The Masturbation Chronicles, Tale No. 4a -- Security Guard Tony Bruno’s Capture
Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys with older men. This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely similarities. I do not engage in or condone sexual activity between adults and underage boys which is regulated by law. These are fantasies for sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real life.
This current series is entitled “The Masturbation Chronicles” and will be a series of discreet stories focused around the theme of uncontrollable masturbation and its consequences. I would truly appreciate suggestions from others for scenes or settings, and of course descriptions of real scenes. Often my stories have been woven from tales shared with me by those of you who comment on my stories. So please consider writing to me.
My stories are posted on http://www.pridesites.com/omelissokomos/glaucon/, and on ASSGM.com, and on Nifty. I would appreciate comments on my writing. I certainly admire the good writers on the web, and consider myself still a learner. Please contact me at [email protected]. They stories posted under the name of Glaucon55 or written by him are all his work product and may only be published on other sites or anywhere else, with his permission.
The boy I have secured in the back of my camper reminds me of a buddy I had in high school. The kid I have now is about 5’ 7” tall, stocky bild, blond to the tufts on his toes, and sporting a nice thick, 6.5 inch boner, straight up and stiff—a little fuller in the middle, tapering to the head, and then a nice, fat, juicy cap. The buddy I knew in high school was closer to 5’ 10” and he was black haired, green-eyed, and threw a 7” prick that curved downwards, with a fat baseball knob on it. His skin was pale, he once described it as being “Black Irish.” But I didn’t care. He was built like a long-legged tennis player, which is what he was. On Friday nights, it was “get drunk and wasted, and let somebody drain your nuts time.” Now the kid I had in the back of my camper was not so cooperative, but he would get the same treatment—and like my buddy in high school, draining his nuts was what he was all about. I’ve always had a soft spot for this action, since high school, and for boys whose pricks are constantly hard.
Cameron Collier, the kid from high school wasn’t too particular. He knew he wanted to cum, and he didn’t care if it was some slut sucking his cock, or some dude’s calloused paw jerking him off. When I’d see him at snack in the morning he’d complain that he’d had a hardon since 1st period, and wished he could get a blow job at lunch time. That was Cameron, straight-forward and horny, just needing to get off as many times a day as time and opportunity would permit. I’d met him in Junior High, and trust me, he was the same then. His mom had been divorced from his Dad since he was ten, and from that day on she had an endless stream of big dicked men come to the house on Friday and Saturday nights to fuck her silly. Cameron would sneak to her bedroom door, and open it just enough during the bouts of fucking to see the strong glutes of some hairy dude, his big balls bouncing between his legs, driving a sticky, wet shaft into his mom’s snatch, making her squeal with pleasure as his knob worried her greedy clit. His own pre-teen pricklet would get stiff as a nail, all three and one half inches of it, and he spontaneously learned to rub and squeeze it till waves of dry sensation overtook him. He was hooked on the goose bumps and the shuddering, tit-hardening feelings that would overtake his body. From then on he masturbated until junior high, when he found out that both girls and guys would do it for him. There were horny cum dumps everywhere, from the older teen dude next door who paid him a buck each time Cam allowed him to suck his cock, to the middle school girls whose panties were always wet. Cam was good-looking, with green eyes and that dark hair setting off an Anglo-Saxon countenance, and his prick never went soft---he had all the skills he needed along, with an arrogant confidence, to get his nuts drained regularly.
Me, I just liked the way he was always ready to spunk wads of teenage spooge from his ever bloated nuts that swung heavily between his legs. I’d only goofed around with Cam a couple of times in junior high, but both were exhilarating, and I knew I wanted more. His casual attitude toward sex was the opposite of my anxiety ridden guilt over the lewd pleasures of grinding my cock into my bed at night…wringing my own sweet dry cums from my feverish rod. But Cam taught me that pleasure was nothing to be guilty about, and that it was easier to get than my horny, but shy, personality realized. The first time me and Cam hooked up was in the bus from a field trip to a boring museum for history class. By the time we’d finished the tour and heard the docent’s endless commentary, Cam was sitting next to me in the back seat complaining about how stupid the trip had been, and how horny he was. He said that Jessica Raymond’s panties were showing every time she bent down to look at the captions of the floor exhibits, and that had made his dick start leaking. He was sure she was wet at the snatch (and he would know), and he could see her cunt lips sticking to the soft material of the panties. I nervously laughed it off hoping that he hadn’t seen my own boner as he talked about his prick. But as the bus got dark on the ride home, he pointed out how hard his cock was. The dudes across the isle from us were sleeping, and so I openly starred at his erection as it lay on his thigh, making a fat ridge in his pant’s leg.
Finally, after whining a bit more, he lay his head against the window, groaned softly as his fingertips grazed the erection, and whispered casually that I should feel how hard he was. Trembling, and looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, I threw my jacket over both our legs, and slipped my near hand underneath to grasp his woody. My heart was racing, not sure where I had gotten the nerve to feel Cam’s woody, but so horny and desperate to do it, that I was willing to take a chance at getting caught. Fuck, his prick felt so thick and strong for a fourteen year old kid, and he immediately closed his eyes and leaned back splaying his legs, giving me room to work. I found my fingertips drawn to his knob, since his erection had a sort of curve that forced the middle down, and stretched the material of his pants over the knob aimed down over his thigh. I knew how sensitive my own prick tip was, and somehow I just wanted to see what Cam would do in this crowded bus if I teased his knob and he had to remain silent. When my fingernails drew across the material of his chinos to tickle the bloated glans, he jerked, squeezing his legs together to hunch away from my grasp, but almost simultaneously he jerked his legs open again, inviting the awful tickle, because, as I would learn, that’s what Cam lived for. The dude just wanted to get off, and the more sensation—especially on his cock head, the better he liked it. I gripped his prick and let my fingers focus on fat tip, making him strain his legs out reflexively and draw in gulps of air, stretching relexively as his ejaculation became imminent. Apparently he didn’t mind spunking his briefs, cause soon he was bucking gently as his prick launched his teen cum into the white briefs, writhing and squeezing his eyes tightly, as my fingers continued to drain every bit of his ejaculate from the turgid shaft. Finally, when he could stand the tickle no more, he pushed my hand away, and panted quietly until he feel asleep for the rest of the ride. For my part, I was determined to get my hands on Cam’s big boy cock as soon as I could.
The next time we hooked up was at a party held by one of the sophomore girls from the high school. We were fifteen, and soon would be in high school, but had met some of the girls by going to the football games and hanging out with the kids near our age. The girl’s parents were outta town, and shit was going down all over the place. Guys and girls were drunk off their asses, and guys were sucking face, fingering pussy, and pinching tit to beat the band. But these were older guys from the high school, and younger punks like us were out of luck. Cam was trashed, and when I saddled up to ask how he was doing when I spotted him in the kitchen pouring himself more hard stuff, he just grunted how fucking horny he was; his usual mantra. I smiled, and with a heady temerity asked what he was going to do about it.
“Fuck, how the hell can I do anything, with all these high school pricks getting the pussy. He reached down and gripped his telltale boner, and I smirked and said “Shit, that hasn’t stopped you before.” He looked at me through his soggy eyes, and said, “you wanna have a drink?” and offered me his glass, spilling some of the rum as his drunken hands reached out to me.
“Thanks dude…let’s go down to the basement and party,” I suggested casually, and like a puppy dog, he followed. I saw the door to the basement, and when we went in, I looked around and latched it once we entered so we wouldn’t be disturbed. I found that Cam, once drunk, surrendered his body to whatever was going to happen, as long as he was going to get his nut. Within minutes, I had his pants at his ankles, his shirt unbuttoned, his flip flops abandoned so he could flex his long toes, and his prick firmly in my grasp. He bucked and writhed over the old couch we found downstairs, and as I reached up to pinch one of his tits, he whined out loud and shot streams of his cock snot over my hand, and into the air. I let my roiling fist keep milking his boner after he’d cum, and though he swore and demanded I stop--grasping my wrist with hands made strong from years of tennis---he did nothing to actually stop me from teasing his fat, swollen cock knob. In his helpless, drunken state, I started licking his stiff teats, and stroked his body from head to toe until he was rearing and ready to cum again, and then thumbed another sticky load from him. I left him to snore on the couch after I buttoned him up a bit, and I vowed that night would not be the last time I drained Cameron Collier’s spunk filled balls. It wasn’t.
Many a Friday night in high school, especially when we were sixteen year old freshmen, but even later when he could not find a chick to bang in our junior and senior years, I would offer to take him out to the drive-in to drink. That was our standard excuse, and it was our unspoken code. We never discussed our trysts and he would brag about the pussy he’d fucked like that was his only predilection. If he was interested, and more times than not he was, we’d get together after dinner and I’d bring the booze. We’d take my parent’s van, and start drinking before we even gotten into the drive-in. We’d park toward the back, away from the lights and snack area; there were always dead areas where guys and their chicks could fuck and suck without drawing much attention. We’d park, and then get in the back seat where the tinted windows of the van offered us the maximum privacy. In the darkness of the lot, and secluded from other vehicles, we had time to get drunk without drawing anyone’s attention.
