Email: ukhooder@gmail.com
A Night in the Museum
- From an idea by TDG -
“When you’ve done with the papyruses, these need to go downstairs. Section 2. Put them on the shelves at the back.”
“Will do.” Zack glanced at the two cardboard boxes Francis had put on the table, and nodded. He finished removing the bubble wrap from the last framed papyrus and placed it at the side of the others on the shelf. Francis would arrange them for display later.
He’d seen the basement storage area on the CCTV screen from the office but he hadn’t been down there yet. This was Zack’s first week working at the museum and he was loving it; he got to see interesting stuff that the public didn’t, but the place was big and he was still finding his way around it.
He and Francis were the only ones working in this department and he liked him. Francis was a good-looking guy, a couple of years older than he was, and he smiled a lot.
Zack looked at the two boxes; they were six inches on a side. According to the label, they were from the Wellman Orsano collection, and they contained ‘Bowden Devices’, whatever those were. He picked them up and headed for the staircase.
At the bottom he was surprised – the basement was a lot bigger than it had looked on the screen upstairs: the staircase ended halfway along a main corridor from which rows of grey metal shelf racks ran off at right angles in both directions. Illuminated signs marking the sections were placed at the end of each aisle. Zack found section 2 and walked between the shelves chuckling, thinking of the final shot from Raiders of the Lost Ark; this basement reminded him of Hangar 51.
Mostly the racks were piled with boxes, but here and there an open area broke the regularity of the metal shelves, allowing larger items to be accommodated.
There was one of these near the end of Section 2, and it held a very strange-looking bed. On it, instead of sheets, was what appeared to be a sleeping bag, but made of heavy, light brown leather. The bag was securely attached to the bed. Two-thirds of the way down, in the exact middle, was a smooth, round hole. On one edge of this hole a small post with a narrow strap riveted to it stuck up from the leather. A row of strong, darker brown straps ran down the full length of one side of the bag to secure it closed, and at either side of the neck was a small but sturdy brass hook.
Zack had been frowning since he’d first seen the thing. It didn’t take a degree in anatomy to guess what was supposed to go through the hole; the narrow strap was clearly to keep it there; and the side straps were to stop the person inside it from releasing himself. But what on Earth was it all for? – the Museum of Torture was three blocks away.
Zack got his answer when he saw the sign on the next shelf rack: ‘Victorian Male Anti-Masturbation Devices’.
Good grief, he thought, was that what this thing was? He placed the boxes he’d brought with him on the shelf at the far end, then opened one of them. Inside, protected by the usual bubble wrap, was what looked like a metal jubilee clip. It was furnished with inward-pointing, wicked-looking metal spikes.
He lifted it out and turned it around. “Ouch,” he said. The thing was clearly designed to fit around a penis, and he could see how it worked – any erection that happened with that thing on would be painful in the extreme.
The next box along was larger. Inside it was a brass contraption shaped to confine a soft cock, allowing it no room whatsoever to expand. It had a padlock which attached it to a thick leather belt, and there were locks on that too, to prevent removal. Zack’s mouth was open in disbelief; these things were barbaric.
He blinked. If he thought they were barbaric, why had he got a hard-on?
Box number three was larger, and contained what appeared to be a chain-mail corset which had a built-in metal cage for the genitals. It was constructed so that the entire thing would have to be taken off to get at the cock, and a single small lock – inaccessibly positioned at the back of the neck and with the keyhole pointing downwards – would have to be opened to do that. He ran his fingers over the metal cage, imagining a straining cock imprisoned unreachably inside it.
Zack replaced the lid and opened another box. In it was a smaller but more complicated device with wires and electrodes within a metal tube into which, presumably, the cock was pushed. If an erection happened, the enlarging member would press against a contact, and that would deliver a shock to the balls. He shook his head in wonder and put the lid back on the box.
