From an idea by Neck40
An occasional star was visible between the clouds moving slowly across the winter sky. The moon, three-quarters full, was currently hidden behind one of the fluffy cumulus, and so the large garden far below was in almost total darkness. A slim, ninja-like figure, clad from head to toe in black, emerged from behind a rhododendron bush, paused for a moment and then ran silently across the lawn and disappeared into the greenery on the other side. After a minute, the figure reappeared and, keeping low, flitted between two flower beds and flattened itself against the stone wall of the house.
Charlie Brandon was not a ninja; he was in fact an eighteen-year-old shelf-stacker at Tescos. And Charlie was in love. The object of his desire: one Marjorie Jasmine Coombs, from number twenty-seven, Railway Drive – was all he’d been able to think about since he’d met her a week ago. But Charlie’s love was, so far, unrequited. He had vowed to change that, and an opportunity had presented itself when he’d overheard a conversation between Marjorie and a couple of friends about the old house just outside of town. They’d been speculating about who lived there, that whoever it was must be very wealthy, and that the house looked like an impregnable fortress sitting there in its own grounds. Charlie had decided to break in, steal something that would prove he’d done it, and thereby win Marjorie’s respect and undying love.
Slowly, Charlie inched along the walls towards some French windows. He inspected the frame and the lock carefully – there seemed to be no alarms of any kind – so he wrapped his fist in the towel he’d brought with him and, as quietly as he could, punched through one of the panes of glass. There were no sirens, no bells, nothing at all. This was a piece of cake – and Tracy was going to be well impressed. He unlocked the window and, like a ghost, slipped silently inside. He wished Marjorie were watching him right now.
* * *
Marjorie was not watching him, but two other people were. They were gathered around a CCTV monitor, and had been following his progress ever since he had triggered a silent alarm when he’d climbed over the outer gate.
Many decisions may be said to be ill-advised – but some are much, much more ill-advised than most. This boy’s decision to break into this particular house had been one of the worst.
Master Jeff and his German butler James grinned as they watched the screen: the moment the black-clad figure entered the house downstairs, he was immediately jumped on, hooded and handcuffed by the two hunky lads who had been waiting for him. The lads in question were Gary and Brad – a couple of the most muscular of the slaves at the Mansion.
Master Jeff turned off the monitor, took a sip of his brandy and put the crystal glass down on the desk. “So,” he said, “you’d better wait in the library, James – we wouldn’t want you to scare the locals. And I’d better put on something that isn’t leather.”
James closed the door behind him and Jeff replaced his usual black leather jacket with something tweedy. If he stayed sitting behind his desk the interloper wouldn’t see his leather jeans and boots.
As far as the would-be burglar knew, the house was simply what it appeared to be: a large country house; he was almost certainly not aware that it housed several well-equipped dungeons, and was home to some twenty boys who were kept in a permanent state of crazed sexual horniness by the sadistic, rubber-clad James and his minions – all under the orders and direct supervision of Master Jeff himself.
Some minutes later there was a discreet knock at the study door. Master Jeff poured himself some more brandy and leaned back in his chair. “Come in.”
Gary and Brad were grinning. Between them, struggling and swearing was a slim figure in black. They sat him down on a wooden chair and removed his handcuffs. Then they pulled off the hood. The face of a very scared boy was revealed. Wide blue eyes looked around, beneath a mop of jet-black spiky hair that fell in a fringe across them. Jeff smiled – this was a very cute boy indeed.
The two slaves left the room; the boy hadn’t even got a look at them – which was possibly just as well as they’d been in their full black leather uniforms.
“Welcome to the Mansion,” said Master Jeff, “though most people ring the front door bell.” He lifted his brandy glass. “Now, before I summon the constabulary, I think you’d better tell me why you broke my window and entered my house unlawfully.”
The boy was shaking. “I- I- ...”
“Calm down, calm down. Breathe. Nobody’s going to hurt you, boy. What’s your name?”
