The Telemachus Story Archive

Seven Days
By Hooder

Seven Days


The boy pulled at the leather straps binding him to the chair. He shook his head, trying to clear it and to shake off the hood so that he could see what was happening, but the single strap around his neck kept it loosely but immovably in place, blindfolding him completely. He was still woozy from the spray in his face, and he was very frightened.

It had happened on his way home from his job at the garage. He'd been looking forward to his week off, and he'd stopped to look in a shop window, wondering if he could afford some new jeans, when suddenly his arms had been pinned to his sides from behind and there had been a spray of sickly sweet-smelling mist in his face. Instantly the strength had gone from his legs and he'd collapsed into the arms holding him. It had all happened so fast - and in broad daylight too: one moment he'd been happily gazing at the jeans, and the next he'd been drugged, lifted into a black van, strapped to the metal chair placed centrally in the rear, and hooded. The spray hadn't knocked him out, but it had made resisting quite impossible. The whole thing had taken perhaps twenty seconds, and then the van had moved off at high speed.

Suddenly loud rock music was playing. In his sightless, drug-induced wooziness it disorientated him completely. He yelled, wanting to know what the fuck was happening, but no-one answered him. In panic he struggled in the restraints but he couldn't move an inch. Helpless, hooded, and with no idea of where he was or where he was being taken - or by whom - he could only sit and wait as the van carried him off.

Eventually the rock music faded out slowly, and was replaced by soothing ambient sounds which, together with the gentle rocking of the van, finally put him into a natural sleep. At some point he was woken up, unstrapped from the chair, handcuffed, and taken out of the van to stretch his legs and to have a pee; but he was kept hooded, and the guys holding him answered no questions. Then back into the van and off again. He had no idea of the time that had passed since he'd been abducted, but it felt to him that it was many hours.

* * *

He squinted in the light as the hood was pulled off his head, then looked around. The room could have been anywhere: bare white walls, no windows, a simple wooden desk, a waste bin on the floor, and two chairs. He was sat in the one facing the desk, his wrists cuffed behind the chair, and his ankles to its legs - just beside the heavy bolts which held it to the floor. He heard the door behind him close as whoever had removed his hood, left. He was alone.

The minutes dragged by until eventually the door opened again and a man entered wearing full black leather: combat boots, jeans, jacket, skintight gloves and a black leather mask. He walked to the chair behind the desk and sat down, smiling to himself.

Strangely enough, once the boy saw the leather, he became fractionally less worried. He'd thought that he might have been kidnapped by terrorists, they seemed to be in the news a lot lately, but he wasn't aware of any terrorists who wore full black leather - and certainly not leather as shiny, nor leather jeans as skintight and bulging, or as clearly designed to look sexy, as this guy's gear was. It looked like he was in the hands of perverts, and surely that couldn't be as bad as terrorists. Could it?

"Welcome to the 'Institution', Alex." The man had a deep, resonant voice. "I apologise for the way you were brought here, but it was necessary, so that you wouldn't know where you'd been taken. This place is - how shall we say - 'not in the arena of public knowledge' - and it is going to stay that way."

Alex opened his mouth but the man raised a hand.

"I'm sure you have lots of questions, but please wait until I've finished what I have to say to you before you ask them. Most of your questions will be answered, I think."

Alex closed his mouth.

"Ok. Now, first, you are going to be here with us for exactly one week. Don't worry, arrangements have been made to feed your cat and to take care of anything else that may come up at your flat. We know you had no plans for this week off from work, but anyone who asks will be told that you made a last-minute decision to have a few days in Scotland. You've always wanted to go there, I believe."

How did these people know so much about him and his life? Alex wondered.

"This place, the 'Institution', exists to cater to those who have unusual sexual tastes, or who want to indulge in things they couldn't do in their everyday lives - and who can pay for them."

Alex remembered having seen a film called "Hostel" a few weeks ago - it featured a place in which wealthy people paid huge sums of money to torture and dismember victims, and he felt his bowels loosen with fear. But the next thing the man said reassured him - it was as if he'd read his mind.

"Don't worry - this is nothing like those dungeons in that Tarrantino film 'Hostel', if you've seen it; we do no permanent damage to our victims, and everything is closely supervised by us. We usually assist in scenarios, in fact. No, this place is about pleasure. Also, you will leave here with one thousand pounds in your pocket." He smiled, and chuckled, "and probably with enough memories to wank over for years."

The boy's mouth was open again, but this time in surprise. A thousand pounds? Wow.

"So, why have we brought you here? One of our clients wants to try an experiment on a boy. The client specified that the victim we got for him should be," he picked up a file from the desk and read from it: " 'slim, extremely cute, preferably blond, no less than seventeen, and no more than nineteen years old' ". He is of the opinion that in general, boys are at their most horny and need sexual release most frequently between those ages. "You, I believe, are just seventeen, is that right?"

Alex nodded. This talk of sex had already given him the beginnings of a hard-on. He hoped the man wouldn't notice it.

"Good. As for being slim, blond and 'extremely cute', there's certainly no question about any of those." The man smiled again as he saw the boy blush. "Now, the experiment itself. The client is interested to find out what effect prolonged and intense sexual frustration has on such a boy. You will be here for seven days. Later today, and also at the end of the final day, you will be milked..." He saw that Alex didn't understand that, so he explained further, "... you will be made to cum. Wanked off. Yes?"

Alex nodded again. His mouth had gone dry and his cock was a bar of steel in his jeans.

"But those are the only two times you will cum while you are here. After being milked later today, you will begin a programme carefully designed to make you want and need to cum, but you won't be able to cum. Every day you will be teased as unbearably as possible, by the client - sometimes assisted by myself or other members of staff of the Institution - but you will not be allowed to cum. You will be in restraints of one kind or another most of the time - even when you are put to bed; and whenever the client, or one of our sexual psychologists, thinks it will be effective, you will be gagged, or blindfolded or hooded - perhaps tightly. There may be times when you panic, but remember that whatever's happening to you, we will not allow you to be harmed. There may also be times when you want out, want it to stop. I'm afraid there's nothing you can do about that - you will be here for the full length of time, and you will undergo the full programme. You will not suffer undo pain, you will not be fucked, or given drugs - except something we will administer at night so that you can't get release through wet dreams, and it may be necessary to sedate you quickly if you become violent. Apart from that, no drugs." The man put the file back down onto the desktop. "One more thing. It is against the rules here for a victim and client to exchange personal information such as addresses, place of work, telephone numbers etc. And that includes real names. Your client will know you as 'Joey'".

He rolled the new name around in his mind. 'Joey'. He liked that. This was all too much to take in, but as far as he understood it, the whole idea sounded wonderful to him. If he wasn't mistaken he was going to spend a whole week being played with, sexually teased - and he'd get paid for it as well! He considered himself straight, and he'd never had any kind of sex with another guy, but looking at the one across the desk from him - he seemed to radiate sexual attraction, and that leather was so fucking horny - the idea had a definite appeal right now. Sex was sex, and as long as nobody was going to fuck him or torture him, what the hell? And a thousand pounds...

He grinned. "Bring it on," he said.

* * *

Most of the guys I know are into macho-looking men: great hairy, pierced or tattooed animals with ten-inch dicks and loose arseholes and tits that you could hang things from. But me? I've always loved boys. Late teenage boys - cute, smooth, slim, inexperienced, permanently horny, and boyish . All of us have out ideal 'types', and that happens to be mine. I'm not a paedophile - little kids don't do a thing for me - but teenage boys... Oh yeah. Their firm, hard cocks, the smell of their hair - I could lick them all over. But I like to do more than that: those other guys are into fucking, CP, tit torture, fisting and the like, but I'm into gentler things. Sensuous, tactile things. Devious things. But don't think for one moment that I'm vanilla. I am a sadist. Oh fuck yeah, I'm a sadist.

There is something I think about every night as I lay in bed, an idea that turns me on more than anything else in the world: to take a guy, get him horny - as intensely, mind-shatteringly, insanely horny as it's physically possible to get a male, to the point where he is literally incapable of thinking about anything else and he's become a drooling, mindless animal whose cock is the only thing in his universe, and his desire for orgasm has become a red haze of intense need which nothing else - nothing else - can penetrate. And then, when I've got him to that point, to tease his cock so gently; to tickle it so lightly; to wank it sooooo slowly - to use that need for orgasm as a torture; to use it against him to drive him out of his mind, to encourage and build up that need, make it worse and worse by the most sadistic and unbearably frustrating teasing - but to make absolutely certain that however intense that drive becomes, however insanely badly he needs relief, he can not cum.

Fantasies are all very well, but to do that in real life is in fact not easy. Age and experience both tend to desensitise a guy, and although I've had a few memorable sessions with guys of my age or so, even those have never approached what I imagine in my fantasy - and most have come nowhere near.

But teenage boys - oh yes, teenage boys. Horny horny horny. Their sex drive is so high, and they need to cum soooo often. They're young, they have very little experience, and their cocks are wonderfully sensitive. That makes them perfect for what I want to do. But it's difficult to find victims. In my daily life, when I'm walking down the street, I constantly see boys I'd love to work on - but there's just no way to get them. When I heard about this place, the 'Institution', I realised that at last I may be able to make that fantasy a reality. I was a bit embarrassed at first talking about it, but Dave, the guy who runs this place, said that what I wanted was tame compared to what some of his other clients asked for. We agreed on a fee (going to make a dent in my bank balance I can tell you), went over the details, and I told him the kind of boy I wanted. As luck would have it, he said, he thought he already knew of one who would be a perfect victim for me. We agreed on the following week for the sessions, to give the Institution staff time to make the necessary arrangements, and I went home to get my things together for moving into there for seven days. Every night in bed I itched to wank, thinking about the boy, imagining what he might look like, but I was determined not to cum before I started working on him. It was bloody difficult, but I managed it.

* * *

Before I entered the room I stood still and took a deep breath. Behind that door was a horny, cute 17-year old boy - and he was mine to work on for an entire week. I hoped I wasn't going to be disappointed when I saw him. My hand trembled as I pushed the door open and went in.

