Originally written in July 2009 and updated May 14, 2022
Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenagers with older men. This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely similarities. I do not engage in or condone sexual activity between adults and underage boys which is regulated by law. These are fantasies for sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real life. Please share your comments with me.
Security Guard Tony Bruno’s Capture Part 2
Justin had been a passing dalliance; he was not the catch I was after on this trip. I was on my way after bigger prey. I had learned of an ex-Marine, now a security guard at a local prison, who had been married, but at 31 had been divorced for four years. Strange thing about this security guard, while he hung out with the boys, and drank beer and talked pussy with the best in deep masculine, kinda meathead tones, he went home alone at night. That piqued my curiosity and I decided to learn more about him.
He grew up in Boston, the product of Irish and Italian parents, dark hired smooth bodied; a big dumb chunk. He was horny before he became an altar boy, and even as he went to confession and said his “Hail Marys” he was masturbating, sometimes under his robes. It started by watching professional wrestlers on television as a kid. He would grind his eleven-year-old four inch cock into the rug on the floor to achieve dry cums as the men strained and fought, rubbing their big bodies against each other in skimpy, clinging uniforms on the screen. His eyes would close as the powerful sensations overtook him, sometimes making him writhe and shake, his pricklet expanding, and its fat knob scrubbing against the rough carpeting. But he had to be careful that his parents and siblings did not know what he was doing, even as his preteen prick expanded and throbbed from the sweet sensation. The sight of some big guy being subdued by another guy, forcing him to submit using a sweaty, almost naked body to do it somehow made Tony’s big boy bone throb. But he assumed that all boys liked such things, and never thought for a moment that such feelings made him less than a man. Indeed, as his thick penis grew, so did his pride in achieving cums, its classic dimensions and look earning his solipsistic and narcissistic admiration. Boys like Tony were tough and the bigger their cocks, the more manly they were supposed to be.
He was never a big kid, but as he grew, like most short men, his sexual libido at times overwhelmed him along with the love for his cock. When he started to cum, he would find ways to grind his prick into the cushions of the sofa or in his bed, encased in a wash cloth or cotton gym sock, and blast loads of sticky, slimy boy juice as often as was possible. His strong rump would rise and his longtoes would bend backwards as he drove his growing penis into anything that would chaff it into submission. He would even jerk off at school, in the john after P.E., using his damp jock strap to wrap round his boner as he stroked his prick to the panting cums he needed so often and so badly. From the day he started watching the wrestlers on the T.V., he liked the way some guys would take charge, and others would just take orders. Tony had to be a tough kid in his neighborhood, but he liked being strong and silent, liked being the tough follower, never the leader. He was always one of the king’s men…making sure that things got done, and order was established. Inside, he wanted one of the boys he knew to take charge of him, but he just played along, did whatever the guys did, whatever he was told without betraying any sense of submission. He was a strong, Catholic, meathead… destined to be a Marine and do what he was told on an official level, and to have a body that girls would want to touch and stroke.My contact who had scoped out Tony, actually Anthony James Michael Bruno, said he grew up street wise, but shy. At the age of fourteen he started screwing neighborhood girls, mostly because he needed to cum and masturbation wasn’t as good as someone touching him, making him cum. The girls he looked for were ones who would dominate him, take charge when they fucked. He liked that. Once, one of the girls he was screwing reached around and spanked his ass as he drove into her…and he came like a bull…his imagination taking him places that he shared with no one.
When he was a freshman in high school, he started to play football, and he learned how good a mouth could feel, not from a girl though, but from another guy on the team. The two of them had decided to stay after practice one day, and were screwing around on the wrestling mat, when he sprung a stiff, beer-can thick, 6.5-inch boner. The kid noticed, but said nothing until they were halfway home in a park that they often cut through on the way home. He asked Tony if he had thrown a boner when they were wrestling, and Tony blushed, flustered, and said yes. He wanted to lie, but this guy was taking charge, forcing the issue, making him confess. His buddy, told him that he could help him, and told him to come with him to the park toilet. Tony began to sweat, but his friend was so bold, so strong, and was telling him what to do. He just followed, quietly, and inside the back stall, his friend shoved his jeans and briefs to his ankles, and reached up under his t-shirt to pinch and tug on his nipples, while sucking his cock furiously. Tony had to grab onto the tops of the low partitions with both hands to steady himself and his knees felt weak the moment the hot, wet mouth engulfed his bulging glans, the tongue lashing round the sticky knob whipping it into surrender. He blasted the most intense load of teen sperm he had ever shot---into another guy’s mouth, and from then until he graduated from high school, he wished they would end up in the park, or his buddy’s garage, having his cock blown to oblivion. But they never spoke of it again, and Tony did what he did best, he followed. So, his cock ached for his buddy’s hot mouth, but unless he took action it would never happen again. That wasn’t Tony Bruno…so it never happened again.