His eyes returned to the brown leather sleeping-bag. There was a wickerwork crate standing by its side and he wondered what was in it. The two seemed to belong together – he could see that the labels on each bore the same collection number. He adjusted his cock in his jeans to a more comfortable position, and lifted the lid. The action caused two trays to open like the petals of a flower, revealing small items held in place with little clips, like cutlery in a picnic basket. At first Zack couldn’t work out what the things were: three small glass vials held assorted liquids – he held one up and turned it; the contents were viscous like thick oil. He put it back and looked further along. There was a coil of leather thong, held in place by a stained ribbon. The thong also looked oily. At the end was a larger glass container inside which were three thin feathers; a red one, a green one and a white one. His frown increased. This was very strange.
As the two top trays had swung apart, he’d seen that there were other things stored in the base of the crate.
In the centre was a large item that looked like it was made of the same brown leather as the sleeping bag, and with its own darker brown straps; to the left of it was a rolled-up pair of black rubber gloves, and to the right was a thin book. He took it out and opened it. It was a journal.
The list continued for the rest of the page. On the next were notes:
“I don’t think Emelia Farnsworth would have donated that to us if she’d known what it was.”
Zack looked up, startled. Francis was leaning against the shelves, grinning.
“What on earth is this?”
Francis walked closer. “Emelia’s husband, Doctor Alfred Farnsworth, ran a correction house for wayward boys. Seems that one of their recurring problems was that most of the lads were wanking themselves silly at every available opportunity. Alfred couldn’t have that, of course, and he made it his mission to stamp it out. Unfortunately the means he chose to do it only ended up making the boys more horny than they had been before.”
Zack looked at the contents of the crate, and then at the bed. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, if a boy had a wet dream – that’s the ‘Noct Em’ in the journal, for ‘nocturnal emission’ – or even worse, if he was caught committing the cardinal sin of masturbating,” Francis pointed to the ‘Mb’ in the line of handwriting, “he was strapped into that bag with his arms on the inside and his cock through the hole. He couldn’t get to his cock, couldn’t pull it back through the hole because of that little strap there, and of course he couldn’t get the bag open. Then the good doctor would spend some quality time teasing the fuck out of him with those things in that crate. Very slowly wanking him with slippery rubber gloves, seesawing that oiled leather thong back and forth slowly just under the ridge of his cock, tickling it or his balls with feathers. He made notes of the particular techniques that each boy was most susceptible to and he’d drive him to distraction with them. You see, he would never allow a boy to cum, though the point was to make him need to as badly as humanly possible.”
Zack stared at the leather bag with new appreciation. “That is evil.”
“Oh yes. Can you imagine being strapped inside that thing while some sadistic bastard is working on your cock in just the ways that get to you most? You can move your arms wherever you want inside it, but you can’t get to your cock however hard you try. And you can’t stop the unbearable teasing. And that’s only if you’d been unfortunate enough to have cum in your sleep. If you’d been caught wanking, one of the orderlies would strap this onto you first…” Francis reached into the crate and took out the brown leather object. It was a hood. The shaped, heavy brown leather had no openings in the face at all except two small holes for breathing. Darker brown straps fastened it on up the back, and a wider one ran around the neck to the substantial rear buckle. On each side of the bottom strap, a small brass eye bolt stuck out. “That could be tightened as much as the good doctor liked. You couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear much, you were isolated in your own world of blackness and forced to concentrate on what was being done to your hard, horny cock. Alfred knew exactly how to make boys need to cum, and judging by his private diary, which is also in our collection, by the way, he was a total pervert whose greatest pleasure in life was to edge boys insane.” He put the hood back into the crate. “Of course as soon as the boy was back in his own bed he’d wank himself senseless.”
“So how long did this sort of thing go on?”
“Oh, years. The home was for 15- to 18-year-old boys and some of them were there for the full stretch.”
Zack suddenly realised that his cock was pushing his jeans out very obviously and he turned away from Francis quickly. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Francis didn’t make any comment; it looked like he hadn’t seen it.