Oh fuck. In my night-time fantasies I had imagined some sexy boys, but Joey was better than any of them. He was fucking perfect. I'd asked that he not be blindfolded to begin with, because I wanted to see his face completely - I was masked, so he wouldn't be able to identify me anyway. He was spreadeagled between two wooden posts which ran from the floor to the ceiling, he was naked, and he was perfect. Deep blue eyes looked at me with a wonderfully insolent expression from under a tousled mop of honey-blond hair; he looked like an urchin - a stray who'd nick your wallet without thinking about it. He was slim; smooth skinned, with the lightest sprinkling of blond hairs; he had nicely delineated pecs; a flat stomach; firm thighs; good-shaped feet; and a cock and balls nestling in a small thatch of blond hair between his legs. I tore my eyes from his face and gazed at that cock for a while, imagining how I was going to torture it unbearably in the next seven days.

I walked forward slowly and stood in front of him. Oh fuck he was sexy. I could smell his boy scent and I had an almost irresistible urge to put my arms around him and feel his young, lithe body pressed against me, But I didn't. Instead I ran one finger lightly down his chest and stomach and along his cock. At the touch of my leather-gloved finger, it began to get hard. Perfect!

"Hello Joey," I said.

"Alright, mate." His voice was perfect too: cheeky. He had a cocky smile on his face, but I saw the uncertainty beneath it.

"You're not gonna hurt hurt me, are you?"

I shook my head and replied slowly, "Oh no, Joey, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to torture you, but it will feel beautifully sexy, believe me."

He looked a bit unsure about that, but then he smiled properly - and I swear the whole room lit up.

After I'd first arrived here, Dave - the guy who ran the Institution - had shown me around the facility and explained what was available. There was a lot. The building had been an insane asylum years ago and they'd kept many of the original features, modifying them as necessary for their new application. As I stood looking at Joey I imagined him in all the different restraints there were available; in the various rooms, dungeons and cells; and each image that flashed into my mind was more horny than the last. I was going to have a lot of fun with young Joey.

However, first things first. In order to be able to get this boy to the edge of orgasm and keep him there with no chance of his being able to cum, I had to learn his responses - and that meant making him cum, today. But if I wanted to do this experiment over a full week, I'd only get one chance to learn them. It was Sunday today, and after today's milking I did not want to allow him to cum again before next Saturday evening. But I am very talented at cum-control. I didn't forsee any problems.

I wasn't simply going to make him cum straight away; I was going to go very slowly indeed, watching his every response to everything I did to him, and try to keep him on the edge for as long as possible before finally bringing him to orgasm. The longer I could keep him close, the more I would learn from him, and the more intensely I would be able to torture him over the coming week. I was under no illusions - horny teenage boys can cum at the drop of a hat; one false move and it would be too late: there would be spunk everywhere and the experiment would be a failure. Also there was the risk that even having learned his responses today, something I did later - playing with him in shorts, for instance, or with rubber gloves, or putting him a certain position - may make him shoot spontaneously. I was going to have to be very careful indeed. But as I say, I'm quite talented in that area.

So - down to business. I'd requested that after I'd inspected him, he be taken down and strapped immobile to one of the tables I'd seen. It's a normal restraint table, but with two rails running from level with the hips down to the bottom of the table. This allows the victim's top half to be strapped down as usual, but as his ankles are cuffed to the rails, he can bend his knees and partly close them (knee-spreaders were available too if required) and move his feet up the table if he wants to, though not raise them or close the together. I thought that would be good as I wanted to see if the ability to struggle was a turn-on for him. Watching a boy struggling was most certainly a turn-on for me...

With a last, long look, I left him. My cock was rock-hard in my jeans but I forced myself to go for a cup of coffee in the canteen while Dave and the others prepared him for the milking.

* * *

When I entered the cell he was naked again, and restrained exactly exactly how I wanted him. It was a shame he had to be blindfolded, as I'd love to have seen his eyes, but it was necessary so that he had no choice but to concentrate on what I'd be doing to his cock. He looked so vulnerable, so young and helpless lying there with his cock already semi-erect. I pulled up a stool, sat down level with his pelvis, and rearranged my hard cock inside my leather jeans into a more comfortable position. "When was the last time you came?" I asked him.

He didn't reply for a moment - I think he was embarrassed. "Last night," he answered eventually.

"Sex with someone, or wanking?"

Another pause. "Wankin'."

"Ok." I reached forward and stroked one finger gently along the length of his cock from the base to the tip. He jumped, then groaned in pleasure, his cock instantly growing to full erection. It was average sized for a 17-year old boy, uncut and, as I watched, a single drop of precum appeared at the tip. Beautiful. I moved my hand down and stroked the insides of his thighs lightly. He moaned again and his cock jerked in the air.

"Describe to me exactly how you best like to wank. Position, how you hold your cock, which hand you use, what you do with the other hand, and what you think about."

This time there was a longer pause. I think he was having difficulty talking about such a personal subject to a stranger. I smiled to myself - that would change soon enough.

"I do it in bed. Lyin on my back with my knees bent..." He broke off to moan again, and writhed languorously as my fingers moved over the silky smooth skin of his inner thighs. I kept them still for a moment to let him continue. "Legs close together. I stroke up and down the shaft of my cock for a bit - right hand - put my left hand between the top of my thighs and squeeze it between them. When I'm getting near, I slide the foreskin slowly over the head. The closer I get to cumming, the further towards the tip I work on it."

"That's excellent," I said. "Do you like having your balls tickled? " I put my hand flat against the inside of one thigh and tickled his balls with my thumb. Instantly his knees came together as far as they were able, his thighs pressing lightly around my hand and an urgent gasp of pleasure escaped his lips.

"Oh fuck yeahhhh...." He groaned.

I was getting an idea of what turned him on most. Another question might confirm this. "OK, now tell me your most horny fantasy. Doesn't matter how embarrassing it is - I've heard them all, believe me. What is the horniest thing you can possibly think about when you're wanking?"

This time the pause was very long. I encouraged him by wiggling my hand gently between his thighs, tickling his balls again, and stroking the base of his cock with my other hand. It was like a steel rod now. I allowed him to writhe and moan for a few seconds, then kept my hands still and waited for him.

"You won't laugh?" he said at last, when he'd relaxed again.

"Oh no, I won't laugh," I said seriously.

"Alright then." Another pause, then he shook his head. "Feels strange, talking abut this to you."

"Look, I'm tickling your balls with one hand, I've got your cock in my other hand, and I'm going to make you cum in a few minutes. Try."

His face went red under the blindfold. "Yeah. Ok - well the horniest thing is when I imagine I've got a girl tied up - usually hands tied behind her back and feet tied together and tied up to her hands. She's got nothing on." His cock was getting dangerously hard so I parted his knees and withdrew my hand from between his thighs. "I kneel by her side and play a game where she tries to stop me getting at her pussy. She can't of course, I can get at it whenever I want, either from the back or from the front - she can't protect both at the same time - but I like it when she struggles to try to keep my hands off." He blushed beneath the blindfold and laughed self-consciously. "I don't usually get any further than that cos I've cum by then."

I smiled to myself. This boy had invasion fantasies, and I filed that knowledge away - that would be extremely useful later. I bet he'd never had anyone use that turn-on against him before. The wonderful thing about young boys is that it's extremely unlikely that they've ever experienced before the kind of thing I love to do to cocks - tickling with feathers; slow wanking with lube-slippery, rubber-gloved fingers; teasing with tiny thin strips of leather; and all the other techniques I use on them. And as for cum-control - being kept close to orgasm but being denied the relief of cumming - they've almost certainly never experienced that in their life before. The next seven days were going to be an education for young Joey.

But for now, back to the business in hand. I began to stroke and caress his body all over, and his cock got fully hard straight away. He laughed and giggled when I tickled his arms, his ears or his neck, and went ballistic when my fingers found his armpits. I continued to stroke and tickle him gently, working slowly down his body and keeping a very close eye on his cock. His nipples seemed not to do anything at all for him, but his armpits appeared to be erogenous zones when they were stroked slowly and lightly, as did the soles of his feet - anything faster just made him convulse in ticklishness and his cock lose its extreme hardness. I noticed that even when I was working gently and slowly on his armpits and he was getting off on it big time, he still tried to pull his arms in to keep my hand out. The invasion turn-on again. But it was work on his legs that had the greatest effect - especially his thighs, and particularly the insides of them. From as far down as the insides of his knees, right up to his balls, I only had to touch them anywhere between those two places and he reacted intensely: he tried to close his thighs together, he struggled and groaned with lust, and his cock got precum-drippingly hard. I spent a long time exploring his body slowly and meticulously - and although I hadn't touched his cock for ages it remained as hard as iron.

I was aware that everything I was doing was being videorecorded, both for reasons of security and also for my use if I wished to review the images later (the DVDs would be mine to take home at the end of the week assuming I hadn't murdered my victim). I intended to review them as I wanted to study closely what happened when Joey came.

I straightened his legs so the cameras could get better views, and placed a single finger and thumb around the shaft of his cock. It was time to make him cum - slowly if possible. I began to move my hand up and down, taking care not to touch the head at all for the time being. His moaning became deeper, and his pelvis began to thrust in time with my hand but in the opposite direction in order to get more - and deeper - friction. I repositioned my fingers so that although they were still gripping just the shaft, each slow stroke pulled and pushed the foreskin gently over the ridge of the head. This caused more intense moaning and thrusting. I did what I love to do in such circumstances - after a while I began to move my hand along with his thrusting, so that his cock remained stationary relative to my fingers and there was no friction at all. He forced out a squeal of frustration and tried to thrust his pelvis even harder. I let my hand continue to move with it.

"Please....." he whispered.

I smiled. If everything went well, I was going to be hearing that word a lot in the next week.

I moved my hand again, this time gripping his cock right on the ridge of the head. For a couple of seconds - I didn't dare to do it for longer - I froze my hand in space so that his thrusting into it had full effect. His muscles tightened, and a low, quiet, keening sound came from him, rising in pitch. Now that was interesting. I let go of his cock.