Tony was an offensive guard on the football team, and there he just did what guys in the trenches do, block and hit, whatever the quarterback says…in tandem, like good soldiers. No one knew, but when the quarterback barked orders, or yelled at the offensive line, it would make Tony’s prick harden—especially when he got mad and swore, calling the line pussies, and telling ‘em “to fuck” the guys across the line. He loved it when he hit the guys on the other team, and they would knock him to the ground. Later, out with friends, he would find a girl to screw, get drunk and fuck to the memory of those big boys hitting him and knocking him down, or the handsome quarterback pointing his fingers and swearing.
The day he graduated he signed up for the Marines, and within a year, he was married to one of the girl’s he had screwed most often as a senior in high school, one who put up with no shit and gave the orders he liked to hear in the bedroom. It was not so much that he loved her, but most of the guys in the barracks had girls or fiancés, and Tony just wanted to fit in. In the gang bunkhouse of the barracks, there was little chance to jerk his bone, and he only had privacy in the latrine on occasion. It was hard work, drill, drill, and an occasional wet dream that marked his first two years. Strangely, the dreams were not of his wife, but weird dreams of him in his Marine uniform wrestling with guys from the football team, and somehow, at the end, his turgid prick would pop streaming ropes of thick spooge into his shorts and onto the bedding, and his nipples would go stiff, almost aching. But Tony would not face these signs. Instead, when he had leave, he would go home and screw his wife silly, fucking like a man on a mission, loving it when her nails scraped across his back, and she swore at him, calling him a big dumb bastard, and nothing but a prick without a brain---demanding that he satisfy her. He loved the way her tight pussy would grip his fat knob and wring the juice from his over-loaded balls. He rutted like an animal in heat, and in many ways, that was what he was.
Tony left the military after six years, and three years later he was divorced. He never really explained to his friends why he and his wife had split, but that was Tony, few words and a quiet private life. After a while she grew tired of his dumb jock routine, and even her orders were not reaching the level of satisfaction he needed. But still, he did not confront his needs directly. He just started a new routine and masturbated to relieve his constant horniness. When he joined the prison security force after he left the Marines, he was always on time, clean and neat on every work day, but with a quiet almost distant demeanor. He would go out with the boys on Friday nights to drink or go to a baseball or basketball game, and once in a while they would get together for a road trip on the weekends, but Tony said very little about his life. He would laugh at the jokes, talk pussy---mostly blushing, and he would join the guys in making comments about the cunt they saw on the street or in bars. But that was it. Little did they know, there was little more going on at home.
During the last year of his marriage, he started going to a seedy adult bookstore at the edge of town. In dark sun shades and with a baseball cap low on his brow, he would go into a dirty stall at the end of the bookstore, latch the door, and drop in three dollars in quarters. The first time, he kneaded his erect prick through his pants as he watched one of the queer S & M films where a guy dressed like a Marine was subdued by two others, stripped, bound and masturbated then fucked. He had to take a wad of Kleenex and stuff them into his fly and briefs to prevent the flood of thick spooge squirting from his cock from wetting through his pants and embarrassing him. As he got up to leave, he saw a long, thick penis sticking through a hole in the booth, dripping pre-cum. He was freaked out, and hyper-ventilating, but it did not stop him from coming back again in two weeks. This time, he alternated between watching the screen and staring at the hole in the booth wall. Finally, a finger came through the hole and beckoned him to come to it. He just stared, but when a napkin came through the hole and fell onto the floor with writing on it…he hesitated, then picked it up and read. The note said “stick your cock through the hole and I’ll suck it.” He kept reading the note for what seemed like minutes, staring at the words and thinking back to his buddy in high school. Finally, he stood up and ignoring the glory hole, began to rub the thick mound of his pants where his prick was pulsing and leaking in his briefs. After ten more minutes, he loosened his fly and pushed down both his pants and briefs to his knees, exposing his unusually thick, 6.5-inch cudgel with his legs slightly spread. His cock was so thick, he could barely get his fist around it, even with his big hands. And his knob was fat, with a wide coronal ridge and a deep pisswell. When he rubbed his thumb around the wet drool that leaked from his glans, it made him shiver with the ticklish sensation. Finally, he stopped, and let the thick, rigid shaft jut out, dripping pre-fuck to the floor. He did not touch his throbbing boner fearful he would nut, but looked down occasionally to watch drips of his clear pre-fuck drop from the wide piss lips, down to the floor, and then returned his gaze to the movie whirring ahead on the screen. But then, without any warning, he abruptly turned and slid his fevered boner through the glory hole and to the hot wet lips waiting on the other side. Llike the ones he had dreamed of since his freshman year in high school, they closed around his fat knob with a fist corkscrewing and a tongue lashing. Minutes later, panting and thrusting his hips, he was helplessly spunking bolts of jism into the vacuuming mouth that seemed to hold him captive, forcing him to stretch out against the partition and surrender to the unrelenting, siphoning lips.