“Right, well we can’t stand here chatting all day. Have you finished the papyruses?”
“Yep, they’re ready for display.”
“Ok.” Francis turned and walked back towards the staircase. “File the paperwork on them and then I think we can call it a day.”
Zack looked back at the leather bag. In his mind there was a boy in it, hooded and helpless, his desperately horny cock sticking up through that hole. He was struggling insanely to get to it to make himself cum but unable to reach it because of the thick leather, while the doctor teased it slowly and leisurely, making very sure that the boy couldn’t cum, and getting off on the lad’s unbearable torture. He had to admire the fiendish cunning of that device – it was designed to be as infuriatingly, maddeningly frustrating as possible.
He shook the vision away, adjusted his cock again in his jeans – he could feel precum there now – and willed it to go soft as he made his way back upstairs.
The filing of the paperwork for the papyruses took longer than it should have done because Zack couldn’t stop himself from thinking about what he’d seen down in the basement. Eventually it was finished, though.
“Ok Francis, all done. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.” The voice came from behind a display cabinet the other side of the room.
Zack put his jacket on, opened the main door, waited for a couple of seconds, and closed it without going out. Then, silently, he tiptoed to a broom cupboard and hid inside.
Ten minutes later he heard Francis leave. He waited another minute, then crept out and went back down to the basement.
He ran his fingers slowly over the bag, then unfastened the side straps and opened it. The heavy leather was stained on the inside by the sweat of struggling boys and he wondered how many cocks had been trapped in that hole. His own cock was hard again in his jeans.
He opened the crate and took out the hood. For some reason the thing fascinated him, and he thought it was the idea that its single purpose had been to make the boy’s torture much worse than it would have been without it. He took his jacket off, then opened the hood. The light brown inside had been worn shiny from years of use. Slowly Zack pulled it on over his head. It still smelled of leather. Working by feel he buckled the straps at the back, pulling the hood tight over his face. His cock was threatening to burst out of his jeans so he unfastened them. Then he kicked off his trainers and took his jeans off completely, and also his boxers.
Unable to see a thing, he felt around until he found the opened bag, and got inside. It didn’t feel right, so he sat up and pulled his tee shirt off over the hood. Naked now, he lay down again in the bag.
With difficulty he pushed his balls, one at a time, and then his cock through the hole, and started to close the bag. He was able to buckle the bottom three straps, but no more as the leather got in the way. He lay back and moved his arms around inside. The narrow strap that would have stopped him from pulling his cock back to the inside where he could get at it was still unfastened – he hadn’t been able to reach to tighten that – but this was the best he could do.
He imagined someone teasing his cock from the outside, and began struggling, but the top of the bag kept opening when he did. He lay back again, staring into the blackness of the hood.
Suddenly he yelled in panic. “Who’s there?” The leather had unexpectedly tightened over his chest as the side strap level with it had been pulled closed.
No reply. With that strap fastened he could no longer get himself out. The bag moved again as the next one down was buckled, and then the remaining side straps. Finally he felt the scrape of metal as the brass hooks on the neck of the bag were engaged with the eye bolts on the bottom of the hood. And they were effective: it was now almost impossible for him to move his head. Zack felt fingers around his balls as the narrow strap was pulled tight around the base of them, trapping them there. He continued to yell, but any sound he made was muffled by the thick hood, and there was no reply anyway.
He was completely encased from the top of his head to his feet in a cocoon of heavy leather. Just about the only things he could move were his arms.
Minutes passed.
Zack nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt something tickle the shaft of his cock. His panic had made it start to go soft, but it immediately began stiffening again.
Fingers stroked very lightly up and down for a while, until he was fully hard again, and then they went away for a moment. When they came back they were smooth, rubbery, and very slippery. Zack gasped, then he moaned. His hips began to thrust. Fuck, he was horny.