"NOOOOOO......" He wailed pitifully. "PLEASE!!!!!!" When it became clear that I wasn't going to continue for the moment, he sank back onto the table. "Bastard," he said.

I considered putting my hand between his thighs and tickling his balls, but decided against it as I was pretty sure that would make him cum immediately, and also because I knew he'd raise his legs and might block the cameras' view. Instead, I released his cock, waited for a few seconds, and then began again, this time even slower. After a few moments the strange, soft wailing noise began again, the pitch rising. His body tensed, and I knew he was on the edge of cumming. I continued doing that for as long as I dared - perhaps three of four seconds, then stopped, and removed my fingers. The noise he was making was quite high-pitched now, and when I let go he fought the restraints violently.

"NOO! FOR FUCK'S SAKE DON'T STOP NOW! DON'T STOP!!! DON'T STOP!!!!" He was thrusting his hips, his cock fucking the air, rubbing against nothing. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!!" I was suddenly aware that I was cumming in my jeans.

This was the first session - just the learning phase for me - and I had already got him to the point where, from now on, I could indulge myself in torturing him to my heart's content. I knew at that moment that I was going to have no difficulty in controlling him at all. A very satisfactory evening's work.

But I still had to make him cum. I toyed with the idea of not doing, so that he would suffer all the more in the next days, but decided against it - I did need to know exactly how near I could get him. That had been close - but was it possible to get him even closer? I put my fingers back on his cock and began stroking it again, very slowly indeed.

From then on I kept my hand there - didn't take it off at all, controlling how close he was to the edge by simply varying the speed and pressure of my fingers. After another five minutes of this I knew there was no point in continuing - I'd got to know his cock very well enough. This time I kept the speed and the pressure - very slow and very light - steady, and didn't change them at all. He approached the edge again. A second later I felt the abrupt increase in the hardness of his cock which signaled the onset of orgasm. If I'd stopped at that instant, he still wouldn't have been able to cum - just - but I carried on. Spunk erupted from his cock and he thrashed in his restraints, yelling in ecstasy as he came. He brought his feet up, bending his knees and pressing them together although there was nothing between his thighs for him to grip. I continued rubbing his cockhead slowly, not increasing the speed or pressure in the slightest, throughout his entire orgasm. My fingers were running with spunk and it was all over his chest. One drop had even got as far as his left nipple.

Eventually he subsided, breathing heavily, and his muscles gradually relaxed. I wiped the spunk off my hand and off him with a tissue.

"Oh fuck," he groaned. "That was something else..."

I smiled. Young Joey was in for the ride of his life in the next seven days.

* * *

As my fingers continued to move slowly up and down his cock, that strange, soft wailing noise he made got steadily higher and higher. I don't think he was aware that he was making it - it seemed to be a subconscious reaction, and that his mind was very much on other things. The wail came from the speakers set either side of the four screens in the editing suite as I watched the replay of that milking. The picture quality was good: there - I could actually see his cock suddenly harden even more a second or so before he started to cum. I froze the picture, turned the jog wheel to go back a little, and played the beginning of the orgasm again. Then I noticed that the wailing noise wasn't there. I rewound further, and found the point at which it had stopped: about another second before the sudden hardening of his cock. From that point on the boy was holding his breath. If this was what happened every time he came (and I had no reason to suspect otherwise) it would be a perfect way for me to know when he was on the very edge of orgasm. I played the session through one more time and then went back to my suite and got ready for bed. I was looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *


When arrangements were being made for this week at the Institution, Dave had asked me what gear I'd like on hand for Joey to wear. I'd made a list for him, and as I sipped my morning coffee I looked at it, trying to decide what to put him in first. My finger moved down the list and stopped at the football kit. Yes, that would be excellent. Although the boy lived in Manchester, he apparently supported the Liverpool team, and their current kit was red with white side stripes. I'd liked the look of that so I'd requested it, but with the shorts in nylon rather than the usual cotton, because I liked the slinky, shiny look and feel of nylon shorts. Gavin, one of the Institution staff, was at the next table, so I told him how I'd like Joey to be prepared for today's first session. He nodded and said that was no problem. He said it would be an hour before Joey was ready, as it was best to allow plenty of time for the nighttime drug to wear off.

When I opened the door to Dungeon 3, I nearly came on the spot. Joey was lying on the floor on a large soft rubber mat, hogtied. He had no choice but to lie on his back as there was a cuff around each knee, from which ran a thin steel cable to pulleys either side. At the moment these were set to keep his knees wide apart. He looked good enough to eat in the red football shirt and shorts, and because his knees were held apart, the legs of the shorts were pulled away from his inner thighs, revealing a tantalising view of silky smooth, sensitive skin disappearing up into the darkness of his shorts and towards his ticklish balls and that beautiful, horny cock. He already had a full erection as the loose shorts were tented out into a huge pyramid between his thighs.

Joey looked like he'd just come from a school football match - there was even grass on the soles of his football boots and stains on his long socks (one of which was down around his ankle. I love Dave's attention to detail...) He looked so vulnerable and sexy I could so easily have raped his cock right there and then. But I wanted him even more vulnerable. I'd asked for assistance for this session, and another of the staff, Peter - a blond hunk in skintight leathers - handed me a leather hood. I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it slowly, making sure Joey could see me doing it. The hood was extremely thin leather, but double-layered, with shiny leather on the inside as well. It would be no use at all if the victim weren't restrained as it was so thin that it would be easy to tear it off - but with his hands tied there was no way the boy would be able to get this off once it was over his head.

"Why are you going to hood him?" Asked Peter. "I'd have thought you'd want to see his face while you torture him." Peter was a sexual psychologist and I knew that when he said something there was usually a deeper reason than may be immediately obvious. I knew why he'd asked: he wanted the boy to know exactly what that hood would do to him.

"Yeah, it would be nice to see his face, but I want him as vulnerable and as helpless as possible. For a start, it'll blindfold him so that he can't see what we're going to do to him, or when, and so he won't be able to prepare himself for it. And the feel of the leather over his face will make him feel helpless, horny, and he won't be able to stop himself from reacting to everything we do to him." Peter was smiling, it seemed that I was saying just the right things. I thought I'd better stop before I came in my leather jeans again; just saying those things and looking at that sexy boy lying there helpless had got me dangerously close to the edge. I took the hood in both hands and approached him. "Might need some help to get this on him - I think he knows that without it, he'd stand a lot more chance."

Peter chuckled sexily. "Oh he sure would. That hood is gonna make him sooooo fucking helpless..."

Simultaneously we both pounced on the boy, Peter held him immobile while I pulled the hood over his shaking head. Peter fastened the straps and made sure the lad could breathe, then we left him to get used to the hood, and to contemplate his situation for a few moments.

I knelt by Joey's side, and gazed at his crotch: the nylon shorts had formed a sharply-defined pyramid sticking straight up between his thighs. I ran a finger over the shorts, down from the side of his crotch to the top of his thigh. The boy jumped as if an electric shock had passed through him. I gripped the nylon at the front of both thighs and moved the shorts slowly and sensuously from side to side. This moved his hard cock slightly as well, and he groaned in pleasure. For the next few minutes I continued moving the shorts about slowly - making him really feel them. I pulled the shorts down a little, holding them by the legs, and then back up again at the waistband. A tiny drop of precum darkened the spot at the very tip of his cock.

After a while I picked up two long, soft feathers and handed one to Peter. He followed my lead as, beginning at his knees, we tickled the feathers very slowly upwards over the front of his thighs until the points came to the legs of the shorts - I didn't want to invade those shorts just yet, so we stopped, and began again, this time on the outsides of his thighs.

Joey was writhing on the floor, gasping at each touch of the feathers. Next we did the backs of his thighs - this caused much more intense moaning and gasping - and finally we started on the insides. We took the feathers up to the legs of the shorts again and then, although on the insides the way was open to continue much higher, I held up my other hand as a signal to Peter, and we stopped again. Right now, I wanted to reinforce in the boy's mind the feeling that the shorts were protecting him.

I decided to take advantage of the fact that Joey couldn't see anything, and nodded for Peter at the lad's armpits. Together we put the feathers down silently, and quickly pushed our hands between the tops of his arms and his sides. Joey yelled in surprise and ticklishness, and we began to waggle our fingers gently in his pits. After a moment of this we removed our hands and one of us went for his knees - the other for his sides - then his stomach - then his armpits again. Peter and I worked on him separately and unpredictably. The boy had suddenly realised exactly how vulnerable the hood was making him: he couldn't see where we were going to go next. He'd been struggling like fuck on the floor since we'd started tickling him, but the hogtie severely restricted his ability to move, and the cables keeping his knees apart limited his movement even further. He began to shake his head to dislodge the hood, but there was no way he could get it off, and the black leather continued to blindfold him completely wherever he moved his head.

Time for the feathers again. We went through exactly the same sequence as before: tickling slowly up the fronts of his thighs to the legs of the shorts, then the outsides, then the backs, and finally the insides. This time, though, when we got to the level of the shorts legs we paused, and then continued upwards, the feathers very slowly disappearing into the dark humidity under the red nylon footie shorts. Joey had been moaning in lust as we worked on his thighs, but the moment he realised that the tips of the feathers were going up the legs of his shorts, he reacted violently: his moaning increased in urgency and volume, and he instantly tried to close his legs together to keep the tickling, invading feathers out.

Now, the thing that had appealed to me about this restraint position was that each of the cables running from his knee cuffs went over a pulley, and then up, over another pulley, and down again to a heavy iron weight. The weights had been carefully adjusted so that their pull was almost as strong as the boy's leg muscles - which meant that although by a supreme effort he could close his knees together, his muscles would very soon tire and he couldn't keep them closed for long.

As the feathers began their slow upward journey towards the sensitive, ticklish tops of his inner thighs, the weights rose as he clamped his knees together. This trapped the feathers between the nylon and his skin, and made further access impossible. But all we had to do was wait. After a few moments Joey's knees began to tremble with the effort of keeping the weights up and then inch by inch as he gradually lost the fight against them, his knees began to part. We could hear the boy straining and swearing under the hood - and then with an abrupt "FUCK!", the weights bumped back down onto their stops and his legs were wide apart again. The feathers resumed their teasing journey upwards as if nothing had happened.

