Carl had displayed in private, claiming that the girl had asked for what she got, and unwilling to show any remorse for some 'whining cunt that was damn lucky to have his seven inches up her drippy coz.'
Carl was a stone beauty, physically. Five foot ten, 165 lbs., with long legs, perfectly shaped calves and feet, a chest with sloping pecs and jutting coned nipples, and a face with deep eyes, long lashes and a perfect nose. His hair was blond, but his eye-brows, crotch hair, the hair under his arms, on his chest, and up his ass crack was a thick, dark brown. The hair on his head was straight, cut short on the sides but with a hint of a wave on top. Between his pecs, the hair was bunched, then dropped in a straight line to his navel, then down to his crotch where there was a thick shock of it above his cock. His balls were relatively hairless except where they disappeared toward his crack, where the dark whorls thickened again until they became dense up his inviting crack. His legs and arms were covered in thick blond curls. Stretching toward his nipples, the hair that was so dark between the pecs grew light and furry, but did not obscure or hide his jutting cones. On his toes and fingers, the hair was blond and thickly curled.
Mr. Velasquez's operatives had a wonderful tape of Carl, whacking his pud in his parent's home during the trial at a time when he could not be seen with a woman. On the tape, Carl had his heels planted on his bed and jammed up under his ass. His knees were spread wide, and his asshole barely visable through the dense forest of dark hair. His tits were hard and pointed down, one hand was behind his head, the other stroking up and down his turgid, rock hard circumcised dick. The fat helmet slipped noisily into his grinding fist, then popped out as his rough palm slide down the stalk to bounce on his fat duck eggs. Carl was a drooler, the slick, clear pre-scum burping out when he rolled his palm up the cock, and dripping over to lubricate the exposed and vulnerable prick tip when his calloused fist closed around it. Every so often he would allow his thumb to swipe up the clear goo and smooth it into the knob, making Carl's toes curl and his chest hunch.
In a shocking discovery for Velasquez' men, tough talking and belligerent young Carl eventually took the hand behind his head, licked the long index finger, and as his fist slid faster and faster up and down his pecker, he gently screwed that finger up his butt and drove it up and deep. Finally, after rooting up his hole for while, his closed eyes shot open and bulged, his fist kneaded just below his prick knob, and his finger seemed to be scratching something high up his ass. Ten long jets of scum bathed his chest, face, and shoulders, finally giving way to dripping and drooling clots that rolled down his fist.
After a particularly angry argument with his father, Carl was thrown out of the house. He cursed both parents, and said they could "fuck themselves"; he could make it on his own. That night, after a binge of drinking and an unsuccessful attempt to pick up a women at a bar, Carl checked into a cheap hotel and crashed. The operatives found him still in his suit, in a drunken stupor on the bed when they took him.
Carl would be spending at least a year with us, by contrast to the 6 months most young men were kept. We chose six months because after that time, it was difficult to keep them either cocky or hopeful, and their sexual appetites would diminish. But Carl was an exception. He was so angry and resistant, and his crime so heinous, we decided to keep him for our sport.
He was not allowed to cum for long periods of time, because his official duty was to simply to lick cunts that had just been fucked by either guards or other inmates. His pleasure was not our interest. On this day, he was strapped on his chest on a gurney in the playroom. His head was propped up by a support under the chin, his arms pinned in the middle of his back, and his legs kept apart by a spreader bar at the ankles were cinched by a chain in the middle of the bar to his wrists in the middle of his back. Beneath him, his full balls and hard dick drooped through an opening in the gurney. He was gagged with a bristle dildoe that could vibrate. If you've never had your tongue tickled, or placed a whirring vibrator into your mouth and against your palate or tongue, you don't know the sensation. Try it sometime with an electric toothbrush, and you'll get a sense of how helpless it can be to have something vibrate and tickle your tongue or the roof of your mouth without being able to escape.
I sat in a low chair next to the gurney and whispered softly to him: "Carl, I am attaching a clip to your balls, and one to each of your big toes, and maybe later I'll reach under and attach them to your titties. But the one I like most, is the one I'm going to attach to a narrow but long dildo that I will insert up your butt hole. Take a look Carl, see how this dildo has these dull plastic spines all over the knobby end, and down the shaft? When I turn the dials on the console, it will not only cause the dildo to vibrate, it will cause it to rotate slowly and randomly, moving one direction, then another"
Carl's eyes went wide, and he alternately begged and threatened me: "Please, mister...come one. I'm sorry about kicking that guard, or whoever it was. Shit, lemme outta here, fuck...I'll kill you and every other fucking person here if I getta out...you fuckheads, assholes...lemme outer here...please mister, come--on, my dad rich...he can make it worth your while...."
