“Get your arse down here now Michael. I won’t tell you again!”
“Fuck off. I’ll come down when I’m ready.”
Mr Collins dropped the plate of bacon and eggs onto the table. “I’ve had it up to here with that little bugger.”
His wife sighed. “He’s a teenager, Alfred. They’re all like this.”
Alfred sat down and grabbed the teapot. “No, Emily, they’re not. That son of yours is a pain in the ass.”
“Ours, Alfred, not mine.”
There were heavy steps on the stairs, and Michael came in. He plonked himself down in the chair and started to stuff bacon into his mouth.
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
Michael avoided his father’s eyes. “No reason. Going out.”
“It was 3am when you got in. Where were you?”
The boy made an exasperated noise. He pushed his breakfast away, scraped the chair back and made for the door. “None of your damned business.”
“And you were making a hell of a racket. I suppose you were pissed again.”
“What if I was?” He turned back, making fast talking movements with his thumb and fingers. “Yap yap yap, that’s all I ever get. Can’t do a thing around here without you nagging all the fucking time. I’m outta here.”
“And when are you actually going to get a job, Michael? We can’t support you forever.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Get a job. Do this. Don’t do that.”
“Where are you going?” Asked Emily.
“None of your fucking business. If you must know I’m going round to Jezza’s.”
“Jezza. He’s an addict and a nutcase.”
“Yeah? Well I’ll go where I fucking want, thank you very much. Piss off.” He stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.
Alfred gritted his teeth.
“Do you think Mikey’s started taking drugs, Alfred?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. We’ve got to do something about that boy.” He stood up and made for the tool cabinet in the garage.
The bolt cutters made short work of the padlock on Michael’s bedroom door.
“Good Lord look at this mess.” Emily stared at the shambles. “This used to be such a nice room.”
Mr Collins had put the cutters down and was looking through the drawers and the wardrobe. He stopped, and gazed at the posters on the walls. They were of heavy metal bands.
“I don’t know what he sees in that awful music.”
“Go downstairs Emily. I’ll deal with this.”
After five minutes, Alfred’s search for drugs had revealed only a packet of paracetamol. He did, however, find some girly magazines on the floor by the unmade bed – and one gay one. A half-smile appeared on his face as he leafed through it; he was remembering the fumbling sexual explorations of his own youth. Many of the articles were political, but there were pictures of naked guys there too. He stopped at the last page; half-way down, among the personal ads, something had caught his eye.
Longwood Correctional Centre.
Well-equipped, live-in facility for the correction and discipline of young men, run by ex-SWAT officers who know their business - and how to deal with wayward boys. Programmes are fully-customisable, from beginner to extremely strict. Reasonable rates. Call to discuss your deepest fantasy or your perfect discipline solution.
Mr Collins tapped his finger on the ad. His smile became a grin.
“Sit down Michael, you are not going out.”
“What is this, a fucking prison?”
“I told you, there’s someone I want you to meet. He’ll be here any time. Then you can go and do whatever you want.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises – especially from y-”
There were some sharp knocks on the front door.
When he came back into the room Alfred was accompanied by two burly guys in black SWAT gear and balaclavas.
“What the fuck is this?” Michael was on his feet.
“He’s all yours,” said Alfred.
The guys nodded, then closed in on the boy. Fifteen seconds later he was being frogmarched – cuffed, yelling and struggling – out to the waiting black van. The door slammed, and the van drove off.
Silence descended on the Collins household. Emily looked worriedly at her husband. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing, love? He hasn’t even got any clean underpants with him.”
Alfred sat down and poured the tea. “I wouldn’t worry, Emily. I don’t think he’ll need underpants where he’s going.”
The room was bare apart from a metal table, and two straight-backed chairs, one of which was bolted to the floor. Michael was sat on this one, naked, his wrists cuffed to a ring in the table top. They’d put him here and left him half an hour ago.
“Hello? HELLO!”
There was no response to his shouting.
Another ten minutes went by, and then the door opened behind him. Two big guys in the same black uniforms positioned themselves facing him and to the sides, and then a third, smaller man came in and sat in the other chair; his face also masked by a balaclava.
He put a pad and some documents on the table, and gazed at Michael without speaking for a while. Not the cutest boy he’d ever seen, he thought, but there was something very sexual about him; hmm, he deeply envied the guards who would be dealing with him – as Governor his job was mostly administrative and he very rarely got the opportunity these days for hands-on with an inmate himself. With an imperceptibly quiet groan, he enjoyed for a moment a brief fantasy of seeing this boy strapped down, hooded, and of causing him prolonged, and very controlled pain.
He re-focussed on the business at hand. “I am the Governor of this Facility. My name is an unusual one and, coincidentally, it’s the same name as everyone else’s who works here. It’s spelled ‘S, I, R’. Do you understand?”
“Who the fuck are you? What am I doing here?”
The two hunky guys closed in slightly, and the one on the right produced a small black pistol-shaped device with two dangerous-looking electrodes on the end.
“This is your first time here, so I’m going to do something that you’ll most likely never see me do again,” said the man conversationally: “I’m going to ask you a second time. My name is ‘SIR’. Do you understand?”
Michael eyed the prod. “Yes.” Then he added, reluctantly, “sir.”
“I didn’t hear the capitals. Try again.”
Michael sighed, then he shouted at the top of his voice: “YES SIR!” He’d intended the volume to be sarcastic, but the guy seemed to accept it with no surprise.
“That’s better.” He looked down at the papers and picked up his pen. “Full name?”
“Michael Collins,” the boy muttered reluctantly.
The man nodded at the guy with the prod, who immediately touched it to the boy’s right nipple.
Michael screamed.
When he was capable a speaking again, he replied. “Michael Collins, Sir!”
This seemed to be acceptable – there was no repeat of the prod.
“Address?”
Michael’s address, his age, phone number, and other details were written down.
“The next thing is your number: 1228. It is your name now, while you are with us, so remember it. You are here at the request of your parents, 1228, to have some discipline instilled into that teenage Neanderthal brain. Make no mistake, boy, we are well used to dealing with recalcitrant yobs like you, and you will find life much easier here if you co-operate fully. There is pain and humiliation in store for you, and you will learn to take both like a man. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The guy inspected the papers in his hand, then pushed them across the table, along with the pen. “Sign this.”
Michael picked the papers up. “What is this?” Just in time he remembered to add “Sir.”
“That is a consent contract. By signing it you waive most of your rights as a human being, you voluntarily place yourself in the tender hands of this Correctional Facility, and you give said Facility full permission to do to you more or less anything we like, short of murder.”
“I’m not signing that! Sir!”
“Really?”