By the time we were seniors, I had added some spice to our meetings. I never knew if Cam approved of the stuff I did, or just accepted it since he was usually smashed by the time our exploits began. I had been going to internet porn sites from the time I was a sophomore and got my own connection in my bedroom at home. I’d discovered bondage, and the mere idea of guys being restrained by women dominatrix, and then milked and fucked, made my six inch spike throb with delight, and leak copious amounts of pre-fuck. The first time I tied Cam’s arms over his head, and whispered in his ear that some bitch had him bound and helpless, he later came like a bull in heat in my rolling fist. From then on, I had refined my methods, and played that boy like a finely tuned instrument.
One of my favorite memories was while we were supposed to be watching “The Russians Were Coming.” I had Cam in the back seat as usual, and he was cooperatively stinko. I took both of his hands, and wound the rope around his wrists, tying them together, and then using the steel seat leg behind us to anchor the rope and pull his arms over his head. Then I reached down and unlaced and pulled off his lowtops, sliding off his socks at the same time. Then I tied each ankle to the bottom of the front seats, respectively, stretching his legs apart. I stuck a pillow behind his back, forcing his chest and stomach out and supporting his lower back; now for the fun.
I always started by using my fingers to tickle inside his ears, over his lips and under his nostrils, and then over his pronounced Adam’s apple. Straight guys have no sense of their own bodies, and Cam was always pleasantly shocked by how sensitive he was to my fingertips and fingernails, scratching, scraping, and flicking over his body. Eventually, I would get down to his pecs, still outlined by his shirt or t-shirt, and I would scrape my index fingernail over the already stiff nubbins that punched out the material. Fuck he was sexy, and I plucked and pinched through the material until his hip began to buck, he was groaning appreciatively, and I could see a wet spot forming where his fat fuck tip was rubbing against the material of his shorts and leg. Finally, I would unbutton his shirt, or tug his wife-beater out of his pants, and slide my hand underneath the soft, warm cotton. His firm abdominals would always shudder slightly as my fingertips grazed over them, searching out his deeply inny navel, my index finger rooting out any lint it could find and tickling deep into the sensitive hole. He would grunt and hiss, and his cock would immediately burp more pre-fuck, beginning the inexorable slide towards his much needed ejaculation. Then my other hand would reach up, and through the cotton, seek out his stiffly pointed nipples, an erogenous zone I had helped Cam discover. He didn’t know his tits could be so sensitive, but once I started plying them, he was like Pavov’s dog, panting for more. I scratched my fingernail over each exposed tit, and then grasped one, as my other finger continued to tickle and scratch inside his exposed navel. Soon I would have him bucking hard against the bonds, pulling and moaning, as I whispered sick, dirty trash talk about pussy and cunt into his ears. Then I would slowly unloosen his pants and lower the zipper, exposing his mounded boner. My wicked index finger would seek out his fat glans, and though the cotton briefs, find his wide corona and deliberately scratch around its pebbled surface. He’d swear, and demand that I stop that shit and get him off, knowing full well I’d ignore his orders. From corona to glans, my nail continued its relentless torture, while my other fingers under his singlet, scratching and pinching his turgid nipples. Fuck, seeing this handsome high school jock stretched out and helpless would occasionally make me cum spontaneously, but my prick would never go soft.
Before the nights would end, I could occasionally make Cam cum twice, the first time in my calloused fist, and the second time using an old cotton sock filled with lube. I would twist and slide my hand around the sock, using it like an oversized condom, spinning round and round his fevered prick shaft and bloated glans. I loved to watch how his toes would curl tight, and his body would buck and grind after he came, but my attentions to his helpless prick knob would continue. When Cam and I graduated, I never heard from him again, but at our ten year reunion he was there with a beautiful, big-titted blond and pictures of two kids. I wondered who was taking care of his needs on the sly, knowing that his prick was too insatiable to remain confined to blissful domesticity. I made a mental note to find out someday. Even at 38 he looked damned good.
The kid I had in the back of my camper was a college kid walking home from the late shift at the Bongo Burger at the edge of town, and a couple miles from the campus and his dorm. I drove past him the first time as he tried to hitch a ride the last couple of miles, but it was late and no one was out on the road. I zoomed round the next bend, then drove back. He paid no attention. He was just some goofy college kid, dumb as shit when it came to common sense, and full of cum. I turned my truck camper around, and drove up again, this time slowing as he stuck out his thumb and smiled broadly as I came to a stop.
“Where ya going kid,” I asked as if I didn’t know.
“Hey man, I’m just trying to catch a ride home to the college, just a couple of miles down the road…can ya give me a lift? He asked with an innocence that made my cock lurch in my pants.
“Sure kid, hop in….”
I offered him a beer, playing to his vanity, and he took it and had several swigs before he put the can down into one of the cup holders. About 10 minutes later he was out cold, the knock out drops I’d used to lace the beer by injecting the can, had done their work. I drove past the college, and well into the nearby hills onto land I owned. I parked inside the barn next to my cabin, ensuring that we would not be disturbed in my van. Then I lifted him into the back of the cabin and began my work.
Stripping a mature college kid is not as easy as it would seem…but he was out cold and I had no problem manipulating him to get his shirt, t-shirt, pants, sneakers, and socks off. I left his boxers on…I liked the way they looked on his cut, muscular body. He must have played tailback on his high school football team, no where else to get that short, hunky frame, with thick legs and broad feet, and a bubble butt that just ached to be spanked. His chest was deceptively powerful, with sharp plates for his pecs, and berry red cones thrusting through the sworls of blond curls that covered each breast. I tied him face down on the cushioned recliner, his feet hanging vulnerably over the edge. I straped down his legs, turned his head to one side and placed a buckling hood over it so he could speak, but could not see. The holes at his ears ensured he would hear everything I had to say. I gave him a small injection, the agent to counteract the mickey that had put him to sleep. As I waited for him to return from dream land, I flipped through his wallet.
His name was Justin Connor Maitland, and he was 20 years old according to the driver’s license. There were the obligatory pictures of friends posing in clown like expressions, and a picture of a lovely blond girl signed “yours forever, Karen.” He had his school I.D., and his employee card from Bongo Burger, and nine dollars in ones and a five. I put his wallet down with the rest of his clothing, wondering if I had a boy that I could sell on the white slave market, or just a one night stand. While my land was here, I didn’t live here, so the chances of us running into each other again were slim…I am always careful.
As Justin stirred, I reached over with my hand, and grasped his strong heel, cupping it, and then sliding my hand slowly up his calf, to his thigh, in between them, tickling over the boxers to graze his balls, and up the line of his crack to his lower back and up the rest of his smooth, unblemished back. The hair that profusely covered his arms, legs, trailed up his stomach and spread over his pecs, but was absent from his back. I would later find out that what he lacked there, he made up for in the trough of his firm ass cheeks. As he groaned, and then inhaled sharply, trying to understand why he could not see, I gripped one of his firm ass cheeks and squeezed it for good measure.
“What the fuck….dude…what the helll, hey, shit, fuck….lemme go…what the fuck is going on?” I love college students, they are so articulate and erudite. I could follow each of his emotions as he realized that he was bound, hooded, and almost nude.
“Mister, hey, mister, you there…where are we…what happened, Jesus, hey mister, you there?”
Before I answered I made him realize that my hand was still on his butt cheek by squeezing it again, and letting my fingertips trail down toward his crack where the material was now getting damp from fear. “Shit, get the fuck off…hey, don’t do that, who are you…shit, please say something, and fucking stop touching me….Christ… where the fuck am I?” My oh my, what happened to that sweet boy I had picked up on the highway…suddenly he was so tough and in no condition to be so. I’d tame that soon enough, but I wanted to enjoy his confusion and fear. I slid my hand down from his butt over his hairy thigh, and down to his calf and foot. As my hand moved, he continued to ejaculate curses and tried vainly to shift his body and legs, only able to curl his toes and flex them as well as scrabble his fingers over his head. When I got to his size 10 feet…big for a boy his size, I felt the soft soles and meaty pads of each foot, separating the rather long, thick toes, and gently scratching underneath them and across the ball to his instep.
“Shit…fuck…stop that…, his toes flicking helplessly, and straining as my fingernails gently scrabbled across his muscular feet. “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh…shit….oooooooowwwww fuck, aaaaahhhhh, ha, ha, ha……ha, ha, ha….sotp, stop….aaaaaahhhhhhhh…” He alternated squealing and yelling, telling me to stop which only increased my efforts, and made him clench his ass cheeks tight and continue to strain his feet in a hapless effort to avoid the maddening tickling. I did this for almost ten minutes, making sure I wore him out a bit, before my hands began their trail up his legs again, luxuriating in the thick and increasingly damp hair covering them. The perspiration was half fear, half exertion from the tickling…but it all worked well, to make him seek a moment of quiet respite and he didn’t insult me as my hands felt him up on this trip.
When I got to his butt, I let my fingers push the damp material of his boxes into his crack, and my index finger began to root a bit, searching for the magic portal. He grunted, and then begged.
“Aaaaaagggghhh…shit…please, please don’t….fuck….please…don’t do this….” and he clenched his cheeks tight, hoping to avoid the inspection that was inevitable. I had a way to deal with unruly boys who tried to resist….I pulled out the small slapper I had and snapped it against the nearby counter. He reacted by turning his head, and again scrabbling his fingers and crinkling his toes…the realization that something bad might be about to happen. It was time for me to speak to Justin.