Joey's noises of straining turned to groans and whimpers of lust again as the points of the feathers reached the tops of his inner thighs. We tickled there for a long time before moving on.

The way Joey was lying, his cock was sticking straight up inside the shorts, the head very slightly to his left of centre. We could see by looking up the shorts legs that his balls were to the right, almost - but not quite - touching the inside of his right thigh. Peter was on that side, and so we changed positions.

Taking up the feathers again, we continued. While Peter worked on the very top of Joey's leg, I slipped the pointed end of my feather in between the side of his balls and his thigh as far as it would go, and moved it up and down slowly. Given the boy's invasion turn-on, I thought this would have a strong effect. It did. His leg muscles must have still been tired from his earlier struggling, but even so, with a yell he overcame the weights again and pulled his knees together. His pelvis began to thrust, and that giveaway wailing sound began. The boy was very close to cumming! I withdrew my feather instantly, as did Peter. There was a much larger precum stain on Joey's shorts now. I was going to have to be more careful.

We allowed Joey to cool down for a minute or two, then began again. This time, when my feather reached the top of his thigh, I moved it onto his balls. Peter saw what I was doing and got at them as well with his feather from the other side. The keening wail began again, but we were ready for it this time and able to control it by pausing whenever it became dangerously high. Occasionally I slipped my feather again into that dark, hidden crevice between his balls and his thigh, but the moment he started to close his legs together I pulled it out.

We developed a routine that seemed to be very effective: work on his inner thighs for a while, then move the points of the feathers up and down very slowly over his balls, then explore their sides and behind them, tickle his perineum as well, then that dark, sensitive hidden crevice, and back to working on his thighs. The wailing was there most of the time, rising and lowering in pitch depending on which part of the sequence we were doing at the time, but we kept it at a safe level.

With occasional breaks when we would unexpectedly slide our fingers up under his football shirt and tickle his upper body lightly (partly to remind the boy of exactly how helpless he was, and partly to allow the area under his shorts to resensitise), we continued with this routine for the rest of the morning. By lunch time the front of Joey's shorts was soaked with precum, and he'd been pleading - desperate for orgasm - for hours.

When Dave arrived they released him from his restraints, keeping hold of his arms and making sure he couldn't bring himself off by rubbing his cock against the nylon shorts, fitted him with a body belt with attached cuffs, and led him off to eat, to have a pee, and to exercise - walking around the outer compound. I had no doubt that he would be unable to cum while he was in their care. I had intended to go straight to the canteen myself, but I was so indescribably horny having worked on that boy all morning that I had to go to my room for a wank.

The afternoon session was much the same, except that instead of the hogtie, we put Joey onto the sling, and I worked on him on my own. So far today nothing apart from the shorts themselves had touched his cock and, after an hour or so of working on his balls as before, I moved the feather onto the very base of his cock. I'd tickle it for a while, go back to working on his balls, then back to the base of his cock shaft again, and move a millimeter higher. It took me over two hours to get from there to the ridge of his cockhead, and by the time I did, he was almost incoherent with the desperate need to cum.

I let him cool off for a while, then very carefully indeed I lifted the shorts and pulled his cock out of the leg. When I let go, it stayed pointing angrily towards me, held in place by the creased nylon leg above it. Joey was strapped securely into the sling, and couldn't move at all, so when I started to work on his cockhead with the feather it was easy to follow what little movement he was capable of making, and to keep it tickling the sensitive head.

One thing I'd forgotten to find out during the test milking yesterday, was whether it was a good idea to pull his foreskin back and work directly on the naked glans. With most uncut guys this is fine, but with some their naked cockhead is so hypersensitive that it's unbearably unpleasant. I didn't want to spoil things by trying it, and have him yelling in pain, so the only thing I could do was to ask him. I went back to teasing his inner thighs for a while, then whispered close to his hooded head, "Joey, I want to torture you with your need to cum as intensely as I can, but I don't want to hurt you. So tell me - how would it feel if I pulled your foreskin back and worked on the bare cock head?"

Even though I'd given him time to cool off, he was still unable to speak coherently. He groaned. But his cock stiffened even more at my question. That was all I needed to know. "Thank you," I whispered.

I took his cock between my finger and thumb and carefully slid the foreskin back. The glans was purple and shiny. His moaning became louder. Then with the softest feather I could find, I began to tease the bare head. The wailing noise started almost immediately - a slowly undulating wail of desperation interrupted only by quick intakes of breath. It was turning out to be a perfect meter for telling me exactly how close to orgasm the boy was. The feather on his cock kept that wail going for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

During dinner, I chatted to Dave. What I needed, I said, was some non-painful way of taking Joey off the boil quickly - taking his mind off cumming for a few moments so that I could do slightly more strenuous things to him. Tickling his cock with feathers was all very well, but I longed to get my hand up those shorts and rape his cock - and still not make him cum. I knew that if I did that after working on him with the feathers, he'd shoot his spunk instantly.

Dave thought for a while, and then suggested I might try breath control. "He's almost certainly never experienced that before, so he'll probably panic the first couple of times, but once he realizes we don't do it for too long he'll get used to it. Not being able to breathe inside a tightly-fitting leather hood is pretty intense, so I'd suggest one of us do it - we're used to doing that sort of thing," he chuckled. "It'll probably make his cock go soft, but that's really what you want. It'll get hard again soon enough."

"Brilliant. Let's give it a go."

The evening session was wonderful. This time we had the boy standing. His ankles were cuffed to floor rings by ropes which held them a couple of feet apart - I wanted him to be able to close his knees together this time. His wrist cuffs were connected to a motorised hoist above his head, by which he could be stretched to tiptoe or held more loosely depending on the setting. Again, he was hooded. Gavin stood behind him, ready to do the breath control whenever I signaled, and I knelt in front of Joey. We were ready to try this.

I waited until he was completely relaxed, and then suddenly put my hand up the leg of his red shorts, the palm flat against his thigh. As he yelled and started to close his legs together, I quickly pushed it up until my fingertips were deep in the crevice at the side of his balls, and waggled them.

He screamed, and tried to curl up. The hoist was set to a fairly low position, and so he was able to get into a kind of raised crouch, his body bent forward at the waist, his knees pressed tightly together, and his weight hanging completely from his wrists. The soft wailing noise began, and rose quickly. I nodded to Gavin.

He pressed a couple of fingers over the two breathing holes - not hard, but enough to be sure of sealing them. The boy tried to breathe, found there was no air coming in, and panicked. He yelled, struggled hard, and tried to shake his head about, but Gavin kept the holes sealed. Then he took his hand away and Joey could breathe again. It had only been a matter of a few seconds, but the effect had been dramatic: the boy's cock had softened considerably. Air whistled in and out through the holes in the hood as he gulped in air.

Joey had stopped thrashing about now, so I thrust my hand further up his shorts. I moved it slightly inside the shiny nylon, and he instantly went back to the curled-up position. I felt his cock getting harder again. This was excellent - but I wanted a position where I could get a better feeling of rape.

Gavin suggested Dungeon 3, with the weights again, so we took the boy down and moved there.

The weight system was more comprehensive than I'd noticed before - we put Joey face-up on a short padded bench, with a single leather strap across his chest, and another across his hooded head to hold him down. Gavin arranged the pulleys and weights, and by the time we'd finished, the boy's wrists and ankles were all connected to individual weights. In their rest positions they held his arms and legs slightly raised - his arms higher than his legs - and apart. The cables were so arranged that any attempt to curl up, to close his legs together, or to bring his arms down would be possible, but would need a lot of effort - so much that he wouldn't be able to sustain it for long. The fact that he only had one strap holding his chest immobile would mean that he would be able to struggle and move his lower body quite a lot.

I took up position by his side, and Gavin at his head. Joey's cock was fairly soft at the moment. Let's see what a bit of intense invasion would do...

I slid one hand up quickly right up the leg of his shorts, and the other down under the waistband onto his cock. I began to tickle his balls and toss him off at the same time.

His reaction was instantaneous - and intense: he yelled at the top of his voice, curled up into a ball, bringing his knees to his chest, jerked violently away from me, then back towards me, and away again, fighting to get my hands off his cock. I followed his movements, tickling his balls and stroking his cockhead all the time as he struggled. The wailing sound began - he was close. I continued to toss that sexy boy off with my hands inside his shorts. This was without doubt the most horny thing I had ever experienced in my life.

I forced myself to pull my hands out before Joey could cum, and Gavin covered the holes in the hood. At that moment the boy's muscles, which had been straining to maintain the curled-up position against the pull of the weights, lost the battle, and his body went back to the rest position with thump of the weights.

I couldn't remember ever having been more horny - and when I'm horny it brings out the sadist in me. I took two handfuls of lube from the container on the table, and then carefully watched his cock. The moment it was soft enough I nodded for Gavin to stop, and I thrust both my hands up the legs of the helpless boy's shorts. His muscles were still tired from their effort of a few moments ago, and he couldn't curl up again. He tried to close his legs, but both my arms were in the way now. Gavin began to tickle Joey's armpits, forcing him to exhaust his muscles even more by trying to bring his arms down and close them to his sides. I covered his balls and cock with the lube, and worked on them quickly, my hands moving about under the shorts, teasing and stroking his balls, and rubbing up and down the full length of his cock. Joey was struggling fit to bust: his legs kept trying to close but he hadn't got the strength, and his body bounced on the padded bench as he moved quickly closer and closer to orgasm. I brought the boy to the very edge again, and stopped. Gavin was poised ready to close the airholes in the hood, but this time it wasn't necessary. Joey screamed in frustration and banged his feet down on the bench. I'd kept my hands where they were, up his shorts, knowing that even though they weren't moving, just the feel of their being there would be enough to keep him close.