The guy on the left held Michael still with an elbow around his neck while the other one pressed the cattle prod to the naked balls. He did not activate it. Yet.
“Would you care to reconsider?” Asked the guy behind the desk.
“This is – this is fucking illegal!” Michael spluttered.
“And what, exactly, are you going to do about it? You seem to have a cattle prod pressing into your balls. If you like I can tell him to shock you, and then ask you again. I have all day, and the batteries are fresh. Unless you enjoy intense pain more than I think you do, I assure you that sooner or later you will sign that document.”
Michael gasped under the constricting arm. The pain in his nipple still hadn’t gone away and he didn’t want to find out what it would be like on his balls. “All right! All right! Sir!”
The arm was relaxed and Michael signed at the bottom of the last page. The prod was removed.
Behind the desk, the guy took the papers, folded them neatly and placed them in his pocket. “Good. Welcome to the Longwood Correctional Facility. I think that’s all. Take him away.”
Michael was frogmarched down grey corridors and into a room where he was strapped to a chair. There was the buzz of electric clippers, and his hair was shorn to a number one. He was furious as he watched his hair falling to the floor but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
When that was done he was taken to a larger, bare room. His head felt cold and he thought he must look like a skinhead. The guard instructed him to stand against a wall, and moments later a high-pressure water jet hit him full in the chest. “FUCK!” He turned around and felt the force of the water on his back, buttocks and legs.
“Face forward hands in the air!”
He stayed exactly where he was.
Abruptly the temperature of the water dropped to ice-cold.
“Turn around, boy. NOW!”
He forced himself to turn, and the water returned to its former tepid warmth, but the force of the jet was pummelling him so much that he crouched down and curled up with his arms protecting his body.
“STAND UP! ARMS IN THE AIR!”
The water was freezing again. He made himself stand, and raise his arms.
The guy operating the jet seemed to be enjoying himself: he made it roam over all of Michael’s body, but spent more time than was necessary aiming it at the boy’s cock and balls.
Eventually the jet died. “Stand to ATTENTION!”
He did his best to stand straight, feet together, arms by his sides.
The two guys came close, one of them put his face inches from Michael’s. “Our work is to deal with pieces of shit like you – and we enjoy our work a lot. Do not cross us, boy, because you will only do it once.”
They marched him – still naked - to his cell.
The grey metal door closed with a clang. Michael looked around. The cell was just long enough to accommodate a narrow steel washstand at the end of the metal bunk bed, and as wide as his outstretched arms plus twelve inches. The only other furniture was a stainless-steel toilet without a seat, and a small, heavily-barred window too high up to see through.
Still wet, he threw himself onto the bed and grunted – the thin mattress did little to cushion the metal under it, but at least it had a waterproof plastic cover. He sighed and then muttered oaths to himself.
An hour later. “STAND BY YOUR BED! FACE THE DOOR!”
He dragged himself to his feet. Why did these bastards always shout?
There was the sound of a lock turning, and the door creaked open. It was the two guards again, but they looked very different: now their uniforms were full black leather – as were the masks they wore in place of the balaclavas. Black leather jeans had replaced their black SWAT trousers, and their combat boots had been changed for jackboots.
They entered the cell, one closed the door, and the other one stood facing Michael. He unzipped his leather jeans and got his semi-hard cock out.
“Suck it.”
Michael made a disgusted face. “You’ve gotta be fucking joking. Sir.”
The second guard walked behind him, kicked his legs out from under him and pulled him into a kneeling position.
“Suck it,” the first one said again.
Michael could feel the leather-clad legs of the guard standing behind him. He screwed up his face and tentatively took the very tip of the guy’s cock into his mouth – then gasped as the cock was forced in up to the balls.
He hadn’t meant to do it, but reflexively he closed his teeth.
“FUCK! The little bastard bit me!”
They pulled him to his feet and dragged him out of the cell.
This room was very different. It was larger, and filled with equipment that had straps and steel restraints attached to them. The table they took him to was padded with black leather, and had two smoothly-rounded holes in it towards the top.
“Welcome to the punishment room.” They got him onto it face down, inserting his arms into the two holes. His feet were secured and a wide leather strap went over his lower back tightly to prevent movement.
He felt helpless and vulnerable: his arms through the holes in the padded table were not restrained – they didn’t need to be as there was nothing for them to push against – and in his panic he moved them around but he couldn’t reach anything; his hands met only empty air.
The guard whose cock he’d bitten walked around to the front where Michael could see him. He was holding a thin bundle of long twigs held together with twine. “Know what this is?”
Michael could guess, but he shook his head.
“It’s called a birch. Although why it’s called that I don’t know, because it’s not made of birch, it’s made of hazel –” He smiled slowly under the leather mask, “– because hazel hurts more than birch.” He put the birch down, slowly took off his leather jacket, revealing a tattooed and heavily-muscled, body-builder’s torso, and then picked the twigs up again. “Looks innocuous, doesn’t it? Well you’re about to find out that it’s not.” He took a step closer and bent down a little so that their faces were closer, then squeezed his leather crotch with his free hand. “If you ever do anything like that again, boy, you’ll get more of what you’re about to get now. Only one stroke today. Next offence, three. The offence after that six, then nine, twelve – you get the idea.” He straightened up, and took position level with the boy’s arse.
“1228, one stroke.”
Michael heard a swish as the powerfully-built guard brought the birch down as hard as he could. A staggering, unbearable wave of pain the like of which he’d never experienced before hit him. He screamed. It was the worst thing he’d ever felt in his life. He cried and begged them not to do it again.
After a minute they got him off the table and took him back to his cell. He was pushed back down into the kneeling position on the concrete floor and the cock – now much harder than it had been – was in front of his face again.
“Suck it.”
Michael sucked it. He sucked it like his life depended on it.
After the guard had cum in his mouth, the second one took his place and Michael sucked him off too. Then he was left alone.
The pain had radiated from his buttocks through his whole body. He couldn’t get comfortable – every position hurt. In the end the only slight relief he could get was by kneeling, curled up, on the bed, crying into the hard pillow.
He stayed like that for hours, whimpering to himself quietly.
Later, when lunch arrived through a slot in the door, Michael was feeling a little better. His buttocks still hurt, but it was nothing like as bad as it had been. Since the forced shower, he’d been naked, but now the door opened and one of the guards stood there holding something.
“Put these on when I leave. You start work shortly.” He placed them on the bed. “But first the rules. Apart from obeying the staff completely, there are some other rules too. One: the first is that you will not cum by your own hand while you are at this Facility. Infraction of this rule is punishable by birching. Your sexual needs will be relieved as and when we see fit, depending on your behaviour. That means no wanking – e ver. Two: you will refrain from getting an erection when in the presence of Facility staff. One of the things you are here to learn is self-control. Infraction of this rule is punishable by other means, which you will discover if you break it. Do you understand, 1228?”