“Justin, you don’t know me, but let me make it clear, you will do everything I say and cooperate, and if you do, you’ll be okay and be home sooner than later. But son, if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to have to keep you as long as it takes to make you understand who is in charge here. Do you understand me, Justin?” My tone was slow, deliberate and calm, and as I spoke, I let my index finger tease into his deep cleft, and gently tease and tickle at his tightly clenched portal.
“Why are you doing this, c'mon Mister, I just wanna get back to school, lemme go and I won’t tell anybody, c'mon, please---don’t! Please stop…don’t touch me like that, fuck…please, Mister.” As he spoke, my finger increased its intensity in terms of wriggling into his now perspiration soaked trench, and as I increased the pressure, his voice rose and became more excited.
“Justin, just one more time, I’m going to ask you to cooperate.” As I spoke, again deliberately and calmly, I snapped the slapper against the edge of the recliner near his thigh, and he shuddered from surprise as the shock of the sound registered near his body. “If you keep resisting, I’m going to punish you, and its just going to increase the time you spend with me…do you understand?” Then, as he still clenched his ass, I quickly and suddenly snapped the slapper against his near butt cheek, and left a slight red imprint under his damp boxers. It wasn’t meant to hurt, but to shock, and it achieved its goal.
“Jesus….oh my god….Mister, please…fuck….oh God…Mister, please, don’t hurt me…don’t hurt me!” he almost squealed.
“I won’t Justin as long as you cooperate, so now, stop clenching you ass muscles, and from now on, don’t resist anything I do. Otherwise, I’m going to have to spread those handsome ass cheeks, and use my crop on you asshole…and that will hurt…get my meaning, son?” In a ginger, almost defensive way, Justin began to force himself to allow my finger the room to wander inside his crack…and slowly, I reached his sweet tight slit, and scratched my fingernail against it through the soggy boxers. This time, his toes strained outward as he forced himself to comply with my instructions in spite of his revulsion and fear, and when my finger tip tickled the ragged entrance, something happened he did not expect, he groaned loudly….Uuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhh.”
I looked under the raised surface of the recliner, and as I had it designed, the opening at his crotch revealed the thick, stubby head of an erection, thrusting through the fly of his boxers and exposed under the recliner. I reached under and slid a cloth collar with a Velcro fastener around the beefy joint, and then secured it beneath the recliner to a bolt in the floor. That way, Justin’s big boner was secured under the table so he could not pull it back out, and the oversized knob was fully exposed to my ministrations.
Now I grasped a pair of shears and cut off his boxers, revealing the hairy trench of his ass, and let my finger dance and pry, finally tickling my way into his hot, clinging hole. Initially he couldn’t help himself, and he started to resist, so I whispered into his ear that bad boys had to be punished, and snapped the slapper against his taut ass cheeks. He yelped in surprise, and begged me to stop, saying he promised to be good. I responded in calm tones as the slapper came down on his pale, hairy hiney. “Whap, whap, whap….” “Now I know you’ll be a good boy Justin, a very good boy….” “Whap, whap, whap….” I hit hard enough to get his attention, but not so hard as to hurt him or leave welts. I must say, he ground his hips into the table, and I wondered how he’d looked trussed up gagged, and bound, fucking a girl as someone administered stinging swats to his beautiful ass. Looking under the reclining table, I also say that Justin was a bit of a kink, his thick prick remaining rock hard and leaking after his spanking. I returned my fingers to his hole, and warned him against any further foolishness… he whinned and moaned, but let me have my way. Within minutes, I was gently masturbating his boy pussy, rubbing his fuck nut, and making him wail and tug his prick as he moved his hips, but there was no escape.
“Oh Jesus, Mister…ooooooohhhhh fuck……fuck….ooooooooohhhhh shit…aaaaagghhh” “Ooooooohhhhhhh God….aaaaaaagggghhhhhh.”
From the level at which I had the recliner, I could easily reach under it, and as I gently finger fucked Justin’s itchy, hot hole, a place he had never touched or investigated himself, my other fist cupped his bloated fuck knob, and using a very soft touch, twisted my fingers and rotated my palm around his leaking glans. He couldn’t pull his cock away, and his toes again clenched helplessly while his hands scrabbled futilely, and he begged sweetly.
“Oh god, oh Mister…oooooohhhh fuck… ooooohhhh it tickles…. Stop, stop, Mister, aaaaggghhhh…no, no….aaaaaahhhhhh, Jesus….help me…..aaaaahhhh it TICKLES!”
“Yes, Justin, it tickles, and we’re gonna tickle it all night and see just what a big boy like you can do….” It took thirty minutes of teasing, bringing him to the edge, then backing off and trying again, but Justin helplessly shot a load worthy of a big boy, and filled almost half a shot glass held under his flaring knob, and wide piss lips. Then I teased two more loads out of him in this position, and fed it to him before I would agree to let him go. The last time he came I used an electric tooth brush on his glans, corona and circumcision scar. He wailed and squealed so sweetly as I tickled him mercilessly, and his toes clenched till they were white from the pressure, before he ejaculated one last time. I let the bristles dance over his now exhausted cock head what he thought was one last time, making him cry out and beg he would do anything if I just stopped. That was what I wanted to hear, so I retied him face up, his legs over his head, and let him watch me as I masturbated him yet one more time for good measure, this time into his mouth held open with a funnel gag. As the dregs of his last cum drained into the funnel cone, I smiled as he was forced to swallow his own swill, and I tickled his Adam’s apple with my index fingernail as it bobbed.
The next dose of knockout drops was concentrated and the photos I took were perfect. Justin returned to school the next day, but from that night on, he had a secret craving for fingers up his tight, blond ass, and his cock was often made hard by boys who touched him in casual, buddy ways making him blush in fear and secret longing. It took another ten years, but his secret was discovered by his boss at a construction firm where he worked trying to support his wife and young child. He ended up with a cock cage and anal prod secured up into him every day and often many nights—only freed to service his wife. My prick leaked when I heard the news, imagining how stiff and horny Justin would be most of the time, waiting for his master to generously milk him dry when the occasion warranted it.
But Justin had been a passing dalliance; he was not the catch I was after on this trip. I was on my way after bigger prey. I had learned of an ex-Marine, now a security guard at a local prison, who had been married, but at 31 had been divorced for four years. Strange thing about this security guard, while he hung out with the boys, and drank beer and talked pussy with the best in deep masculine, kinda meathead tones, he went home alone at night. That piqued my curiosity and I decided to learn more about him.
He grew up in Boston, the product of Irish and Italian parents, dark hired smooth bodied; a big dumb chunk. He was horny before he became an altar boy, and even as he went to confession and said his “Hail Marys” he was masturbating, sometimes under his robes. It started by watching professional wrestlers on television as a kid. He would grind his eleven year old four inch cock into the rug on the floor and achieve dry cums as the men strained and fought, rubbing their big bodies against each other in skimpy, clinging uniforms on the screen. His eyes would close as the powerful sensations overtook him, sometimes making him writhe and shake, his pricklet expanding, and its fat knob scrubbing against the rough carpeting. But he had to be careful that his parents and siblings did not know what he was doing, even as his preteen prick expanded and throbbed from the sweet sensation. The sight of some big guy being subdued by another guy, forcing him to submit using a sweaty, almost naked body to do it somehow made Tony’s big boy bone throb. But he assumed that all boys liked such things, and never thought for a moment that such feelings made him less than a man. Indeed, as his thick penis grew, so did his pride in achieving cums, its classic dimensions and look earning his solipsistic and narcissistic admiration. Boys like Tony were tough and the bigger their cocks, the more manly they were supposed to be.
He was never a big kid, but as he grew, like most short men, his sexual libido at times overwhelmed him along with the love for his cock. When he started to cum, he would find ways to grind his prick into the cushions of the sofa or in his bed, encased in a wash cloth or cotton gym sock, and blast loads of sticky, slimy boy juice as often as was possible. His strong rump would rise and his does would bend backwards as he drove his growing penis into anything that would chaff it into submission. He would even jerk off at school, in the john after P.E., using his damp jock strap to wrap round his boner as he stroked his prick to the panting cums he needed so often and so badly. From the day he started watching the wrestlers on the T.V., he liked the way some guys would take charge, and others would just take orders. Tony had to be a tough kid in his neighborhood, but he liked being strong and silent, liked being the tough follower, never the leader. He was always one of the king’s men…making sure that things got done, and order was established. Inside, he wanted one of the boys he knew to take charge of him, but he just played along, did whatever the guys did, whatever he was told without betraying any sense of submission. He was a strong, Catholic, meathead… destined to be a Marine and do what he was told on an official level, and to have a body that girls would want to touch and stroke.
