September 19, 2018
This is the third chapter of discreet stories about men who are captured and sold into sexual slavery.
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The 1950s and 1960s were a heyday for American bikers, living free and easy in a post-WWII society in which the strong economy and jobs for blue collar men made it possible for some of these men and their “hogs”, along with President Eisenhower’s national highway investment program, to enjoy the open road.
In 1964, Route 66 was still a major route across the west, and my visit to Barstow, California—hot and dusty, offered fertile grounds for searching for prime straight meat to meet the demands of a choosy client who wanted a piece of prime American male beef to tease, edge and milk to his heart’s content. That was the job, and so after renting a house outside of town with the requirements I needed for a grab and snatch, I began prowling the blue collar bars on the edge of town where the biker boys would occasionaly frequent.
At the end of the first week, I picked out a big boy who was spending the evening trying to persuade the biker girls who hung out at the bar, for a role in the sack. He had a swagger, and an attitude that matched his huge body. At 5’10” tall and 225 lbs. he was a fine piece of hairy muscle. From head to toe he was covered in a thick pelt of dirty blond hair. It framed his pecs, creating a halo around his big aereolas and protruding nipples, and coalesced at his cleavage to trail down to his pubes, a thick patch that surrounded his cock and balls. His pale pick cock was about four inches flaccid, but thick. I followed him into the bar toilet and caught a glance as he pissed, standing back from the urinal as his thick stream of piss pelted the white ceramic of the long, open trough. His cock had a fat, wide helmet with a deep piss well. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at his slighlty tumescent prick, admiring its work, and oblivious to anyone else in the john.
I figured he had played football in high school ten years earlier, a lineman or maybe a fullback, and liked knocking dudes down and asserting his power over other men. His big bike seemed like an extension of his attitude and his dick when he was plowing pussy. It thundered and growled like a fucker in passion.
He struck out on Friday night, no pussy for his horny log. But like a persistent boy, he came back to try his luck on Saturday afternoon, hoping to get an early start and catch a pigeon before the bar got full. But the pickings were slim. The local high school football team was playing Saturday night, and the town was gathering at the field, including much of the available young cunt. Around 5:30 p.m., as the bar was clearing out for the game, Gary, [they called him “Butch”], left and got on his hog. I followed him as he rode out of town, opposite to the direction of the football game, and found some dense woods. I kept a respectable distance so he wouldn’t be suspicious, and when he turned off on a dirt road, I stopped, saw where he parked his bike, and parked my fan on the side of the road. There wasn’t that much traffic, and the local cops were at the game. I trudged quietly towards where he had parked off the dirt road, and took a position with my binoculars and my camera. What happened next was amazing.
The big fucker was sitting on his bike, like I said, off road in a thick patch of the woods, and stripped down to his birthday suit excepting his boots. Then, after he ruffled his chest hair and pubes, he sat back on the bike and fingered his dick until it got hard. He stared at his thick dick like it was the love of his life, and thumbed the sticky clear juice that bubbled from his deep piss well over his knob. He sighed a couple of times, and once when his thumbnail scraped over the top of glans, he hissed and hunched slightly. After about ten minutes of playing with himself, even flicking his tits, he slowly stood up and dressed. The big fucker just loved his body, and after two days of frustration, apparently he just wanted to remind himself of what he was so proud of.
He tucked his still tumescent cock back into his jeans, put on his shirt and jacket. I had finished taking my photos when he was naked, and my telephoto lens had captured his big cock and balls, his strong ass, and his nipples beautifully. The pics would be effective as I sent them in advance of his buyer seeing him in the flesh; a nice touch that would likely get us a bonus. I got back to my van, and drove ahead of him, and then watched him wiz by me as we both drove towards town. He paid me no notice as he gunned his hog, and flew by.