As I felt him back off from the edge, I moved my fingers a little on his cock, and tickled his balls for a moment. This brought him back instantly. Again I froze. Delightedly, I found that I could keep doing this - and therefore keep him very close to cumming. And I did: for the next thirty minutes I kept on moving my hands in his shorts, stopping, moving my hands in his shorts, stopping - and as the time went by, his reaction became more violent each time I stopped. The wonderful thing about sexual frustration is that it's cumulative: by the time I decided that was probably enough for today and took my hands out of his shorts he was screaming, punching the air with his fists and pleading for me to finish him off - and kicking the top of the bench with his heels in an agony of frustration when I didn't. At some point during this, I came in my leathers for the second time.

Dave and Gavin released him, forced him into the mobile restraints, and took him - still hooded - off to bed. Although I'd cum only a few minutes ago, I was already as horny as hell again, and I was looking forward to a wonderful wank in bed tonight thinking about this evening's fun, and planning how I was going to make the boy suffer tomorrow.

* * *


The Institution is a big place. It used to be an insane asylum in the old days, and still has lots of the original fittings - including padded cells. I fancied the idea of having Joey in one of those today, and I'd asked Dave at breakfast what he'd suggest. He smiled. "Well, with a padded cell, you really need a straitjacket..."

It was fascinating watching them get the boy into the jacket. They were clearly expert at it, because although he fought like crazy, it was on and fastened up in no time. In accordance with the Institution's rule that the victims must never be able to identify either the client or the staff, and therefore we must always be masked whenever there was the slightest chance that the victim could see, I had my leather mask on. I love wearing that mask - it makes me feel secure in anonymity, and gives me the feeling that I can do anything I like to a boy without repercussions. It also appeared to have an effect on Joey, because whenever he could see me wearing it, he was always hard, and his eyes seemed to drink in my black leather gear. I have lots of leather jeans, but I'd brought with me two pairs of the sexiest I had. The ones I had on now were skintight, thin leather which outlined my cock and balls beautifully. On top I had a thick, studded leather bike jacket with nothing on underneath, unzipped enough to show my reasonably good pecs. I'm lucky enough not to have to try too hard to get guys interested in having sex with me, but they're never the type of guy I really want, and never into what I want to do to them. Actually, that's part of the problem - the ones who are into the things I want to do are the very ones I'm not interested in doing them to, for the simple reason that they are into them. The fact that this boy struggled and fought against it so much turned me on like fuck. It was part of my biggest fantasy.

They'd left Joey sitting on the soft floor in the cell. He looked every bit the insane psychopath: his blond hair was all over the place, and he was rocking backwards and forwards where he sat. I'd asked the guys not to hood him for the time being - it had been far too long since I'd seen that cute, brattish face. I stood in front of him with my gloved hands on my hips, and he looked up at me with an expression it took me a while to decypher: there was a lot of insolence there, but also an undercurrent of fun, and something else - but I couldn't put my finger on that part.

He narrowed his eyes. "I've got blue balls, you know that? And it's all your fucking fault, Bastard." I suspected that 'Bastard' was rapidly becoming his name for me - and I quite liked that. I couldn't help smiling.

"Have you ever been kept this fucking horny for as long as fucking this and not allowed to fucking cum?"

"No, I haven't. That is what I do to boys, not what they do to me. And as for your blue balls, I assure you that they're going to be a great deal bluer by the end of this week. In fact by the end of today. You don't know yet what it feels like to really want to cum." I didn't believe that even in a situation like this I was aware of having split that infinitive. Comes with being a writer I suppose, albeit an amateur one.

However, grammar was not high on my list of important things at the moment. Below the straitjacket - which was a short one - and between the leather straps which ran tightly from its lower hem at the back, under the very tops of his thighs and back up to the front, his smooth, boyish cock stood at extreme attention above those beautiful round balls with their sprinkling of fine blond hair. I knelt down at his side and idly stroked his cock. It jerked in urgent response under my light touch before he turned away so that I couldn't get at it.

"Why don't you want me to touch it? It wants me to touch it."

"Fuck off. It wants you to let it cum. But we both know you've no fucking intention of doing that. All you fucking want is to make me need to cum - more and more."

"That's right, boy." I reached around him and held his cock lightly in my hand. "I'm gonna make you need to cum more urgently than you are capable of imagining." His cock jerked again, and he moved away again.

"I'll go fucking mad, you know that? Insane. I'm a boy, and boys have to cum."

"Right again. Boys have to cum, and you are very definitely a boy." I was as hard as a rock in my leather jeans again. "And that's why I'm going to tease your cock until you're out of your mind. Slowly, I'm finding out all the things that make you want to cum - hands up your shorts do that, don't they? The feel of a hand gripped between your thighs... Having your balls tickled, or your inner thighs, or your armpits - very slowly and gently... Fingers sliding over your cockhead, working on the very tip..."

"FUCK OFF, BASTARD!" I looked over his shoulder and saw a drop of precum on the end of his cock. Even this kind of talk was turning him on. I reached towards it but he moved so that my hand couldn't get to it. "So I'm not going to let you do it." He said.

Fighting talk. I love that. I withdrew my hand. "And how, exactly, are you going to stop me? There are restraints and devices in this place that are designed specially for keeping boys like you helpless. And you may not have noticed, Joey, but right now you are in a straitjacket."

He didn't reply. Without warning I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back onto the floor, sitting astride his chest, facing his legs, pinning him down. He brought his legs up and together, but my body was in the way so he couldn't curl up as much as he wanted to. His cock nestled between his thighs unprotected, inviting. I licked my leather-gloved fingers and slid them along its length.

"No! Get off me you fucking bastard. Get your fucking hands off my cock!"

"Ok," I said, lifting my hand from his cock and thrusting it hard between his thighs.

"BASTARD!" He yelled.

"Oh, you have no idea just how much of a bastard I can be." I moved my fingers, tickling wildly.

"Ha! No! No! Please - STOPPPPPP!!!!"

I stopped. "Put your legs down," I said. After a moment he lowered them and I took my hand out. I raised myself off him and shuffled backwards until my crotch was over his head. "You see that bulge in my leather jeans?" I gave my cock a gentle squeeze - not that there was any other bulge there he could have been looking at by mistake. "That is a hard cock. And the reason it's hard is that you turn me on like crazy. You're one of the most boyish, sexiest, cutest, boys I've ever known, and I fucking love making you suffer. And believe me, boy, I'm going to make you suffer as much as I possibly can. Now shut the fuck up!" I lowered my crotch until my leather-covered cock was clamped over his mouth. At that moment I didn't care whether he could breathe or not. I expected him to turn his head away and make 'yeuch!' noises - but he didn't. Instead he burrowed deeper into my crotch and licked the leather over my cock. Through the thin jeans I could feel his tongue moving over the ridge and his teeth very gently rubbing above and below it. I reached my hand out to tease his cock - but before it could get there I came. The moment he felt me start to cum he pressed his face hard into my crotch, working fast on my cockhead with his tongue and teeth as my spunk pumped out into the leather jeans. He kept on working on me until he'd milked every last drop from my throbbing, aching cock and I rolled off him, exhausted.

I left Dave and Gavin to work on him for the rest of the morning while I recovered. I watched on the screens of the editing suite as they held him down on the padded floor and slowly wanked him to the edge over and over again. I was impressed - they were as skilled as I am at keeping a boy close to cumming. Every time I heard the soft keening wail start I hoped they wouldn't let him cum, and they didn't. Very soon I was itching to start on him again, and after lunch, I did.

The afternoon and evening sessions were fun: we started with him just in the straitjacket, then later we forced a thick brown leather hood over his head and strapped it up tightly. Dave told me it was an original hood from the days of the asylum, and I wondered what sort of things they got up to in those days. It was made of thick, tan leather, and had clearly been designed purely to make the victim helpless as opposed to horny - it was unlined, and locked on with a substantial padlock. It was heavy, blindfolded the victim totally, and was impossible to get off.

Joey's cock was as hard as steel when we got it on him, though, and I wondered if the boy was getting into hoods and bondage. With him in the straitjacket and hood, he was much more vulnerable: he couldn't hear very well, and couldn't see at all, so he had no idea where we were from moment to moment. We exploited this, passing him between us and stroking his cock or teasing his balls whenever the opportunity presented itself - which was just about all the time. Now and again one of us would hold him down, or in a certain position so that the other could get at him more easily, and for longer - but mostly we let him wonder where our hands were and try to escape them as he blundered around the padded cell blindly.

In the evening we strapped his legs together as well, at the ankles, knees and thighs. Whereas before he could stand, and move about trying to evade our hands, now he could only lie on the floor and roll from side to side.

By bed time he was worn out. The floor of the padded cell was streaked with trails of his precum, and earlier both Dave and Gavin had had to leave separately to have a wank. It seemed that my experiment was turning them on more than a little. I watched as they led the lad away, to be given his evening medication which would stop him cumming in his sleep. His body needed urgently to eject the spunk which we'd been so relentlessly building up and encouraging, and had it not been for that drug they gave him, it would have found a way to do it by causing him to cum while he slept. I wanted even that avenue of relief denied to the boy.

* * *


The cat-and-mouse games we'd played with him yesterday had seemed to turn young Joey on so much that I thought we'd start off today by exploring those a little more. I'd wanted to see him in some skintight jeans, and I'd requested some when Dave had asked me what gear I'd like on hand for him. He looked incredible in them. Dave had found a pair of very faded stretch jeans, with a couple of useful-looking rips: one at the front of his right thigh and another at the back of his left. On the internet I see lots of pics of boys in skintight stretch jeans, but they're invariably wearing trainers with them, and I much prefer jeans worn inside boots of some kind. Joey had a pair of black leather bike boots over them, and looked good enough to rape. "Skintight" is a word often used to describe jeans that aren't skintight at all - but these most definitely were. The faded blue denim was so tight that there wasn't a single wrinkle anywhere. They looked like they'd been sprayed on with an aerosol. His thighs were smooth and tight, his balls were a round bulge you could cup in your hand, and his cock was a steel rod pointing slightly downward over his right thigh. Already there was a small dark patch of precum at the tip.