My contact who had scoped out Tony, actually Anthony James Michael Bruno, said he grew up street wise, but shy. At the age of fourteen he started screwing neighborhood girls, mostly because he needed to cum and masturbation wasn’t as good as someone touching him, making him cum. The girls he looked for were ones who would dominate him, take charge when they fucked. He liked that. Once, one of the girls he was screwing reached around and spanked his ass as he drove into her…and he came like a bull…his imagination taking him places that he shared with no one. When he was a freshman in high school, he started to play football, and he learned how good a mouth could feel, not from a girl though, but from another guy on the team. The two of them had decided to stay after practice one day, and were screwing around on the wrestling mat, when he sprung a stiff, thick, 6 inch boner. The kid noticed, but said nothing until they were halfway home in a park that they often cut through on the way home. He asked Tony if he had thrown a boner when they were wrestling, and Tony blushed, flustered, and said yes. He wanted to lie, but this guy was taking charge, forcing the issue, making him confess. His buddy, told him that he could help him, and told him to come with him to the park toilet. Tony began to sweat, but his friend was so bold, so strong, and was telling him what to do. He just followed, quietly, and inside the back stall, his friend shoved his jeans and briefs to his ankles, and reached up under his t-shirt to pinch and tug on his nipples, while sucking his cock furiously. Tony had to grab onto the tops of the low partitions with both hands to steady himself and his knees felt weak the moment the hot, wet mouth engulfed his bulging glans, the tongue lashing round the sticky knob whipping it into surrender. He blasted the most intense load of teen sperm he had ever shot---into another guy’s mouth, and from then until he graduated from high school, he wished they would end up in the park, or his buddy’s garage, having his cock blown to oblivion. But they never spoke of it again, and Tony did what he did best, he followed. So his cock ached for his buddy’s hot mouth, but unless he took action it would never happened again. That wasn’t Tony Bruno…it never happened again.
Tony was an offensive guard on the football team, and there he just did what guys in the trenches do, block and hit, whatever the quarterback says…in tandem, like good soldiers. No one knew, but when the quarterback barked orders, or yelled at the offensive line, it would make Tony’s prick harden—especially when he got mad and swore, calling the line pussies, and telling ‘em “to fuck” the guys across the line. He loved it when he hit the guys on the other team, and they would knock him to the ground. Later, out with friends, he would find a girl to screw, get drunk and fuck to the memory of those big boys hitting him and knocking him down, or the handsome quarterback pointing his fingers and swearing.
The day he graduated he signed up for the Marines, and within a year, he was married to one of the girl’s he had screwed most often as a senior in high school, one who put up with no shit and gave the orders he liked to hear in the bedroom. It was not so much that he loved her, but most of the guys in the barracks had girls or fiancés, and Tony just wanted to fit in. In the gang bunkhouse of the barracks, there was little chance to jerk his bone, and he only had privacy in the latrine on occasion. It was hard work, drill, drill, and an occasional wet dream that marked his first two years. Strangely, the dreams were not of his wife, but weird dreams of him in his Marine uniform wrestling with guys from the football team, and somehow, at the end, his turgid prick would pop streaming ropes of thick spooge into his shorts and onto the bedding, and his nipples would go stiff, almost aching. But Tony would not face these signs. Instead, when he had leave, he would go home and screw his wife silly, fucking like a man on a mission, loving it when her nails scraped across his back, and she swore at him, calling him a big dumb bastard, and nothing but a prick without a brain---demanding that he satisfy her.
Tony left the military after six years, and three years later he was divorced. He never really explained to his friends why he and his wife had split, but that was Tony, few words and a quiet private life. After a while she grew tired of his dumb jock routine, and even her orders were not reaching the level of satisfaction he needed. But still he did not confront his needs directly. He just started a new routine and masturbated to relieve his constant horniness. When he joined the prison security force after he left the Marines, he was always on time, clean and neat on every work day, but with a quiet almost distant demeanor. He would go out with the boys on Friday nights to drink or go to a baseball or basketball game, and once in a while they would get together for a road trip on the weekends, but Tony said very little about his life. He would laugh at the jokes, talk pussy---mostly blushing, and he would join the guys in making comments about the cunt they saw on the street or in bars. But that was it. Little did they know, there was little more going on at home.
During the last year of his marriage, he started going to a seedy adult bookstore at the edge of town. In dark sun shades and with a baseball cap low on his brow, he would go into a dirty stall at the end of the bookstore, latch the door, and drop in three dollars in quarters. The first time, he kneaded his erect prick through his pants as he watched one of the queer S & M films where a guy dressed like a Marine was subdued by two others, stripped, bound and masturbated then fucked. He had to take a wad of Kleenex and stuff them into his fly and briefs to prevent the flood of thick spooge squirting from his cock from wetting through his pants and embarrassing him. As he got up to leave, he saw a long, thick penis sticking through a hole in the booth, dripping pre-cum. He was freaked out, and hyper-ventilating, but it did not stop him from coming back again in two weeks. This time, he alternated between watching the screen and staring at the hole in the booth wall. Finally, a finger came through the hole and beckoned him to come to it. He just stared, but when a napkin came through the hole and fell onto the floor with writing on it…he hesitated, then picked it up and read. The note said “stick your cock through the hole and I’ll suck it.” He kept reading the note for what seemed like minutes, staring at the words and thinking back to his buddy in high school. Finally he stood up and ignoring the glory hole, began to rub the thick mound of his pants where his prick was pulsing and leaking in his briefs. After ten more minutes, he loosened his fly and pushed down both his pants and briefs to his knees, exposing his unusually thick, six inch cudgel with his legs slightly spread. He did not touch his throbbing boner, but looked down occasionally to watch drips of his clear pre-fuck drool from the wide piss lips, down to the floor, and then returned his gaze to the movie whirring ahead on the screen. But then, without any warning, he abruptly turned and slid his fevered boner through the glory hole and hot wet lips, like the ones he had dreamed of since his freshman year in high school, closed around his fat knob. Minutes later, panting and thrusting his hips, he was spunking bolts of jism into the vacuuming mouth that seemed to hold him captive, forcing him to stretch out against the partition and surrender to the unrelenting, siphoning lips. From that day on, about once a month, Tony would get his prick sucked, his hands spread up against the wall as his cock was serviced and suckled into submission, his nipples aching as they poked through his shirt and brushed against the hard wooden partition. He ground his body as closely as he could against the wall, to get as much of his penis down the cocksucking throat on the other side; fuck it felt so good he would close his eyes and whine softly from the sweet, overwhelming sensation, and the sense that he was helpless, in the control of the mouth on the other side of the wall.
After his wife left him, Tony went on the internet and found porn that piqued his interests, both femdom and male domination sites. And he would find the time twice a week to fuck a fake cunt he had purchased on the internet in the form of an inflatable plastic life size doll. Yet even as he fucked the doll, sometimes decked in his uniform, he would blindfold himself, occasionally tie his hands behind his back, and even gag himself once in a while. On those occasions, he would shoot wads of thick gism into the doll’s pussy, lined with soft material that he could replace each time and lubricate with soft tissue pads. And when he came, he would imagine guys from the Marines whom he had known, or guys from the prison guard force, or even prisoners, who would be directing him in screwing his “woman.” He was never in charge, and it made it all the more exciting to Tony to imagine that these tough men were in charge of his sexual activity. Anthony Bruno would still go to Mass, and even confession---and he was an active member of the prison guard weight lifting team, going with the guys on competitions that transformed his body into a tight, powerful machine. He wasn’t a pro, not cut and defined too sharply, and without an ounce of fat. But he was in top condition, as much to work out his constant sexual tension, as to make him strong. Tony would throw erections constantly, and had to resist the temptation to jerk off each morning when he stood in his bathroom to piss, his morning boner and beautiful body reflected in the full length mirror as he finally willed down his erection and pissed. Here was a guy who was ready for selection, training and shipment, and I would need to get some of his buddies among the local cops to help me, albeit reluctantly.
Among the Suffolk County troopers were three cops named Dom, Chet and Rick. I knew Dominic Christopher Morelli from a contact in the local lap dancing clubs. He was a regular, and one night he got caught buying a cunt for a fuck on tape, after a lap dance. From that time on, my contact made sure that Dom was a “recruiter” for us. He could stay with his wife and family, nothing would change…but once in a while he was ours to use in a special sting or just for the fun of it. He hated those times, but knew that his identity and life as a cop depended on our generosity. If he produced, then he had nothing to worry about. Dom was a pure Guido, a dark-haired Italian beef stick, with 7.5 inches of bull uncut cock, and heavy, hanging nuts. He was covered in dark whorls of curly hair over his pale skin, and everything about him was big….his feet, his hands, his chest, his nipples…his ass. He was a big boy. Even at age 30, Dom was beginning to go just slightly salt and pepper, but at 210 lbs. of motorcycle cop, he was a wet dream cum true. Women would throw themselves at Dom and his buddies, but most of the time they would go home with hardons and talk pussy. Dom’s one night of indiscretion, cost him for years, and eventually would cost him even more.
We roped two other meathead cops, law and order types, conservative on the outside, but eating other men’s wives’ pussy and fucking them when they could. We used Dom to help us, help us get photos, audio tapes and video occasionally on two other guys without them ever knowing how they were compromised. Chet Daniels and Rick Hamilton were the two muscleheads we corralled. The troopers and the cops from the local prison often drank together at a pub outside Boston, near to where Tony worked at a club on off-hours as a bouncer. My operative made sure the blackmailed cops knew exactly what they had to do, to meet my demands. Their job was to secure Tony for me. Dom persuaded Tony to go out with him, Chet and Rick to drink off the job. They learned his habits, his schedule, and that he followed a customary routine.
