Carter sat in the shed, his favourite private place, where he kept his cigarettes and porn mags, and watched. His father came out at one point, looking for him. He saw his father standing there on the patio, fat and balding, wearing that ridiculous long tailed wedding suit, calling Carter’s name, and cursing under his breath. A woman’s voice, one of the aunts, maybe, shouted out something about not being able to wait any longer. His father said something about ‘the ungrateful little bastard’ and Carter smiled to himself. Carter was nineteen years old, and he had no interest in spending the day at a ridiculous wedding service, or watching various elderly relatives drink themselves under the table.
He heard voices, and car doors slamming, and then the noise of the procession of limousines creeping away, and then there was silence, just some birds singing in the bushes, a perfect, quiet summer afternoon. He decided to give it a few more minutes, and then he would go back inside, and maybe watch some TV.
There wasn’t as much room in the Limousines as expected, so Peter said that he would lock the house up and follow along in his own car. He waved the party off and tried to mask his relief that he now had an excuse to delay going to that ghastly ceremony. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes. In a way he was glad, he didn’t understand why his sister was remarrying, or why she had invited him to the ceremony; they hadn’t exactly been close over the last few years. The bloke she was marrying was at least ten years older than her, this would be his third marriage, and he had children from both the previous ones. He drove a big ugly Bentley, worked in some sort of financial business and he seemed weak. Peter really didn’t know what he was doing there.
No, he would just sit this one out, he would not be missed. He’d just pop into the reception later, maybe, just to be polite. He turned and looked at the property behind him – well, if nothing else, this bloke seemed to have done alright for himself, It was a big, detached house, surrounded by gardens. Peter was amazed the guy had just given him the keys and the alarm code, and asked him to lock up – it’s a good job Peter was trustworthy. Peter smiled. For his sister’s sake, he decided that he would abuse that trust and go and explore this house, to find out some more about this man.
Peter and Carter practically walked into each other in the hallway. Peter had been exploring upstairs, and Carter had just let himself in through the kitchen door. Neither was expecting anyone else to be in the room. Carter jumped, nervously, but Peter remained calm. He examined the youth standing before him, sizing him up. The boy looked like a typical middle class boy, with his floppy surfer hair, wearing a suit that his aunt had probably made him wear, but was already looking dishevelled. Good body on him, though, he thought, and that suit actually emphasised it. Wiry and fit. Maybe in the last teens or early 20’s. That would make him the son from the first marriage, he thought. He had heard all about him recently, about how he would be going to college next year, but for now was happy to laze about the house, doing nothing.
‘You must be Carter’ Peter Said. ‘I suppose that makes me Uncle Peter.’
Carter opened his mouth for his usual brand of smart-arse reply. Carter, like many people his age, had no way of judging how old the man was who stood in front of him. All he knew was that he was old, maybe his father’s age, and balding. However, unlike his father, this man had something in the way he stood, something in his attitude, which made that smart ass reply dry up in his throat. The man somehow dominated the hallway, and Carter could only manage a feeble ‘what?’
‘Seeing as my sister is marrying your father today, that makes me your Uncle’ Peter said. He took a drag on his cigarette.
‘My Father doesn’t like smoking in the house’ Carter said.
Peter offered the pack to Carter, who smiled, and took it. The guy seemed cool.
‘What kind of a name is Carter, anyway?’ Peter asked.
‘My real name is David’ Carter said, struggling to light his cigarette, ‘...but I like Carter better’
‘Fair enough, Carter’ Said Peter. ‘So, why aren’t you at the wedding?’
‘Why aren’t you there?’ Carter replied.
Peter took a drag on his cigarette. Carter had finally lit his, and made an act of being a regular smoker, which he wasn’t. He managed to avoid anything as uncool as coughing, but he wasn’t a natural. The two of them stood there in the hallway, just chilling, for a few minutes.
‘So’ Peter asked, ‘What were you planning to do for the rest of the day?’
Carter considered for a moment. ‘I was gonna watch TV. Maybe go on the Playstation, or...’
Peter interrupted. ‘Those weights, down in the basement. All that Gym stuff. Do you use them?’
‘Yes, sometimes...’ Carter answered.