I watched as the guys blindfolded Joey securely, and cuffed his wrists to a restraint belt in the centre of his back. Apart from the jeans and boots he was naked. The three of us took a long feather each, and we spent a very fun hour or so ticking his upper body unpredictably. He was free to move around and, because he couldn't see, he kept bumping into things. Watching that sexy boy blundering about, helpless and blindfolded, with his desperately horny, hard cock stretching those skintight jeans out into a mouthwateringly-inviting bulge, I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my hands off him. In the end I couldn't stand it any longer.

At my request, the guys removed the restraint belt, got the boy on the floor, and held him down for me. I asked them only to hold his upper body, as I wanted him to be able to kick and struggle.

I stroked his thighs, running my fingertips lightly over the smooth, stretched denim. The jeans were well-worn and very thin, so I knew he could feel the slightest touch through them. My hands were everywhere - behind his knees, running up the fronts of his legs, the backs, over his arse, his perineum, but I concentrated on the insides of his thighs, as I knew that would make him need to cum most intensely of all. He was so easy to control: he started off kicking a lot, but soon stopped that as he had other things to think about. Whenever my fingers worked on the insides of his thighs he'd close his legs and curl up - but a few strokes on the backs of his legs would make him straighten out and try to get away from my hands by pressing his legs to the floor. One of the most sexy positions was when I had the hand in front of him tickling his balls - which made him need to curl up - and my other hand, behind him, ticking the backs of his thighs at the same time. He was caught between wanting to curl up and needing to straighten out. The result was that he just trembled - and screamed obscenities at us - while his need for orgasm got worse and worse and worse.

I explored the rips in his jeans, pushing my hand up inside the stretchy denim to get to his balls, or the back rip to tickle his perineum and the backs of his thighs, and stroking my fingertips over him infuriatingly lightly. I found that really horny for some reason - the combination of rough manhandling to get his legs in the right position to enable me to push my hands up through the rips, and the very light, frustratingly gentle teasing of my fingers when they got there. The sight of my hands disappearing through those rips in his skintight faded jeans, working on that sexy teenager's balls and thighs almost made me cum again.

I hadn't actually touched his cock today yet, and I thought it was about time. I sat on his legs to keep them down, and worked on it for a while, but lying flat as he was, the jeans, although stretch, were under a lot of tension and flattened his cock too much. I tried kneeling between his legs so that he couldn't close them but could bend them - that was much better, but he kept on bringing his feet up and pushing me off. Some other form of restraint was needed, and Dave suggested just the thing.

The device had been made for another client some time ago, apparently. I think I'd like to meet him as he has a very devious mind and would seem to be into similar things to me. It was a table, to which the upper body of the victim was strapped in the usual way. The lower half, though was very interesting - and could have been designed precisely for what I needed. From the victim's hips downwards there was on each side a solid, curved, tubular steel rail about an inch in diameter. When the victim was fastened in place on the table, these rails were adjusted so that they followed precisely the arc his knees would make if he moved them from flat on the table right up to his chest. The rails were fixed only at their bottom ends, where they were welded to flat base plates which were pivoted in the table top at the victim's pelvis. When the subject was placed onto the table, his legs were positioned outside of these rails - and the result was that he could move his legs wherever he wanted, but couldn't close them beyond the rails. The base plates could be adjusted at will from close together, to wide apart. Because the victim was strapped down so tightly as far as his hips, there was no way he could move his legs to get under the rails - in whatever position he got into, his knees always came up against them.

I marvelled at the devious design of this device as Dave and Peter - the blond hunk in those sexy leathers - got Joey strapped down. The boy was hooded so that he couldn't see the restraint he was being put into. They measured his legs to adjust the rails exactly, and then stood back smiling like magicians at the end of a particularly spectacular illusion. "He's all yours," said Peter.

I took up position between his legs - which were currently flat on the table - and looked through the eyeholes in my leather mask at the vision of helpless, cute boyishness in front of me. From where I stood the inside seams of his jeans ran smoothly up his thighs, curving together at the centre of his perineum. Another seam ran towards the back, the tension of the tight denim pulling it deeply between the cheeks of his bubble-butt arse, and at the front the zip fly - pulled so tightly apart that the metal teeth were clearly visible - curved up over the roundness of his balls, and the sausage-shape of his 17-year old horny cock which had been teased unbearably for the last two and a half days.

I reached down and ran my fingers lovingly along the insides of both thighs; the skintight denim felt warm smooth and sexy. He giggled in both ticklishness and horniness and, predictably, tried to close his legs together. When his knees bumped into the steel rails, he brought them up towards his chest - and a confused "huh?" came from under the hood when he found that the obstructions were still there. I teased his perineum, and then let my fingertips lightly tickle the paper-thin, faded and worn denim covering his balls.

He shrieked, and his knees banged repeatedly against the steel rails as he desperately struggled to protect his ticklish, sensitive balls. But he couldn't close his legs. His bulging, denim-jeaned crotch remained as vulnerable and prickteasingly inviting as it had been.

I reached into my leather jacket and took out a device about the size and shape of a thick pencil. It was a small battery-powered vibrator I used to use on boys to make them cum when I was younger. I hadn't used it for ages, but I'd thought that it might be fun to have it around this week. I slid the switch and it began to buzz quietly like a bee. Very slowly I reached down and touched the tip to his cockhead. That vibrator is totally irresistible through something thin like those jeans. I knew that Joey would never have experienced a vibrator on his cock before, so I only kept it in place for a moment. Even so, he very nearly came. There was almost no time for the wail to develop - instantly he let out a hoarse yell of pure, unadulterated animal lust , and began trying to thrust his hips. His cock jerked violently inside his jeans, and I thought for a moment that I'd blown it, and that he'd started to cum. But no, thank goodness, he hadn't - although that had been the closest I'd got him so far.

His reaction when I took the vibrator away was every bit as violent: he screamed with frustration of a depth and intensity he'd never known in his life before. His legs banged against the rails, his heels kicked the table, and his head jerked from side to side as if he was being electrocuted. "OH GOD! OH FUCKING HELL! MAKE ME CUMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!"

Very satisfactory.

That restraint device proved to be eminently successful. I kept him on it for the rest of the day, teasing him relentlessly in his sexy skintight jeans. I showed him no mercy at all, and I used the vibrator on his cock with sadistic glee, and with surgical precision, watching him struggling and writhing in the steadily-mounting, unspeakable agony of sexual frustration.

Later I adjusted the rails so that he could close his legs all but six inches together. I could no longer stand between them, so I knelt at his his side, reached under the table and up through the hole which had thoughtfully been designed into it by that wonderful former client, to work on his cock and balls. He clearly found this even more of a turn-on as his knees were now all the time touching his chest right at the ends of the rails. This had the advantage of relieving the tension of the stretch denim over his cock, enabling me to grip it, squeeze it, move it about under his jeans, enclose it in my fingers and rub it. Being very careful, I did all of these things. I patted it gently and fast with my fingertips, squeezed and released the shaft, ran my fingernails lightly over the head - and of course used my wicked little vibrator on the most sensitive spot of all: the very tip of his cockhead. I tickled and teased his balls and inner thighs at the same time, and drove the poor boy to total distraction. By the time it came to stop, he was hoarse with yelling, screaming, threatening and begging to be allowed to cum.

A good day. A very good day.

* * *


I felt like being very kinky with the boy today. I'd brought something with me which I wanted to put Joey in this morning. It was a long PVC coat, very black and very shiny on both the outside and the inside. There was also a loose-fitting hood made of the same shiny PVC. The breathing holes were very small - and they were positioned at the sides of the hood rather than at the front. There was a thin strap which fastened tightly at the neck, to seal it. Once it was forced onto the victim and tightened up, he could breathe, but he had to think consciously about it - and with each intake of breath the shiny black PVC would shrinkwrap to his face. Even for lovers of hoods it was a heavy headtrip, and the feeling of pure helplessness it created was intense. Also, even more than if it had been made of leather, the feel of the PVC was unbelievably kinky.

The coat itself was my size, so it would be big on the teenager, but that didn't matter in the least. The arms were closed at the ends like those of a straitjacket, and there was an attached restraint belt like the one the guys used to move Joey about, and to which his wrists could be cuffed behind his back. The cuffs, though, were of soft leather - secure, but they wouldn't cut in when he rolled onto his back. Another strap pulled his elbows together. I debated with myself whether to have his legs together or apart - I knew he preferred them together - but in the end I put a spreader bar between his ankles. He could still close his knees if he tried really hard.

The thing about that PVC coat, when it's loose like that, is that the air can get inside it and it stays cool - and that means that if you're naked under it, you can feel it all the time. Every time you move, every time someone touches you, you can feel the shiny black pvc folding and creasing around you. It's an intensely pervy feeling, and one I wanted to force the boy to experience. At his present level of horniness, I suspected that it may well be very effective.

We got him restrained in the coat, and the hood on and tightened well around his neck. At first he panicked a bit - it's not easy breathing in that hood - but after some reassurance, he found that he could breathe, and he calmed down. My only worry was that his cock, sliding against the PVC, would make him cum. I'd have to be very alert.

I'd shown Gavin the hood before the session, and asked him to be ready for breath control if necessary. He'd asked to try it on, and he'd found it so horny that he'd had to wank himself off while he had the coat and hood on. In fact, I thought I knew the boy well enough by now that further breath control to stop him cumming wouldn't be required.

We were in the padded cell, and we got him on the floor. I attached the ankle spreader, and then leaned close to his shiny hooded head to whisper. "Can you feel that shiny black PVC? PVC was invented to make boys cum. Horny, hard cocks can't resist it. Can you feel it between your legs? Sliding over your balls? On your cock?" I pushed the coat between his thighs and chuckled as, on cue, he brought his knees together to grip it. I found his cock and enclosed it gently with my hand. the wailing started, so I immediately pulled the coat away from him and froze. Gavin was ready to clamp his hand over the boy's hooded mouth to stop his air completely but, as I'd thought, it turned out not to be necessary.

Joey was writhing and struggling to rub his cock against something - anything to cum, but we were holding him immobile now and there was nothing for his cock to touch. The boy said something, or rather groaned something, but I didn't catch it. I leaned close to his head again and asked him to repeat it.