Finally, my night came. Dom made sure he had a shift scheduled one Friday night on the graveyard so he could be at the club when Tony finished his shift and began the ten mile drive back to his home that followed quiet, deserted streets through the industrial part of town. On a back road, almost an alley between dormant storage facilities, Dom put on the lights of his cruiser and pulled Tony over. Initially, Tony buzzed from the beers he had been drinking, wondered who was stopping him. But when he saw Dom, he smiled expecting that his buddy was going to share some info with him about their next get together, or just to shoot the shit on his late shift. Dom took off his glove, and extended his hand to Tony, who reached out his window to shake the big Italian trooper’s hand. But when the hands clasped, Tony felt a prick, and when he pulled his hand back, he looked at his palm to see a circle of pin-pricks. It was the last thing he remembered. His body slumped over in the seat, and he did not even see Dom reach into the vehicle to turn the key and switch-off the engine. My van came from behind one of the nearby buildings, and soon, Tony was loaded into the back. My operative drove Tony’s vehicle and Dom, quietly melded into the night, his cruiser slowly driving out the area and back to his route. As it turned out, Dom and his buddies decided to try and pull a fast one on me, but I would handle that later. In the meantime, I had a big hunk Irish-Italian prison guard, and it was about to be my favorite time; training time.
Tony had his uniform in his gym bag in the trunk of his vehicle. I made sure we took it with us, since I wanted to film him in his uniform. When he awoke, he was reclining, tethered on a back-board. He was fully clothed in his uniform, including his hat, boots and Sam Browne belt. As he came to…he realized that his arms were secured over his head, and his legs were slightly spread and secured at the ankles in a manner that did not allow him to move. He was gagged, but not blindfolded…it did not matter if he saw me. He would never see me again.
“Anthony…you are a fine specimen of a man…” I smiled as I spoke. His eyes were almost expressionless, in spite of his situation. He did not seem scared, but his eyes did move from me around the room, and his head turned as he looked. It was not a startled movement, but a deliberate one. I flipped a lever and made the reclining board straighten upwards. As it did so, Tony’s big booted feet hit the floor. I touched a switch and his arms which were tethered over his head to the top of the board now rose to the ceiling, and another switch secured his ankle stirrups to the floor rather than to the board. With a careful adjustment, Tony was standing erect, stretched up, and his feet approximately 3 feet apart. I wheeled up a chair and sat down. “Now that’s better Anthony…now I can begin my inspection,” I smiled as I spoke, and removed his gag. He finally reacted after gulping down some water from a squeeze bottle I held to his lips.
In the deep baritone of his Boston accent, he spoke; not frightened but in a curiously curious tone of inquisition rather than indignation. “Whaaat investigation…?”
“Why of your body of course, well…at least it’s yours right now. Anthony, you are a perfect piece of male flesh, and I need to confirm my suspicions. So, I’d appreciate it if you would cooperate, because if you don’t I’m going to have to use this nasty taser on you, and I wouldn’t like to do that. You know from your line of work what a painful form of behavior modification the taser can be. So I hope you’ll be a good boy…cause that’s what you are isn’t it Tony, I hope I can call you Tony?” My smile continued and my voice was so casual that Anthony, like a big dumb lunk, just acted like the situation was normal.
I repeated my question, asking him if he was a good boy. He looked puzzled, but not angry. “I’m notta boy, I’m a maaan…” was all he said in that deep monotone.
“Yes, Tony, you are a man, but from now on you’re gonna be my boy, my good boy, and if you aren’t then I have to use my taser. So you’re gonna cooperate, aren’t you?”
He just looked at me, almost expressionless…but I noticed that his fly was now bulging. Something about telling him that he was my boy made Tony’s thick penis erect, and it was mounding his uniform fly---fuck I love bulging crotches. When I gazed down at it, so did he and he blushed deeply but said nothing…his eyes averting mine now. “Yes, I think you’re gonna be my big, good boy from now on Tony.” I said with a smug attitude and tone.
I reached down to his stomach, and unbuttoned his uniform shirt. His eyes did not go back to my face, but just looked down at my fingers. He said nothing. After unbuttoning the shirt, I then slipped my index finger inside rubbing it across his wife-beater t-shirt to root gently into his deep inny navel. He just stared at my finger…but as my finger tickled and scratched inside the sensitive hole—pushing the material in as I rooted into it, I could see the front of his pants tent even further, and he took a deep breath…Christ, the big fucker liked what I was doing.
“Oh, Anthony, you like this….feel good does it…” and at the same time I reached up to his powerful, sloping pecs and could barely make out where his nipples pushed the rough, thick material out through both t-shirt and shirt. Clearly he had big, stiff teats. I used the index finger of my other hand to scratch across the pec ridge of the stiff material, and when I did that, his eyes closed and he inhaled rapidly, hyper-ventilating. Just about that time, his tented uniform pants showed a wet stain at the location of his fat, oversized cock knob. His dick had erected so hard, it had pushed from beneath his briefs and was lodged at an upward angle towards his hip. The exposed glans was now drooling his pre-fuck, and apparently as I scratched into his navel and across his nips, he just burped more and more. Fuck, I love ex-Marines and cops….they are bred for sex, its so deeply part of them, they are helpless to resist it. I took his tie and threw iit over his shoulder, and continued to unbutton the remainder of his shirt, spreading the material exposing the clean white ribbed material of his wife-beater. His stiff nipples were poking out the material, and I could whiff just a bit of sweat mixing with his deodorant, the only acknowledgement that he was a bit anxious. I reached up with both index fingers and scratched across his hard nips, feeling them stiffen more from my attentions, and Tony’s knees buckled a bit and he swung slightly to one side, his eyes closed. “Oh yeah, that feels so good doesn’t it Tony. Those big boy tits need attention don’t they. I bet none of the hick girls you knew in high school, or even you wife knew how badly those big boy titties needed to be played with, worked, supervised.” I pinched them gently, and twisted them, and he groaned out loud, his eyes still closed, forcing his chest out towards my fingers.
“Uuuuugggggghhhhhh…fuuuuucccckkk,” he grunted in his “Baston” monotone.”
“Yes, that’s it, get it all out Tony…tell me just how good it feels and what you need. I’m gonna make sure you get just what you need.” I looked down at his uniform pants and fly, and the wet spot had grown to almost three inches…shit, this big dumb Irish-Italian beef was a leaker…and a copious leaker at that….fuck yeah.
I pushed up his wife-beater, and leaned close to inhale the masculine scent of his hairy stomach, and to lay my head against the firm abdominals so clearly etched. I let my tongue thrust into his navel, and reached up under the material of the wife-beater to reach those pointy tits unobstructed. When my fingertips grasped his tit tips and my tongue laved out his sensitive navel, he grunted and moaned loudly---“Gaaawwwd Daaammmnn, fffuuuuucccck…aaaaaaaawwwwww,” finally allowing himself to fully enjoy the sweet attention, twisting his hips in the vain hope that his cock would also be serviced. This is what this big goofball had always wanted, through his high school days, through the Marines, and even at the prison where he was in charge. Many days he would have rather have been left to the prisoners to let them manage his perfect body, do things to him and make him perform for them…especially the younger ones, so cocky and handsome. He would stare at their big cocks in the showers, their big, athletic feet, and their muscular chests crowned by luscious nipples, and wished he was on his knees servicing them, growing hard in his uniform and even panting a bit at the thought of being their slave. Now I was giving him what he needed, craved and would get from now on.
Within minutes I had him unzipped and his pants at his knees, his gleaming white briefs damp with ball sweat and pre-fuck, his bulbous cock head that had escaped from the confines of the white cage was leaking onto his hip bone, rather than wetting the material of his pants. I took the fingernail of one hand and let it trail around his wide coronal ridge, scratching gently as my other nail continued to flick and scratch his aching tit nubs.
“Aaaaagggghhhh….fuck…..oooooohhhhhhhh shit… aaaaaaaawwwwwww,” he grunted, not yet articulating how much he enjoyed the attention, but by every movement and sound surrendering to it. He had not ejaculated in two nights and his balls were full of his crud and his prick was desperate to be fondled. This was so much fucking better than screwing his fuck doll…and Jesus, his nips were getting pinched and twisted….oh fuck that felt so good.
His wide piss lips opened again and another long burp of clear sap drooled out, adding more to cover the straining glans now fully basted with his boy juice. So I grasped the sticky glans with my index finger and thumb and rubbed, twisting at the same time, just enough to tickle him insanely, but not enough to bring him over the edge he so desperately wanted. His hips bucked out, thrusting into my teasing ministrations, the tickle so sweet he had to have more. Then he pulled his hips back in the next motion, trying to escape the wicked sensations that were focused on the helpless cock tip in such a manner as to tickle and not to satisfy. But I stayed with him, sitting down and staring at his beautiful body in that uniform, opened and exposed and helpless being milked and teased, swaying as I masturbated just his fevered knob, making him squeal and whine, until he finally spoke.