“Ch – Charlie. Charlie Brandon.”
“Ok, Charlie. Now, why on earth would you want to break into my house? Were you intending to steal the family silver?”
“No! No...” He looked like he was about to cry. “Please – please sir, please don’t call the police.”
Jeff considered this. “Well, why don’t you tell me everything? Here - “ he took a second glass and poured another brandy. “Drink this.”
Charlie took a sip and swallowed. Then, at first falteringly, he told Jeff all about his love for Marjorie, and his determination to win her respect, her love, and her body by stealing something – nothing valuable, but something that would prove he’d been inside the big house.
“… I’m not really a criminal.”
“No, you’re not – at least you’re not a very good one.”
“Please, please don’t call the police, sir. I’ll do anything. I’d lose my job, my parents would kill me, and Marjorie would never ever talk to me again.”
“I see.” Master Jeff nodded. “That would indeed be unfortunate for you, wouldn’t it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You say you’ll do anything. Well, perhaps there may be a way we can avoid calling the police.” He pressed a button on his desk. “James, come in please.”
The door opened and Charlie stared as a figure from hell appeared. The man was thin. He was clad in shiny black rubber – jeans, jacket, boots, apron and elbow-length industrial rubber gloves - and his head was covered by a black rubber mask with eyeholes and mouth shaped into a sinister, sadistic leer.
Master Jeff smiled. “Charlie, meet James. He will be looking after you for a while...”
* * *
“Wh- what are you going to do to me?”
“Relax. Nossing zat vill hurt you. Ve are going to play vith your cock.” James’ German accent was particularly thick tonight.
“But I’m straight!”
“Yes I know you’re straight. But vonce ve’ve got zis hood on you, and ze only zing you can see is black leather pressing tightly across your eyes, you vill very soon forget that you’re straight. Believe me.”
The naked boy was being strapped down to a padded table in a room full of equipment from his worst nightmares. The evil rubber mask of James’ face hovered over him while two masked guys in shiny black leather fastened thick straps over his body, arms and legs. When he was fully secured, James held up the hood. It was a complicated thing with shiny leather on the inside as well, and with straps everywhere. There were no eyeholes, and only a couple of small openings to admit air.
James’ voice was dripping with anticipation. “Zis vill make you very, very helpless...” He pulled it down over the boy’s head and tightened the straps until it was stretched over his face.
Charlie had never been hooded before, and for a moment he thought he was going to suffocate. After a few seconds he found he could get air – though it took a little more effort than usual – but the feeling of the leather enclosing his head so tightly, and not being able to get the thing off however hard he tried, made him feel intensely vulnerable. More than anything at this moment he desperately needed to be able to see; to know what was going to happen to him, what these fiends were doing - and this hood was designed to prevent exactly that. The man was right: he felt very helpless indeed. And it was not a peasant feeling.
Charlie lay there for several minutes, sightless and immobilised, getting more and more tense waiting for something to happen. His breathing was getting faster.
Then something touched his left foot. The contact was as light as a feather, and brief – no sooner was it there than it was gone. He yelled at the unexpected touch, the leather hood muffling any sound he could make.
Another touch, this time on his right shoulder. He yelled again. And, after ten seconds, something stroked his right knee once. His body jerked in the restraints. This was like the Chinese Water Torture – the stimuli were tiny, but waiting for each one and not knowing when it was coming, or where, was infuriating.
For ten minutes they kept doing this, touching him unpredictably on random spots. Each time he couldn’t stop himself from yelling into the hood and tensing his muscles on the padded table.
Charlie’s cock lay over his balls, completely soft. Now, something touched it. Something light and gentle ran slowly up its length, was removed, and then the action was repeated. The first time it happened, Charlie jerked, automatically trying to close his legs, but the restraints made that quite impossible. When the stroking was repeated, he just groaned.
