The black Mercedes glided slowly along the back street. From the warmth of the interior, shadowed eyes watched through the tinted rear windows. Against the backdrop of graffiti-daubed walls, homeless people were going about their boring lives under the dim street lights. Some of them were gathering or arranging sheets of cardboard to sleep on – what little sun reached as far as this place was already fading. It was going to be a cold night.
The car had been cruising the streets for hours, as it did every evening. No success so far this week.
Abruptly the man in the rear leaned forward slightly. Under an archway a teenager was lighting a cigarette. A fringe of blond hair was visible under his grey hoodie, and the flame from the lighter briefly lit up his face. He was beautiful.
"Go to the end of the street and turn around."
The driver moved the car on, found somewhere to turn, and came back. The man studied the boy as they drove slowly past.
"That one," he said. "Grey hoodie. Sitting on the crate under the archway. Make the arrangements."
The driver looked over, nodded, and lifted the radio mic. After a few moments the car moved away into the night.
Through the windscreen of the black van, eyes watched the walking figure through the holes in a black balaclava. He checked the street: the kid was alone, and there was no-one else about. This would do nicely.
"Ready…"
"In five…" He closed the distance between the van and the boy quickly.
"Go go go!"
The side door flew open before the van had screeched to a stop and three muscular guys in black SWAT uniforms, masks and combat boots poured out. Executing a well-practised routine, the first soldier grabbed the boy and held him immobile with his arms locked to his sides; the second pulled a hood over his head and then clamped his hand over his mouth, gagging him; and the third used a small syringe to inject him in the neck. Even before they'd got him into the vehicle the boy's frantic struggling had quickly slowed, then stopped altogether.
The door closed and the van speeded off through the light drizzle.
He had a splitting headache. He groaned. "Wh..?" He couldn't see anything. There was a black hood over his head. He tried to raise his hands to get it off but they were fastened to the chair arms.
"Easy, boy. Relax." The voice came from next to him on his right.
"What the f… What's going on? Who are you? Where am I?" He pulled at whatever it was that was restraining his arms and shook his head to get the damn hood off so that he could see what the fuck was happening.
"Don't try to struggle. Won't do you any good. Just sit back and enjoy the flight."
Flight? Just then the sound of engines revving up came to him. He sensed a slow turning movement, then it stopped.
"What do you mean 'flight'?"
The engines roared and he was pressed back into his seat. Fuck, he thought, I'm on a fucking plane.
"WHAT THE FUCK? GET THIS OFF ME!" He struggled, shook his head hard to dislodge the hood – he needed to be able to see - and pulled at his restraints as hard as he could.
A slow, unconcerned sigh came from close to him on his left. "He's a fighter. Well, we have something for that…"
He hardly felt anything as he was injected for the second time, but very soon he was unconscious again.
"Wakey wakey."
Someone was slapping his face. The hood was still on him but he wasn't in the same chair, and now his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. He felt different – he was naked! "What the fuck…?" He also smelled different. He'd been washed.
"Feel better after the shower?" The voice came from in front of him.
A moment later the hood was pulled off. He blinked; he was in an office, facing a desk behind which sat a guy in a black uniform. The guy was masked.
"What the hell is this?"
The man ignored him. "So you're Jamie. Sixteen years old, of no fixed abode. Stand up."
He stayed exactly where he was until the two guards at his sides lifted him roughly to his feet. He struggled but he was no match for the muscular guys.
The man behind the desk stood up as well. He walked closer, inspecting him, and smiling slowly in approval. "You certainly are cute ." He ran a hand down Jamie's cheek and then stroked his fingers through the boy's thick hair. "Blond, blue-eyed, beautiful body. Oh yes." He nodded to the guards. "This is an excellent one."
"Fuck off you pervert!" Jamie yelled at him.
The man chuckled. "And attitude too. Good."
Jamie jumped and tried to kick as the man's hand cupped his balls gently and stroked over his cock, but one of the guards jerked his arm up behind his back. The boy had never had his cock touched by another guy and he spat. "Get your hands of me you fuckers."
The man stepped back and took a long look at him. "Oh, our hands will shortly be all over you. We're going to enjoy working on you."