Feeling as he did right now, Michael could not imagine himself ever getting an erection again, but he nodded. “Yes Sir!”
“We will come for you shortly.” With that, he left the cell.
Michael inspected the things on the bed. There was an upper-body harness made out of narrow leather straps and steel rings, a pair of combat boots, white socks, and a small black rubber ring. He wasn’t sure what this was for. It took him a while to find out how the harness fitted, but eventually he got it on. The boots fitted him well. Was this a cockring? It might not be – the ones he’d seen in the magazine had all been chrome steel - and he didn’t want to get into trouble for using it wrongly, so he sat on the bed and waited. It felt strange not to be wearing his jeans.
When the guards returned he explained apologetically that he didn’t know what to do with the ring.
They chuckled.
He stood there while one of them stretched the ring and placed it over the boy’s genitals. It fitted very snugly behind his balls and around the root of his cock.
“And you’ve got the harness on back to front.” They waited while he took it off and put it back on the right way around. It did fit him better like that.
Michael was taken out, along more corridors, and into a large canteen area.
“Mop and bucket there. Cleaning cloths there. Everything else is in the cart. I expect this room to be spotless.” The guards stood at ease at either side of the door.
He wet the mop and began to clean the tiled floor. They never told him to work faster or harder, they just stood there watching him.
The work was boring but easy. Michael wasn’t cold – it was warm in the facility – but it felt strange working like this wearing only the harness, the cockring and the combat boots, and while being watched.
A few minutes later he realised that the ring around his cock felt horny. It made his tackle feel heavy and every time it swung he was conscious of it. He also realised with a start that if he wasn’t very careful he could easily get a hard on. He forced himself to concentrate on other things, but the horny feeling would not go away. There was no obvious erection at the moment, but he knew that unless he did something about it, it wouldn’t be long before there was.
One of the guards walked over to him. He picked up a feather duster from the cart and gently moved Michael’s cock to one side with it. “How’s the ring? Not hurting, I hope.” He held the cock there for a moment then moved the duster lightly over it to push it the other way so that he could inspect the ring.
“No, Sir, thank you Sir. It’s comfortable.”
The guard held the duster there for a couple of seconds and then removed it, sliding the feathers slowly over the boy’s cock as he did so. “Good. Just checking, 1228.” He went back to his post by the door.
Michael turned away from them – that fucker had done that on purpose – and he knew that his cock was beginning to get hard now. He started mopping again.
The damned erection would not go down however much he willed it to. But at least it wasn’t getting any bigger for the moment.
A while later the other guard came over. He picked up a tin of polish and inspected it. “Beeswax. Excellent.” He stood in front of the boy, feet apart. “Kneel down and polish my boots, 1228.”
Michael took a cloth and the beeswax polish and did as ordered. The jackboots were already so shiny you could see your face in them, but he carefully applied the wax and polished it off.
“Now lick the leather and polish it again.”
The boy bit back his objection to licking a guy’s boots and set to work with his tongue. The leather was smooth, though the taste of the beeswax was not very nice.
When he’d finished, the guard inspected them. “Very good, 1228. Now do my jeans. Start a the bottom of the legs and work your way up. Just do the front.”
Michael applied the beeswax from the top of the boots up to the knees and polished it off, then licked the leather and polished again. First one and then the other. Next, from the knees to the top of the thighs. Here the guards’ uniform jeans were skintight and, like the boots, took a shine more easily. He polished, licked and polished again.
When he arrived at the crotch this time he saw that the guy’s cock was fully hard. It lay across the top of his left thigh like an iron rod, the head clearly visible through the thin leather. The guy pushed it further down, causing it to stick out even more. “There, that’ll make it easier for you,” he said. Michael could hear the smile in his voice.
Apart from the one he’d sucked earlier in the cell, this was the closest he’d ever been to another guy’s cock. It looked substantially bigger than his own and he found the sight of it, under the already-shiny black leather, hypnotic. He’d never found the photos of naked cocks in the gay magazine of much interest, but pictures of bulges in tight jeans or shorts always made him stop and take a closer look. He took the tin of polish, rubbed some onto the cloth and began to work on the bulging crotch.
“Do it thoroughly, 1228.”
He slowed down, his hand moving the cloth in small circles over the bulge of the balls and then in longer ones over the length of the cock.
“I think the insides of the thighs need more – and here.” He parted his legs wider and stroked a fingertip slowly along his perineum.
Michael duly attended to those areas.
“Ok. Get back to higher up. I want to see a real shine there.”
The guy’s erect cock was bulging the leather outwards, and the boy applied the polish carefully and slowly.
“Harder. Faster. Put some effort into it!”
Michael complied, and the guard began to thrust against his hand. He’d been holding the cloth bunched up between his fingers, but after a while the man took it from him. He pushed his first finger into the cloth and pulled it tight around it. “Now lightly and slowly. Use it like that.” He gave the cloth back.
The boy did so. He stroked the finger along the shaft of the cock, polishing it from the front, from above and from below. He could feel its warmth through the leather. Then came the head. When he began to work on that, the cock started to jerk under his finger. A quiet groan came from the guard.
“Underneath.”
Michael lowered his finger and rubbed slowly, applying the polish gently to the underside of the shaft, and then of the head, which made the cock jerk more often. When the whole bulge had been done he polished it off in the same way, using a clean cloth. Then he started to lick it.
“Lightly. Slowly.”
The soft black leather glided under his tongue as he licked the bulging cock. At the head, he concentrated on the lower part, where it was obvious the guard liked it best.
The guy was thrusting his hips gently. “Other hand between the very tops of my thighs, 1228.”
As soon as Michael put his hand there the guard closed his legs together tightly, squeezing the boy’s hand tightly between them. “Oh yeah,” he groaned. “Move your fingers.”
He did so.
The guard groaned more urgently.
The whole cock bulge had been licked so he began to give it its final polish. Eventually he was done. “Further up to the waist, Sir?”
The guard visibly relaxed, and released the boy’s hand. He looked down at his crotch. It shone. While Michael watched, he gripped his cock through the jeans and moved it about teasingly under the leather for a while. “No, that’s enough. You can stand up, 1228.”
Michael got to his feet – and then realised that he had one of the biggest, most stonking erections of his life.
The guard smiled slowly. He beckoned to the other one, who came over, and pointed. “1228. Infraction of facility rule: unauthorised erection in the presence of officers. ATTENTION, 1228!”
Michael snapped to attention.
They took him back to the punishment room.