“Jesus Christ…please stop, yer fuuucking killin’ me…aaaaaaggggghhhh, shit…please man, please, yer killin’ me!” He still had not expressed any anger at his situation, only that he was aggravated that I wouldn’t stop teasing him. I stopped and looked up, his eyes were staring at my fingers now paused but still clinging to his cock head, rather than at my face, sweat beginning to drip from around the brow of his cap down his face, his chest heaving from his panting. I smiled broadly and then responded, resuming my wicked fingering, but much more slowly and even more gently, barely feathering his pulsing glans. He winced and groaned…thrusting his hips out again, hoping to get a more thorough wanking.
“Tony, you are a brazen slut, a straight acting male who wants nothing more than to have his big cock played with, but not by women, but by a man who can make you toe the line. And I’m gonna train and prepare you for that life Tony, make sure we find someone who can supervise that unruly fuckstick, and keep it under control.” He looked at me with the first indications of fear, but it was tinged with hapless lust as my fingers danced over and around his wet prick knob. Instead, he began turning his head back and forth, eyes shut, moaning softly and saying “No….No…please, you can’t do this man….please, don’t fuuucck with me….shit… please, aaaaggghhhhhhh.” But there was no passion in his pleading, only submission, and I teased his prick tip mercilessly to the edge of ejaculation, and left him panting and bucking.
After an hour, I pulled his briefs down to his knees to join his pants, and let his untouched shaft snap up and slap against his abdomen, I pushed his t-shirt up over his tits, exposing the turgid nubs and the sloping pecs. I wheeled over a cart, and picked up two small clips with slender wires attached, and after licking and sucking, and gently biting his tits, making them as stiff and hard as I could, I clipped both. He winced again, and groaned, but there was no begging, those slutty nipples finally getting the kind of treatment they had needed for years. Then I got down on my knees and sniffed his big, smooth testicles, wet and funky with his pungent ball sweat, but like a perfume to me. I lifted the big nuts up, and there was his ragged slit, exposed in his slightly spread legs, just revealing the crack at the bottom of his ass cheeks in this position. I produced a small half inch round anal prod, four inches long and also wired. As he watched, I lubricated it with a gel I dipped it into, wearing surgical gloves to protect my hands.
“You know Tony, I’ll bet when you used to grind that big dick into girl’s pussies, you wished they’d take their long fingers with those red fingernails and drive them up you asshole to soothe something deep inside…that empty feeling, huh? Well, I’m not going to leave you unfulfilled son, I’m going to make sure that we get at the core of your needs. See this sticky lube, it’s from Brazil. Got a buddy down there who gets it from the tribes in the interior of the Amazon. You know they say this stuff could make a man scratch himself to death. That’s why I gotta keep you shackled when we use it on you….Oh, don’t worry, I got an antidote. It’s simple actually, but until I douche you with it, your rectum is gonna feel like there is an army of ants crawling up inside you, and it will itch like a son-of-a-bitch.” His eyes went wide, and he began to hyper-ventilate again, but his cock was rock hard, leaking more and more sap. Yeah, I know my boy bitches. I gently parted his ass cheeks, to expose the ragged slit of his anus with just a patch of dark hair around his rosebud, and then began to screw the small prod against the puckered lips. Within moments, the itch at the entrance of his butch male cunt made him swing his hips wildly and start bellowing, forcing me to stretch him more tautly to prevent his gyrations from preventing my efforts. It took about five minutes, but I eventually got the little prod lodged deep up his fundament, its rounded head with numerous little bumps, brushing up against his fuck nut.
“Oh Jesus fuck!..`AAAAAHHHHHHHH….OOOOOOOOOHHHH NNNNOOOOOO. FUCK, SHIT, MAWTHER FUUCCKER….AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH, HELP, OH GAAWD, STAAWP IT…. STAAWP IT…OOOOOOHHHHHH MY GAAWD….NO….NO….IT’S KILLIN‘ ME…OH JEEESUS… WHAT IS DHAT, IT’S ITCHIN’…STAAWP IT…OH FUUUCCK….OH MY GAAWD….STAAWP IT!” Finally, I got the big Irish-Italian mug to beg and whine like the pussy he was underneath, but to tell the truth no straight Navy Seal could resist the power of that gel. I once saw a sixteen year old girl tied spread-eagle on a bed have waves of orgasms after the stuff was slathered into her pussy lips and over her clit, and a soft brush was fixed to barely make contact with her writhing flesh. She finally fainted after screaming for thirty minutes. It was unbelievable, and so were the sensations coursing through Tony’s anus and rectum.
Finally I pulled out the pièce de résistance, a clear plastic cap in a flexible elastic sleeve. The cap slid over the bugling crown of Tony’s cock, and had a rubber gasket around it that allowed the cap to snap just under his coronal flange. Tony was one of those guys with a very wide corona, so the gasket clung securely under his prick knob and to his shaft. The cap was lined with a soft set of bristles that were also clear, and looked much like “angel’s breath” used at the winter holidays to make mantles look like they were covered in snow. These were in fact a form of conduit that conducted electrical current over and around whatever the cap sat upon. It worked superbly with the gel, combining the ferocious itching with a pulsing vibration that would not allow the victim to achieve ejaculation, but made him feel like he needed to rub his cock knob furiously to relieve the awful tickle. Unfortunately for Mr. Anthony Bruno, there was no hand free to help him, and none that was willing.
I switched on the little prod that was still firmly installed in his rectum, and when the vibrating hum reached my ear, I could see Tony’s eyes were wide…and the words that came out of his mouth were music to my ears: “AAAAWWWWWW Jeeesus AND Maary, fuuucck…..AAAAAGGGHHHHH, NO. NO…MAWTHER-FUCKER…..AAAAAHHHHHH, SHIT, STAAWPIT---STAAWPIT…OOOOOOHHHH GAAWD DAMN….FUUUCK…………..NO, NO---HALP, SHIT PLEASE HALP ME….AAAAAHHHHH FUUUCCK NOOOOOOOOOO!”
“Tony, I’ll be back in about thirty minutes, the effects of the gel will begin to subside, but some of the itching will continue to be intense…. I like the way those titties of yours stay nice and stiff when you’re aroused…here, lemme pinch ‘em a bit to take your mind off your asshole and prick.” I bent towards his chest removing the clips and put one of his rigid nips into my mouth, gently biting it, and letting my tongue lave it. At the same time, I scratched my index fingernail across the tip of the other one, gently pinched it, and then twisted and tugged, giving him as much sensation as I could. Then I reattached the clips and turned on the juice, sending another low charge of electricity through his nubs. His eyes closed tight, and he was panting fast, sweat pouring down his brow and face, from under his arms, and on his torso—groaning and pleading. The horrible itch was driving him nearly insane, and he was relying on his training as a law enforcement officer to keep as much control of himself as humanly possible. He would still shout, and squeal when an unusually powerful tickle or itch would make him clench his bowels and drive the merciless prod against his hard prostate, sending a desperate need to ejaculate to his cock…but the stimulation was not of long enough duration for him to squirt his spooge. No, Tony Bruno was a trussed, dripping, fuck horny buck, being teased for my amusement.
When I returned to Tony, the guards working for me had finished their work. He had been unbound and stripped, his clothes soaking wet from perspiration generated by the awful tickle deep inside him, and the corresponding one on his fat glans. His squeals and shouts had been reduced to a panting groaning, and they had no problem taking him down and removing his clothes. They stood him up, and attached a spreader bar to his ankles, cuffed his arms behind him elbow to elbow making his chest thrust out, and gagged him. Then they leisurely sponged him off, dragging the soft sponges over his sensitive skin and erogenous zones, from head to toe. The clips and prod were removed, and he got a douche, standing up on his toes as they gingerly slid the enema nozzle into his fundament, and a cock wash that made the relentless itch subside but gave him another yearning erection, leaving a constant irritation that sought an unspecified form of relief and kept him tumescent.
Tony was then placed up on a plastic covered table on his knees. His head was placed down on the surface, and his arms remained trussed up behind his back, elbow to elbow. His legs were kept spread by the spreader bar and lashed to the table, his big feet and long toes now free of the boots and socks, the long, thick toes wriggling over the edge. His head was also tethered down to prevent him from moving, and a cord ran from his bound arms to the top and bottom of the table, but above his body, to tighten his security. I had a blindfold put on over his eyes, and then a mister was placed between his legs, with its small nozzle aimed at his ass pucker, barely visible in the deeply haired trench of his firm cheeks. The guards pressed a button, and out shot a gently focused stream of oiled mist, that caressed his clenching anus, creating a steady tickle at the entrance. Tony’s thick prick immediately hardened again, aiming up towards his head, and drooling from the wide, deep, piss lips. A small bolster with a cushioned pad covered in soft bristles was placed on the table, just perfectly beneath his bobbing prick, and secured to its surface by velcro. Every few seconds, his bobbing prick would droop to the level of the bristles, and on contact Tony’s hips would wiggle from the sensation, causing the sensitive area beneath the piss lips to get a nice scrubb by the ticklish bristles. That would make Tony’s big boner lunge back up only to start the cycle over again in a few seconds, eventually drooping down against the pad to be irritated and scratched again. He would gasp each time it happened…and I felt this current status was worth another sixty minutes of isolation.