I responded patiently: "Carl, your dad doesn't give a rat's ass where you are right now. You'll go back to him alright, but a better man." As he hissed and yelled at me, he watched with wide eyes as I greased the dildo, then gently spread his hairy cheeks. Using my finger to tickle and loosen him, I filled his freshly douched hole with lubricant, then gradually worked the slender dildo up his rectum. He clenched, gasped, and cursed as the wicked spines on the knob slipped up his trench, and made contact with his hard little nut. But I did not let him get too much action, because I did not want him to ejaculate too soon.
"Carl, just one more thing. We need to cap your dick so you can't cum." As I spoke, I rolled my calloused fingertips around the remarkably fat helmet of his dick knob, gathering the precum and smearing around his flange, tickling him enough to make him gasp and whine from the long absent sensations, but not enough to spurt his soupy cream. Then I harnessed his handsome dick in a cock cage that would not let his boner get stiff enough to shoot. He would almost be there, but just as he would try to expand his knob enough to shoot his cum, the wires on the cage would discourage him in painful restraint, and his hard-on would subside momentarily, then the struggle would begin once again.
I turned on the dials to send a current through his toes, and balls, but did not start the dildo yet. Carl responded beautifully: "aaaaaaagggghhh, jesus, fuck, shit, piss....stooooppppp, oooooohhhhhh my nuts, oooooohhhhh, fuck stop, aaaaahaahhhhhhh ffffuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkk." His toes curled spasmodically, the long muscular digits flexing for release from the electrical buzz causing them to ache erotically and prevent him from controlling the natural expansion of his uncontrollable dick.
Then I had the first girl wheeled in. She was on her knees, her legs spread wide and cinched; her arms tethered behind her back. Her big tits were clipped with a current running through them, and her hairy beaver was wet with her own girl cum and at least two or three loads of guard or inmate gism. The girls were gagged so Carl could not even enjoy their moans as his tongue went to work. I warned him that if he did not clean out every curd of cum, I would leave him on the dildo for a full day.
His tongue shot out like a bullet, and he began to slurp and slop into the glistening lips of the girl, searching out each little bit of cum and cunt juice. When she released her clenching cunt muscles, and a big wad of cum rolled into his mouth, he tried to pull back, but that's when I turned on the dildo. His eye's bugged, and his tongue thrust back to the girl's snatch, and he worked like a man possessed, begging and moaning as he could:
"Oooooohhhhh jesus, ooooooohhh fuck, oooooooh my goooooooodddddd, slurp, slurp, stop---stoopppppppppp, oh fuck, help me, help me,......... slurp, slurp, ooooohhhhh mister, please stop......I'll lick anything slurp, slurp, ohhhhhhh ssssshhhhhittttt.....plllleeeeassseee stopppppppppp!" Then his tongue slopped right back into that wet hole and scrubbed the clit while he thrust, making the girl juice more and more and allowing the cum to drool down into his siphonning mouth.
I took a tooth brush and began a slow and deliberate investigation of young Carl's feet. His feet were wide at the balls, and mucled, heavily muscled. His ankles were thin, and the hair and veins on their pale expense of his feet made them seem so masculine and at the same time absolutely vulnerable. The brush worked its magic wickedness over those smooth, white soles, up under the toes, and then back to the high arch and heel. He vainly tried to curl and uncurl them as I focused on one spot or the other for up to ten or fifteen seconds, while the electrical current distracted him confusing his already hopelessly over-stimulated brain. His cries were punctuated by laughing, begging, and screaming, as his feet caused him to lose control of his dick that erected painfully in the cock cage. I kept Carl going through three girls, then he just plain passed out.
That's when we removed his cock cage, and sat leisurely playing with his beautiful tool, giving his dick a gook work-out. When he awoke, he found his dick still painfully hard, and could feel that it had been rubbed and massaged, tickled and masturbated, but he still had not been able to cum while unconscious.
I scheduled Carl's cums for once every two weeks, at my discretion. I would arrange a dinner party so the guests could watch and help Carl shoot his wad. He would be placed in the center of our dining table, tethered with a spreader bar under his knees, to which his arms and his ankles were attached. He was gagged, and would spin on a large human sized lazy susan so that each guest would be able to reach his nipples, his balls, his asshole hiding below, and that fat rod. He was milked three or four times during the meal either by hand or mechanically, with the bristle glove, bristle milker, or electric brush. In any case, he squealed and shot, squealed and shot, until he would almost pass out from the sensation and the draining of his balls. One of the favorite pastimes was for people to use stiff bristle toothbrushes on his big feet. Those long toes, and muscular feet were enticing toys to play with, as was using the brush under his neck, on his ears, under his arms, or along his firm abdominal muscles, always gave guests a thrill, especially since he was so ticklish that he would whine behind the funnel gag, dripping sweat from his exertions to avoid the wicked brushes and tickling. Then the next day it was back to the playrooms to lick cunt and sometimes the boys' asses. I decided to take him up on his offer of licking anything, and arranged a night when he was made to suck the toes of at least ten boys in the asylum. It was going to be a good year, with young Carl, and at the end, his unruly cock and hungry asshole would be ready for some lucky person to manage.
