Introduction: This is captivity story that plays to the narratives of straight men who hyper-sexuality makes them tempting prizes. Images in Hollywood films have often shown images of strong, straight men in physical bondage, and history is ripe with stories of captives sold into slavery. Some of these scenes emerge from those recollections. If you are underage, please do not read this story, it is not meant for you. This is a stroke story for older guys who understand the difference between fiction and reality.
I would of course be grateful for any feedback from those of you who find my stories engaging, and critical input from the other excellent writers on the net. My stories are heavily weighted to the sexual, rather than the story content, but I hope I have provided enough of a framework to keep your interest.
This story is about straight men who are sexually obsessed, and fall into the clutches of a young man who works to capture them in a male-slavery business.
July 16, 2018
Have you ever been to a john at the airport or at a national park attraction, or sporting event? The men line up to piss into the wall of urinals and look straight ahead to make sure that no one gets the wrong idea. Some men lean back slightly and you can catch a glimpse of their thick stream of piss hitting the porcelain, and you can see those who shake their cocks before stuffing them back into their pants and heading for the sinks to wash their hands, or for the door to make a quick exit. Whether straight, or just protecting their identity, men know the rules of public toilets. Even if they want to peek at their neighbor’s cock, they usually won’t even take a glance. Men are supposed to be uninterested in their own dicks, or those of any other man. But many men, maybe event most, are curious. I know, because when boys were in elementary school and went to the YMCA to swim, they had to strip naked and often made comments about other boys’ wieners. Older boys and men liked to display their cocks if they were large to impress others, and high school locker rooms were filled with the stench of ball sweat from unwashed jock straps whose pouches were bulging from oversized balls and wet and stinking from the big boys who carelessly threw them in their lockers.
I’ve made a careful study of these boys and men to make sure I can select only the ripest fruit from the crop for my business. Of course, I have to be careful. It takes more than watching them piss in a public place, LOL. It requires understanding their lives, their contacts, their habits, and their patterns. So when I finally make a seizure, I don’t have to worry about any complications. So, what is my job you ask? I select beautiful, built men from the age of eighteen to forty, and prepare and package them for delivery to discreet clients around the world who want to enjoy their bodies. I admit this is an unusual profession, but from the time I was in junior high, and I saw the naked, firm bodies of boys in the shower room, I knew I needed to be involved with them, to have an opportunity to oversee and play with them. My first success was in high school, in 1960.
His name was Skyler Jameson, and he was a big, dumb goof who craved pussy from the time he was 13. Nature often graces some boys with its genetic graces, and Skyler was definitely one of those boys. By the time we were sixteen, he was six feet tall, with a blond buzz cut, hairy arms and legs, of darker hair testifying to the abundance of testosterone coursing through his body. His feet were already size 11, and his dick was 5.5 inches limp, with a fat plum cut knob, and two sweaty, weighty balls hanging down below them all framed with a thick shock of dark brown hair. He had a clump of that hair filling his anal trench, but otherwise his hair was thick and blond on his arms and legs, his fingers and toes. What a piece of boy beef.
We had hung out together since elementary school, and in junior high I feigned and indulged his fantasies of big titted teachers and the few girls who had matured early. He often talked about how much he needed to jerk-off to relieve the pressure in his balls, but his family was Catholic, and the Priest in his Catechism class said that boys lost potency if they masturbated, so he tried to go as many days as he could without a cum, unless a wet dream did the work for him. Whenever we would shower after gym class, his dick always seemed tumescent, just slightly hard and swaying back and forth when he walked, the fat helmet bouncing against his right thigh due to the curvature in his shaft.
Sky wasn’t the brightest bulb, usually C’s and an occasional D in his classwork and grades. He didn’t care so much for school, but he loved looking at magazines with naked girls at the newspaper stands when they didn’t shoo him away for being too young, admiring the cars with the greatest cubic inch engines, and surfing; the craze for blond boys in 1960.
I waited patiently as the first two years of high school passed. Sky joined the baseball team, and got to the varsity his junior year, playing off the bench as second base and short-stop. That got him noticed more than just in passing by girls, but in 1960 pussy was not easy to get. Oh he had his dates, and there were hand-jobs on occasion at the drive-in with girls who were known to be willing. But these were few and far between, and Sky was as horny as a goat. Now eighteen, he began to drink on Friday and Saturday nights when there were no chicks to rub his prong, and since I was also a bench warmer on the varsity baseball team, we began to hang out on Fridays and Saturdays.