He assumed he was going to be birched again. “NO! Please Sir! Not that. I can’t take it Sir.”
But this was a different table; it had just one hole in it, smaller, and in the middle. Without speaking they strapped him down with his cock and balls pushed through the hole, and then they rotated it to an angle with his head higher than his feet. Michael was already crying.
“Relax, 1228, we’re not going to birch you this time.”
Relaxing was the last thing he could do at the moment – he could still feel his buttocks from his session on the next table along.
One of the guards pulled on a pair of black rubber gloves, and went behind the table, out of the boy’s sight.
Nothing happened for a while, and then Michael gasped as a hand gently enclosed his cock. It had lost its rock-hardness from when he’d been polishing the guard’s crotch, but the ring had not allowed it to soften very much. He felt rubber fingertips gliding over it, teasing it back to full erection. He thought that he was too stressed right now for that to happen, but when the guy lubed the rubber gloves and slid his fingers over and around the head, it hardened quickly anyway.
He heard the second guard move behind him and then he felt the guy’s leathers against him – his shiny jeans and jacket on his bare back and legs. Leather-gloved hands gently reached under his chest, the fingers closing around his nipples.
Michael was fully hard again. The rubber fingers felt wonderful sliding over his cock on a film of slippery lube. Before long he felt the first sign of imminent orgasm.
The fingers left his cock stabbing the empty air, but continued to caress his balls. Then they were back. They glided over his cock, finding the most sensitive spots. Michael badly needed to cum. “I need to cum, Sir!”
“I’m sure you do, 1228. I’m sure you do.”
Apart from the boy’s desperate groaning, there was silence then, the fingers continuing to tease him, edging him repeatedly and caressing his nipples.
After ten minutes of this, The guard spoke. “Do you still need to cum, 1228?”
“Yes SIR! Please SIR!”
“Then you shall cum.”
The boy heard more lube being poured onto the gloves, and then they were back. The slippery rubber gripped his cock. The hand speeded up, milking the shaft, while a finger and thumb of the other hand worked on just the head.
With a yell, Michael came. He gasped as he felt each individual gob of spunk spurt out of his cock into the milking rubber hands. “Oh fuck fuck fuck! YEAH!”
His orgasm began to ebb, but the hands didn’t stop. The one around his shaft was now just holding it firmly, while the other one was rubbing over the now rapidly hypersensitising glans.
“Stop! Stop! I’ve cum!”
“We know you have, 1228.”
The fingers continued – and then the palm began to stroke quickly and repeatedly over the very tip of the boy’s cock.
“Aargh! No! Stop! Please! For God’s sake stop!”
The guard ignored him completely and carried on polishing his now horrendously sensitive cock head.
Then, at the same time, the fingers on his nipples began to squeeze and twist hard.
Michael screamed. “Aaaaaiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee! No! No! NO! STOP! STOP! STOP !!”
Eventually they did stop – but not until they had tortured the boy for a long time.
“So, 1228,” said the first guard, standing up again, “no more unauthorised erections. Understand?”
Michael could hardly speak, but he managed to force out a shaky “Yes, Sir.”
“You’re serving in the canteen today, 1228. You will be naked apart from the ring. Put it on now.”
Michael stretched the rubber over his cock and balls, then stood to attention. He could feel the thing gripping him sensuously.
They took him to the kitchen.
“First you write down the officers’ orders at the staff table. You bring the orders back to the chef. While he’s making those up you take the inmates’ food and deliver it to their tables. Is that understood, 1228.”
“Yes Sir!”
He was thankful that, in spite of the devilish rubber ring, his cock seemed to be staying soft. But then there was nothing particularly sexy about doing this.
He approached the staff table holding his pad and pen. It was a partitioned-off area separated from the rest of the room by a large pane of one-way glass. He guessed this was so that they could eat without their leather masks on and still not be seen by the boys. It also meant that the inmates wouldn’t know when they were being watched.
A voice from the other side of the glass said, “Stand straight with your hands behind your head.”
Michael did as ordered. He heard several guys talking quietly to each other.
“As you were.”
Michael relaxed.
“One mushroom stroganoff, two salads, and a roast beef. And a bottle of Shiraz. And give this to your guard.” A folded note appeared at the serving hatch. “Yes Sirs. Thank you Sirs.”
Back in the kitchen he handed the note to the guard who had been standing watching him.
The man read it. “Come with me, 1228.” He led him into a small adjoining room. “Bend over, hands on knees.”
There was a squelching sound as of lube, and then Michael gasped as a small butt plug was pushed into his arse. It was cold. He’d never had anything up there before and he was surprised that it didn’t hurt.
“Stand straight. Back to your work.”
He carried the first couple of plates through to the canteen. The butt plug felt very strange: it moved inside him as he walked. Oh fuck, that felt horny.
There were five guys sat at the tables; it was the first time he’d seen any of the other inmates. Four of them were in their twenties or thirties, the other one looked almost the same age as Michael. He thought this one was cute. Although Michael was naked, they were wearing the same kind of harness as his – although the cute boy’s was rubber, not leather. He had a pair of tight rubber shorts on too.
They looked him up and down, their eyes lingering on his cock as he worked. It didn’t take him long to serve them, but by the time he’d returned to collect the next two plates he realised that the damned butt plug was already giving him the beginning of an erection. No. Oh fuck no. Please go down. This wasn’t fair. He knew the bastards had done this on purpose.
He served the rest of the inmates, then the chef told him that the officers’ orders were ready. He picked them up. As he approached the partitioned-off area he saw his reflection in the mirror glass: his cropped hair looked strange – and his semi-erection was unmissable. As he pushed the plates through the serving hatch he waited in dread for the inevitable voice that would tell him he’d infringed rule 2 again – but there was silence. He went back for the salads and the wine, the butt plug working on him with each step.
On the way back the cute inmate winked at him and slowly stroked his fingers over his cock through his rubber shorts. Michael looked away quickly – he didn’t want his hard-on to get any worse.
But that fucking butt plug was making sure that it was doing. By the time he’d got back to the one-way glass he could see that he was almost fully erect, his cock standing straight and proud between his thighs.
He pushed the plates and the wine through, and waited to be dismissed.
“Number?”
“1228, Sir,” Michael replied. Here it comes, he thought.
“Report to your guard: infringement of Rule 2. Dismissed.”
Fuck. He walked back to the guard and reported.
“Permission to speak, Sir?”
“Go ahead, 1228.” The guard was smiling slightly.
“It’s the butt plug, Sir. If it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t have an erection.”
The guard looked at him for a moment. “That’s what it’s for, boy. Come with me.”