Sometime I'll have to tell you about the time I had him preview the films of our girls getting fucked, cumming and begging for more dick. He sat in my lap, while I lazily jerked his straining, drooling rod, until I was able to make him spend almost a half of an hour begging and pleading me to do things to his body in order to make him cum. He asked me to do things that he had never asked a man to do, and offered to do more( "....aaaahhhhhh, I need my tits pinched, please, scratch my fucking tits, uuuuugggghhhhh, fingerfuck me, aaahhhhhhh... yeah....deeper, please, rub my fuck-button, oooooooooohhhhhh fuuucccckkk... yeah....., please make me cum, please work my dick....ooooooohhhhh I neeeeed to be worked"). Finally, we began a string of patiently induced ejaculations that rocked his body almost beyond tolerance...but you can't imagine how fucking sexy he looked, that big body getting worked over and begging me to do it while he shot his thick, tangy scum.
Playroom No. 5
Jefferson Booker Stevenson was a specimin. He was 6'2", 190 lbs. and without an ounce of fat on his ebony body. His specialty before he had come to the island had been cunt. He was fond of finding lonely white girls in San Francisco singles bars, sweet talking them with his college educated rap, and then long-dicking them till they thought they had died and gone to heaven. He was a cunt lapper par-excellent, making girls get on their knees, while he swallowed their pussies like peeled fruit, lapping his long tongue deep into their groves and rasping it against their tingling clits. His favorite trick was to get a girl completely out of control with a popular drug added to drinks, and then invite his white track buddy, Ricky Davis, to join him so the two punks could pump gism into every orifice the girl had. On several occasions, a the girl did not know that two guys had fucked her repeatedly until the next morning, if then. Sometimes, Ricky would slip out late the same night, and some glazed girl thought she had dreamt that Jeff had more than one long dick.
And what a dick. Jeff had a 9" curved scimitar that had a big wide head, but a long skinny body until it reached his balls. His slender foreskin closed over the snout snugly, and only retracted enough to allow his gism to squirt out. By contrast, his buddy Ricky had a short thick cock, 6" long and 3 1/2" wide, with a wide, fat dick tip that a fist could barely encompass. During the day, the two were S.F. State students, but from Thursday to Sunday they were the dick twins, soothing their aching schlongs in the tight orifices of young girs.
Mr. Velasquez was directed to the two young men by the mother of a girl who had become pregnant after an episode with 'mutt and Jeff.' The girl had been too embarassed to admit she had been raped, and then three months later she was pregnant. Once her mother learned what had happened, she wanted to go to the authorities. But her daughter is an highly regarded athlete, and she did not want her story to become public and affect her career. They handled the matter privately, but the mother sought out Mr. Velasquez in order to get her pound of flesh. For us, that meant quite a bit of flesh was going to fall into our hands.
We set our two heroes up. A girl who is a friend of one of Velasquez's operatives in the S.F. Bay Area went to a bar frequented by Booker and Jeff. She let them lure her into a corner, and when they weren't looking, she exchanged her drink with a member of our team for another, and gave them something that would work slowly but surely. By the time they had her get into their car, they were feeling woozy. It didn't take long for Jeff to pull over to the side of the road, in a dark part of the downtown, and for the men in Velasquez's trailing van to pick up his cargo of blubbering, drunken and drugged, manflesh.
When Booker and Jeff next opened their eyes, they were in my exam room. They had been carefully secured, next to each other, in reclining stirrup chairs. Each had has legs up and spread, with his ass over the opening in the split vee of the chair. Hands were fastened to collars around each neck, so they were immobile, and each waist was tightly and carefully strapped into place. An obligatory gag was fastened into each mouth, I did not want them to be able to plead with me, or talk to each other. But I made sure their chairs faced one another when I began my work. I wanted each to see what I would do in my exam to the other. I rolled up in my chair to Booker first. Slipping on a thin plastic surgical glove on my right hand, I lubed my index finger and approached his wide spread legs. His eyes widened in terror as I moved toward him, and I noticed that Jeff's hands were scrabbling and his legs straining as if he could escape. That's when I began my explanations.