Finally, on one warm spring night in late March, I suggested we go to the movies and see Elizabeth Taylor in Butterfield 8 . Her breasts were legendary, and with enough cheap gin, Sky got drunk as a skunk by the time the movie started. I parked near the back in my Dad’s ’57 Chevy station wagon, and I suggested we stretch out in the back seat to drink and watch the movie. Sky was so stupid by the time I parked, he easily complied, kicking off his flip-flops and spreading out on the back seat, his head already lolling.
I began to narrate the film, playing up every scene with Taylor, and telling him about how her nipples protruded, and wouldn’t he like to suck on those. Pretty soon he was barely conscious, and I took a chance, one that already had my cock throbbing in my jeans. I reached over, and as I was describing another scene in which Taylor’s tits were prominent, I used my own index finger to drag across Sky’s mounded pec, his own nipple protruding against the material of his white t-shirt….and my fingernail scratched the rubbery tip. His eyes closed, he thrust out his chest as I described the fiction of Stephen Boyd teasing Taylor’s tits, and using my own finger to flick and scratch, rub and gently pinch his firm nub. The pink, rubbery nub became so firm and stiff, pebbled, and greedy for attention. It was amazing to flick my thumb back and forth over each of these sensitive protrusions and seeing how much Sky enjoyed the sensations of having his big boy tits played with. Guys often gripped other guys tits during Jim, pinching them hard…but few guys ever realize how sensitive their tits are, and how they are often connected to their whorish cocks.
Jesus, I could hardly breathe, and as Sky slumped more on the seat, his arms limp by his sides, I offered him another swig of the gin, and kept peppering his near ear with lascivious descriptions of Elizabeth Taylor, even suggesting you could see the mound of her pussy—a complete fantasy. He groaned as I played with his tit, and so I became more reckless, using my free hand to slide under his t-shirt and go for his left tit. I was rewarded, as Sky grunted, ground his ass into the car seat, and let me tease his nip into a stiff, rubbery nub. I’d always liked his tits, jutting like cones from the mound of his firm pecs, with just a smattering of dark hair framing the bottom of each mound and connecting on a trail down to his pubes, and past his deep navel. Now I moved to pull his t-shirt up over his pecs, and went to work on both tits, lowering my mouth to the near one and sucking it gently.
“Aaaaagggggghhhhhh” he groaned, letting me lave his tit nub with my wriggling tongue, while I gently pinched and scratched the other one, tugging it from his pec just enough to make him squirm and buck helplessly, grunting and groaning his appreciation.
As I had gone this far, I figured what the hell. I lowered my left hand to the mound protruding the worn material of his button-fly jeans, and in a swift movement, I cupped his already erect cock through the material. Fuck, I wanted to open his jeans and yank down his briefs and suck his cock into submission, but I figured I shouldn’t press my luck. So I just gripped his cock through the jeans, and began to give him a hand-job. My palm squeezed, gripped, and gently twisted, grinding his pulsing, thick shaft and drooling knob. He squirmed, and ground his ass hard into the seat, and spread his legs as much as possible, kicking off one of his flip-flops and curling his toes….grunting and groaning.
Suddenly he lifted his ass off the seat, and I pinched his tit firmly and he squirted into his briefs, thrusting and jerking as his big dick unloaded.
He never opened his eyes, and as soon as his cock finished shooting its copious load, and my hand stopped squeezing out the dregs, he collapsed on the seat. I got out the back door, making sure no one saw me, or him spread out on the back seat. I adjusted my own cock discreetly after shooting my load when he came, the juice sticky in my briefs and shorts. I drove Sky home, and by the time we arrived, he seemed groggy, but got out and stumbled toward the house telling me he would see me Monday at school, never hinting that we had just had boy sex at the drive-in.
That was our first time fucking around, but not the last. The next weekend my parents were out of town visiting a relative, and I invited him over and poured more gin. I pulled out some skin mags and let him rub his crotch as he flipped through the pages and got progressively smashed. Soon he was drunk and sprawled out on his back, on our couch. I did not let the hint pass over me, and within minutes I had his t-shirt up at his neck, sucking on his near tit, and sliding my palm into his jeans and gripping his raging boner through a pair of worn briefs. As soon as I could, I unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled his cock through the fly of his briefs, its eight and half thick inches sticking up rigidly, his bulging, fat cock head soaked in his pre-fuck juice dribbling out of his wide, deep pisswell. I lowered my mouth over the fat knob and sucked with a vengeance, hollowing out my cheeks as I pulled on the aching knob, pinching his nipple as I laved the fat head, my tongue lashing his glans and circling his wide coronal ridge.