The average eighteen-year-old boy does not have much control over his cock. If something strokes it, teases it, rubs it, then it will get hard. Period. This was the case with Charlie – his cock responded with a will of is own and slowly it began to harden. Inch by inch it grew, stiffened, and raised itself up until it was standing to attention almost vertically.
The feather (or whatever it was) teased and stroked up and down the shaft and over the head. Precum appeared, was lightly wiped away with the edge of a soft tissue, and the feather continued its teasing.
In less than a minute, Charlie was grinding his hips into the padded table. He needed to cum.
It is also a given that with teenage boys an erection is always followed fairly quickly by an orgasm – by masturbation, by being sucked, or by fucking. Such a cock is rarely allowed to remain in a state of high excitement for long without cumming – and never, never is it intentionally kept a hair’s breadth away from orgasm but not permitted, under any circumstances, actually to cum. The mind of a teenage boy is incapable of imagining such a situation. Therefore, when it actually experiences this, it can’t deal with it at all.
But keeping boys on the edge of orgasm was exactly what the Mansion was about. It was Master Jeff’s greatest pleasure to be surrounded by horny boys who were desperate to cum. And the fiendish butler James, with whom Jeff had set up the Mansion many years ago, was an expert at edging. He had spent a lifetime practising, developing new and irresistible techniques. He was a true sadist – not in terms of inflicting pain, but rather in the controlled and merciless infliction of the most intense and unbearable frustration imaginable. He lived to make horny boys suffer.
This was a rare opportunity for James: the inmates at the Mansion had all been edged many times - although happily, thought James, it is something that they can never really get used to. No matter how many times a boy has been edged in the past, when he is strapped down and is being tormented, it is every bit as impossible for him to deal with as it was the very first time.
But this boy Charlie was a virgin as far as edging was concerned: had never ever experienced it before. That was a rare pleasure for James. Unlike the other boys at the Mansion, Charlie had no idea what was in store for him. He didn’t know just how much of a torture it could be. That gave James an extreme hard-on.
Charlie was groaning under the leather hood. “I need to cum. Please make me cum...”
James smiled. He knew that right now Charlie wanted to cum – but that the boy had no idea what it felt like toneed to cum. Not yet. But he would. He put the feather down and picked up a well-oiled leather thong. Carefully he looped it around the hard cock, just under the head, and began to pull it back and forth, see-sawing it over the frenulum and the ridges.
Charlie gave an urgent moan – oh fuck! That was like nothing he had ever felt before. That was so fucking horny! It was clear that this bastard wasn’t aware that he needed to cum. He shouted into the hood, “I need to CUM! Make me fucking CUM!”
James froze his hands, knowing that the boy was on the edge again. He watched the slim body bouncing on the table, the hands desperately trying to reach his cock to finish himself off. He had seen it so many times before and he never tired of the sight. After a few moments he poured more oil over the thong and resumed see-sawing it, slowly and leisurely.
Gradually it dawned on Charlie that the man did know he needed to cum. The fact that he kept stopping every time less than a second before there would have been spunk flying all over the place made it quite clear that the bastard was doing this intentionally. He was keeping Charlie on the edge of cumming but making sure he couldn’t actually cum. That was a concept that had never occurred to the boy before. That was fiendish. It was unfair, it was sadistic, and it made him furious. He clenched his fists and tore at the straps, strained to get his hand to his cock to make himself CUM. But he fucking couldn’t .
James put the leather thong down, took off his rubber gloves and flexed his fingers. As though he was handling the most fragile butterfly in the world, he took the boy’s cock between his fingers. Lightly – hardly touching – he stroked it. With one hand he held the shaft in a gentle grip while he ran his other palm over the shiny purple head. It slid on a film of precum. He teased his fingertips up and down the cock, pulling it away from Charlie’s body slightly. Every few seconds he paused, so that the boy couldn’t cum, before resuming the torment.