They were in the punishment room again. This time they made Michael lie face up on yet a different table, lower than the others he’d been on, and above which a horizontal pole was fixed. They raised his legs until they touched it, and tied his ankles tightly under it with rope. His arms were strapped down by his sides.
One of the guards picked up a thin cane. He placed it over the centre of the boy’s soles and slid it to and fro slowly. “Bastinado is a devious torture. Did you know, unlike most other parts of the anatomy, the nerves in the soles don’t desensitise at all. So the pain just builds up. And up. And up.”
Michael began to squirm on the table. “Please, Sir, don’t. I won’t get a hard on any more, Sir. I promise.”
The guard smiled. “Oh,” he said quietly, “you will, boy. You will.” He lifted the cane a couple of inches from the sole. “Pain is a strange thing,” he said. “It can be very unpleasant. But sometimes it can be – shall we say – different?”
He began to tap the cane quite lightly and quickly on the boy’s bare soles. Very gradually the power mounted until Michael began to moan. The strength of the strokes was reduced again, but continued. For a while they stayed light, but then once again they got gradually harder. It hurt, but it was nothing at all like the birching had been. If he concentrated, Michael could take this.
He had never heard of endorphins, but that didn’t stop them – as the controlled pain built up and then ebbed repeatedly, they started to flood his brain. The pain began to lessen slightly, and he realised that in fact he was feeling good.
The beating of his soles continued. Michael closed his eyes and groaned in an ever-readjusting mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock started to get hard.
They kept at it for a long time, and then the beating stopped. The other guard stepped forward – he had shiny things pushed onto the ends of his fingers. The points of the metal talons stroked lightly over skin that had been reddened and very much sensitised by the cane.
Michael’s body convulsed on the table. “Aaaaaargh! Oh fuck fuck FUCK! No! Please! Stop!”
The guard smiled, but otherwise ignored him and continued to rake the talons over the soles.
The points were only barely touching, but their effect was out of all proportion: it tickled insanely, but felt incredibly horny at the same time.
After a few minutes the beating of his feet resumed.
As the afternoon progressed, beatings alternated with work by the talons, the intensity of each increasing slowly but surely. By the time they stopped altogether, Michael was groaning and moaning in pain/euphoria and couldn’t keep his body still even though they weren’t touching him any longer.
“Should we give him half a dozen really hard strokes with the cane?” The guard asked his colleague, “just to finish?”
The other guard looked at he boy, considering. “Hmm – those soles are really sensitive now. It would certainly make him remember this, wouldn’t it?”
Michael was unable to speak, but he was shaking his head in panic and his eyes were desperately pleading. A feather-touch on his feet right now would make him scream – he couldn’t bring himself to imagine what a hard beating would be like.
“Nah, I think he’s probably had enough. He’ll be back here soon enough anyway.”
They released him and took the quivering boy back to his cell, his rock-hard cock leading the way.
“You horny, 1228?”
“Yes Sir! Very, Sir!” Michael’s cock was still almost fully erect even though it had been ages since the bastinado. His feet were still tender, but he could deal with the pain. And it was a reminder, he had to admit to himself, of how unexpectedly amazing that session had been.
“That’s good. We have a little recreation for you. Come with me.” The guard led him to another new room. This one had just one restraint table in the centre of the floor, and a bolted-down chair to one side. He was strapped tightly into the chair, and the guard left.
A few minutes later he was back, along with a second guard. They were escorting a hunky guy between them that Michael hadn’t seen before. The guy was early twenties, slim but solid body, with black hair and a sprinkling of the same on his pecs. Like Michael, he had a cockring and an erection.
The guard strapped him down face up on the padded table, then stood looking down at him for a moment. The second guard was putting on rubber gloves.
They began to work on the guy: one guard on his cock, the other on his nipples. The erection quickly rose until the angry purple head was pointing at the ceiling. The guy began to moan quietly.
A few minutes later he was moaning a lot more loudly, and squirming in his restraints. “Oh please Sirs, let me cum. I need to cum badly, Sirs.”
The one working on his cock looked up. “This is punishment, 3004. This is how it works – it’s not difficult to understand: first we make you need to cum. Then, over the next couple of hours or so, we make that need worse and worse. But we make very sure that you can’t cum. Got that?”
The guy groaned pitifully. “Yes Sirs,” he managed to say.
The guard went back to concentrating on the increasingly-desperate cock.
Michael couldn’t take his eyes off what they were doing. Precum was dripping from his cock as he watched. The way the shiny rubber fingers were teasing, tickling and occasionally briefly milking the guy’s cock, and the sight of the other hand massaging the big balls, was mesmerising. Michael wasn’t very into his nipples, but the guy on the table clearly was – every little squeeze and twist brought gasps of pleasure from him.
Half an hour or so into this, one of the guards got up and went over to some shelves. He came back with a heavy black leather hood. Michael had seen leather hoods before in magazines, but this one had no leather over the ears – the sides were open above the neck strap.
The guard pulled it down over his head, adjusted it carefully, and strapped it tightly in place. “Can you seen anything, 1228?”
“Nothing, Sir.” Michael’s words were muffled by the thick leather over his mouth.
“Good.” He felt a hand press briefly over his eyes as if to check, and then it was gone.
The guard went back to join his colleague working on the guy.
Within a couple of minutes Michael was experiencing an intense mix of things, one of the main ones being intense frustration at no longer being able to see the helpless guy being worked on by the leather-uniformed guards, while still able to hear every bit of his groaning, pleading, begging, and crying perfectly.
He’d been horny to begin with – and had rapidly become even more so when they’d started edging the guy – but for some reason not being able to see what was going on made him even more horny. It wasn’t just that, he realised, it was that the bastards had intentionally blindfolded him with this damn hood because they knew he’d want to see every little detail. That made him furious – and more fucking horny than he’d been for a very long time.
After another half hour Michael heard booted footsteps coming towards him over the concrete floor. There was the creak of leather, after which nothing happened for a moment – and then he felt lubed rubber fingers on his cock. They just held it gently, at the top of the shaft. Then, while that hand was keeping it still, more fingers began to slide over the cockhead.
Michael stood ten seconds of this, and then he started thrusting his hips, straining at his restraints, and jerking his head around. Although he knew there was no way he could reach the hood, he needed to get the damn thing off so badly; he was so fucking horny right now that he needed to see the guy being teased and edged out of his mind. He needed to see him struggling helplessly to make himself cum while the fiend in black leather worked carefully to make him more and more desperate for orgasm. Michael’s hands jerked spasmodically in the straps, trying to get to the fucking hood.
The guard just slid his fingertips over the boy’s glans, through the film of precum and lube. Whenever he thought Michael was getting dangerously close, he stopped, waited until he’d regained control of himself, and then resumed the slow, relentless edging.