‘Why don’t you show me how you use them’ Peter said, stubbing out his cigarette in a flowerpot.
The basement was the kind of place that rich people build for themselves and then never use. Big and brightly lit, with all kinds of sports gear, and a big TV, and a bar. Peter had seen the man of the house, and he was pretty sure he never spent any time using this exercise equipment. It was clear from the posters on the wall and the general disarray that Carter had taken it over for his own use, for entertaining his teenage friends. In one corner of the space was a big set of weights. Carter and Peter went straight over to the weights
‘So, show me how you use them’ Peter said.
Carter felt a bit weird, with this stranger standing there, but the guy seemed OK, and he was an arrogant 19 year old boy, pleased with the way his own body was developing, and he felt like showing off at any opportunity. He took off the suit jacket and the red tie, which he dropped to the floor, undid the first few buttons of the shirt, and went to the bench. The weights already loaded on the bar were pretty light, so he decided he would show off some bench presses.
Slipping under the bar, he got into position and lifted the bar a few times, being cool, showing off. Peter sat down on the stool by the side, and watched. Carter was commentating on his own lifts, boasting about how easy it was, and about how many reps he could do, and what sort of weights. He exaggerated freely. The whole time, Peter smiled, and listened. When Carter had finished posing, and had stood up to put the jacket back on, Peter spoke.
‘So, show me’, He said.
‘Show you what?’ asked Carter. ‘I just showed you’.
Peter smiled, but it was a cold, calculating smile. ‘You showed me how you can lift a bar with these little weights on it, and yet you said you could lift two times that weight, and you can do it 100 times, that’s what you said. So show me...’
Carter picked up on a tone in Peter’s voice, and for the first time, he was a little concerned. Who was this guy ordering him about, in his own basement?
‘I don’t think I want to right now’ Carter said.
‘I see’ Said Peter. ‘So that was all bullshit, was it? You can’t really do those weights. So you just lied, then, did you? You can just lift these little girl weights, is that it?’
Carter blushed with anger. ‘I said I can do it, and I can do it.’
Peter simply gestured with his hand to the bench. Carter looked into Peter’s cold blue eyes.
‘Alright’ he said, angrily. ‘I don’t lie. I’ll show you.’
He threw the jacket onto a chair and picked up some additional weights, which he loaded onto the bar. He slipped back underneath, lowered the bar off the pins and onto his chest, paused, and began. When he had been boasting earlier he had stated a weight he had lifted and the maximum number of reps he had performed – what he did not say was that he had never done both together; the hundred reps was of a very much lower weight. At first he had no problem, but as he went on, he began to struggle. Pools of sweat were forming in the armpits of the shirt. After about 25 lifts he stopped for a break.
‘That’s not 100’ Peter pointed out.
‘I know’ Carter said, between gasps. ‘I’m pacing myself.’
‘Maybe it would help if you took the shirt off’ Peter said, coolly.
Fuck that, Carter thought. I’m not stripping off in front of some guy. But the truth was, he was quite aware of the way the formal dress shirt had gone from clean and pressed dress wear to an uncomfortable, tight and clinging impediment.
He felt there was a certain indefinable tension in the room, and a little voice inside him advised him to go with it for now. He sat up, and unbuttoned the shirt, and slipped it off. He walked across the room and placed it on the sideboard. Peter admired the young body in motion, and saw that the boy definitely had some good muscle definition on him, although he could do with some more. While the boy’s back was turned Peter slipped off his own belt, and curled it up in his hand. Carter walked back across the room to the bench. He was nervous, and he crossed his own arms in front of his stomach. Even so, there seemed to be a slight swagger to his walk. Carter sat down, ready to continue.
‘And the trousers, too’ Peter added.
‘No way, Man’ said Carter, standing up. ‘I’m not stripping off. What are you, some sort of fag?’
Peter’s response was firm and strict. ‘I’m you new Uncle’ Peter said, ‘And I’m going to be around a lot from now on. Your Father’s probably already pissed off at you for not going to the wedding, but not nearly as pissed off as he could be. You might think things are gonna be the same as ever, and you can just spend your time loafing about, but things are gonna change around here. Now I can be your friend or your enemy, so just do as I say and your life will be a hell of a lot easier.’