"Mr. Stevenson, why the wide eyes and the surprised look? Did you think that you and your friend here were going to get away with drugging and raping girls for the rest of your lives? Well my fine friends, your days of being responsible for your cocks is now past. I hope your enjoyed your time well, and can remember how it was when these long and thick members were under your control." I used my free hand to pick up Booker's long, think cock. It was, as always, half hard. As my hands gently slid up and down the long, curved stalk, and my thumb grazed his circumcision scar as I slipped the tight foreskin just slightly down and up over his fat mushroom, it got completely hard. The wicked banana curved to the left, and its thick ridge was big wide like the dick knob itself...the kind of meat that women love and guys like to flaunt in locker rooms.
"Well Booker, this big boner is now part of a sperm bank, one we use to sell semen to interested parties around the world. You and your buddy will be milked on a regular basis, for business purposes. Neither of these pricks is going to be in any cunt for a while. But maybe if you're good boys, and cooperate, you'll get a chance at making some pussy feel good. If you're not good, well, I'll just attach the milker to your hard pricks, and let it suck the scum from your balls until you scream in pain." At that moment, I began a steady motion with my rough thumb pad, massaging the slimy cock lube that had begun to drool from the snout of Booker's dick head, and at the same time my insiduous finger begain to tickle and scratch at his nether portal. I could hear him yelling from behind the gag, but I just smiled.
Booker's taut black buns were small half moons, with a long, thick strip of wooly black hair lining his crack, hiding the pink portal of his asshole. As my finger finally got a gentle entry through the tight ass lips, it began a relentless mission of finding his hard little fuck nut. I knew no finger had every been up this bung, and the howls and efforts of the ass muscles to squeeze my finger told me he was resisting as best he could. When my fingertip finally had screwed it way up his hot hole, and touched his prostrate, he shot seven long stream of scum out from the cock tip that was barely revealed from the thin, delicate foreskin that clung tightly to the ridge of his knob. My thumb kept roiling the prick tip after the cum, and Booker's eyes closed from the ticklish sensations, his prick pulsing and unable to go soft, and his hips jerking from the wicked sensation. As I slid the other finger out of his ass pucker, I turned and smiled at the terrified Jeff as to say, "you're next...." Two of my assistants then rolled up large enema bags, with cute little nozzles, thin but covered in spikes and bumps. As I left, I could hear the groans and grunts as the nozzle's were gently inserted into each bung as a prelude for enemas on a regular basis.
That was four weeks ago, and today, the boys were in Playroom No. 5, ready for a day's work. I explained to them that there were several witnesses in the room today. One was the mother of a women they had raped, and several others were girls that they had raped and in at least two cases, their current boyfriends. Jeff pleaded, as he had from the start, not to humiliate them in front of other guys:
"Do please, don't do this...not in front of guys...shit, no man, please. You've had your fun, you've got us here, they drain our nuts every other day...please Doc, not in front 'a people...hell no...please Doc, I'm beggin' ya." By contrast, Booker looked at me with undisguised hate, but he knew it would do no good to say anything, though his uncooperative nature would have him doing something today he had not yet done to date.
I had Jeff strapped onto a bench with his legs held apart by a spreader bar. His arms were secured over his head, and stretched out so his firm chest muscles were completely exposed. I had one assistant slip a thin dildo gag into his protesting, pleading mouth, and secure it with head straps. The dildo was wired to a console next to Jeff, and when it was turned on would hum wickedly against his tongue and palate, creating a tickle that's hard to deal with. I had two little clips gently attached to each of his nipples, and they also were wired to the console. Through them would run a low current that would keep Jeff's tits hard and send a message straight to his dick. His cock was kept away from his stomach with the assistance of little bolster. As a result, the already hard and drooling boner was aimed upwards. In addition, clips with wires were added to each of his big toes, and one to his big fat ball sack, hanging low between his legs.
Booker was wheeled over on his stomach, attached to reclining sedan that supported his legs, sides, chest, and had an apparatus to support his head, but without him able to move it. I reached down and slowly frigged Booker's prick until I had massaged the tight foreskin just to the ridge, then after coating his cock with gel, I had my assistants role him up to Jeff's widespread legs. Jeff got the idea immediately, and tried futilely to close his legs. I had purposed only had Jeff worked with short, dildoes. Now he was going to experience the real thing.
After carefully massaging Jeff's bung hole, and stretching it slowly so it could take Booker's cock, my assistants who had kept Booker's cock primed, inserted the fat head into Jeff's spasaming shit chute, moving Jeff's big balls to the side. I kept Booker right at the entrance while clips with wires were attached to his nipples, his toes, and his nuts. Then I brought in the coup de grace. The gentle little garden snake which we had trained to roil and move when inserted into a cunt or asshole, was brought before Booker's eyes. He looked incredulous as I took the snake out of its cannister, and displayed it too him.