"Please," he said, "please take this hood off. It's not fair. It's making me..." his voice got louder with each word until he was yelling: "it's making me SO FUCKING HORNY!!!!!!"

"That, boy, is precisely what it's designed to do - to make you helpless, and to make you horny....."

"You FUCKING BASTARD!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The hood ballooned out.

Gavin and I ran our hands over the boy's body, moving the PVC about over his skin. His arms, back, chest, legs, and his face. I'd put some long black rubber gloves on and occasionally I'd reach in under the coat and slide my rubber fingers over his balls or his cock. We kept this up for a long time, always stopping as soon as the lad showed signs of getting too close to orgasm. He was in a world of shiny black, sexy PVC, and I knew that it was making him want to cum very badly indeed. He writhed and squirmed under our hands in helpless horniness as we worked on him carefully, skillfully, and remorselessly to make his already unendurable frustration worse and worse...

* * *

After lunch and Joey's exercise period, I decided to explore the boy's arsehole. To be truthful I'm not very interested in arses, but what I am very interested in is anything that will make a boy need to cum more urgently - and I suspected that a lubed finger gently inserted and massaging his prostate might just be one of those things. We got him naked, lying on his back on a very short table with his arse right on the end. We pulled his legs up to his chest, fixed them there with cuffs and a rope to a restraint point on the wall behind his head, and tied his knees tightly together. Then, very carefully indeed, I pushed his cock and balls through between his thighs to the back so that they were away from any friction and accessible to me. He was still so horny from the morning session with the PVC coat and hood that even doing that caused signs that he was close to cumming.

He wasn't hooded or blindfolded this time, but instead I planned to gag him tightly later.

I adjusted my mask, and let him look at my hard cock stretching my skintight leather jeans out into a beautiful bulge. I played with it for a few moments, moving lasciviously and licking my lips slowly. Then I had an idea. "Peter?" It was the blond hunk's turn to be on duty with me this afternoon.


"Come and play with me slowly for a while, will you?"

"My pleasure, mate!" He stood behind me and ran his fingertips slowly over my leather-clad body. I stood with my legs apart, loving every second of it and watching the envious look on Joey's face. I'd known ever since he'd made me cum with my leather-jeaned cock in his mouth in this very room two days ago that he was very interested in playing with me. I whispered something to Peter, and a few seconds later he clamped one gloved hand over my masked mouth, gagging me and pulling my head back, then thrust his other hand quickly between my thighs from behind, grabbed my cock bulge and started to wank it through the thin black leather. I put my hands behind my back as if I were cuffed, and closed my legs tight around his wrist, squeezing it. This had an immediate effect on the boy. He started to whimper. Not wail, as he did when he was close to cumming, but whimper . It was like a little boy who wants something so badly he'd gladly give you his frog and all of his pocket money for it. His knees were already tied tightly together, but I knew that had they not been, he'd have squeezed them shut at that moment. His cock jerked between the backs of his thighs.

I parted my legs and shrugged out from under Peter's gagging hand. "Thank you - but any more of that and I'll cum in my jeans. Again."

Peter laughed. "You're not the only one."

I returned to Joey. In that position his arsehole was beautifully accessible. His fair skin abruptly darkened to a deeper shade around it, and then to pink in the puckered centre. I took a small, stiff feather in one leather-gloved hand and another, softer one in the other. I showed them to the boy. "I don't suppose you've ever had your arsehole tickled with a feather before...?"

"Oh yeah - happens every fucking day. What do you think, you fucking pervert?"

"Well," I smiled, "in that case this will have no effect on you at all." I moved the tip of the smaller feather forward and stroked the point around the puckered ring. At the same time I used the other one to tickle his thighs just behind his cock.

"Oh FUCK!" He opened his blue eyes wider than I'd ever seen them and made a straining sound like he was lifting a very heavy weight. "Oh SHIT! NOOOOOOO...." His eyes were squeezed shut now and his head was moving from side to side as if he couldn't take it. And I knew he couldn't.

I continued to tickle the ring of his young arsehole with the small feather, but moved the other one to his balls. Stuck out between his thighs as they were I could get at every inch of them, and I found the sides and the back to be the most responsive. I swapped the feather for a curved one, so that I could get around them to the back more easily. I tickled his thighs, balls and the shaft of his cock, but mainly I concentrated on his arsehole. Precum was dripping down onto the padded table in sticky threads.

I lost track of the time doing this - I do know I was at it for a long time - but eventually I wanted to move on. I removed my left leather glove and replaced it with a skintight shiny black rubber one. I lubed it very well, and moved it down towards the boy's arse.

He started to struggle in his restraints. "FUCK OFF! YOU AIN'T SHOVING THAT UP MY ARSE. BASTARD!"

"I smiled again. You can't stop me, boy - that's why you're strapped down. And don't worry, I've no intention of 'shoving' it up anywhere. It's going to be very gentle..."


I'd nodded to Peter, who clamped a leather-gloved hand tightly over the boy's mouth, silencing him.

I distracted Joey by stroking the shaft of his cock while I touched the tip of my finger to his hole and pushed very gently. I saw his cock jerk and felt his outer sphincter tighten as he squeezed it shut to keep my finger out, but an anal sphincter is no match for an insistent finger, and finally it slipped inside on the film of lube. I kept it still, to let him get used to the feeling, while continuing to tease his cock shaft.

There was an expression of pure fury on what I could see of his face. it amused me to wonder what he'd be saying at this point if he hadn't been gagged. His cock - a sure indicator of whether something was turning him off completely or not, was still rock-hard and dripping precum more than ever, so I decided things were ok with him so far, whatever his face said to the contrary.

I pushed a little further and felt my finger slip past the inner sphincter. He felt it too - he bounced on the table and yelled unintelligible obscenities into Peter's leather-gloved hand. But now the difficult bit was past. My rubber-gloved finger slid easily further in, and I bent it up and headed for Joey's prostate. I felt it straight away - that hard little nut deep inside a boy. I nodded to Peter, who removed his hand from Joey's mouth.

For a moment the boy was speechless, then he gave vent to a tirade of insults and threats.

I rubbed my fingertip gently across his prostate, and almost burst out laughing - because the insults and threats stopped instantly, and a look of total surprise replaced the previous snarl. As I continued to move my fingertip, the surprise morphed into a look of pure animal need.


I was not smiling any longer. Instead my face, under the mask, was a picture of sadism. I asked Peter to gag him properly now, and when he'd forced the leather bit between the lad's teeth and strapped it tightly behind his head, I began to tease Joey's prostate and to stroke his cock head with my fingers at the same time. Only the whites of the boy's eyes were visible - he was lost in a world of pleasure and frustration so intense that at that moment nothing else mattered to him - in fact nothing else existed. His abs kept on tightening with the reflex need to thrust his pelvis but the leather straps holding him down were tight, and positioned carefully to prevent exactly that. There was absolutely nothing the teenager could do but lie there and take it.

As far as I was concerned, the rest of the afternoon passed far too quickly, but for Joey I suspect every second was a century. It was so easy to get him to the edge by working on his prostate, and his reactions each time I stopped were wonderfully satisfying. By dinner time he was a total nervous wreck.

For the evening session I had the boy taken to my own rooms. Tomorrow, Saturday, was going to be a long day for him, so I thought a slightly more relaxing evening was called for. It would give his cock time to recover. Tonight I intended to work on his mind. I'd had him placed in a comfortable armchair. He was wearing the restraint belt, his wrists cuffed to the rings at its sides so that he couldn't get at his cock, but otherwise he was free of restraints. I'd decided to have him in his football kit again - he looked so good in shorts.

I'd changed into the other leather jeans I'd brought with me - codpiece ones with lace-up sides - as I wanted him to have an obscenely big, clearly outlined leather bulge to look at as we sat and chatted. I'd polished the leather up to a high shine and they looked great worn inside my fuck-off bike boots. Together with my fringed leather bike jacket, the studded belt, tight gloves and black leather mask I looked extremely perverted and dead sexy, if I say so myself.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, getting myself a large scotch.

"How am I going to fucking drink it?" He looked down at his restrained wrists.

"We'll think of something."

He looked over at the bar. "Lager."

"You know you really should be a bit more polite, boy. I'll have you know this week is costing me a great deal of money - and you are going to come out of it with a thousand quid. All I've done so far is to give you pleasure, and you're being a spoilt brat." I smiled to myself - I rather liked him as a spoiled brat.

"Ok - a lager please, Bastard."

I actually laughed. I got him his drink, pulled a small table to the side of his chair and provided him with a straw. He'd have to bend down and strain a bit to get at it, but it would serve the little bugger right.

As I sat down, leaned back and stretched my legs out, his eyes were rivetted to my bulging codpiece. I'd had these jeans made for me a year or so ago by a friend who was a skilled leatherworker; they were made of horsehide - heavy, thick, smooth, skintight because of the lace-up sides, very shiny, and studded down the outsides of the legs and along the edges of the pockets - but the codpiece was kid, just about the thinnest leather you can get. I'd had them made specially and they were designed to make my cock bulge look amazing. The thin kid leather formed a shiny black bag around my balls, and above them it molded around my cock so meticulously that on the front surface the ridge and the glans were clearly visible. From there back the details became increasingly blurred as the leather curved to meet the edge with large chrome press-studs on it. I'm lucky in that my cock is a fair size even when it's soft, but when it gets hard - as it was now - the codpiece accommodates the erection fully, pushing it up and out. Then just the head is clearly delineated, and stands proud, seemingly begging to be gripped, held, played with, teased, milked. Having my cock touched through that kid leather is like there is nothing between your fingers and my cock itself - it's possible to feel the touch of a feather through it - but from the outside, the shiny smooth black leather is pure fetish.

Those jeans are amazing - and they were obviously having the desired effect on the boy: he seemed unable to sit still. He kept moving his hips, opening and closing his knees slightly, tugging gently at the wrist restraints.

"So tell me, sexy boy, of all the gear I've had you in so far, which has felt the sexiest? The football shorts? Those skintight jeans? The straitjacket? The PVC?"

He didn't reply for a while; I could see him remembering what each had felt like. Eventually he blushed and looked down. "I don't know. They all felt fucking horny."

