The Asylum 4

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.

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Playroom No. 4

After a delicious dinner with Mr. Velasquez and some of the senior members of the staff, we retired to Playroom No. 4 where Hans Schmidt and Ian McVeigh were waiting for us.

During the dinner, a couple of sixteen year old Bosnian twins were our servers, naked and erect during the entire time. Their pale, muscled flesh was available to us to pinch, pull and prod during the meal. At one point, Mr. Velasquez masturbated first one then the other. They were ordered to stand next to him while he gently frigged their six-inch dicks into cums onto his ice cream. One bent his knees, and closed his eyes as his pale foreskin was gently tugged up and down onto the sensitive, fat knob of his cock. They were not allowed to resist any actions for fear of a severe punishment, so the boy's hands were clenching helplessly at his sides while Mr. Velasquez chatted non-challantly while doing his best to stimulate the young man. Finally, as the boy began to breath deeply, and his knees really dipped, Mr. Velasquez reached up with his other hand to pinch and roll the boy's lovely pink teats while he continued to frig with the other, making his thumb rub and irritate the sensitive prick lips. He had the boy hold his ice cream dish under the throbbing member to catch every drop of the gism that rocketed from the hard dick. The boys had not been allowed to cum for over two weeks, sleeping on their backs at night with their hands secured. The identical twin had to perform immediately after his brother, with the added requirement that the one who had finished was made to tickle his brother's ass lips, and pinch and pull his teats so the ejaculation would not take as long. It didn't since the sixteen year old boy was not accustomed to stimulation and surrendered quickly to its many sensations. The second twin came squirming and groaning while his brother's finger threatened to squirm up butt and his prick was being frigged mercilessly by Mr. Velasquez. Watching him stand up on his long toes and muscular feet as his dick unloaded on the ice cream was as good as desert. I would have to spend a night seeing how much spunk I could wring from those two teenage sets of balls, and get them together with our wayward police officer to see what they might like to do with him.

In Playroom No. 4, Hans was on his back, tethered carefully to a bench. His arms were strapped to the front legs, and his feet were extended up and spread wide, attached to a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling. His pale Germanic skin shone in the bright light focused on his body. He began to speak, but I put my fingers to my lips warning him. He closed his eyes in abject despair and acquiescence. I rolled a mechanical fucker up between his legs, and let him watch me screw in a five inch knobby dildoe, slender but pebbled and with ridges so as to massage his shit chute in ways to elicit the most exquisite and uncomfortable sensations deep up his bowels.

Hans had been an AWOL soldier in the German army. Velasquez's men had found him in the company of a beautiful blond whom he had been fucking non-stop for several days, after a drunken binge. Hans had been one of the out of work East German boys, 23 and uneducated, who had taken the army as his only option. Bordering on Neo-Nazi, he was punk personified, and his dick was closer to his brain that any other aspect of his life. Unable to cope with the military discipline, he had run away, gotten drunk, and ended up doing what he did best: fucking. Now his 9 inch curved and slender prong was prevented from fucking anything. He was kept hard and horny, and like so many others, milked when allowed to cum. That dick needed to learn manners in the best German tradition, and to follow instructions. It's pale covering of thin foreskin was currently clipped shut with a plastic clothespin to prevent him from shooting his scum prematurely.

I rolled and pinched his nipples until they were hard and pebbled, then gently attached metal clips with wires leading to the control console nearby. I added a wire to the end of the dildoe fucker, so that when it moved, and vibrated, it would randomly send a small jolt of electricity deep up Hans' furry ass; nothing dangerous, but deliciously random and sure to give him a reason to clench his cock and ass, and harden his dick almost painfully.

I removed my dinner clothes, while Mr. Velasquez sat nearby playing absently with Ian whose body was secured on his lap, gagged. They watched as I lowered my ass onto Hans' strong, face. I switched the dials on the console, then grasped a long handled bristle brush to used on his extended, strong feet.

"Hans," I said in a mocking and threatening tone, "I want you to thrust that tongue though the hair in my ass crack and find my little hole and lick and flick, and make me feel like some of those cunts you liked to lap, or I'm going to keep these machines going and keep your fuck stick clipped all you understand me?" I distinctly heard a muffled "Yaaaaaa," between slurps of his tongue. That tongue that had been used to scrubbing clits and trowelling between twat lips and up into squealing pussy holes, was now slurping on my hairy asspucker, thoughtfully cleaned for the occasion. I rubbed my hard prick, letting the dripping pre-scum keep my fist lubed and my dick meat throbbing; aaaahhh Jesus, it felt good to have this helpless young man at my disposal.