“P-p-p-lease Sir! I need to CUM.”
A quiet chuckle was the only reply. The guy on the table, however, was much more vocal. There was a continuous background level of moaning, and every so often this would abruptly become louder and much more urgent – and then, each time the guard got him to the very edge there was a yell of need followed by a wail of frustration when the work on his cock stopped so that he couldn’t cum. Each one of these drilled into Michael’s consciousness – oh fuck he needed to see the guy suffering.
At last the guard spoke. “One last one, 3004. Let’s make this a good slow one.”
There was a very prolonged, very gradual rise in the level of the guy’s moaning. This went on for some time. Then Michael heard him start to hyperventilate, then silence – and then a long, strained yell that announced impending orgasm – and moments later the loudest, most furious yell yet. “No – for God’s sake don’t stop! NO! YOU FUCKING, CUNTING, FUCKING BASTARDS!” The guy broke down completely and sobbed.
At that moment the fingers on Michael’s cock gripped the head firmly and milked. He screamed and jerked in the chair as he came what felt like gallons of hot, sticky spunk. It was totally wonderful, and it seemed to go on for ages. It was by far the best orgasm he’d had for fucking ages.
Later the hood was removed. The guy on the table had been taken away; apart from Michael and his guard the room was empty. He was taken, staggering, back to his cell.
In the short time he’d been at the Facility he’d already suffered post-orgasm cockhead polishing and the bastinado for getting unauthorised erections, but that had done nothing to stop him getting them. In fact the entire place and everything that went on in it seemed to be designed to encourage the inmates to get erections. Take the guards’ uniforms for instance – even if you were completely devoid of fetishes they were powerful, intimidating and sexy – but if you had even the slightest fetish for black leather or tight, bulging jeans, then their gear grabbed you by the cock. Before he’d been brought to this place leather had held no particular attraction for him, but now he only had to see one of the guards and he started to get horny.
There was more to come, however. Much more. On his third day at the Facility he was started on a daily routine that did more to change him – and his sexual mindset – than anything else.
The room looked a bit like an operating theatre: there was a complicated, long padded table, and an assortment of hi-tech machinery standing about.
“Put that on, 1228.”
Michael took the rubber suit. It was heavy, and he saw that it had been lubed on the inside. There was a large open hole at the crotch and another at the arse. The suit was tight and took a while to get on, but eventually he was into it. He moved his shoulders experimentally. It felt interesting, but his cock and balls hanging out in the air felt weird.
“Turn around.”
The guard was holding some kind of large, complicated rubber hood; it had a raised, flat area over the eyes, heavy steel rings here and there, and what looked like an anaesthetic mask built into the front from which two black corrugated tubes snaked away to one of the machines. Some short cables with small sockets on their ends hung from it. He pulled it over the boy’s head and fastened it up. Michael was plunged into blackness. It smelled like new tyres.
What felt like thick rubber mitts were secured over his hands so that he was unable to use his fingers, then he was restrained on the table even more tightly than usual, his feet lifted and strapped into stirrups. Something was put through the rings on the hood and fastened down to the table, preventing him from lifting or moving his head. There were soft clicks as the cables coming from the hood were connected up.
He felt fingers at his arse. A butt plug or a dildo was inserted through the hole in the rubber suit. Whatever it was, it felt longer and thinner than the one he’d had in there before.
Michael heard a hissing sound. He recognised the smell: it was poppers. A while ago round at Jezza’s he’d tried it while they’d been wanking over girly mags.
His head began to spin – and then he could see! At least he could see something, though it took him a moment to make head or tail of it. The raised part of the hood was a built-in VR viewer. His eyes adjusted and he was looking at himself, strapped down to the table. The viewpoint was from overhead, and he could see the guards standing there looking at him, one of them adjusting a machine that stood nearby. It felt very strange indeed to be looking down on himself in 3-D.
As he watched, he saw someone else come into the room. This guy was not wearing leather, and he looked very different to the other guards: his mask, boots, skintight bulging jeans and sleeveless tee shirt were all latex – and they were brilliant white. He was also wearing long, shiny, white rubber gloves.
The latex guy sat down at the side of Michael’s crotch. His white rubber-gloved hands reached out for one of the guards to pour lube onto them, and then they moved to the boy’s cock.
The poppers were getting to him: his whole body was tingling and he felt very horny indeed. He could feel his cock stiffening anyway, but when the fingers touched it, it rose to full erection in seconds flat. The latex guy, whoever he was, had the most incredible touch. Oh fuck, that felt amazing.
He was conscious of the rubber suit squeezing him gently, and then he jumped as the dildo inside his arse started to do something. It wasn’t moving, but it felt as if it was – waves of pleasure came from the end of it. He had no idea what it was - he’d never heard of electric prostate massagers. Even though the rubber guy was using only a thumb and two fingers on his cock, the slow, teasing strokes were totally irresistible.
Suddenly he jumped as the scene before his eyes changed. He was now looking at the cute boy he’d seen in the canteen. He was strapped to a frame in the punishment room. The viewpoint must have been through a hand-held camera, as it moved from the boy’s face to his crotch. His cock was rock-hard inside his rubber shorts, and a guard was teasing it with a small vibrator. Every time it touched him, his cock jerked urgently. He was being edged. Michael’s mouth was open inside the hood – this was one of the most horny things he’d ever seen.
The rubber guy working on Michael’s cock must also be able to see what he was seeing, as his hands were perfectly synchronised with what was happening to the cute boy in the VR.
At the same time that Michael realised he was about to cum, the teasing fingers and the dildo stopped suddenly. They began again a few seconds later, but at a much reduced level – enough to keep the boy very horny, but not too close to the edge.
Now he was looking at another table; he recognised it as the one he’d been on himself. A different guy was strapped down to it, and a guard was showing him the birch, explaining what it was. He didn’t want to watch but he couldn’t stop himself. He heard the guy’s screams loud in the headphones of the rubber hood, saw him desperately struggling as the guard brought the birch down hard on his buttocks. Once. Twice, Three times. Each time it hit, the rubber guy ran his thumb over Michael’s frenulum and there was a short, more powerful pulse from the dildo. Through it all, he kept the boy close to cumming – and pushed him to the very edge every time something significant happened in the VR.
He was on the table for an hour. During that time the VR set showed him an assortment of videos that had clearly been taken in the Facility – boys being edged, teased, milked, pissed on or fucked by the guards; being paddled, caned, birched, whipped or electro-tortured; being stomped by heavy boots, or having their nipples or their arses tormented. With the exception of the cute boy, all of the inmates were naked, and all the guards were always masked, booted and in their intimidating black leather gear. And at every single one of those edgings or milkings, each time a paddle, a birch or a whip struck flesh, whenever a helpless victim screamed – the white rubber fingers and the dildo brought Michael briefly to within a hair’s breadth of cumming.