He felt so completely helpless. He desperately needed to know who was doing this to him. Was it Francis? Couldn’t be - he’d gone home. Hadn’t he? Unless he’d hidden somewhere like Zack had done. But why would he do that? He had no idea. He needed to know who it was, but the hood made that impossible.
The rubber fingers were replaced with something thin. Zack guessed it was the oiled thong. He hadn’t understood how a thing like that could make a boy horny, but he very soon found out. The smooth, oiled leather glided back and forth just below the ridge of his cock, right over the frenulum – and it felt like nothing he could have imagined. His body stiffened and he got ready to cum.
But abruptly the thong stopped moving. For a few seconds. Then it started again.
This went on for some considerable time. Zack had never been edged before, but now he was learning that it was something he could not take. Being brought to the very brink of orgasm was wonderful – but then all stimulation stopped and he was left flailing desperately on the edge, unable to cum. That was pure, unadulterated torture. He fought to get his hands to his cock to finish himself off but the leather prevented him from reaching it, just. His fingers were so close to it – so close, but so very far. He tried to pull his cock back through the hole but the devilish little strap made that impossible. And while he was struggling and fighting inside the bag, the fingers, feathers or oiled thongs were slowly teasing his cock and tickling his balls, making him want to cum more and more.
Zack thought he was going to go mad. He’d been yelling and pleading to be allowed to cum, but the only reply had been silence. How long this went on for he had no idea. He thought he may have passed out more than once but he couldn’t be sure. The only thing he was able to think about was cumming. He would have sold his soul to the very devil for that one, longed-for orgasm.
The slippery fingers had discovered that forming a circle just around the head and rotating very slowly while the other hand was holding his balls in a gentle rubber grip, was possibly the technique that Zack had the least resistance to, and they exploited this mercilessly. In this way they could get the boy back to the edge in seconds flat every time.
All Zack could do was struggle manically but uselessly, and suffer.
- - -
Eventually, there was a longer pause than usual, and then the smooth, slippery fingers were back. They slid even more slowly than before around his cock head while his balls were held in more rubber. But this time the fingers didn’t stop. Zack felt every muscle in his body tense as they brought him to the very edge again. The fingers slowed even more, and they didn’t speed up in the slightest when, with a yell that nearly deafened him inside the hood, he started to cum. He felt spurt after spurt of hot spunk pulsing out of his cock while the fingers continued to milk him very, very slowly. He’d never cum before with such slow work on his cock, and his orgasm went on for a long time.
When the last drop of spunk had been extracted he lay back, panting in relief, his body still jerking now and then. That had been the best orgasm he had ever had in his fucking life.
Nothing happened for several minutes and he began to wonder how he was going to get out of this device, but then he felt the narrow strap around his balls being unfastened. The top side straps of the bag were released, followed by the little hooks that were holding the neck of the hood to the bag. He waited, but nothing else happened.
He managed to get his cock and balls back through the hole, and took the hood off. He half-expected Francis to be standing there laughing at him, but the basement was deserted as far as he could see. He undid the rest of the straps and got out, wiped his cock on his boxers and put his clothes back on, then he replaced the hood in the crate and rearranged things as they had been. There were large, wet cum stains turning the leather darker brown on the front of the bag and he tried wiping them, but that just spread them out more. With a last look at the fiendish device he went, shakily, back upstairs.
The front door was still locked. He didn’t know what to do – he hadn’t planned that far ahead when he’d decided to stay in the building for the night. He got back into the broom cupboard.
The rattling of keys woke him. He heard Francis come in and, as he always did, go into the kitchen to make tea. Zack crept out of the cupboard, opened the main door and closed it again. “Morning,” he called, as if he’d just come in.
“Hi, Zack. Tea’s up.”
He went into the kitchen. Francis was sat at the table reading the paper. Zack sat down opposite him and sipped his tea. After a while Francis put the paper down. “Sleep well?”
Zack swallowed. “Er, not very well.”
“Sorry to hear that. Easy day today anyway – not much to do until the mummy arrives. Probably this afternoon.”