"What d'ya mean, 'working' on me?"
"Exactly what I said."
"Where am I? What is this fucking place?"
"Don't you know where you are?"
"No I fucking don't know where I am."
"And why is that, do you think?"
"Because they put a fucking hood over my head and knocked me out with something."
"And why do you think they did that?"
"Because they're fucking bastards."
The man chuckled. "Well yes, they are, but that wasn't the reason. They hooded you and sedated you so that you wouldn't know where you were being taken.
"That was your first question. The second, I think, was: 'what is this place'. This place is a research station – at least that's what it's called on maps. What it really is, is a place where boys are made to suffer."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Oh you will find out, believe me." He looked at the guards. "Take him to orientation."
For the first time since he'd arrived here he was free of restraints. The two guards had taken him to a room that was carpeted and warm, but was completely bare except for a bed. He lay on it and thought.
What the fuck was all this about? He wasn't a terrorist, nobody would pay any ransom for him – in fact nobody would probably even notice he was missing. And why the hood and the sedation and the masks? It occurred to him that a couple of guys he knew would probably have paid money for what had been done to him so far. But he wasn't a faggot, and he wasn't kinky. He looked around the room but the beige walls were featureless. What the fuck was he supposed to do in here?
As it turned out he was only there for half an hour. The guards came for him and marched him down several corridors to a closed door. They blindfolded him and took him inside.
He was pushed up against something with a padded top and forced down onto it. They buckled cuffs around his wrists and ankles, then fastened them to the corners of the table and tightened many leather straps over him. A particularly tight one went over his hips. A moment later his blindfold was removed and the guards walked away into darkness. The whole room was pitch black with the exception of a couple of spots aimed directly at the table.
A figure appeared out of the shadows. Unlike the others he'd seen so far, this one wasn't masked. He was dressed like a hospital doctor. A small man with thinning hair and glasses. He smiled. Jamie did not like the smile.
"Hello Jamie. I'm Doctor Abrahams. We're going to get to know each other very well, I think. Right now we're going to do some tests on you. Now don't worry, we're not going to hurt you - unless we find out that you like being hurt, of course." He laughed. "No, you're going to enjoy it, I think."
He took something that looked like a black swim cap, but made of thick rubber, and from which a bundle of wires ran to a computer on a desk at the side of the table, and pulled it over Jamie's head. It was shaped to cover the boy's eyes completely but left the lower part of his face open. Jamie struggled and tried to stop it going on, but the guards assisted Abrahams to get it in place. He tried to push it off against the table top but it wouldn't budge.
"There we are. Don't worry, you won't feel anything from that – it's just a device to let me record things." He pressed a key on the computer and many squiggly lines began to move over a graph. "You see?" He pointed to the screen. "Oh, sorry, you can't see, can you. Never mind." He chuckled.
Abrahams pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and rested a hand on Jamie's right ankle. "You have a nice cock, I see. Small for a boy your age, but nice."
"Get your fucking hands off me!" Being touched by this horrible man sent shivers of repulsion through him. He writhed under the leather straps.
Abrahams continued without missing a beat. "Now, Jamie, you must understand that this facility was designed specifically to control recalcitrant teenagers like you. We have special equipment, and staff who are expert at working on boys, and all the rooms are soundproofed. So feel free to yell as much as you want." He stroked his hands over Jamie's calves, and teased slowly up the hairless legs until he was half an inch short of his balls. Then he stopped, consulted the readout on the computer, went back to the feet and repeated it more slowly. He was taking careful notice of every one of Jamie's reactions – much of which consisted of swearing, threatening and struggling - as well as reading data from the screen every now and then.
After he'd done this he began again, but from the other end of the boy. He explored his arms, his shoulders, chest, sides and stomach until, again, he'd almost reached his genitals.
Jamie fought the restraints. The feel of this man's hands on his body was revolting. But he was a healthy sixteen-year old and he hadn't had a wank since the night before last. He couldn't see the doctor because of the black rubber covering his eyes and, gradually, as the fingers explored closer and closer to his most private parts, he found his struggling occasionally turning into something more sensuous – until he caught himself and started swearing and fighting the restraints again. By the time Abrahams had got to the very tops of his inner thighs, his struggling was less than it had been, and his cock showed signs of beginning to get hard.