"Booker, see this little fellow. He's harmless, but he hates being confined. I'm going to slip him up your asshole. He always seems to get confused, and wriggles up rather than out, then he gets frustrated, and writhes and convulses until he can escape. Funny thing is, he can never get out until I pull him out. So he'll be in there massaging your prostrate for a while. Booker eyes were wider than I had ever seen them, and his hateful sneer had turned into pure fear. He shook his eyes, since he could not move his head, and he finally begged:
"Muuuuuthhher fucker...hey mannnnn....you caint put no snake up mah butt.... Oh sweet jeeeeeesus, naaah, man you crazy....you sick....that damn snake'll kill me....ohhhhh god damn....somebody get this crazy dude outta mah face.....ohhhh mah gooooddddd....noooooooo....NOOOOOOOOOO!"
I had the attendants put some lube deep up Booker's bowels, and then the thin little snake was admitted, head first. The I gave instructions to Booker as he whined and screamed for the snake to be taken out.
"Shuuuuhhh Booker...stop yelling, you wont' hear what I have to say, and then you won't be able to do what you need to in order to get that snake out of you. Shhhhuuhhh...there, that's it, calm down." Booker's eyes were wide with terror, and he panted as he tried to control himself, perspiration dripping from under his arms, and from his forehead. "You are going to suck Jeff off, no once, but three times. He will need to cum three times, and each time he does, you are to swallow every drop of his scum. We have monitors that will let us know when he ejaculates, so don't try to fool us. But the only way he's going to cum is with you fucking him silly, and working that big fat apple head of your dick against his tingling fuck nut. But you can't cum, cause if you do, you won't be able to make him cum. Of course that snake is going to make you want to cum immediately, cause you know how you and that little prostrate of yours are... hungry little fucker, that loves to be stroked and worked. So you'll have to find a way to keep yourself from cumming, while you fuck old Jeff silly and make him spurt three good loads deep down your throat." Booker's eyes had gone soft, he was pleading in desperate, low groans, moans and whispers, for me to have mercy, to get the snake outta him, and to let him go.
My assistants wheeled him up to Jeff's prick now stiff from the sensations of the dildo in his mouth, the buzz at his nipples, toes and balls, and the thought of Booker's big fuck stick deep up his asshole. As they moved Booker forward to slip Jeff's coke bottle dick deep in his mouth, his own cock, covered in a thin but impenetrable rubber, coated with gel and a French tickler, slip home in Jeff's resisting bowels. Jeff's eyes opened wide when the business end of Booker's prick and the ribs on the French tickler made contact with his prostrate.
In the meantime, I had the console turned on to Booker's balls, toes, and tits. You could hardly tell which was boy and which was snake. Everything seemed to roil and writhe, as best it could, within the confines of the restraints. So began a relaxing afternoon for our guests, served tea and deserts, able to chat and remark as they watched Booker suck dick for the first time in his life, and Jeff get the kind of screwing he never new was possible.
Later, after Jeff had shot his wad the obligatory three times, and the writhing snake had been pulled from Booker's well worked asshole, I invited the fiances of the two girls to pick a man. Jeff and Booker were then strapped down on a low gurney, and each man was able to slide his erect boner up the holes of the two, while plying their tits, and talking shit to them about being faggots with dicks up their butts. To help the cause, I had both boys own pricks inserted into a bristle sleeve, and as they were fucked, their young cock flesh was massaged into yet another unwanted ejaculation by the merciless bristles, scrubbing and tickling their boners relentlessly.
That was the first of many performances from Booker and Jeff, that is when they weren't on the milkers. Eventually, Jeff's big body, which was kept in good shape through exercise and work, was made as a gift to an Asian businessman who owned an island. He liked to keep Jeff blindfolded, arms cinched behind his back, a small buzzing dildo up his fundament, and his legs kept apart with a spreader bar while he lazily massaged the big fuck knob with just his fingertips in bristle tips while his other hand gently pinched and tugged Jeff's taut nips. I'm told that Jeff learned he could cum four or five times a day from such work, when he wasn't sucking his own dick or licking a hairy asshole. Booker was given to an American businessman who owned sports teams. He had always admired African American athletes, and now he had one to play with every day. I'm told he found ingenious ways to wring sperm from the hefty bull balls of Booker, and to make that long dicked boy squeal with pleasure from the ways in which he dick was milked and sucked dry.
By the time these two young men were thirty-five, they would be ready to be obedient and cooperative citizens.