‘Fuck off’ Said Carter. He had had enough of this. He turned to leave. He heard a whoosh noise, and suddenly he felt a sharp pain across the small of his back. He yelped, turned and looked in amazement at Peter. Peter was holding both ends of his belt in one hand, so that it curled and formed a thick leather strap. Peter had whipped him with this strap across his young back.
‘Oww! What did you do that for?’ Cried Carter. He had been brought up in a pampered, sheltered environment, and his parents had never raised their hand against him. This first experience of corporal punishment was more shocking than painful, but even so, tears began to well up in his eyes.
‘That’s the problem with you rich kids’ Peter said, coolly. ‘No discipline. Now I want you to strip off those suit trousers and get under that bar, and give me another 25, minimum. Or, you’ll get some more.’
‘You can’t do that’ Carter whinged. ‘My Father will...’
‘You father will what?’ Peter asked. ‘He’s off on his honeymoon tomorrow with my sister. Do you think he’s gonna want to listen to your whining? Now get on with it.’
Carter was afraid of this strange man, he didn’t want to be down here alone with him. The whole atmosphere in the room had suddenly changed - the single swipe from the belt had not been hard, but it had been shocking. He thought briefly about running, but thought better of it. Reluctantly, he undid the trousers, and let them drop to the floor. Peter looked at the boy, dressed now only in his socks and his tighty whities. He kicked the suit trousers away, and gestured for the boy to get back onto the bench, and the boy reluctantly did so. Peter instructed the boy to begin, and he told the boy to count off as he went.
‘One’ Said Carter, his voice breaking from emotion.
‘Have some respect for your elders. Say Sir when you are talking to me’ Peter advised. He was staring at the boy’s crotch, and the outline of Carter’s cock showing through the fresh white material.
The boy began to sob, and counted off as instructed. ‘Two, Sir, Three , Sir...’
He reached around 18, and began to seriously struggle.
‘What’s the problem, boy?’ said Peter. Carter had not been called ‘boy’ for many years. He lowered the bar to his chest, and sobbed.
‘I can’t do any more’ He cried, between gasps for breath.
In response, Peter took the belt strap and rested it on the boy’s flat, muscled stomach. As he talked, he moved the belt around in a circular motion, caressing the skin around the navel. ‘I want 25 from you, boy...’ he said, ’...You said you could do 100, so 25 should be no problem.’
‘I was wrong’ Carter gasped. He felt the belt on his stomach, and realised for the first time that, with the weights currently resting on his chest, there was little he could do if his new Uncle decided to strike him on the stomach. He decided to plead. ‘Please... please Sir, let me stop.’
‘So you lied to me, did you, boy?’ Peter asked, calmly, still rubbing the belt over the boy’s navel, feeling the nervous, jerky movements as the boy tried in vain to shy away from it. He moved the belt lower, so it bumped against the top of the skimpy white briefs, where a couple of stray pubic hairs could be seen emerging from under the waistband. He toyed with the boy for thirty seconds, as he scanned the room, looking for a suitable place to begin the next phase. He noticed a solid pillar which seemed to be holding up the ceiling near the centre of the room, it was about half a metre square. That would do, he thought.
‘Alright’ Peter said. ‘Put the bar back on the pins and sit up.’
The boy gratefully did as instructed, although it was a struggle lifting the bar. The boy sat up, and rubbed his arms, assuming his punishment was over.
Peter picked up the boy’s discarded bright red tie from the floor, and stood up. He grabbed the boy forcefully by the wrist, and made him stand up too, before he pulled him across the room. The boy was struggling and pulling against him, but Peter was determined, and he had no problem getting the boy over to the pillar. He roughly pushed the boy, face first, against the pillar and instructed the boy to put his arms on either side of it. After a bit of struggling, he securely tied the boy’s wrists together round the pillar. The boy twisted and pulled but was not able to get free. Returning to the barbells, Peter picked up the bar which the boy had just recently finished lifting, and brought it over to the pillar, placing it on the floor behind the boy’s feet. Using his own tie, and a carry handle from a sports bag he found lying near the weights, he securely tied the boy’s ankles to each end of the bar, leaving him spread-eagled uncomfortably. All the time, the boy was asking him what he was doing, and what he intended to do. He did not answer until the boy was securely tied in place. He took a moment to admire his handiwork – the boy’s naked back was now fully exposed and defenceless, and only those tight white briefs protected the firm skin of his ass.