Abrahams nodded in satisfaction, then moved a stool closer and sat down level with Jamie's crotch. He smiled. "Now the more interesting bits. Would you make your cock very hard for me please?" He smiled again. "Here, let me help you." He took Jamie's semi-soft cock in one hand, his balls in the other, and began to tickle and tease both.
Jamie was furious. He had no intention of getting a fucking hard-on for this creep. But when a cock is being teased by expert hands it usually responds whether its owner wants it to or not. It began to stiffen, slowly at first, and then more quickly. In less than a minute it was fully hard.
"Excellent. Now, let's explore it, shall we? I'm afraid there's a possibility that you may cum while I'm doing this, but don't worry, I'll try my very best to avoid that. Ok?"
Cum? This was getting fucking worse. The bastard may have got his cock hard but so what? He had no fucking intention of cumming for this creep.
The doctor began with the shaft, using just his finger and thumb. He tried different techniques: he stroked his fingers up and down lightly; quickly squeezed the shaft and released it repeatedly along its length; rotated his hand around it, all the while being very careful not to touch the head. After that he repeated the whole series with lubed fingers.
Abrahams looked at the screen again and nodded in satisfaction. "Now, we must be very careful here. Boys your age can cum alarmingly easily when they're horny, and we don't want that, do we?" He chuckled. His fingers now gripped the ridge of the head very gently.
A stream of invective – followed closely by a loud groan – came from the boy.
Very slowly Abrahams rotated his lubed fingers one way and then the other. He glanced at the screen, then moved his hand up a little onto the glans itself. A couple of rotations here (much louder moans from the boy) and another check of the computer. The fingers were a quarter of an inch away from the end of the head now, and Jamie tried to thrust his hips, but the tight strap over them prevented the slightest movement.
"Interesting," said the doctor. Experimentally he used a single fingertip as lightly as he possibly could to tickle the two little bumps of the boy's urethra.
Jamie tried to arch his back, and he let out a violent gasp. "Oh fuck…"
Abrahams raised his eyebrows at the computer display. "Interesting indeed." He turned back to the boy and placed his finger and thumb on the ridge again. This time, he slid them very slowly upwards until they closed over the very tip of the boy's cock.
The doctor didn't need to look at the screen to know what it would say, as Jamie's moan had increased in both volume and urgency exactly in time with his fingers.
"Do that again." Jamie said breathlessly. " D o that again. Right at the end."
Abrahams chuckled. "Oh no, that wouldn't do at all, now would it?" He smiled to himself: this boy was a tip-sensitive. Excellent. Michaels would be pleased.
"Ok. All done. And all without letting you cum. That's good."
"No, no," Jamie groaned. "I need to cum. I need to." He'd given up all pretence of struggling now.
"Noooo, you don’t need to," he said indulgently. He stood up and carefully removed the boy's sensor cap. "Right, I must go and report my findings to Mr M. We'll be seeing each other again soon, no doubt. You rest here. The guards will come for you shortly.
"So, how did you get on with young Jamie? That is one seriously beautiful boy." Michaels was sat behind his desk; the doctor had his legs crossed, in the chair opposite.
"Oh you're going to like Jamie, I think." He scanned the computer printout he was holding. "Main points: he's extremely ticklish, I think – but that'll come out in later tests, of course. Like all boys that age he's never far away from an orgasm, but the wonderful thing is: he's a tip-sensitive. And how!"
Michaels tilted his head. "Tip sensitive? Remind me."
"Well, in about 75% of boys, the frenulum is the most sexually responsive spot on the cock. With about 5% it's the ridge, but with the other 20% it's the very tip. You know, the urethra, those little bumps where the pee and the spunk comes out. And I tell you, the computer almost blew a fuse when I got to that. I bet that boy wanks right at the end of his cock. That, without any doubt at all, is the way to get him."
Michaels considered this. He smiled. "Excellent. As always, you've done well, John." I'll write up a schedule for him with that in mind."