"Heat" Transfer
Mr. Velasquez told me we would be having an unusual guest at the hospital. It seemed that while our men were working to bring another "patient" to the asylum, they ran into a detective from the vice squad of the police department in Kent, Ohio. Our men were hot on the trail of tough little red-head by the name of Carey Douglas who was a nineteen year old delivery man for the local overnight mail service. Carrey was 5'9", with ruddy complexion, bright blue eyes, and dark auburn hair. His arms, legs, toes and fingers were covered in a thick, fire red furr, but his eyelashes, eyebrows, the hair under his arms, up the crack of his ass and trailing from between his pecs down to his dick was dark. The men knew that he frequented an adult book/video store down-town in order to get his 6" curved cudgel sucked as often as possible. Young Carey would take a long lunch, end up in his brown uniform in the back video booth with the largest hole through which to stick his jutting prick. He might toke up on a joint, and lower his pants and briefs to his shoe-tops, and gently stroke his pork before a crooked finger would beckon him to put his hips up to the wall, and slide his hairy balls and dick through the hole. For some reason, Carey would always take a brief look before he slipped his prize into the mouth on the other side of the wall. For some reason, he was a bit picky, always making sure that whomever was on the other side looked manly, was young and was appropriately on his knees before the fat spike that made young Carey so proud.
Carey had no family to speak of. His only sister was ten years older, had married when Carey was still a boy, and moved West. She had purposely put distance between her and the family, wanting to escape the emptiness of an alcoholic mother and an abusive father. Carey's mother had died three years earlier, and he and his father rarely spoke. His aimless lifestyle, wasted skills, and lack of motivation made him a perfect candidate for the asylum. What the men did not know was that Carey had caught another eye. Vice squad officer Mark Maloney also had been following the progress of young Carey Douglas.
As it turned out, Officer Maloney had taken the time to put some extra hours of off-duty investigation into his effort. At night, when he was not on the streets looking for stray kids and young punks like Carey, Officer Maloney was at home reviewing video and audio tapes he had made surreptitiously. He particularly like the young red head, whose sharp and handsome features made him a favorite of Mark Maloney. One tape that Officer Maloney had made from the front side of the booth in which Carey had his fat prong sucked, captured the whole event from beginning to end. Using his cover of authority to pursue a legitimate "investigation", Maloney had coerced the young attendant who worked the cash register at the bookstore to give him access to the rear booths through a storage closet. There he spent a day making tapes of those whom he wanted to pursue privately outside of the his working responsibilities. He had carefully filed the tape of the young manager from the bank downtown who loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and lowered his suit pants and clean white briefs in order to stroke his long, thin cock to a bursting ejaculation. The part of the action that had brought a smile to Maloney's face, was when the young banker turned his head from the straight porn film he had selected, to look through the hole in the wall to watch his neighbor. When the neighbor had stuck his fat prick through the hole, the young banker wanked his own turgid pecker with one hand, while he stroked the jerking prong sticking through the hole with his other hand, his breath coming in gasps, his legs spread, his hips slumped, so he could surrender to the feeling of his fist sliding up and down his own stalk while he jerked his neighbor's rutting prick to its own sptting cum. While the two men cleaned up after their episode, Maloney went outside to write down the license plate of the banker when the young man left. Later when he had called on the banker, the young, married man had agreed to come to Officer Maloney's country cabin, and spent one night a month receiving 'public' instruction from the good officer. Maloney particularly liked attaching electrodes to the sensitive nipples of the pale, blond banker, and another to secure his pale, thin foreskin over the end of his fat, drooling prick tip. The young man's arms were secured behind his back, he was blindfolded, and a vibrating prick gag was secured in his mouth buzzing incessantly on his ticklish tongue. Officer Maloney's had the helpless young man positioned on his lap, with the cop's 8" fat-knobbed cock rooted deep up the banker's ass, strumming his prostrate. The sadistic vice officer slowly cranked up the handle controlling the electrodes on the nipples and prick tip until the young man, his head lolling, toes curling, and his ass bouncing, squirted cum through his helplessly rigid but clipped tool, out of control.
This same story had been repeated on other nights with other men. There had been a community college football player who could not resist a finger up his ass, a gas station attendant who could not make his dick go soft even after his balls had been drained, a Mormon college student on his mission who ejaculated without being touched every time a vibrating prick gag was inserted into his mouth, and several other married men in the town. Officer Maloney always got his man, and sometimes his woman. In at least two cases, he had managed to get into the beds of the married men, using their wives like he used them. His own physical beauty and compelling attitude made them acquiese to his demands. He loved tying up the wives and using vibrators, feathers, and electrodes on their nubile bodies, while the husbands were forced to service him. He particularly liked fucking the women while their husbands watched, cuming up their dripping, squealing cunts. Then he would make the husbands lick and suck the scummy pussies clean, while he kept the bound men's hard cocks under control in his calloused fist, often working a buzzing vibrator up their clinging assholes, or pinched and scratched their sensitive tits. When they came, they licked his palm clean of their own scum like the dogs he had made them into.