Hans' toes curled and pointed, jerked and twisted in their bonds, struggling to be away from the wicked, hard bristles on the brush that I flicked around his feet, but I aimed at insteps, under long toes, and along his heels to prevent him form concentrating on anything but the prickling, tickling, scratching sensation. I could hear him yowl and gasp between licks...eeeeeiiiiiiiiiiii, aaaaahhhhhh, nnnnno-oooooooo! But Hans' fuck stick never lost its hardness for a moment, and from the clipped, pale skin at the snout of his cock, I could see the clear drips of pre-cum drooling out onto his washboard stomach. Each time that knobby dildoe hit his joy spot, he wanted to cum, but could only burp more pre-cum while his fat dick tip struggled to expand out of its clipped confines.

I looked over to see that Mr. Velasquez had slipped on a baseball glove with the wicked horsehair bristles completely surrounding the middle finger. I knew where that glove finger would soon be. Ian McVeigh had been a brooding poet in London, away from his Native Scotland when the Asylum's crew found him. He had run away from a huge pile of debts, hoping to hide away, screw girls and write his dark diatribes. Ian was also a cunt-lapper supreme, dating different girls for the express purpose of ending up between their legs slurping and siphoning juice from their drooling pussies. In turn he loved to have his 6" beer bottle dick sucked and plugged up the tight, constricting cunts of pretty girls. They would carefully peel the tight foreskin back from his impossibly thick stalk, and reveal the fat plum of his dick knob. It had a flange almost a 1/2 inch wide near the piss well, and girls could hardly fit the wide dick head in their dainty fists while they slid their lips over his prick tip, or tried to insert it into their pouty cunts.

Ian had always been squeamish about anything up his ass, apparently because it would make him cum almost instantly. But when Mr. Velasquez told him he would be whipped on his sensitive dick head if he came without permission, (and once they had done it [though not hard enough to leave a mark] to make sure he understood), he spent an inordinate amount of time trying to clamp down on invaders up his bowels and at the same time control his overwhelming desire to shoot bolts of cum the moment a finger breached his ass pucker, or poked his prostrate. For almost fifteen minutes, Ian had been on Velasquez's lap, arms cinched up high behind him, legs kept wide with a spreader bar, and the horse hair finger, dipped in lube, earnestly fucking him while his titties were pulled like a whore in heat. His body wrenched and jerked each time either the tit or his prostrate were touched, and his fat fucker was basting in man sap, burping out of him as he fought desperately to keep from cumming.

Ian and his last girlfriend had been kidnapped together from his apartment. It turned out that she was in a scam, stealing funds from older women who lived in her building to support herself. The girl was used in some of the playrooms as incentive for the boys kept at the asylum and as diversions for some of the guards. This particular girl had been chosen because she absolutely loved tongue, and her clit was so sensitive that whether tongue, dildo, prick or finger, she could cum endlessly and in loud, articulate tones (yeah, I like screamers...girls or boys).

Ian was removed from Mr. Velasquez's lap where for a few final moments his dick had been gently jerked and his tits pinched and rolled to warm him up for a good spunk. He was now strapped kneeling on a prayer bench, with his pale, wide size 12 feet shackled and spread apart to the corners. His arms were roped behind his back, then cinched up and attached by a short chain to his slave collar. His head was secured on the top of the bench. To each of his big toes, a wired clip was affixed. Between his legs was a stand that reached up to his fat, duck egg balls. His thick cudgel was stretched against the flat vertical surface of the stand, aiming it down between his legs. Velasquez took some powder and mixed it with a liquid in a small dish from a nearby cart. Then he used a q-tip to spread the mixture up under the clean foreskin, all around the fat glans and under the sensitive flange. Within moments, Ian's hands began grasping and scrabbling into the air behind his back, and he began to chant in a sweet Scottish brogue.

"Aaaaahhhh, Mister Velasquez, pleeeze, I'mma asking you please, Sir. I kinna take it, oooooohhhhh gooooodddddd...Mr. Velasquez, it itches Sir, it itches so bad. I kin feel little bumps on my prick for Jesus sake, oooooohhhhh, my god, aaaaaahhhhhhh, fuck, piss, shit......make it stop itchin'.....ooohhhhh ....aaaaggggghhh." As he squealed and begged, Ian's long toes waggled back and forth, trying to curl and then straightening from the intense tickling on his prick knob.