Tony’s nipples hardened as his thoughts were dragged back just over a year to something he had enjoyed at work; an opportunity to express the perversity that lived just beneath the surface and fueled his sexual fantasies. On occasion, prisoners from the local municipalities were taken to the local state penitentiary when the County jail and their own facilities were full. On a Friday night shift at 10:00 p.m., only two hours before he was to be off, Tony caught a delicious break whose memory made his prick harden even more as he lay tied on my table. A punk named Morgan Ray Anderson had been brought in by a small nearby jurisdiction, where his obnoxious, drunk behavior at a local country bar had gotten him arrested. The local police had arrived to calm down a potential fight between Morgan and another guy over some buxom blond, but the stupid drunk Morgan had gotten lippy with the cops and threw a wild punch at one of the officers. Forty minutes later he was being processed at the Penitentiary since the local and county jails were full of Friday night traffic. In the process of being arrested, Morgan had gotten a pretty good bruise on his forehead, and the admitting officer ordered a medical exam. Morgan continued his yelling and screaming at the officers, and out of sheer revenge, the admitting offer insisted that he have a strip and cavity search. Unfortunately for Morgan, the doctor also had his hands full in the infirmary, so he was assigned to an empty clinic exam room for the women prisoners at the companion facility that shared medical services. The officers stripped Morgan and took him into the exam room, and placed him on the reclining exam chair, strapping his thick, hairy ankles and his size 13 feet into the stirrup cuffs, resting his meaty heels on the foot rest. His arms were cuffed over his head, and the officers placed a gag into Morgan’s mouth “to prevent any possibility of him swallowing his tongue” according to the records, but they just wanted to shut him up and humiliate him. The angry, hairy redhead roared into his gag, but he was a pitiful giant, 6’ 2” inches tall, a massive mounded chest, hairy from the tips of his toes to his fingertips. At 23 years, he was a well built machine, designed for the pussy hunt and cunt banging each weekend. But he was also as dim as a bulb, and his daily job as a package delivery driver was just the speed for his 180 lb. frame.
Since no prisoner could be left alone, Tony was pulled from his regular assignment in the commons area to baby-sit Morgan, and it gave him an opportunity that made his cock drip, though he did not fully understand why. He and Morgan were isolated from contact and with the infirmary for men over subscribed and holding the doctor captive, he was assured of privacy for at least 1.5 to 2 hours. He recalled that when he entered the exam room, his cock was rigid and his breath was coming in small gulps. In his fevered mind, Tony had decided that he wanted to be Morgan, wanted to be strapped down and helpless. But he could never admit that or say it. But he wanted to see how a strong male body would respond to being used like a toy. Once he closed the door, Tony took off his hat, and pulled off his jacket. He walked up to Morgan, who eyes were narrow slits of hate, and who was still bellowing into his gag.
Tony looked at Morgan expressionlessly, so excited that the young man’s body was like an extension of his own. He was sweating, wet stains beginning to appear under his arms, darkening his uniform shirt. He went to one of the cupboards and opened it, searching through the medical supplies. He pulled out a large tube of medical lubricant, and then found some small clamps and bandage materials. He found packets of sealed tooth brushes given to patients, and medical gloves…all things he instinctively felt he could use. He had been going to websites for months, and his fantasies, when he allowed himself to masturbate, were filled with visions of male cock control.
He walked up to Morgan, and without even looking into the young man’s eyes, he licked his index finger and lowered it to Morgan’s mounded pectoral muscle, searching through the maze of red hair that circled the areola, he scratched his fingernail against the erectile flesh and watched as the fat bud of the nipple nub popped up reflexively to the deliberate stroking. Morgan’s eyes widened as if he had been hit with a cattle prod, and he bucked up on the reclining chair, thrusting up his hips, and straining against the bonds that were holding him, even his hapless brain was smart enough to realize that he was about to be queered. With firm determination, Tony kept working the tit, and then gripped the slutty, stiff nip and twisted it one way, then the other, remembering how girls in high school gasped when he did that to them. He had played with own nipples in the shower, sometimes facing the mirror in the bathroom, and it made him gasp when he tugged on them, or used a fingernail to worry them. Fuck, he knew what Morgan was feeling, and it turned him own to see the big dumb punk helpless and his body responding like the slut that Tony was…. As Morgan’s nipple hardened, Tony reached up with his other hand, licked the fingertip, and went to work on the other tit. Even as he bellowed, Morgan’s cock began to rise, and his eyes closed, squeezed tight to avoid seeing what was happening to his body. Shit, a cop was molesting him in the goddamn jail…fuck…he was bound, gagged, and alone with this pervert faggot…oh FUCK! As the big pale shaft rose, its downward curve arched like the neck of a flexible lamp---its fat knob bloated and larger than the stalk itself. Tony gripped the firm shaft just under the head, and his smooth palm rolled up and over the glans. Within moments, the chaffing of Tony’s fist produced bubbles of clear pre-sap from the wide piss lips, and as he smoothed the natural lubricant into the knob, Morgan groaned involuntarily, blood gorging his bloated cock and the tickle that every man craves was itching the fevered cock knob.
Tony kept looking at the door and the clock as he masturbated the big redhead, and plucked the boy’s firm tits. Tony suddenly stopped both the masturbation and tit work on Morgan, and quickly slipped a glove over his right hand. He squeezed some lubricant onto his index finger, and with his free hand, he spread the taut, firm cheeks, thick with dark auburn hair. Using his free index finger to part the hair and scratch the pink halo of Morgan’s ragged slit. Again Morgan bucked, thrusting himself up to escape the touch of the faggot cop who was violating him, roaring into his gag from the thought of some dude violating his sacred portal. Then just as quickly, Tony slipped his gloved finger into the breach, and wormed his lubricated finger into the resisting hole. Morgan bellowed and squeezed his sphincter tight, but Tony patiently persisted, scratching and probing, until Morgan, drunk and struggling to keep himself under control, lost it when Tony reached up and pinched one of the raspberry nipples thrusting through the hairy forest protecting each of Morgan’s muscled pecs. Taking advantage of the distraction, Tony’s gloved finger slid up and into the warm, clinging fundament of the redheaded boy. AAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHH….NNOOOOOOOOOOO….AAAAAHHHHHHH! Morgan wailed into his gag. Tony abandoned the tit work only long enough to pick up one of the tooth brushes, and then went back to masturbating the fat wet cock knob with the bristles from the tooth brush as he simultaneously stroked the firm knot of flesh he encountered deep in Morgan’s rectum. Morgan’s eyes bulged when the wicked bristles began to scour his bloated fuck tip, and he continued to squeal and wail, but his hips bucked now reflexively to thrust his pulsing boner into the worrying instrument of his torture that was ruthlessly buffing his cock head, scrubbing it deliciously, and chaffing the coronal ridge, making Morgan’s long, thick toes curl tightly from the overwhelming sensation.
Tony bent down, and closed his lips over one of Morgan’s aching nipples, and sucked hard, nipping and laving the stiff red nub with his tongue. Morgan had never experienced so much sensation. For him, sex had always meant the excitement of driving his trophy prick into a tight, wet snatch until the gripping cunt muscles mauled his fat knob into an explosion of spooge, and the power of dominating the squealing, begging cunt he was fucking. Now it was Morgan’s body that was being dominated, and sensations he had never known were overtaking him. His ass was aching, and yet the finger rubbing something up inside him made his cock flex automatically, and his fat prick knob kept expanding into the relentless bristles of the tooth brush, wringing pre-fuck and an amazing tickle from the helpless erection. Plus he had never had anyone focus on his nipples. Yeah, a chick would make him shiver from dragging her sharp nails over his chest once or twice, but the way Tony’s mouth nursed on the little prick like nubs, competed with the finger up his ass and the twisting fist that was driving him higher and higher, closer and closer to a massive cum. A dude was going to get his nut…AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUCCCCCK…. NOOOOOOOOOO! It took only ten minutes, and Morgan began sucking breath in gasps even as he wailed into his gag, lifting his ass even as Tony’s unrelenting finger fucked in and out of the tight hole. Morgan’s fat glans expanded obscenely and it went glass smooth as the unforgiving bristles dragged over and around the huge unprotected knob…then eight long bolts of blue collar spooge spurted from the flared lips, launching out onto the floor, and coating Tony’s now squeezing fingers. He stared at Morgan’s thrashing, moaning, helpless surrender to the ejaculation that was consuming him, and Tony wished he could be on the other side of the fucking and milking fingers. Morgan’s explosive humiliation was Tony’s fondest wish.
The moment Morgan blew his spooge from the taut, bloated cock knob, Tony dropped the tooth brush and went to milking the cock knob ruthlessly with his fingers and palm. As he did so, Tony ejaculated spontaneously into his own pants. He knew the moment he saw Morgan dissolve into the massive cum, the handsome redhead tossing his head back and forth as the sperm rocketed from his bulging cock head, that that was what he craved and needed. Tony was fascinated by the young man’s throbbing erection and how the finger up his ass seemed to make more and more cum burst from the lips. Finally, Morgan was whinning, pleading through the gag for Tony to stop as his finger continued to work the fuck nut deep in Morgan’s ass. Realizing what he was doing, Tony stopped fucking the finger, and slowly pulled it out, and wrung the last cum from the sensitive cock knob, making Morgan gasp and grunt from each twist of his fist, his body spasmodically jerking to the too ticklish fingers dancing over the still spamming glans.