Office Maloney, though, had a thing for red heads. He had particularly enjoyed the wife of one of the men he had entrapped because she was a read head. Her clit seemed extra sensitive, extra long, and her tits just seemed made for pulling and pinching. She squealed like a stuck pig every time his stiff boner pistoned up her clinging, gripping hole, and scrapped back and forth on her turgid clit. He liked fucking her from behind in front of the mirror in her bedroom, while her husband was on his knees, bound, licking the connection between pussy and cock. In Maloney's mind, all red heads were sexual animals that needed to be trained and regularly exercise. Watching Carey Douglas squirm while wet lips rolled up and down his short, thick boner--grunting, his face contorting in lust, playing with his jutting nipples through an unbuttoned shirt and rolled up t-shirt--all that and the way his taut butt cheeks flexed as he rammed his rod down the throats that milked him--convinced Maloney that Carey had to be his next catch.
Carey was captured with Officer Maloney at the cabin in the woods by Velasquez's men. Carey was delivered to the examination room with his baseball cap on backwards, and in a pair of white crew socks and unlaced hiking boots. Each wrist was secured to the respective ankle on the same side of the body. He was on his knees on the exam table, with his chest forced outward by the bondage--his back supported by a padded rest. A spreader bar kept his knees apart, and made possible access to his hairy asshole. He had a ball gag that allowed him to breathe through holes in the ball. When I ran my finger up his taut, muscular legs, running my fingers through the thick fur and gently scratching the inside of his flexed thigh muscles, his balls roiled in their hanging sack, and his boner sprung up rigid and wet. I scratched his hairy armpit, eliciting squeals through the gag, and attempted gyrations to avoid the tickling sensation; "awwwwwwwww, aaaaaahhhhhh; eeeeeeeeiiiiiiiii." I did the same thing to his tight abs, and pulled and rolled his pink, coned titties that stiffed and reddened automatically as if they needed to be touched. The way those tits hardened, and his eyes rolled, promised fun to come. When I left him, his rigied boner was wet with pre-scum, and the slender probe I had gently inserted up his butthole, covered with horsehair bristles and dipped in the wicked, unbearable itching gel, was whirring quietly deep within his bowels. He would be fucking himself for at least an hour before I returned, and his dong would be primed and ready... especially since I coated his prick knob with the same gel, and already the red little bumps were popping up on the fat helmet, and under the flange, while his muffled grunts and wide eyes told the tale of the sensation. Officer Maloney was right about young Carey Dounglas, those red-headed types were hot numbers.
But for the next hour, I would be with Officer Maloney...aaaahhhh jesus, the thought made my prong drip. Maloney would have been impossible to subdue physically, so Velasquez's men had shot a small dart into his naked buttock, and within seconds he was slumped over Carey who had been trussed up on the bed. Maloney's hard dick had not yet entered into the vul-nerable nether hole between Carey's furry thighs, so his balls were still full of scum.
I had Maloney placed into another exam room in an unusual device. It was an old-fashioned set of stocks, with his head through a hole facing forward. His body was bent at the waist in a seated position, and his legs came through the bottom with his feet firmly secured, but freely accessible. Instead of his arms poking through holes the front, next to his head, they were secured together above his head to a ceiling hook, exposing his arm pits. His ass was resting on a platform behind the stocks, with a hole beneath his crack. His dick and balls were pulled through an opening in the stocks so that they could be freely accessed. The whole apparatus faced a huge wall mirror. Since Officer Maloney liked to watch, I thought it would be fun for him to see what was going to happen to him. On his handsome head, his uniform hat sat smartly, making him look like a very sexy cop in danger, his mouth gagged to prevent him from speaking but in a way so that we could hear his attempts.
I sat down on a stool in front of Maloney, and began to speak to him in mea-sured tones: "You know, officer, you've been abusing your office, taking advantage of your authority. As a consequence, you'll be spending at least a year on this island with us." As I spoke, my hands, gloved in surgical gloves, dipped into a beaker of the itching gel, and I began to gently massage his 8" prong into an unwilling, but helpless erection. He did not know that the slippery gel that was giving my fist free play on his precious fuck stick, would soon turn it read and covered with angry bumps, desperate for the relief of some type of scratching. My other gloved hand, gently wormed up his virgin asshole, parting the dark hair and tickling and scratching until I was able to work the gel deep into his rectum and baste his prostrate with it. His grunts and groans of pleasure, slowly changed, and his eyes widdened as he realized what I had done. For my part, the gentle words continued.