From that day on, about once a month, Tony would get his prick sucked, his hands spread up against the wall as his cock was serviced and suckled into submission, his eyes closed tight from the delicious sensation, his nipples aching as they poked through his shirt and brushed against the hard wooden partition. He ground his body as closely as he could against the wall, to get as much of his penis down the cocksucking throat on the other side; fuck it felt so good he would whine softly from the sweet, overwhelming sensation, and the sense that he was helpless, in the control of the mouth on the other side of the wall.
After his wife left him, Tony went on the internet and found porn that piqued his interests, both femdom and male domination sites. And he would find the time twice a week to fuck a fake cunt he had purchased on the internet in the form of an inflatable plastic life size doll. Yet even as he fucked the doll, sometimes decked in his uniform, he would blindfold himself, occasionally tie his hands behind his back, and even gag himself once in a while. On those occasions, he would shoot wads of thick gism into the doll’s pussy, lined with soft material that he could replace each time and lubricate with soft tissue pads. And when he came, he would imagine guys from the Marines whom he had known, or guys from the prison guard force, or even prisoners, who would be directing him in screwing his “woman.” He was never in charge, and it made it all the more exciting to Tony to imagine that these tough men were in charge of his sexual activity. He never questioned these fantasies, not wanting to understand why he was so addicted to them.
Anthony Bruno would still go to Mass, and even confession---and he was an active member of the prison guard weight lifting team, going with the guys on competitions that transformed his body into a tight, powerful machine. He wasn’t a pro, not cut and defined too sharply, and without an ounce of fat. But he was in top condition, as much to work out his constant sexual tension, as to make him strong. Tony would throw erections constantly, and had to resist the temptation to jerk off each morning when he stood in his bathroom to piss, his morning boner and beautiful body reflected in the full-length mirror as he finally willed down his erection and pissed. Here was a guy who was ready for selection, training and shipment, and I would need to get some of his buddies among the local cops to help me, albeit reluctantly.
Among the Suffolk County troopers were three cops named Dom, Chet and Rick. I knew Dominic Christopher Morelli from a contact in the local lap dancing clubs. He was a regular, and one night he got caught buying a cunt for a fuck on tape, after a lap dance. From that time on, my contact made sure that Dom was a “recruiter” for us. He could stay with his wife and family, nothing would change…but once in a while he was ours to use in a special sting or just for the fun of it. He hated those times, but knew that his identity and life as a cop depended on our generosity. If he produced, then he had nothing to worry about. Dom was a pure Guido, a dark-haired Italian beef stick, with 7.5 inches of bull uncut cock, and heavy, hanging nuts. He was covered in dark whorls of curly hair over his pale skin, and everything about him was big…his feet, his hands, his chest, his nipples…his ass. He was a big boy. Even at age 30, Dom was beginning to go just slightly salt and pepper, but at 210 lbs. of motorcycle cop, he was a wet dream cum true. Women would throw themselves at Dom and his buddies, but most of the time they would go home with hardons and just talk pussy. Dom’s one night of indiscretion, cost him for years, and eventually would cost him even more.