He was so horny that he found that whatever he was looking at – even the most sadistic infliction of pain – was turning him on like fuck. He moaned quietly and moved in his restraints. His hips were constantly pumping, trying to thrust his cock faster and deeper into the teasing white rubber fingers, but every time they moved away a little.
After unknown hours of this it all stopped, and they released him from the table. He still hadn’t cum, and he was as horny as fuck.
“1228, from now on you will report to this room every day at thirteen hundred.”
Each time, when he’d finished a session on the table, the guards took him to the punishment room. The beatings he received there began lightly, but as the days went by they became harder and harder. Strangely, he found that he was beginning to be able to take more and more – and that it wasn’t turning him off like the original birching had done. He also found, as time went on, that other things were turning him on more: the rubber suit, the devices the guards used on him at various times, even the guards themselves; he longed now to be ordered to lick their leather jeans or suck their cocks. He was always naked and the guards were always in their full gear. Very occasionally he was allowed to lick or run his hands over their gear; the feel of their muscles under the shiny black leather was wonderful. When one of them held him helpless while another teased him with his bulging gear, fucked him, twisted his nipples, toyed with his hard cock or kissed him roughly through the leather mask he found it very difficult not to cum. But cumming was forbidden. In fact the only times when he could get relief were when he was, occasionally, forced to cum immediately before a daily beating so that it would be more painful. He was constantly horny.
He’d been birched twice more – three strokes the first time and six the next. The first had been punishment for cumming while a guard was fucking him, and the second for when he’d been so unbearably horny that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wanking in his cell, and they’d seen him on the cameras. Although those birchings had been horrendous, a small part of him had still got off on being helpless while the guard removed his jacket and administered the punishment, oiled, tattooed and hunky in his jackboots and skintight black leather jeans. And even though he’d screamed himself hoarse when one of the guards had rubbed salt into the fresh birch cuts, that small part of him was still getting off on the fact that he’d done it.
And, day by day, that small part of him was getting bigger.
And so the days passed, and then the weeks. Michael had no idea how long he would be kept in this place, when he’d be released – and on the one occasion when he’d dared to ask, he’d been punished immediately. He still avoided the punishments like the plague – they were nothing like the ‘recreational’ beatings he received every day, and they got worse every time.
Now and then they strapped him to the chair and made him first watch – and later just listen in the blindfolding hood – to some hunky guy being tortured in some sexy way.
And there were those daily sessions in the rubber suit with the VR and the white latex cock expert.
He realised he was being brainwashed, but he was so constantly horny that didn’t care.
“You’re up before the Governor today, 1228. Best behaviour. Put these on.” The guard threw a pair of shorts onto the bed. “And the ring.”
Michael groaned to himself. They made him wear that damned rubber cock ring for two purposes: to make him horny – and therefore to make it more likely that he’d get an erection – and then to stop that erection from going down, so that the guards would notice it, and have a reason to punish him. If he was being ordered to have it on when he saw the Governor, he knew that any erection was going to be looked for. One of the things the guard had told him when he’d first arrived here was that he would be taught self-control. Not only had that not happened, but thanks to everything they’d done to him he now found it more difficult than ever to stop himself from getting hard.
He put the ring on, then the shorts. They were loose, shiny black nylon, like running shorts. Then the harness, and the trainers. “Ready, Sir.”
He rarely saw the Governor; occasionally he’d see him walking down a corridor, but thus far Michael’s interaction had only been with the guards. His office was on the top floor; and this was the first time he’d been up here. The guard marched him in and closed the door. The office was carpeted, had a mahogany desk and a swivel chair. Michael was instructed to stand at ease facing the desk. The guard took up position at his side.
After five minutes the Governor entered. Both Michael and the guard snapped to attention. “At ease.” They went back to their former positions.
The Governor looked at the papers on his desk, then up at Michael. “1228. You’re here for review. You’ve been with us for some time now, and it’s my job today to see if you’re suitable for release. Do you understand?”
“Yes SIR! Thank you SIR!”
“I need to get to know you, to get inside your mind, so this will probably take most of the afternoon. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions, some of which you may find irrelevant, humiliating or pointless. You will, however, answer each fully, and truthfully. Is that clear?”
“Clear SIR!”
The interview began. First there were questions about his life before the Facility, his relationship with his parents. Later, the subject turned to his time at the Facility itself: he was asked what he thought he’d learned during his stay. And then he was ordered to say exactly what he thought of the guards, how he saw them, what effect they had on him. It took his full concentration not to get a hard-on while he was answering these questions – even just imagining them in their shiny black leather gear was very dangerous in that respect.
The Governor said, “I need a break. I’m going to have tea. The interview will recommence in fifteen minutes.” He stood up and left the room.
The guard remained where he was for a minute until it was certain that the Governor was not going to come back, then he took something out of his pocket. With a creak of leather he squatted down, reached a hand up the leg of Michael’s loose shorts, and pulled the boy’s cock out. There was a quiet puff as he sprayed just the head with a fine mist. The guard put the cock back, straightened the shorts, returned the bottle to his pocket and resumed his position as if nothing had happened. Not a word had been spoken.
Michael wondered what was going on, but he knew that whatever the guard had done, it was sure to be something fucking devious. The bastard. The fucking bastard. The guard had not said a word – there had not even been a quiet chuckle. By the time the Governor returned and the interview continued, Michael could feel a slight warmth in his cockhead.
The questions now were about the treatments and punishments he’d undergone while he’d been here. He was ordered to describe each one, and how he had reacted.
As Michael talked about the birchings, the polishing and licking of the guard’s boots and jeans, the post-orgasm tortures, the bastinado, the VR sessions and everything else he’d been forced to undergo in the past weeks, he felt the warmth in his cockhead gradually and slowly turn into a tingling itch. It was like tiny insects walking all over his glans. And it was getting worse by the minute. As he faced the Governor, describing the things that had been done to him, the stuff that the guard had sprayed onto his cock was making it feel like there were fingers up his shorts teasing the sensitive head as he spoke. He concentrated as hard as he could, but it made no difference: slowly and surely he was getting hard. Bit by bit the front of the shorts began to tent. And with every movement of his cock, the shiny black nylon stroked over the tip of the glans, making it worse. It felt wonderful.
The questions continued – and Michael got harder and harder. He knew that he was rapidly losing control, and he desperately willed his cock to go soft.