Sky, groaned and mewled, not using his hands on my head, but gripping the back and side of the couch in his fist, as he ground his ass into the cushions, and alternately thrust his cock up into my sucking mouth. I would not give him any reprieve and sucked hard and twisted my fist up and over the knob as I continued to work his bloated glans. I brought him to the edge over and over, and after thirty minutes I finally gave him what he had come to my house to enjoy….a huge cum. Fuck, could this kid shoot spunk. He flooded my mouth with his sweet scum, making me swallow as fast as I could to drink down his tasty boy juice.
AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH, SHIT, FUCK….OOOOOOOOHHHHHH DAMN….AAAAAGGGGGGGG!
Damn, I loved hearing him squeal and talk shit through his cum, feeling like I had him under my control. Then I doubled down on his sensitive fuck tip, using my tongue and lips to work it relentlessly after he finished shooting. He lifted his ass again, trying to pry his still rigid but achingly sensitive knob from my mouth, and his shaft from my fist. But I would not let go, and he did not want to acknowledge me, so his hands remained gripping the couch. I reduced him to whimpering as I licked and sucked for another five minutes. He threw an arm over his face, and clenched one fist, while he gripped the couch with the other, jerking and grunting helplessly, but never making me stop.
Unnngggh…unnnngh, unnnngg…he whimpered, until finally I released my mouth and hand grip, leaving his cock hard, but drained.
Within a month, Sky found a way to spend time at my place when my parents weren’t around, and each time, I found more and more ways to drain his greedy prong. He even allowed him to strip him naked, all the while being drunk, and to tie him spread on the wrought iron bed stored in our attic. As long as he was drunk, he kept his eyes closed and let me do anything I wanted, as long as he eventually squirted a load. Shit, it was heaven. I tickled him from pits to toes, making him gasp and writhe, but his cock never went soft. I found an old soft-bristled hair brush in one of the trunks in the attic, and used his on his nipples, abs, feet, balls, and finally on his bloated, bulging cock head. I did not aim to hurt him, but to drive him into a frenzy of bucking and twisting to avoid the wicked bristles. Finally, I used them gently right against his bulging piss lips, and his circumcision scar, until he lifted his ass high off the bed, and shot wad after wad of cum, nine thick, long spurts, over his head and up to his face and chest. Then I used my fist to polish his trapped cock head, letting my thumb brush back and forth over the scar and piss lips mercilessly. Jesus, I loved hearing him beg and squeal:
YYYYYYIIIIIIIIII…..AAAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE….GOD, FUCK, DAMN, AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!
but he never asked me to stop.
For the remainder of our junior and senior year, once, maybe twice a month, I would milk Sky of his juice. It was exhilarating to control his beautiful, firm, muscular body, making it respond to whatever I wanted to do. But it was also exciting to do it as he was in total denial, as if I wasn’t sucking his cock, or masturbating him. He always showered before he came over, so I knew he was ready for what would happen. He just let me do whatever I wanted, without acknowledging that he was letting another dude play with his body. I even got to slip my index finger between his tight ass cheeks, and to tickle his hair encircled anal slit. I could push his legs up, and scratch my fingernail against the flexing, irising pucker. His long, thick toes would curl tight when I did it, and I liked to rub his fat knob at the same time, to make him grind his ass into the bed. Sometimes I would tickle his big size 12 feet, as I scratched his anal lips, and watched as he squirmed and grunted in pleasure as I serviced his willing body.
After high school, we went our separate ways. I went to college, and he went to junior college for a couple of years, then took a job at a local construction company. By the time I was I was 26, I had become an apprentice to man who taught me how to capture straight men and sell them on the international market to discreet buyers who wanted sexual animals to play with. I had transformed my enjoyment of masculine men into a lucrative profession.
Finally, I suggested to my mentor that I knew a catch that would be worth our time and investment of effort. It was Sky Jameson. The fact that he had never acknowledged what I was doing to him, and had never contacted me after we graduated, made it easy to see him as merely a potential commodity that might bring us profit. I used the techniques I had been taught to scope out Sky’s schedule and habits. He was still single, in relatively good shape, and still as horny as a goat. I watched him for two weeks, seeing him head to bars after a long day at work, after a quick shower, to drink beer and ogle the big breasted women who worked as waitresses. Along with the other men he hung out with, they would make comments, and try to flirt with the young, pretty girls. But the women knew how to deal with these blue-collar buffoons. They would flirt with them to ensure good tips, but nothing more, so that more often than not they left with blue-balls. It earned the waitresses those tips, but the men went home to get off the best way they could; the married ones hoping to fuck their wives at least once a week. But Sky had no such luck.
I kept in the background and did not let Sly see me or know that I was in town. I followed him for three weeks, when I wasn’t on another assignment. On those occasions I would use a consistent location at his house to spy on him during the warm summer month. I saw him on his back jerking his thick bone with its fat knob, or on his knees with his ass up and pulling this pud down between his legs, those toes curling and flexing as he worked his fist over his knob.