I figured I would have to come up with a creative way to capture him because of his size. But sometimes, good fortune just falls into your hands. For some reason, Butch decided to stop back at the bar for a nightcap—by which I mean a beer. After he ordered it, and before it arrived, he went to the john again. As he disappeared through the door to the men’s room, I walked over to his seat at the bar and sat down next to Butch’s stool. The bar-tender brought his beer with a full head of foam and placed it at his location, then went on to his next customer at the other end of the bar. I pulled out a small clear glass bottle. I unscrewed the cap under the table, and waiting and watching both the bathroom door, the bar-tender and the few folks in the bar rather than at the game, and I had a chance to empty the clear contents of the Rohypnol laced with a white Viagra substitute, and watched it dissolve into the foamy beer.
In a minute, Butch came back to the bar, and sat down next to me without paying me any attention. He grasped his beer, and began guzzling it down. I nursed my own drink, looking at the big screen monitor above the bar, and the meaningless college game that was showing. As he got to the end of his drink, I noticed out of the side of my vision, Butch reached down and simultaneously squeezed and adjusted his crotch. The Viagra was beginning to have an effect, and shortly after that, he sort of shook his head as if trying to get cobwebs out. As he finished his drink, he got up and ambled slowly toward the door, pausing before he walked out, and shaking his head one more time. I could clearly see his erection outlined in his jeans, aiming down his right leg.
When he got outside, he paused again, and leaned against the wall of the building, shaking his head but more slowly. I had followed him as he left, and saw that this was my opportunity.
“Hey buddy, everything okay?” I asked solicitously.
“Fuck, I don’t know, I’m kinda dizzy. Shit, I don’t know….” His voice trailed off.
“Can I help you…you got a car nearby, or maybe I can give you a ride someplace?” I rested a hand on his shoulder as if to steady him as he leaned against the building.
“I got my bike here…” again his voice trailing off.
I sensed that he was now not only dizzy, but confused. The Rohypnol had him lost. “Come with me buddy, I’ll give you a ride home. We can come back for you bike. Let’s just get you home where you can rest and get back into the swing of things.” I put an arm around his waist, and pulled him off the building, guiding him slowly to my van. I opened the sliding door, and helped him into the van, letting him lie down on the carpeted floor. I looked around, and it was still quiet, so I got into the van, and closed the sliding door. I pulled out a small case, opened it and took out a syringe, quickly giving Butch a shot of liquid GHB, to complement the Rohypnol and ensure that he would be out of it. I slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled over to Butch’s motorcycle. I opened the back of the van, lowered the automatic lift, slid his bike on it, and then raised it into the back of the van and pushed it in. Thank God for the football game at the high school…there wasn’t a fucking person out and the few in the bar were still drinking.
I got back into the driver’s seat, and headed to my place. Phew….got the big fucker and the fun was about to begin.
When I got Butch into my basement/cellar, I had him on the table, blindfolded, gagged, with his arms tethered over his head and across his chest, and his legs spread with a thick spreader bar, and then winched up with a chain to the ceiling. That gave me a clear shot to his asshole.
After two hours, I came back down from having dinner, taking a shower, and listening to the news; the hometown team won the high school football game. I guess both the local team and I hit the jackpot today. Butch was struggling against his bonds and making muffled demands from behind his gag. The drugs had worn off enough for him to be groggy, but able to recognize that he was in trouble. As I approached him I spoke in an even, low tone.
“Hey Butch, howya doing buddy? I sense a bit of concern…well, don’t worry, you’re in good hands now. I’m gonna take good care of you. Cause you are precious cargo. I’ve got a deadline to ship you halfway across the globe to a temporary new home. So I’ve got to run some tests to make sure you’re ready for your new situation.” Butch struggled all the more, fighting to gain some type of leverage against the bonds that kept him in place.
First I cinched the strap below his pecs and above his navel more tightly to ensure that he could not make enough of a frantic motion to topple the table since his legs were twisting. Of course the table was anchored to the floor, but I did not want to take any chances. I also used more rope on his powerful legs to make sure that as I performed my examination, his attempt to swing his legs to avoid my work would not accidently strike me.