Tony never forgot that night. Little did he know that when the prison doctor later came in to perform the cavity search that his gloved finger would cause another spontaneous ejaculation from Morgan, his fevered brain anticipating the amazing touch that Tony had introduced him to…a feeling he would have to have again, even as he tried to forget how he had learned of it. For his part, Tony masturbated to the thrilling image of Morgan’s trussed humiliation over and over, wishing he had been Morgan, and the big redhead had been in charge of him. He wondered what it felt like to be milked from the inside out. Now, lying on the table, strapped down like Morgan had been and his ass pucker being teased, Tony was drooling pre-cum in anticipation of what he had wanted every time he gently inserted his own finger up his ass while he showered. Jesus fuck, he loved the way his finger felt deep up his ass…and how it made his cock cum spontaneously at times. Now his prick was pulsing and his sphincter was clenching, waiting for what he hoped would be what he had always wanted.
I walked up to Tony, and whispered into his ear…”Anthony, I’m going to slip two fingers in your mouth, and I want you to suck them nicely, licking my fingers with your tongue, and hollowing out your cheeks to suckle them as strongly as you can. But if you bite me, I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you…do you understand?” I spoke in such soft, soothing tones he instinctively understood I meant what I said. I removed his gag, and introduced my index and middle finger of my left hand into his mouth. He started slowly, tentatively, but soon, he was sucking steadily, and I fucked his mouth like a prick, making sure he understood his role…”That’s it Anthony, that’s a good boy, suck Daddy’s big fingers…suck and lick ‘em, ooooohhhhh yeah, that’s a good little slut, show me how much you like to suck….yeahhhhh!”
“Now I’m going slide my fuck finger up your cunt, Anthony. I want to see you fuck that big, butch ass onto my finger and show me how much you appreciate being finger-banged…cause you know that’s what you want and need…understand. I’m gonna fuck you front and back, so you know just what a big boned, hard titted, dick drooling slut you are.” Tony’s cock belched a big drool of clear sap onto the cushioned pad and his prick barely vibrated over the tickling bristles that continued to rasp against his bouncing prick shaft and knob. Fuck, if he could just get some more friction, he could shoot his cum…. Jesus, he wanted to cum so bad.
I used my thick fuck finger to tickle through the wad of dark hair that fringed his tight anal slit. The moment my nail scratched against the hidden entrance, Tony bucked his hips and reflexively drove his ass against my finger. Yeah, the big whore wanted it so badly his body tried to fuck my finger up his hole on its own…and within a minute, my lubed finger was deep inside the velvet tunnel, soft and slick, until I found his thick donut and began to gently rub and then more firmly prod it. He gurgled around my fingers, trying to speak or squeal, but I didn’t give a fuck, I just continued to finger fuck his mouth as I masturbated his rectum. Eventually I added my index finger of my right hand with the long fuck finger, and I watched as Tony’s long, thick toes squeezed and spread helplessly from the aching deep inside him. I was perfectly balanced, driving my fingers into Tony from both ends, on his hands and knees, head down, ass up, bound and spread for my use. Fuck…it was unbelievable!
I brought Tony to the edge about every ten minutes for an hour…making him plead finally when I extracted my fingers from his mouth: “Aaaaaaggghhhh, Jaysus, oh fuuucck, oh gawd….please…don’t…don’t….aaaaaahhhhhhhh, please, ooooowwwww.”
“Tell me Tony, tell me the truth…say ‘Daddy, I’m a big boy slut, and I want you to fuck me till I cum…say please Daddy.’” He squeezed his eyes tight, panting and whinning, and then asked me again, incoherently…”Please owwww fuuuck….aaaaawwwwww, no, no, ah shit…please, please…..!” I responded patiently, but without stopping my fingers from their unerring mission deep up his rectum: “No, no…no what Anthony….tell Daddy, say ‘Daddy I want you to fuck my big boy ass till I scream for more…say fuck me Daddy, and make me your bitch…tell me Tony, say I’m a big boy slut and I need to be fucked and milked for my own good….” As the hour drew to an end, Tony, covered in sweat and moaning constantly, finally surrendered.
“AAAAAHHHHH…JAYSUS…OH GAWD DAMN…FUUUCK….YEAH, YEAH…PLEASE DADDY, PLEASE FUUCK ME…FUUCK ME AAAAAGGGGHHHH, I’MMA A SLUT, I’MMA A CUNT….PLEASE FUUCK ME, MAKE ME CUUUM…OOOOOOHHHHH JAYSUS….MAWTHER-FUUCKER…MAKE ME YER BITCH, FUUUUCCCKIN’ JUST LEMME CUMMMMMMM!”
“I elevated the bristles under his prick, letting them constantly come in contact with his pulsing shaft, then I reached under his chest and let my left index finger scratch his nearest nipple, bruising the hard nubbin and then focusing my fuck finger on his man nut purposefully, not letting up when I knew he was close, but massaging it ruthlessly. Tony wailed a long deep cry, and his cock flexed against the scratching, tickling bristles, wrenching a massive ejaculation from him. Cum burst from the wide, flared piss lips, wetting the bristles and making the unescapable contact even more unbearable, and coupled with my strumming finger deep inside him, even as his muscles clenched with each ejaculatory burst, and my other finger working his hard nip, Tony just surrendered to the sensations he had imagined and longed for over the years.
After he stopped yelling and cumming, I reached up and milked his still stiff bone, concentrating on his wet, sticky glans by dragging it back and forth on the bristle pad, making him plead again for mercy: “Oh Crwist…stop, stop…I can’t take it..oh fuuuck…please…oh Gaawd, help me…fuuuuck…please….aaaaaaagggghhhhhhhh.” I made him do it my way: “Tell Daddy you’ll be a good boy and do everything I say, and tell Daddy thank you…..” I chose to make him subordinate himself to me like a little boy because I wanted to ensure his complete capitulation. The macho security guard who had faked years of Mr. Strong and Silent was now my sniveling slut boy, wanting nothing more than to surrender his big boy boner to his new master, but I needed him to articulate it, say it, hear the words from his own hapless mouth. “Oh Gaawd, yes, I’ll be good, please, I promise, I’ll be good…aaaaawwwww, please I’m sorry, I was bawd, but I’ll be good…oh fuuuuck, please, yes, and tank you Daddy…tank you Dude, please oooohhhhh.”
“That’s it Tony, that’s my big boy…” I stripped the fat, succulent knob one last wringing time, and then slipped my finger into his mouth, and told him to suck them clean which he did enthusiastically…”mmmmggggghhhhh…mmmmmmmnnnnnnn….hmmmmmm…”
Next I had Tony tied standing in a shower and watched as the guards soaped him from head to toe, and administered two soapy enemas, leaving his hole clean as a whistle, and gently lubed to allow him to recover. His cock sprung another hard bone, and they soaped it under my careful instructions, making sure his circumcision scar and coronal ridge were thoroughly washed, but short of another much wanted ejaculation. He said nothing, but hung his head with his eyes closed, panting when they brought him close to the edge…only to leave his penis pulsing helplessly.
That night, before he went to sleep, I explained that he was now the property of a wealthy owner in Argentina who had selected him specifically from a field of potential candidates. He would live a privileged life, but would never again be allowed to touch his penis unless he was given permission. His eyes looked at me fearfully, the gag in his mouth preventing him from protesting though he grunted helplessly into it. But even as I spoke, with him bound spread eagled on the bed, his prick snaked up to full erection, thrusting up, and leaking again as I described his subjection. I held his pulsing, leaking boner, rubbing my thumb over the sticky glans, and smiling I spoke gently of his new life. “You’ll get to wear your uniform often Anthony, dressed to please your new owner, often bound, with your hard prick thrusting out of the fly, leaking streams of pre-jizz…waiting and hoping that he will milk you dry and give you the relief you need and want. You’ll thrust out your hips and plead as the drops of lube leak to the floor, panting and wheezing for a good cum. But the days of jerking that fat prick, and shooting scum to satisfy your horny fuck lust, those days are over my boy. That big prick is now the personal property of your new owner, and you’ll learn to earn your cums at his feet. By the way, he’s an Argentine internet zillionaire, and he’s young enough to be your son. You’ll start be learning to suck his long, thick athletic toes…and work up from there.” The moment I said those words his prick burped a slug of the sticky lube, pooling in his deep navel. I gently scratched my fingernail against his circumcision scar, making his prick pulse and buck, and forcing him to grind his ass into the bed, his eyes suddenly closed. I grasped one of his hard tits and twirled it gently, tugging and pinching, making him once again gasp for release. But once I had him worked up and ready, I got up, turned off the light and left him to his fitful sleep. He would be bound wrist to ankle and ankle bar, blindfolded, gagged and a small anal prod inserted into his lovely rectum, for the trip to the airport, before being tethered to a leather recliner in a cargo container for his long trip, facilitated by an injected ‘mickey’ to keep him passive during the long flight.
He looked at me one last time before I left the room, his eyes pleading, and I smiled and said good bye; “farewell Anthony, dream of how many times per month you’ll be allowed to cum, and how sweet it will be when you are milked dry.” Then I left Anthony James Michael Bruno, his long, thick toes wriggling helplessly under the blanket. I was looking forward to the first video I had requested as part of the deal, watching his new owner drain Tony for the first time.