Jamie was back in the bare room, lying on the bed with his hands cuffed behind his back. He looked down at the soft, thick cotton wool pants they'd forced him into and cursed. He was as horny as fuck after what that doctor had done to him but he couldn't reach his cock and he couldn't do anything about it. He'd tried humping the bed, but all those layers of soft stuff had denied him any pleasure at all. He'd also tried to get the damn things off but the bastards had put a little bit of sticky tape on the waist band and they wouldn't move.
Dinner arrived at some point but he wasn't hungry. He was accompanied to the loo – the fucking guards had stood there watching him take a crap – then he'd tried to get to sleep. But he was so fucking horny. He wanted to wank.
Eventually he did fall asleep.
He had no idea how much later it was when they came or him – even whether it was day or night as there were no windows in the place that he'd seen so far. It was the same two guard as always. At least he guessed it was; with those balaclava masks on they'd probably all look the same.
He was taken to a much larger room, full of heavy equipment with straps. Again the swimming cap was put over his head for the computer, and for hours he was restrained to assorted devices and in assorted positions. Crosses, a sling, spread-eagle posts, a table that revolved in various directions. He was at times strapped down, tied up with ropes or chains or leather cuffs – first with his legs spread wide, then close together. He was hogtied. The final one was a complicated thing that held him immobile on all fours with his cock and balls pulled back between his thighs.
In all of these positions his cock was worked on by the doctor. Always the same way: very carefully, very slowly, and always avoiding the very tip of the head.
When it was over he was taken back to his room and the soft pants were put on him again.
Jamie was getting desperate. He had to cum. There was no question about it: he had to cum. But the fucking bastards had made very sure that he couldn't cum.
He tossed and turned on the bed trying to get some sleep but his cock was hard inside the soft pants, demanding attention he was unable to give it. He could feel precum soaking into the cotton wool.
Eventually, by some means, he fell asleep.
"Congratulations! You're doing even better than I expected, Jamie." Abrahams was beaming. "Now, you're going to meet some interesting people today."
Jamie was strapped down to a restraint table again, but it had been tilted towards the door. He had a different sensor cap on today, one that didn't cover his eyes, but had a pair of small chrome cylinders at their sides. For as moment he thought he saw a brief flash of light come from them, but it was gone and he didn't see it again.
The doctor pressed his foot on a floor button, the door opened and nine guys came in. They stood in a line around the table and Jamie's eyes went from one to the next. All of them were naked to the waist except for the first one who was in in a smart, dark grey business suit. A skinhead in tight bleached jeans and with an obvious cock bulge stood next to him; third was a skateboarder in saggy blue jeans; number four was a punk in tight shiny black PVC. He was followed by a soldier wearing cammos. A diver in speedos was the sixth; a biker in heavy motorcycle leather jeans and boots the seventh; a construction worker in yellow trousers number eight; and the line was completed by a boy in shiny nylon running shorts.
Jamie looked back and forth along the line of guys. They were all roughly the same height, had great bodies – all very similar in build – and they were all masked with black balaclavas. Blue, hazel and one pair of green eyes gazed back at him.
They stayed there for a few minutes, while Jamie looked at them, then at a sign from the doctor they all filed out of the room again.
There was a long pause while Abrahams sat reading the computer. Eventually he stood up. "Good. Excellent. Stay there and relax for a while."
Michaels and Abrahams were looking at the printout on the desk.
"It's cutting-edge technology we've got here," said the doctor. "Eye-targeting software. We can tell what someone is looking and for exactly how long. Put that together with the EEG scans, and I can tell you just what gear turns this boy on." He traced the tip of his pen along a zig-zag line. "See? That shows which guy he was looking at, and there on the other printout you can see the effect the guy's gear had on him." He straightened up, then chuckled. "Jamie would doubtless disagree cos he probably doesn't even know yet, but he's got fetishes. Believe me, he has fetishes – and one in particular."
He pointed to another page. "Look here. Suit, zero – or as close as makes no difference. Diver, skateboarder, construction worker – all below 10. That's next to nothing."