We roped two other meathead cops, law and order types, conservative on the outside, but eating other men’s wives’ pussy and fucking them when they could. We used Dom to help us, help us get photos, audio tapes and video occasionally on two other guys without them ever knowing how they were compromised. Chet Daniels and Rick Hamilton were the two muscleheads we corralled. The troopers and the cops from the local prison often drank together at a pub outside Boston, near to where Tony worked at a club on off-hours as a bouncer. My operative made sure the blackmailed cops knew exactly what they had to do, to meet my demands. Their job was to secure Tony for me. Dom persuaded Tony to go out with him, Chet and Rick to drink off the job. They learned his habits, his schedule, and that he followed a customary routine.
Finally, my night came. Dom made sure he had a shift scheduled one Friday night on the graveyard so he could be at the club when Tony finished his shift and began the ten-mile drive back to his home that followed quiet, deserted streets through the industrial part of town. On a back road, almost an alley between dormant storage facilities, Dom put on the lights of his cruiser and pulled Tony over. Initially, Tony buzzed from the beers he had been drinking, wondered who was stopping him. But when he saw Dom, he smiled expecting that his buddy was going to share some info with him about their next get together, or just to shoot the shit on his late shift. Dom took off his glove, and extended his hand to Tony, who reached out his window to shake the big Italian trooper’s hand. But when the hands clasped, Tony felt a prick, and when he pulled his hand back, he looked at his palm to see a circle of pin-pricks. It was the last thing he remembered. His body slumped over in the seat, and he did not even see Dom reach into the vehicle to turn the key and switch-off the engine. My van came from behind one of the nearby buildings, and soon, Tony was loaded into the back. My operative drove Tony’s vehicle and Dom, quietly melded into the night, his cruiser slowly driving out the area and back to his route. As it turned out, Dom and his buddies decided to try and pull a fast one on me, but I would handle that later. In the meantime, I had a big hunk Irish-Italian prison guard, and it was about to be my favorite time; training time.
Tony had his uniform in his gym bag in the trunk of his vehicle. I made sure we took it with us, since I wanted to film him in his uniform. When he awoke, he was reclining, tethered on a back-board. He was fully clothed in his uniform, including his hat, boots and Sam Browne belt. As he came to…he realized that his arms were secured over his head, and his legs were slightly spread and secured at the ankles in a manner that did not allow him to move. He was gagged, but not blindfolded…it did not matter if he saw me. He would never see me again.“Anthony…you are a fine specimen of a man…” I smiled as I spoke. His eyes were almost expressionless, in spite of his situation. He did not seem scared, but his eyes did move from me around the room, and his head turned as he looked. It was not a startled movement, but a deliberate one. I flipped a lever and made the reclining board straighten upwards. As it did so, Tony’s big booted feet hit the floor. I touched a switch and his arms which were tethered over his head to the top of the board now rose to the ceiling, and another switch secured his ankle stirrups to the floor rather than to the board. With a careful adjustment, Tony was standing erect, stretched up, and his feet approximately 3 feet apart. I wheeled up a chair and sat down. “Now that’s better Anthony…now I can begin my inspection,” I smiled as I spoke, and removed his gag. He finally reacted after gulping down some water from a squeeze bottle I held to his lips.
In the deep baritone of his Boston accent, he spoke; not frightened but in a curiously curious tone of inquisition rather than indignation. “Whaaat investigation…?”
“Why of your body of course, well…at least it’s yours right now. Anthony, you are a perfect piece of male flesh, and I need to confirm my suspicions. So, I’d appreciate it if you would cooperate, because if you don’t I’m going to have to use this nasty taser on you, and I wouldn’t like to do that. You know from your line of work what a painful form of behavior modification the taser can be. So, I hope you’ll be a good boy…cause that’s what you are isn’t it Tony, I hope I can call you Tony?” My smile continued and my voice was so casual that Anthony, like a big dumb lunk, just acted like the situation was normal.
I repeated my question, asking him if he was a good boy. He looked puzzled, but not angry. “I’m notta boy, I’m a maaan…” was all he said in that deep monotone. “Yes, Tony, you are a man, but from now on you’re gonna be my boy, my good boy, and if you aren’t then I have to use my taser. So, you’re gonna cooperate, aren’t you?”
He just looked at me, almost expressionless…but I noticed that his fly was now bulging. Something about telling him that he was my boy made Tony’s thick penis erect, and it was mounding his uniform fly---fuck I love bulging crotches. When I gazed down at it, so did he and he blushed deeply but said nothing…his eyes averting mine now. “Yes, I think you’re gonna be my big, good boy from now on Tony.” I said with a smug attitude and tone.
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