I rolled a cart up to his ass, and adjusted the automatic fuck device that was desgined to move back and forth, as well as in a half twisting motion, one way, then the other. I turned it on so Butch could hear it… as I lubed up the soft platic prod shaped like a slender, slightly curved prick, with a fat knob and completely pebbled. Then I rolled up a wheeled chair, and snapped on a thin latex medical glove. I knew Butch was listening intently, and his vocal demands from behind his gag became more and more desperate.
“Now, now Butch, you’re a big boy…none of that wailing and whinning. I will be gentle, as little pain as possible. But I’ve got to have your cooperation. I noticed that the Viagra I had given him was still working its magic, and his cock was distneded and tumescent, not fully hard given his anxiety, but still not soft. God this was going to be fun.
I dipped my right hand index finger into a jar of lube, and then using my left hand to spread his hairy trough wider, I dragged my gloved and lubed finger against his ragged slit with its tight portal clenched out of straight male desperation. My fingernail was protruding against the latex, and I used it to scratch his anus. The moment I touched his hole, he bellowed into his gag, but it was to no avail. I kept rubbing and scratching for five minutes. Each time I flicked my nail against the taut opening, Butch’s long toes flicked and curled, as if sensations were affecting him. I looked up at his cock, and sure enough, his distended shaft was now a riged bar of 8.5 thick inches, with a drool of clear juice dripping from his deep pillwell onto his stomach at his navel, filling the inny hole.
It was time to slide into that private inner sanctum that few if any fingers had ever penetrated. I lubed my finger down to the first knuckle and then began a slow, but determined twisting motion against his anal knot. He resisted fiercely, clenching his anus to prevent the intrusion. But eventually, his muscle tired and his resistence weakened. My fingertip breached his hole and he bucked as much as the restraints would allow, desperate to evade my invading digit. At first I just twisted in, to the end of my fingernail, and twisted it back and forth lubing the entrance. Then slowly, but firmly, I twished my way into the first knuckle, my finger-pad finding his prostate and by curling my finger, rubbing gently against its bulbus surface.
“AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHH…,NNNNNNGGGGGNNNNNNN….AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!” Butch bellowed and wailed, desperate to free himself of my wriggling finger. But his rectum was a fish on my hook, and I had him.
I reached up with my free hand and gently pinched his right nipple, its pebbled nub thrusting out angrily from its hairy halo. Then licking my finger tip of this hand, I basted his nipple and then used my fingernail to scratch across the stiff tip. Alternting pinching and scratching, I had the big biker boy wrenching his head back and forth, gasping for air and squealing into his gag. Perspiration was dripping from his body, but only out of fear. At the same time, his cock was rigid, thrusting past his navel and his bulbous knob drooling pre-fuck. I guess his anal massage was hitting the mark, and made him all the more valuable to his prospective owner and our client.
After a few minutes of nipple play and finger-fucking, I reached up and dragged my index finger nail down the length of Butch’s size thirteen feet. Oh fuck, did this big straight boy buck, never having had anyone tickle his feet. So many straight guys know they are ticklish, but they mostly avoid getting into a situation where someone tests them. Oh, they might let a girlfriend gently tickle them in horseplay, or foreplay. But nothing serious. By contrast, I was deadly serious. I cupped my fingers and scrabbled them back and forth over his soft, meaty sole, causing his long toes to curl tight and his foot to wriggle violently in a desperate bid to escape my nails scratching against his athletic foot. All the while, Butch’s ass was bucking wildly and causing him to fuck my finger from the uncontrolled effort to escape my tickling hand. His grunting and groaning completed his shrieks into his gag from the maddening tickling.
Finally, I slid my finger out of his spasming rectum, and then picked up a slender hard rubber prod and lubed it up. Then I slipped it slowly into him; still loose from my finger fuck. He once again bucked as much as possible, resisting my intrusion. But once again, he eventually weakened and the rubber prod was gradually worked into him. Once I got it beyond his tight sphincter muscle, the anus snapped shut around the narrow end. The wide base kept it from going further, and that’s when I flicked the switch at the base making the prod begin to vibrate. What a fucking delicious howl came from behind his gag as the rubber tip jiggled remorselessly against his fat fuck nut:
AAAAAWWWWWWW FUUUUUUUKKKKKKK….MMMMMGGGGHHHH …UUUUUUGGGGHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHH….NNNNNNNNOOOOOO!