I love to hear these big boys beg, and Ian's 6" frame, blond hair and good looks, and those long sexy, hairy toes and fingers, made my dick pulse. Mr. Velasquez, not unmindful of Ian's need, took a strange small cylindrical brush, like a tiny bottle brush but with stiff horsehair bristles along the tip, and he inserted it within the tight foreskin where the deep colored glans was now covered with small red bumps from the wicked mixture that had been smoothed into it. Velasquez switched on the little electric brush, and began a slow, methodical scratch of the fat plum and its flange underneath the foreskin. With the prick aimed down, this stimulation alternately soothed and made more ticklish the irritated prong tip. Ian felt the need to cum, but the direction of his thick dong kept him from ejaculating. The sensation was excrutiating. At the same time, Velasquez deftly re-introduced the lubricated glove finger with the bristles up the bung of the dark blond haired cleft between Ian's perfect pale ass cheeks. In seconds he was screaming for mercy!

"Aaaaaaagggggghhhh, Missssterrrrr Velaaasssssquuez, plllleeeeeaaase, ooohh-hhhhh gooooooodddddd, for the loooooveee offffff goddddddd, stooooop, I canna cummmmmm, oooooooohhhhh, dooon't maaaake meeeeeee....oooh-hhh fuckinnnnnnn chrissssssst, mooooother fuuuuucccccck...aaaaaahhhhh your killinnnnnnn meeeeeee!" Ian, screamed, and begged, and moaned as his dick swelled and he fought the one sensation that itched and irritated his dick head to make him lose control at the same time he fought to cling to the wicked bristles prickling his prostrate and scratching the lining of his guts so he would not cum.

Velasquez kept whispering to him not to cum, because if he did, he would stretch his dick out, secure it, peel back the sensitive foreskin and take a short whip with stinging leather strips to his dick knob. Ian's dark red locks and underarms dripped perspiration, and his rubbery nipple nubs chaffed against the bench, adding more stimulation to his overwrought nervous system. The coup de grace came when Velasquez turned the dial on the console that controlled the wires attached to Ian's big toes. The nicely formed feet tensed, and the low current vibrated through Ian's whole body, churning the sperm in his balls and making the bristles seem even more wicked as they scrubbed his dick head and routed up his asshole. Finally, at about the same time I unclipped Hans', long slender, rigid prong, Ian gave up the ghost. Both young men exploded wads of cum. I caught Hans' gruel, and made him lick my full, coated palm clean by threatening him with dire consequences if he didn't. When Ian shot, Velasquez let his dick out of its unnatural position. The handsome poet squealed when Mr. Velasquez took his palm and rotated it on the overly ticklish dick knob during and after the ejaculation. Ian could not stand his dick tip touched after a cum so Velasquez made sure to massage it with his calloused palm until the boy's eyes closed and he was reduced to whimpers, his toes tightly curled. Yet hid dick never went soft.

We gave both boys about a fifteen minute break before we strapped them into a sixty-nine position with one boy on top of the other, and made them deep throat each others pricks. Hans'' curved cock stretched into Ian's throat and Ian's fat prong stretched Hans'' lips. We told them that until them made each other cum we would introduce into their respective assholes dildoes smeared with the same irritant that was used on Ian's dick earlier. Those buzzing and whirring dildoes, grinding the irritant into their guts, and our added touch, tooth brushes on their exposed feet, resulted in a twenty-minute work-out that ended with both men shooting another thick, viscous wad down each other's throats. Jesus it was fun sitting at the tethered pale, wide and muscular feet of Hans, working that brush under and between them, while Velasquez was concentrating on the instep of Ians long, muscled pale feet with their long sweating toes.

After a short pause, we left Ian strapped on Hans'' lap, his arms tethered overhead, with the German boys dick up his ass wearing a French tickler covered with horsehair. The bristles aggravated the bumps caused from the irritant up Ian's fundament, and that caused his weary cock to erect again. We told Hans' that he would not be allowed to leave and go back to his room until he made the helpless Scottish boy cum again, plus we had inserted a nettle leaf up Hans' asshole as incentive. So Hans', wearing gloves with rough denim lining the palms and fingers, rolled Ian's tits with one hand, while he masturbated the groaning, drooling boy with the other. Finally, the long, curved scimitar up Ian's asshole made his tired cock spit one final cum, dripping and drooling rather than shooting while the rough denim tortured the fat glans of the Scottish lad as his brogue filled the air with pleas, shouts, and little yells. His long toes curled and gripped and his head rested against Han's chest, moving back and forth futilely, begging Hans' to spare him from the milking fist and rooting bristles. But the German boy, though sympathetic, was determined to get the nettle out of his bucking ass and relieve the itch that forced his cock to grind against Ian's prostrate. It was wonderful to know that these boys, who would only have touch pussy before they arrived at the Asylum, would be forced to fuck and suck other handsome men for the foreseeable future. Even after Ian had spunked, it seemed that Hans enjoyed gently milking the wilting prong and pulling the red, stiff tits until the attendants separated them. Ian's luscious body, and fat cock would be off limits for several days while he recuperated.

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