But he had a favorite way to spunk. One of those nights, when he was drunker than usual, and as it was a very hot day and a warm night, he left his windows open and curtains spread to get any breeze possible. I watched him from the backyard location I had been using, behind some high bushes near the bedroom window. He stumbled around his room, and stripped naked, sporting a half-hard bone, his fat cock head, shining in the bedroom lamp light. He pulled back the sheets, and low and behold, there was a hole in his mattress. Most nights I hadn’t seen it, because it was flush to the bed, and he would jump in quickly to use his fist. But this time, he opened his nightstand, and pulled out a fleshlight, and slid it into the hole, protruding with its soft, pink rubber lips beckoning his greedy dick. I watched as he lubed up his already leaking cock, climb on the bed barely able to guide is thick shaft and fat cock head between the fleshlight lips, and then begin to hump it ruthlessly. He was driving his rigid shaft and bulging cock head deep into the fleshlight, fucking it in a driving motion, his firm ass cheeks clenching as he fucked the clinging toy hard. As he drew his cock up and out to the edge, as if he was fucking a pussy or a fist, I could see his wide coronal ridge, ready to let the soft rubber grip his glans and make it ache with sensation.
I watched as he finally finished his frantic fuck and using my telephoto camera lens, watched as his thick corded shaft pulsed at least nine times, as he spunked at least 9 or 10 bolts of his thick spooge in the fleshlight. He slowly extracted his sensitive knob and drained but still hard shaft, from the toy, dripping with his white juice. It was clear that Sky was still in need of ways to relieve his sweaty balls, and I was going to provide him with that means—only not the way he expected or wanted it.
It took another week for my mentor and I to work out the details of his capture, but in some sense, it was all too easy. We waited for him to get plastered again, and as he was walking from his car to his quiet rental house, we ambushed him. A cloth with chloroform, two of us to restrain him until the drug worked, then we carried him to our van.
While he was out, we stripped him naked, put a straight jacket on him, put a short spreader bar on his ankles with padded restraints. Then we chained the back of his jacket to his bar, bowing his body slightly. I gently lifted his big legs, and inserted a slender, greased prod into his anus and strapped it in its sheath around his thighs to keep it lodged in him. The last thing was to put his big dick into a cock restraint so he could not get an erection, and a ball gag into his mouth. I looked at his handsome face and thought of all the times I drained his balls of his spunk. He was still boyish and hard-bodied, and he would fetch a good price.
For the next five years, Skyler Jameson won’t be able to touch his cock, nor plunge it into anything without permission. He would be kept on a strict weekly schedule of celibacy and exercise, and somewhere between 5 and 10 days he will be expertly milked. Every sensitive part of his body will be teased daily and nightly to keep him desperate, but he will not be allowed to cum except on an erratic program, preventing him from knowing when he would earn his desperately desired release. He will learn to suck the fingers of his master, to ask politely for a slender vibrator to be inserted in his anus as he holds his legs up and spread, to take enemas to keep his bowels clean, to keep fit, and have his penis milked and polished up to five times in a session. He will be trained to watch as different fists and toys work his fat helmet, and alternately he will be trained to remain quiet as it is done, or be granted permission to squeal and beg-depending on the scene he will be in.
Before we turned him over to his new owner for the duration of the five-year contract, I had him masked so I could play with him one last time, and tease his body, tickle him, and then milk him to three cums before he was returned to his captive condition. I loved the feel of my soft fist sliding up and over his throbbing cock head, watching as his pre-fuck drooled out of the deep, wide piss-well, and slid down the shaft before I spread it back over the glans to tease and tickle him. I slid my tongue into his ear, licking as I whispered hoarsely, telling him that he was now a big, dumb sex slave, and about all the pleasures he would afford his new master. I dragged my fingernail under his wide coronal ridge, and then focused on his circumcision scar and the bottom of his piss-lips. The first cum was an explosion that I could watch and enjoy, the second was a combination of my cork-screwing fist and my vacuuming lips. The last was with an electric toothbrush giving him a premonition of what he would soon experience. I especially enjoyed using the whirring bristles on his glans after he came and hearing him squeal and yelp behind his gag. Afterwards, I gave him a sponge bath, secured a pedicure and manicure for him, and finally had an enema administered before he was trussed for shipment. As his large crate was loaded onto a private plane, lying on his side on a soft mattress, I thought that his cum still tasted sweet, and for the next five years he would be drained of it for the pleasure of others. Eventually he would be released, without any knowledge of where he had been, and some girl would likely inherit an obedient and well-trained stud for her pleasure and breeding.
Take care Sky. Safe travels.Next page