Charlie was beside himself. He had never needed to cum so badly in his life. He had never even realised that it was possible to need to cum so urgently. And the worst thing was that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He was strapped down so that he couldn’t get away from it, hooded so that he couldn’t see, and there was no way he could get his hands anywhere close to his cock. He also realised that the hood was doing a great deal more than just blindfolding him – though that on its own was bad enough – it was forcing him to concentrate totally on what was being done to his cock. There were no distractions of any kind. A tiny part of his mind registered grudging admiration for the way they’d arranged this. They had made him as vulnerable and as susceptible to what they were doing as possible.
The whole thing was so mind-blowingly sexy. Increasingly, even the restraints, the hood, and the feeling of helplessness themselves were beginning to turn him on, to feed his horniness, to make him more responsive to it all. What the guy was doing to his cock felt unbelievably wonderful - he was in sexual heaven – but every time the fingers stopped, and that longed-for orgasm was sadistically denied him yet again, he experienced frustration of such an indescribable acuteness that it was pure, unadulterated torture.
The fingers had gone. Charlie took deep breaths, recovering. Then he gasped as something cool and smooth touched him.
James had put the gloves back on. They were industrial, elbow-length shiny black rubber, and they had just come from a cool box. With one hand he gripped the base of the boy’s cock, and began to stroke the smooth fingers of the other over the head.
Charlie almost came instantly. He arched his back and screamed into the hood – but the fingers had already gone. That had been the closest yet, and the boy beat his fists on the table in impotent fury.
The gloved hands returned, even more gently this time. The fingers stroked – paused – stroked – paused… on and on. The boy got to the edge, backed off, got to the edge, backed off… He was going insane.
Mercifully James only continued this for five minutes. He would have liked to have done it for the rest of the night but the poor boy would probably have had heart failure. He took his hands away.
Inside the leather hood Charlie was hyperventilating. Gradually his breathing slowed.
He felt the straps over his ankles being unfastened, and then two pairs of hands raising his legs. He was re-secured in a new position on the table: his knees were slightly bent and his feet were over his head. His hard cock was pressing against his stomach.
Charlie jumped as he felt something touch his arsehole. He shook his head violently. “No! Get off! I’m straight!”
His protests were ignored and something cold was spread over the ring of his arse.
James coated the small black rubber dildo with lube and held its tip against the puckered hole. Very slowly, he pushed.
He boy was going ballistic. He was fighting to stop it from going in, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was yelling and shaking his head urgently.
James eased off the pressure, holding the dildo stationary for a moment, letting the boy to get used to the feeling. He allowed it to slip back out a little, and then pushed it in again. For a few minutes he gently fucked the boy’s arse hole with the end of the dildo, until Charlie stopped yelling - as horny as he was at the moment, the feeling of something in his arse somehow seemed to complete his horniness.
The dildo was a small one, but this boy had never been fucked before, so James was careful – his objective was not to cause pain. The device was about halfway in now, and with a smooth motion he pushed it past the thickest part, allowing it to slip inside completely.
Charlie tensed and took a sharp intake of breath suddenly as his ring stretched – but then, after it had closed around the stem of the dildo, he slowly relaxed. He knew it was completely in. He had never had anything – not even a finger - up there before and the feeling was strange. It was as if it were filling him - and, after a few moments, he realised that it also felt deliciously horny. That feeling of completeness was perfect now. He’d never guessed that it could be so fucking good. Experimentally he cautiously gave his arse muscles a squeeze, and gasped in pleasure as the dildo moved inside him.
After a moment he felt a rubber finger spreading something – more lube? - along his perineum from his arse hole to the back of his balls. The finger probed deeply into the creases between the sides of his balls and his inner thighs.
Then feathers began to tease and tickle the backs of his legs. They explored downwards, across the cheeks of his arse, and inwards to his perineum. They were all over him. Charlie squirmed in horny ticklishness. His need to cum had receded a little as the dildo was being inserted, but now it was back in spades.