‘You were lying, and now you need to be punished for that lie’ he said. ‘Were you ever spanked, as a child?’ Peter asked. The boy shook his head, nervously.
‘Well you are going to get a spanking now, a good, firm spanking which will hopefully teach you some respect. Your back and your ass is going to be bright red when I’ve finished with you’
The boy began begging him not to do it, but Peter just smiled his cold smile, and ran his hand over the boy’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine, and the strong muscles which were currently twitching and pulling as the boy vainly tried to escape. He fondled each buttock, one at a time, firstly through the material and then yanking down the briefs as far as they would go, leaving the fine globes fully exposed. He caressed them briefly. He prepared his belt.
‘This is going to hurt, boy’ He said. The boy was still begging, promising to try better next time, when the first strike hit. Peter was not putting anything like his full strength into the blow, he intended to build up the impacts bit by bit, but the boy still yelped. He struck again, and then again and again, alternating between buttocks, raining down a dozen blows before pausing briefly.
‘Is that beginning to sting, boy?’ He asked.
‘Please, no more Sir, no more’ Carter cried. His eyes were red with tears. He had never experienced anything like this, he was shocked at the impacts, and the way the pain seemed to intensify for the next few seconds after each blow, getting to a level that was almost unbearable; he was also embarrassed by the fact that his butt was now naked, and full of revulsion from the man’s touch. He could not believe this was happening to him.
Peter leant in close, so that he could whisper to the boy. He cupped one of the boy’s tender buttocks in his hand as he talked.
‘Oh no, boy’ He said. ‘This is just the beginning. We have a long way to go yet.’
‘He took his hand away, and then slapped it back against the buttock, firmly, getting another yelp from the boy. He slid his hand in between the boy and the pillar, and found the boy’s cock. This really caused the boy to jump, and he fondled the skin between his fingers as the boy tried unsuccessfully to pull away.
After a few seconds of fondling, Peter knew what he must do. He removed one of his own shoelaces and formed it into a miniature noose. He then picked up a small barbell weight from the pile by the barbell bench, one about the size of his hand, probably weighing only a few pounds. He looped the other end of his lace through the hole in the weight, and tied it off. Reaching again for the boy’s cock, he slipped the noose around the ball sack, and pulled it tight, so there was no possibility of it coming loose. Carefully he lowered the barbell weight and let it go.
The boy immediately tensed up and cried out, as the weight began to dangle from his ball sack. Carter tried all kinds of moves, trying desperately to get the weight off of his balls, but there was no escape. He wailed in misery as the weight pulled his crotch downwards. Peter watched the boy’s discomfort as he struggled and pulled against the offending object, and then he prepared his belt again. This time, he began lightly, and increased the intensity more and more, striking harder and more regularly, going up to twenty strikes, and then on further, faster and harder, whipping and thrashing the exposed flesh, which was already going a bright red. He alternated a few blows onto the boy’s back and the back of his thighs, before returning back to his prime target with a couple more meaty swipes. The boy was yelping and crying loudly now on every strike.
Peter carried on as long as was necessary, and then stopped. The boy’s backside was a vivid red, and strike marks across his thighs and back also showed up clearly. The young stud was crying and sniffing, and began dancing from foot to foot due to the stinging sensation from his arse. Peter did as any good uncle should. He removed the weight from the boy’s cock, untied the boy’s feet and his hands, turned him around and began hugging him. The boy pulled away at first, but Peter held him tight, and the boy eventually began sobbing into Peter’s shoulder, as Peter made reassuring noises.
‘You’ve had your punishment, now you will have your reward’ Peter said. He took the boy over to the weights bench, and told him to lie down on his back. The boy meekly did as instructed, although it took him a long time to actually sit, as the pain from his backside made it almost impossible. Peter nursed him down, and told him to raise his arms to the pins which until recently had been holding the barbells. Peter carefully tied his hands to the pins. He also tied the boy’s feet to the legs of the bench. The boy was afraid that Peter would begin beating him again, but Peter quietly reassured him that the beating was over. No, now the boy would get his reward.