“Right.” Zack didn’t know what to say, or even if he should say anything. In the end he just stared at the wall.
Francis smiled. “Your hair’s a mess.”
Zack’s black hair was always spiky, but right now it was sticking out in all directions. He passed a hand through it self-consciously.
“Another cup?” Francis was brandishing the teapot.
“Um, no thanks. I’m fine.”
Francis poured himself a second one and took a sip.
“That bag,” Zack blurted abruptly. “That leather bag with the hole in it we were looking at yesterday.”
Francis raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“It’s not – haunted – is it?”
“Haunted?”
“Yeah. Or got a curse on it or something?”
Francis laughed. “Not as far as I know. Why?”
Zack looked uncomfortable. “I – couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“Ah. Imagining being strapped into it and hooded while some nefarious bastard teased you out of your mind, were you?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Things like that can have strange effects on the mind. Especially if you’re horny. Or if you like being tied up.”
Zack looked at Francis. What had that meant? Nothing, probably. “Ah, forget it. It’s just me – I’m not used to stuff like that, I guess.”
Francis nodded. “Right.” He put the empty cup down. “Come with me.”
They got up and Francis led the way down to the basement. They stopped at the bag. Zack looked at it and winced – the cum stains were almost dry, and had just about disappeared, but surely Francis would still notice them.
“Look. Just a leather bag. Nothing supernatural about it. Not haunted, no curses on it. It’s been here for years and there have been no strange inciden…” He frowned. “That’s strange. I’m sure the bottom few straps were closed when we left.” He smiled suddenly. “Perhaps the good doctor has been back.” He raised his arms and made like a ghost. Then he laughed. “Come on, we’d better do some work. Oh, and bring the journal, will you? I’ve been meaning to scan it.”
Zack took the book out of the chest and followed Francis back upstairs.
- - -
Francis had been by himself in the office all day doing paperwork. It was late afternoon when he called Zack in. “Ok. I was about to scan the good doctor’s journal, but you can do it - I’ll show you how to use the scanner. We keep digital records of just about anything that can be forced into that machine.”
Zack sat at the desk, Francis looking over his shoulder. “Ok, first you have to open a file on the computer and name it. It’s,” he checked the records, “A6 – B2 – 98875.” He opened the journal. “Ok. Now we just put the book face down on that glass plate, hold it down well and press the button. It’s quick.” The machine hummed briefly, after which Francis inspected the image on the screen. “That’s good. Do the next page.”
Zack turned the page, put the book back in and repeated the procedure.
Francis was frowning at the screen. “Odd. I’ve seen this a few times but I don’t remember that.” He took the book out and put it on the desk, his finger pointing to some lines, beneath the notes that had been there previously.
“That wasn’t there before, I’m sure of it.” He looked up at Zack. “ZW. Those are your initials, Zack.” His eyes went back to the page and he read the words very slowly. “Oiled gloves… Make an ‘O’… Rotate slowly around head… Holding balls… Hood especially effective… Struggles… Further exploration of this boy…”
Zack’s cock was fully hard again – and this time Francis did see it.
“Looks like those things have an effect on you, Zack.”
Zack saw where Francis was looking and quickly covered his bulging cock with his hands. He went red.
Francis chuckled. “All right then, tell me what happened.”
Zack told him everything.
When the boy had finished Francis stared at him for a long moment, and then he reached to the computer and brought up an image file. It was the second page of the book. But he’d opened it in Photoshop.
“Took me half an hour. The main problems were finding the right font, and inserting a second page into the book so that it looked kosher.”
Zack shook his head, not understanding. Then it dawned on him. “You did this.”
“I did. And there are more places to hide at night in this building than the broom cupboard you were in.”
“So it was you who – ”
Francis just chuckled. He pointed to the line again. “More meticulous exploration of this boy is necessary.” He smiled at Zack. “You up for it?”
Zack grinned. “You fucking bet I am!”