The feathers worked their pointed tips between his thighs and onto his balls, and then his cock. He moaned urgently into the hood – this was the most horny fucking thing he had ever experienced. It felt indescribably sexy. Oh shit, he needed to cum!
And whatever it was that had been spread onto his perineum and into the creases at the sides of his balls was beginning to work – he was conscious of a gentle tingling there, bordering on an itch.
He felt something sliding across his bare soles. Leather. It made its way down his legs, and between his thighs. It must be a pair of leather jeans or something. Charlie wasn’t particularly into leather, but in his present state the feel of the cool, smooth, shiny hide sliding across his bare skin was unbelievably horny.
The legs of the leather jeans were wrapped around both of his raised thighs. A gentle hand reached between them and pulled the boy’s cock and balls through, then positioned the leather behind them so that it held them there. The precum-shiny head stuck out, glistening in the lights. James took the end of one of the legs and pushed it down between Charlie’s thighs and his abs.
The tingling between his legs was getting more intense now. It wasn’t just an itch, it was more than that – it felt like the sides of his balls and the tops of his thighs were being stroked continuously with hundreds of tiny feathers.
Charlie moaned with lust. Never in his wildest dreams had it occurred to him that a boy could be positioned specifically for sex like this. He was helpless, hooded, his legs over his head, with his cock sticking out behind him, held there by leather – in the most vulnerable position he could imagine. Every single part of that had been done to make him feel more horny than he would have ever thought possible. It could not get any more intense.
But it did. A hand clamped over his mouth and nose, and the boy smelled something chemical. Within seconds his head started to spin, and everything – the restraints, the hood, the leather, the tingling – suddenly became ten times more horny. What the fuck was this?
The feather was back – but it was right on the tip of his cock now. It circled and stroked, teased and tickled. His cock, held immobile in the grip of the leather jeans, felt more sensitive than it had ever done, and the tiny, light movements of the feather were excruciatingly wonderful – and every movement caused his arse muscles to contract involuntarily, making the dildo fuck him. Within seconds his body geared up for orgasm again.
But an orgasm would have ended his suffering, and so of course it was not permitted.
Again and again the feather teased him to the edge and then was gone. Charlie almost passed out from ecstasy and frustration.
The tip of the feather was now circling the head of his cock very, very slowly indeed. Suddenly the German voice was whispering in his ear.
“Did you zink zere vould be no punishment for breaking into zis house?”
The feather stroked and caressed, making the dildo move inside him. Charlie was on the edge of orgasm again.
It stopped.
“Ve know how to make boys need to cum. But ve also know how to make it quite impossible for zem to do so...”
The feather started again.
“Und ve know how to make it vorse und vorse...”
The feather was joined by another, this one tickling his balls.
Charlie screamed with frustration and fury as the feathers stopped, just before he could cum.
“Ve can do zis for a verry, verry long time.”
Fingertips were now also stroking lightly over his legs and feet, the insides of his thighs, and sliding the leather jeans over his skin.
“Zis is your punishment, boy. You must not break into ze houses. Bad zings happen to you...”
The fiends brought him to the edge again and again. Charlie knew he was going to go mad.
He had no idea how many hours they worked on him like this. He knew that this German fiend was loving it, getting off on his suffering. He was being played like a musical instrument – taken from the heights of intense sexual ecstasy to the depths of unendurably acute frustration. Every time, he vowed that this time he would not respond, not give these bastards the pleasure of seeing him beg and struggle. But he had no say in the matter: his cock was controlling him utterly; and, every time, he begged and pleaded, then swore and fought the restraints in fury as yet again that longed-for orgasm was withheld.
After a very long time, the voice whispered, “Do you vant to cum?”
Charlie was incapable of speech. He fought to get control of himself enough to reply. “Ah – ah – ah – y – yes –yessssssssss!”
The feather on his cock head continued to stroke, just over the tip.