The boy was now firmly tied. Peter pulled the white cotton jockeys down to the hunk’s knees, and examined the limp cock. Peter pulled up a chair next to the tied hunk’s body, and sat down. He was getting comfortable, because this was not going to be some quick shag, no, this body, with its beautiful muscles and youthful form and definition, deserved long and detailed attention
‘Have you ever had sex with another boy?’ Peter asked. Carter vigorously shook his head.
‘How many times have you had sex with a girl, boy?’ Peter asked. ‘And be truthful, now.’
Carter swallowed, nervously. ‘Two, sir’ he said.
‘Tell me about them’ Peter said. Carter began describing the first girl, about how he met her, and other details.
‘No, boy, tell me about the sex’ Peter said.
Carter, embarrassed, began telling about bringing the girl to this very room, and about how they played games, and then ended up on the sofa, watching a movie, and began making out. As Carter described their first kisses, Peter moved his hand onto the boy’s cock. Almost immediately, he felt the flesh begin to respond to his touch. The boy gasped, but Peter insisted he continue the story, and Carter continued his repeat of the events, with Peter occasionally interrupting, asking details such as the colour of her underwear, the smell of her skin etc.
Carter felt his own cock go hard in the man’s hands. He had never been interested in sex with a man, but this man had an experienced older man’s touch – he knew how to get the most sensation from every stroke, every touch of a finger on bare young flesh.
Peter began masturbating the boy, slowly, ever so slowly. He knew what he was doing. He knew that a young inexperienced boy like this would come quickly, so he was careful to monitor the boy’s breathing and movements – he had no intention to allow any premature ejaculations.
Carter felt the pressure building inside him as his cock was expertly stroked. He began sighing and panting. He wanted the hand to begin to move faster, but it kept up its slow, methodical pace. Carter felt himself sweating, and realised he would shortly ejaculate. His chest muscles began to tense, and then... the hand withdrew. Carter wanted to shout out – please finish me!!! But Peter had stood up, and gone over to the fridge behind the bar, where he was preparing himself a drink! Carter struggled madly, trying to release himself from the bindings, but he had been tied by an expert and was going nowhere. He felt himself going off the boil – all he wanted was for the hand to return, and continue, but that wasn’t happening.
Peter let the boy calm down a bit as he sipped his drink, and then he returned to the boy’s side. He took the ice cube from his drink, and ran it across the boy’s nipples, down his chest and across his rippled stomach. He avoided the boy’s rock hard cock, which bounced up and down like an attentive dog, ready for petting. He waited a good five minutes. Then, he took the cock and began again with the slow, careful stroking.
Carter’s brain was fizzing. He desperately wanted to come, and now the hand was touching him again, and stroking him again, he desperately lifted and dropped his hips, trying to accelerate the speed of the masturbation, but the older man simply adjusted his pace, keeping the pressure on but at a low heat. Carter felt himself beginning to boil again. He knew this time it would be a good, firm orgasm. He began to tense up again – and the hand went away again!
Carter almost screamed – what was this man doing? Couldn’t he realise what this was doing to him?
This routine continued for the next twenty minutes, the hand returning to slowly stoke the fires of Carter’s sexual arousal, bringing him up to temperature, taking him expertly just to the very edge of orgasm and then moving away. Carter had lost track of how many times it had happened, and now he had nothing else on his mind but being brought to climax. If the house caught fire now, his first concern would be to finish himself off, before trying to escape. As another climax was stalled in the final stages, Carter turned to his abuser.
‘Please sir, let me cum’ He said. ‘I can’t take it any more.’
Peter smiled. ‘No, boy. Not yet, you are not ready. We have only just begun.’
Peter was true to his word. He had experienced hands and he began to play the boy like a harp, touching him with just the necessary pressure, in just the most sensitive places, making the boy groan and weep with a mixture of torment and pleasure. He kept the boy going for another twenty, thirty, forty minutes. He was a master in stretching these things out. By now, the boy was just a quivering wreck. His body twitched and jumped involuntarily, every touch from Peter’s hand was like a lightning bolt through his nervous system.
‘I think you may be almost ready now, boy’ Peter said. ‘I expect by now you are getting to the point where you would do anything I asked, in order for me to finish you?’