His pen traced down the lines of printout. "Soldier 56 – that's not bad at all, he likes cammos.
But here's where it starts to get interesting: the shorts boy got 68 – now we're getting somewhere. Tight bleachers: 76 – oh yes! PVC: 77 – anything over 70 is going to be very easy to exploit. But look at this: the biker in leather jeans got 98! That's an unusually high score."
He ran his pen along the lines again. "Combat gear and shorts turn him on, but he's mostly into leather – or at least black and shiny stuff, because he scored well on the PVC boy as well. He's probably got a thing for tight bulging jeans too. A few more tests will narrow that down. I'll get on it."
Michaels nodded. "Good work."
Jamie was put through another series of tests to determine more exactly where his fetishes lay, and how powerful they were.
As Abrahams had suspected, these revealed that his primary fetish was indeed black leather, with shiny PVC and tight jeans coming in close behind, and that he also found shorts a turn-on. Body types didn't seem to make much difference to him, but the guys' attitude did: it appeared that cocky, boyish, and authoritative types got to him most of all.
The next day there was another session of tests – these were about restraint. While Abrahams continuously teased Jamie's cock slowly, they strapped him down or tied him by different means, gagged him, blindfolded or hooded him in various ways, and tested to see whether the act of getting those things onto him excited him, whether the feel of them when they were in place turned him on, to what degree they increased his frustration, and how much more helpless and vulnerable they made him feel. If they were put onto Jamie forcibly by a guy who was wearing one of his main fetishes, they found, then all of them were very effective indeed. Abrahams was slightly surprised to find that although being helpless was, apparently, beginning to turn the boy on in itself, it also appeared to be annoying him more and more. This might be useful, he thought.
Jamie found that while he'd been away undergoing the latest series of tests, someone had done a lot of work on his room. It was no longer bare. The bed was still there, though now the sheets and pillow were black leather; the walls were padded shiny black PVC with large floor-to-ceiling mirror panels every few feet; there were two black and chrome chairs; a bedside table; a desk; and at the far end of the room a giant plasma TV screen built into the walls. He noticed that there were no controls on it.
Still naked but for the cotton wool pants, he sat on a chair. His cock was as hard as a rock and he was thinking about the latest test he'd been through.
The door opened and the guards came in, accompanied by Dr Abrahams. Jamie stared. The guards' SWAT-like uniforms were now completely shiny black leather, even down to their gloves and masks. One of them released Jamie's handcuffs, the other was holding something.
"Strip."
He knew by now that trying to resist them was useless: he was small for his age and these two guys were big and muscular. At least he was going to get the damned cotton wool pants off. He kicked the hated things away from him.
Abrahams stood there smiling as one of the guards held out a pair of leather shorts. "Put those on."
Jamie looked at them. They had straps at the waist and at the bottom of each leg. Where his cock would go was a section of stiffer leather with a hole in it. He pulled them on.
"Get your tackle through the hole."
It was difficult and painful with a hard cock, but he managed eventually.
Abrahams produced something else and began to attach it to the front of the shorts. It was shaped like a dog's snout – the same shape as on the head masks that pup-play boys wore, but it was metal under the black leather, and quite long. As it was pushed on and his cock slid inside it, the boy gasped.
"Oh yes," smirked Abrahams. "Inside there are lots of very soft, long spikes made of rubber. They're very carefully positioned to tease your cock. They may very well drive you out of your mind, Jamie."
The first guard checked that the front was on correctly, then locked both it and the shorts in place with five small padlocks.
"Enjoy!" They turned and left him on his own.
Jamie stood, open-mouthed. He couldn't believe what he was feeling. The slightest little movement set the thin rubber spikes off. They tickled everywhere – over his balls, along the shaft of his cock, and over part of the head – but they stopped short of the tip. He swayed from side to side, up and down, trying to get them to stroke there, but they were always just that bit short of the very tip. He swallowed. This was not fucking FAIR.
He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Those fucking bastards. Unless he was very careful, even the motion of his breathing moved one or two of the little rubber spikes inside the shorts. There was no way he was going to be able to get any sleep tonight. But he was determined to try.
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