Then I returned to tickling his big feet, and with my free hand, I grasped his bulging cock head, and used his copious lube to masturbate it. Jesus, guys with huge knobs must feel sensations from their eyeballs to their toes when their sensitive cock heads are rubbed without relief. His knob quickly became angrily firm and that allowed me to use my fingernails to gently scratch his wide coronal ridge and his nicely cut circumcision scar causing the knob to flex even more. Then I returned to twisting my soft palm around his burping cock head, so greedy for attention and helpless to resist my relentless attentions. Now his ass was bouncing and grinding down against the table, only making the wicked vibrating prod work its insidious mission against his prostate….all he could do was squeal and howl, toes curling, ass grinding, cock thrusting. Now he was the animal I assumed he was when I saw him pissing in the bar, bred to be a breeder, but now being artificially bred and milked.
Suddenly, after almost thirty minutes of milking his fat glans, his cock lengthened, his big balls pulled up in their sack, and his cock head expanded obscenely. Then the wide piss lips spread apart and wads and wads of big boy cum ejected from his prick tip, shooting up over his head initially, and then coating his chest; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten long squirts. Then the thick white sap drooled from his cock lips and allowed me to screw my fist around his knob to polish it as he tried to escape my merciless grip and he squealed and squealed.
AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE….AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH….OOOOOOHHHHH…NNNNNOOOOOO! FFFFFUUUUUUUKKKK….OOOOOOWWWW …..NNNNNNOOOOOO!
After several minutes of deliberate torture of his fat cock head….I gave him a rest and removed the vibrating prod from his aching fundament. I used a wash cloth to sop up his juices, after tasting them with my tongue against one of his coated nipples. Then I wiped away the sweat from his brow and brought a water bottle with a straw for him to get a drink after I removed his gag.
He begged me to stop, to let him go. He was wasted, and knew I had him helpless. The tough and threatening masculinity was now whimpering and begging. But I just spoke softly to him, and told him not to worry. I was going to take good care of him, and soon he would start a new life for a few years and then would come back home. He blubbered when he heard the words a few years, and in a pannicked voice asked what the fuck I was talking about. Then I gently reproved him, and admonished him for swearing. “See Butch, that was a no, no, and now I’m going to have to put the gag back in.” He twisted his head, and begged me not to do it, but soon it was firmly in place and I let him know that soon we would start again on our next cum. With his blindfold on he could not see me, but he shook his head and pleaded through the gag hoping I might take pity on him.
After three more hours, and three more cums, Butch was done for the night. I bathed him bound on the table, and then gave him a sedative in his water bottle to put him to sleep. He was on a plane late the next night, a private jet, safely packed away in a comfortable container designed just for him and his long flight to Saudi Arabia.
Several months later, I received a file anonymously attached to a message in my mail [Butch’s new owner], as if it had come from a porn site. The mph file was of a big boned, athletic white male, gagged, blindfolded, his arms cuffed and cinched behind his back and attached with a firm rope to a short spreader bar that split his hairy ass cheeks just enough to expose his hair clogged anal knot. An electric stim prod was lodged in his ass, and a Venus 2000 was slowly sucking on his fat cock head—sliding up and down gradually, as his big body was rotated on a giant lazy susan. I could hear him grunting and whiming, and it was music to my ears. Butch had found a situation made for a boy like him. I figured it would be a night of multiple cums…good boy Butch, good boy. I hoped I would receive more anonymous files so I could see the inventive ways his new owner would display and use him. I understand his owner likes to baste boys with honey on their special parts when they are tied spread and let his big dogs, who are carefully trained, lick them to cums. Shit, I can’t wait to see that video!