Carter breathlessly agreed. ‘Anything, sir, anything, just finish me pleeease...’
‘So if I told you that you had to work out on this weight bench every day, increase your body size and strength, you’d do it.’
‘Yes sir, yes sir’ the poor hunk panted.
‘And if I said you had to come to my house every week so that I could check up on you, measure and weigh you, and if you had failed to meet my standards you would be spanked again?’
‘Anything, Sir, anything...’
‘How about calling me master instead of sir from now onwards’ Peter suggested.
‘Yes sir... Master, yes master, please just let me cum... Please...’
Peter looked the boy in the eye. ‘And when you come to my house each and every week, would you suck my cock, willingly? Or do anything else I ordered, without question?’
The poor helpless hunk did not want to answer. He had never even considered the thought of sucking off another man, especially one who seemed as old as his own father.
Peter smiled as he cranked up the tension further. ‘Well, boy?’ He asked. ‘If you want I can keep you going for another twenty minutes while you think about it?’
‘NO! Please no... Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll... I’ll...’
‘Suck my cock?’ Peter prompted. ‘Say it’
‘I will suck your cock’ the boy said, gasping. ‘I will suck your cock, master’ he repeated.
‘That is what I needed to hear’ Peter said. ‘And of course, now you have made a promise, you will keep to it, yes? You know the punishment for lying to me?’ The boy, ashamed, nodded his head, and promised. Peter was satisfied. He reached down to the boy’s cock, and began pumping it, this time firmly and quickly, with an ever increasing stroke. He saw the reaction on the boy immediately, as the boy arched his back and baled his hands into fists. The young hunk’s every muscle seemed to be tensioning at the same moment, and his eyes were slammed shut, his teeth bared, thick veins appearing in his neck as the sensation began to overwhelm him. Peter had a brief temptation to stop again at that point but he knew that would be unnecessarily cruel – there would be plenty of time to find this boy’s limits later. The boy began shouting at the top of his voice, screaming in ecstasy, all his fine muscles and flesh shimmering under a thick layer of sweat.
The ejaculation was enormous. An electric current ran through the boy, making him jump and twitch within his bindings as his cock let forth a powerful uncontrollable burst of semen, which marked the boy from shoulder to crotch. Another followed, and another. The boy wailed loudly, and crashed back onto the bench, exhausted, his fine body stained and marked with his own fluids.
‘That beats anything a girl has ever done to you, hasn’t it, boy?’ Peter asked. Carter said nothing, he was too exhausted, but inside, he knew what Peter said was correct. He had just been given, without a doubt, the best and most powerful ejaculation of his life.
Peter was satisfied with his creation. He leant forwards and, starting at the young stud’s shoulder, licked down the line of whitish fluid in one long smooth motion, all the way to the cock, which was still trapped within his hand. He took it into his own mouth briefly, before licking round the head and foreskin, getting as much of the precious fluid as he could. His own cock was rock hard and ready, and he was tempted to take the boy up on his promise of a blow job, but he knew now was not the time. Instead, he pulled it out and jerked it quickly with his own hand, until he spurted a good streak of his own cum across the boy’s chest. He stepped astride the boy’s prone body, and shook his cock until all the fluids had been dispersed over the boy’s skin then, sitting down on the boy’s stomach, he dipped his finger in his own cum and took it to the boy’s mouth, where he finger-painted it, ever so gently, over the boy’s lips.
The two of them stayed like that for ten minutes, without saying a word, before Peter untied the boy. Two hours had passed since the wedding procession had departed, and by now the ceremony would be over, the reception would have started, and the booze would be flowing. With a spot of luck, if they went now, they would just miss all the boring speeches. Peter asked the boy what he wanted to do. He was well aware that the boy could spill the beans of what had just happened to his father, and his father might actually even believe him, especially if he showed off those red marks on his skin. He would have to take that chance, but even if it happened, it would be worth it.
‘So, do you want to go to the reception?’ Peter asked. He knew that the boy, now untied, was free to do as he liked.
The boy looked up, into Peter’s eyes. ‘Yes, master’ he said.
Peter smiled. It looked like joining these two families together was going to be a good thing, after all.
THE END
tylerkraigandbernard@googlemail.com