"Maloney, for the next year, you will be unable to touch your dick without permission. You will touch others, though. You will jerk, suck, be fucked, and fill your mouth with gism. You will wipe the hairy asses of other men after they have used the crapper, you will hold penises that need to piss in the morning and at night, you will clean under foreskins, massage and lick feet, you will suck pussy that has been filled with the cum of other men. You'll be so busy, you won't have time to thick about how hard you dick will be. When you cum, it will be as a party favor for dinner guests--starpped and gagged, or attached to the the automatic milker; your sperm will fetch a good price on the international market." At night, you'll be strapped into bed, but before you fall asleep, your body will be played with, tickled, touched, rubbed, pinched, and your dick jerked to a stiff erection, then left to sleep on the verge of a satisfying cum. By the time you leave, Officer Maloney, you'll be a good, obedient boy, ready for service to men who learn your secret." By this time, Maloney was squealing behind his gag...eeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii....aaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh...oooohhhhhhhh...nnnnnnngg ggggg." His ass bounced as best it could, and my finger wickedly kept rubbing gently, tickling, but not soothing the terrible itch up his hole. I had picked up a handled brush with coarse bristles in my other hand, and was softly scratching the bristle on this part, then that part, of his rigid, dripping stalk. When I rubbed the fat helmet, the hive-like bumps seemed to expand, and his prick burped pre-cum that only added to the effectiveness of the bristles and the maddening tickle that made the defenseless knob expand even more.
While Maloney grunted and gasped, I moved away to get a few more devices. I could not tell whether he was just shocked or he was begging by the way his eyes moved wildly and were open so wide, but I ignored his excrutiating pleas or cries. I returned with two electrical boxes, with mechancial arms that were flexible. The arms had what looked like back-scratch hands at the ends, with hard plastic bristles. Each finger on the hands was independently flexible, and moved randomly. I fixed them before Officer Maloney's secured feet, and as he watched I turned on the dials on each. Maloney's size twelve feet were pale and soft, with surprisingly few callouses. His long toes left a wide gap between the ball of his feet and finger like appendages. His narrow heels and high arches looked so soft and vulnerable. Immediately after I switched on the boxes, the arms lowered and began to rasp the plastic hands, and the hard bristles on each finger, up and down the pale, smooth soles of the bound officer's feet. His toes immediately curled to avoid the bristles, but the device was designed to respond to pressure, so as he moved his feet as best as he could the arm honed in to force the scratching bristles against the ticklish flesh.
When Maloney spasmodically flexed his feet, the bristles would move back just enough to keep their rasping at a level that would drive the man insane. As he yelled behind the gap, and gyrated as much as he could, I calmly took a six inch dildoe, covered with small plastic spikes, and installed it in a stand below his ass. I slowly worked the slender dildoe, greased with more gel, up his fundament. The poor man did not even realize what was happening, he was so focused on getting his feet away from the mechanical tickler. But when I switched on the power to the buzzing dildo, Officer Maloney was sent up to heaven, as the wicked plastic spikes alternately scratched his inflamed ass lining, and poked his irritated prostrate. He bounced helplessly, and I loosened his bonds enough to make sure he had room to fuck himself silly. Little did he know that the dildoe had an opening that would periodically release more gel from a tube of the stuff contained within it. He would be itching himself until the dildoe was removed.
"You know officer, I think I'll give you one last ejaculation for old times, then I'll leave the machines to help you to the next two or three. He hardly heard me as his head moved back and forth, his grunts and squeals were pitiful and loud through the gag, and his body jerked right and left. Using a pair of golf gloves with horsehair bristles on the fingertips, I grasped just his fat, hard, dick tip. I rotated my fingers all around his flange and knob, making it expand to a glassy surface, and making the bumps stand up red and rigid in search of any relief. I slipped my other hand around the stocks, and grasped one of Maloney's turgid titties, hard and pebbled. I pulled and sratched the nipple as I rotated my fingers on the fat dome of the huge prick helmet, and suddenly Officer Maloney spurted ten long ropes of thick, white gism into the air. My fingers continued to play on for about a minute, making him squeal even more loudly: "eeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyeeeeeeee...mmppppppppp- ggggghhhhh....oooooooowwwwww....aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"
Then I got up to leave, carefully painting Officer Maloney's cock with another coating of gel. Like the instinctive animal he was, his dick had gone hard again, and the tickling up his asshole, on the soles of his feet, and on the knob of his dick started him up the spiral to another ejaculation--only this time without any masturbatory help. His eyes looked terrified as I moved toward the door, leaving him in this condition. But I tried to reassure him:
"Don't worry Officer Maloney, I'll be back in about an hour...then we'll begin your physical exam...we'll need to flush that ass with some special enemas." He grunted in fear, seemingly to yell for me to help him, as I closed the door and headed back for young Carey Douglas and the spunk in his starchy balls.