Halfway through a question the Governor stopped abruptly. He leaned forward slightly. “Guard. Has that boy got an erection?” He demanded.
The guard looked down and gasped in surprise. “Yes SIR!”
The Governor stood up and walked around the desk until he was facing Michael. “1228. Drop your shorts!”
Trembling, Michael did so – and his fully-hard cock sprang out into the air.
“I do not believe it.” The Governor looked at it for a moment, then reached out and felt the cockhead with his fingers.
That touch was all it took. Michael held his breath, closed his eyes and fought to control himself – but it was too late. His cock erupted, jerking madly in the Governor’s fingers. His spunk jetted out, covering the man’s hand and his leathers, and dripping onto the carpet.
The Governor was silent for a moment, then he said, quietly, “Guard, some tissues if you please.”
He returned to the desk, wiping his fingers and dropping the tissues into the waste bin. Seated, he picked up his pen and wrote something in large letters on the paper in front of him. Then he looked up. “Guard, you will present 1228 at my private quarters at nineteen hundred.”
“Yes SIR!”
“Take this inmate away.” He looked at the floor. “Oh, and send someone to clean this carpet.”
They were back in Michael’s cell. The guard’s head was shaking slowly as he closed the door. “That was not a good move, 1228,” he said as he turned back to the boy. “Getting a hard-on in the Governor’s office, for fuck’s sake. Where’s your self-control, boy?”
Michael looked at him. “Permission to speak frankly, SIR.”
The guard smiled slowly behind the leather mask. “Go ahead.”
“VERY frankly, SIR!”
The man hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his shiny leather jeans, resting his fingers on his bulge. “Permission granted.”
Michael took a very deep breath, then shouted at the guard. “Everything you fucking do at this place is designed to lessen inmates’ self-control. You do unfair things to make us get hard-ons and then you punish us for getting hard. You make up reasons to punish us just because you fucking get off on it. You’re fucking sadists. That stuff you sprayed on my cock – it was to make me get hard. It was to stop me from being able to control myself, wasn’t it? WASN’T IT YOU FUCKING BASTARD ?”
The guard gazed at him for a while, then walked closer and stood with his feet apart. “Suck my cock, boy.”
Michael stared daggers at the man. Then his eyes lowered to the shiny black leather bulge in the guy’s jeans. Immediately he felt himself getting hard again. He sank to his knees. “May I lick the leather first please, sir?”
“You may.”
He licked, and later, he sucked.
At exactly 7pm the guard left him outside the door of the Governor’s private quarters. He was completely naked – no harness, no boots, no cockring. He knocked.
“Enter.”
Michael walked in.
The Governor, in his full leathers, stood for a while looking at the boy. As he did so his cock grew visibly inside his tight shiny jeans. “1228,” he said at last. “This way.”
Michael followed him through into the next room. The man strapped heavy leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, then chained him spreadeagled to a stained, thick wooden frame. “I see you haven’t got a hard-on now, 1228.”
“N-no SIR!” Michael was trembling with fear.
“Hmm. And I don’t think you’ll be getting one tonight.” He walked around behind the boy, paused, running his eyes over his collection of devices designed to cause varying degrees of pain. There were many of them. After a moment he reached out, his hand hovering over an electric shock machine, but then he changed his mind and selected a short, but evil-looking, black leather whip.
He tested the weight of it for a moment, then he raised his arm.
The Governor was frowning. He sat in his armchair thinking. ‘Brian,’ he muttered to himself, ‘Brian. What to do?’
That boy. 1228. Things had started well – the lad had clearly been terrified at first. But then, as time went on, he’d started to get a fucking erection! Brian had whipped him harder. He’d rubbed lemon juice and then salt into the cuts and had been very gratified by the boy’s screams. But 1228’s cock had not gone soft. He’d attached electrodes to the cock and the balls and poured electricity into them; he’d tortured the boy’s nipples with his fingers and with clamps; he’d done many things to him that would have had other inmates begging him to stop. But that damned boy had thanked him after each one. “Thank you SIR!” He could hear 1228’s voice now. And his cock had continued to stiffen until it was dripping fucking precum. How?
Brian had been looking forward to working on 1228 at last. He’d fancied him ever since he’d first seen the boy – he wasn’t at all good-looking but there was something about him that got Brian’s cock rock-hard. To him, 1228 was sex on legs.
He’d wanted to break him – to see him screaming, begging and pleading – he would have cum seeing that. But it had all been very disappointing. The boy had got off on it, for fuck’s sake.
The two months that the parents had booked him in for was almost over, but the thought of losing that sexy fucking boy was something Brian didn’t want to think about. He would have to do something. But what could he do?
“Welcome home, son.”
“Thank you, Sir, It’s good to see you again.”
Alfred blinked. Emily looked at her husband with her mouth slightly open.
“I’d like to go and freshen up, if that’s Ok, so I’ll see you soon.” Michael looked around, smiling. “It is good to be home, Sir.”
“Yes.” Alfred blinked again. “Yes, by all means. See you later, son.”
The following morning there was breakfast ready on the table when Mr and Mrs Collins came down. Yesterday’s washing up had been done and put away, and the kitchen was spotless.
“I’ve tidied my room up, and I’ve put the rubbish bags in the bins. I hope you like Eggs Benedict. I learned how to make it.”
His parents sat down, stupefied. “Where is Michael and what have you done with him?” Said Alfred, in a slight daze.
Michael chuckled. “And I’ve got a job interview this afternoon, father.”
Emily reached over and squeezed Alfred’s hand. “Oh!” She said. “Have you? Really? Good.”
His field of vision was a little restricted, but Michael knew that he’d quickly get used to the mask. He ran his fingers over the black leather uniform. Fuck, it felt even more horny than it looked.
The Governor had seemed very pleased indeed to have him back. After a final glance at himself in the mirror he walked out of the room. He already had a hard-on – and not only was that not a problem any more, but he intended to use it.
“3274! Stand to ATTENTION!”
The boy moved, but it was sloppy and full of attitude.
That would change. Michael knew that a few sessions in the punishment room would soon sort him out – and he was looking forward to that. But not right now. He knew exactly what the boy was feeling. He’d been there; he’d spent two months as an inmate and had learned exactly how boys were dealt with here: how to humiliate them, how to frustrate them, how to exploit their weaknesses, how to give them intense pleasure when necessary – and also pain. Now he was on the other side – and it felt great. Someone had once said that subs made the most dangerous tops. That was so true.
He nodded to his partner, who immediately knocked the boy to the floor and pulled him into a kneeling position.
Michael smiled beneath the mask. He unzipped his skintight leather jeans.
“Suck my cock,” he said.
Oh, he was going to enjoy it here at the Facility.