“Do you really vant to cum? Do you need to cum?”
All Charlie could do was to nod his head. He nodded it manically.
“Haff you learned your lesson, boy?”
“Yes yes yes yes! YES! PLEASE LET ME CUMMMMM!!
“Very vell, ve vill make you cum...”
The hand clamped over his hooded head again and he was forced to breathe in more poppers. The world swam – Charlie was in a whole new, leather-black world of pure animal sex. He felt helpless, controlled, being got at from outside and – thanks to that dildo – from inside as well.
Charlie had lost count of the number of times he’d been on the edge but once again he felt the feather teasing him closer and closer. The dildo, the tickling of his balls, the tingling between his legs, and the feel of the black leather between his thighs just made everything worse. Much, much worse.
The feather brought him to the very edge. As before, his muscles tensed, he stopped breathing. That was the point where, each time before, everything had stopped – but this time it didn’t. The feathers continued their slow, slow teasing. The one on his cock head gradually made its way to his frenulum and stayed there, stroking over the most supremely sensitive spot. Its movements slowed even further…
Suddenly it was gone - and cold, smooth, lube-slippery rubber-gloved hands gripped his balls and his cock firmly. The thumb was over the head, and it milked him.
With a scream Charlie came. As his spunk pumped out the dildo fucked him hard with each contraction. His body bounced on the table surface, his hands were fists, his arms and legs tore at the restraints so that he could really feel that he was restrained. He squeezed the black leather between his thighs and he sucked in air hard – not because he needed air but to make the leather hood press even more tightly over his face. At that moment he needed more than anything to feel totally, absolutely helpless...
That orgasm was by far the longest and the most shatteringly intense he had ever had in his life.
* * *
Half an hour ago Master Jeff had been watching Charlie being worked on. Now, he smiled lopsidedly at the boy sitting in the chair before him. Jeff was back in his usual leather jacket. “So, Charlie, I think we can say that you’ve paid your debt to society.” He took a sip of his brandy. “Was it an… interesting experience?”
Charlie swallowed. Tonight had made him think, and had opened his eyes to a lot of things - he had never questioned his sexuality before; he had never considered the possibility that horniness could be used as a torture; he had never known that poppers could make everything so much more intense, or that something in his arse could feel so good; he had never even thought of leather as a fetish – and yet guys had used bondage and leather on him, and they had got him more turned on than he would have thought possible. His mind was not at all sure about any of these things, but his cock was. Even just thinking about being strapped down, hooded and edged was getting him hard again right now. Sex would never be the same to him again, now he knew what previously unthought-of possibilities there were.
“It was -” he groped for words but he had none. “It was… something else.”
“Good. Now, I’ve been thinking about your problem with Marjorie. I don’t want to encourage this kind of behaviour, you understand, but I have something here for you.” He opened a drawer and handed Charlie a sheet of notepaper.
The boy gazed at the letterhead printed at the top. There was the name of the Mansion, in flowing script, the phone number, and address. Above these was a coat of arms. At first glance it looked innocuous enough, but on closer inspection he noticed that instead of the usual unicorns, lions rampant or shields, it showed the side view of a restrained boy. The boy had a hard cock, and a feather was being applied to the tip by what looked like a knight in armour – though it could equally have been the German guy in his pervy rubber.
“I think that would meet your requirements,” Master Jeff said slowly, “though whether you would actually want to show it to Marjorie is a different question.”
Charlie looked up. It seemed to him that Marjorie wasn’t quite so important any more. There were more urgent things: things about himself that he wanted to explore. He couldn’t stop thinking about being helpless, hooded, horny… He seemed to come to a decision.
“May I borrow a pen, please?” He placed the notepaper on the desk in front of him.
“A pen?”
Charlie nodded. “Would an application for a position here at the Mansion be acceptable if I wrote it on this?”
Master Jeff laughed. “You know? I think it would.”