"Ok. Let's start with the shorts. What do you like about wearing those?"

He took a pull from the straw in the glass of lager and sat back again. When he replied he stopped and started, and wouldn't look at me, but his eyes kept returning to my bulging jeans. "It feels like I'm covered up and you can't get to me but you can. Up the legs. That is so fucking horny. Feeling your hands or those feathers sliding up there and not being able to close my legs together. Not being able to keep them out. Feels like I'm being fucking raped. But it's nice. And the shiny shorts feel good. Oh fuck, it's brilliant. I just want you to wank me off like that, with your hand up the leg."

"Excellent. Ok, how about the stretch jeans?"

"Oh fuck. Those were horny as well. When you stroke my legs through those it feels better than when you do it on my bare skin. Dunno why. I've never worn jeans that tight before. The best was when I was curled up and you had one hand at the front and one at the back tickling my balls and tossing me off at the same time. But you didn't fucking toss me off, you didn't let me fucking cum. Bastard."

"Would you like me to put you in those again, let you curl up and then toss you off properly in them?"

His eyes darted up to mine, an expression of pure need on his face. "Oh fuck YEAH. PLEASE."

I smiled under my mask. "Ok, I'll make a note of that. How did you like the straitjacket?"

He was finding it easier to talk now - he wasn't stopping and starting so much. "That thing is wicked. Makes you so fucking helpless. You can't move properly in it, can't get away from your hands. And that fucking hood..."

"We'll get to the hoods in a bit. What about the PVC?"

"Oh fuck. That's so fucking shiny and cold and sexy. Whenever you move it slides across your skin. That's fucking perverted. So fucking kinky. And you can't get away from it. I was trying not to let it turn me on. Fuck - I was trying not to let any of your fucking pervy gear turn me on - but I couldn't not get turned on." His eyes met mine again and he was a cheeky young boy. "You are a fucking bastard, you know that?"

"Oh I know that. All right, now tell me about the hoods." I stretched my legs out further and rested a hand on my thigh, idly playing with my cock through the thin leather codpiece, pushing it gently from side to side. The boy's eyes fixed on it and he licked his lips.


"The hoods. Tell me about the hoods."

"I'd never had one of those things on my head before. The first time was scary. I thought I couldn't breathe. But I got used to them pretty soon. It's a strange feeling - a blindfold's nothing compared to those fucking things. With a blindfold you just can't see - that's bad enough when you need to be able to see cos some bastard is tickling you or getting at your cock, but that's all it is and you soon sort of get used to it and forget you can't see. But being hooded, it's like being blindfolded but more so. You can feel it gripping your head all around. It doesn't let you forget that you can't see. Never lets you forget it. The leather ones - like the one you put on me when I was in the straitjacket - they're tight and grip you a lot - but the most fucking evil are the loose ones. That PVC one was a bastard. It's so loose that you can move your head around inside it and feel the PVC sliding over your face, and you can't fucking see anything. Wherever you move to get away from it it moves with you. And when you breathe in it sucks tight to your face like you're being suffocated in shiny black PVC. So fucking helpless. Makes you so fucking horny..."

That was the longest speech the boy had made so far. I squeezed my muscles and made my cock jerk under the thin leather. I reckoned I was every bit as horny as that boy was just then. When my cock moved he gave a soft gasp. "Another drink?" I asked.

"Nah I'm ok thanks." At least, I thought, his manners were improving. I stood up, got myself another scotch and put it on the coffee table by my chair, but didn't sit down. I stood in front of him, legs parted, and hooked my thumbs in the studded front pockets of my jeans, my fingers resting at the sides of my cock bulge, which was just about at the level of his eyes. I gazed at him for a while, then asked him: "If you could do anything you liked to me, right now, what would it be?"

His eyes travelled slowly up and down my leather-clad body from my masked head down to my boots, and back up to my bulging crotch. Then they slowly rose to meet mine. I was half-expecting a cocky reply along the lines of 'kick your fucking head in' - but no. He said, "I'd lick every inch of your leathers slowly, get my mouth round your cock in those jeans, bring you to the edge, then stop. I'd stand up, wrap my fingers around your cock, and slowly wank you off into the leather while I was kissing you."

I'm not sure what I'd thought he'd say, but it hadn't been that. "I see. Show me how you'd get me to the edge." I stood closer, my bulging cock inches from his face. Instantly he leaned forward, held my cock gently between his teeth and worked on the head with his tongue. I looked down at his blond head - his eyes were closed and he was purring like a cat.

"Stop." I pulled myself away - another second and I'd have shot my load right there and then. Saliva was running down his chin and the codpiece was wet where he'd been sucking it. He looked up at me with an expression that seemed to say, 'see? I can control you better than you can control me'. I sat down in my chair and took a sip of whiskey to calm myself down.

"On Sunday evening I'm going to make you cum - probably more than once. Tell me, if you had the choice, what would you like me to have you wearing, what restraints if any, and how would you like me to do it?"

"Oh fuck. I don't know. Let me think." His hips began to move again as he imagined the possibilities. "I want to be hooded - that PVC hood, yeah that one definitely." He frowned, looking sad. "But I want to see you in your mask and leathers when you make me cum."

I nodded slowly. "Can't have both," I said.

"I know." His mouth turned down at the corners as if he was being asked to choose between two shiny Christmas presents, both of which he wanted more than anything.

"Ok. And what would you be wearing?"

He thought about it for a while. "Those tight jeans." Then he looked down at the shiny red shorts. "No - these shorts. I want to feel your hand going up inside the leg to get to my cock again. That was the horniest thing I've ever felt in my life. But being tossed off in those jeans was just as good..."

I sighed. This boy wanted everything. "Ok. What position, restraints?"

He paused again. "I like having my legs closed tight, but it's also horny not being able to."

"Right. Perhaps we should do the whole week again."

He smiled, then laughed - and I could have kissed him. He looked so cute when he laughed.

"I never thought I'd like being got. I mean sort-of raped. But that is the coolest thing. Struggling and fighting and not being able to see and trying to get away from your hands and not quite being able to and trying to stop you from teasing my cock and feeling your hands on it and having my balls tickled and..." He looked up at me and blushed again.

"It's all right, Joey. Liking that is fine. Sex is fun, or it should be, and the more fun you can get from it the better. If you like being tied up hooded and helpless and having your cock raped by a guy in sexy black leather, why not? Doesn't do anyone any harm, and it feels fucking amazing."

"Yeah, it does." He thought for a moment, then looked up at me with a wicked smile. "But I think I'd probably like doing it to you even better."

I blinked in surprise. I hadn't been expecting that. "You think so? That's interesting."

"One of the sexiest things I've ever seen was when that blond guy had got his hand over your mouth and his other hand between your legs wanking you off through your jeans. I could have cum just looking at that."

I nodded again. "Hmmm. Would you like to do to me the kind of things I've been doing to you?"

His smile was pure wickedness. "Oh fuck yeah - but I'd make you suffer a fuck sight more, Bastard."

I couldn't help chuckling. "Good thing you're never going to get the chance then, cos I think you'd make a sadistic torturer. And I wouldn't be able to stand being teased and not allowed to cum. It would drive me insane." For a moment I allowed myself to imagine being strapped down helpless and looking up at that boy standing over me about to start working on my cock - and to my amazement I found the idea unbelievably horny.

"You'd better believe it, fucker," he said with a grin.

It was getting late and I had plans for him for tomorrow, so I picked up the intercom and asked the guys to come and fetch Joey. "Sleep well, sexy boy, cos tomorrow you are going to have a long day."

* * *


Mummification was on the agenda today. I wanted the boy naked and totally immobilized, unable to move an inch in any direction at all. Dave and Gavin prepared him - when I went into the big dungeon, Dungeon 5, there was a padded board about a foot wide hanging from chains attached to its ends. Joey was lying on the board, and Gavin was just finishing wrapping palette wrap around him. The thin but strong black plastic went around the boy's body and under the board, pinning every inch of him down tightly. His arms were straight, by his sides, and also underneath the plastic film. A piece of thin foam rubber had been placed between his knees, presumably to stop them from hurting later from the tension of the palette wrap squeezing them together. By the time Gavin had finished, every square inch of the boy's body was covered except for his head, and for his cock and balls - they had been pulled through a carefully-cut hole in the many layers of plastic. He looked up at me with big blue eyes. "I feel like a parcel," he said.

"You are going to feel like an extremely horny parcel before long." I looked at Gavin. "Hood him please."

Gavin produced a thick rubber breath-control hood - it fitted very tightly indeed, lacing up the back and forming an airtight seal. Molded into the front was a rubber anaesthetic mask from which ran a corrugated tube about a foot long. After he and Dave had got it onto the boy, they wrapped more plastic film around his head, securing it immobile to the padded board. He was ready.

I'd had some experience with sensory deprivation before. "Joey," I said, close to his head - he had been earplugged so he couldn't hear much, "Are you ok? You can breath all right? You're comfortable? Warm enough?"

"I'm all right, Bastard," came the reply through the breathing tube.

"Good. I'm going to leave you alone for bit. Now you might get a panicky feeling after a while, but don't worry. You'll be fine. I'll be here all the time."

"If I go to sleep, wake me up, fucker." That boy had balls.

I thanked Dave and Gavin, and as they left I settled down to read the book I'd brought with me. The shiny blackness of the figure lying flat out on the board was broken only by the contrasting whiteness of his cock and balls sticking through the hole in the plastic. The guys had put a cockstrap on him - it pulled the skin of his balls tight and round and kept them up and away from the plastic; his cock was fully hard and sticking straight up into the air. I opened the book and began to read.

About half an hour later he groaned. I got up quietly and went over to him. He groaned again.

"It's all right, Joey, I'm here."

"Fuck off," he said - but there was fear in his voice.

I went back to my book.

A little while later, at the end of a chapter, I put the book down, padded silently to the boy, and took a soft feather from the table. His cock had softened slightly, but there was still precum on the end of it. Being careful not to make a sound, I sat down on the stool by his hips, and stroked the point of the feather as lightly as possible over the very tip of his cockhead.

He jumped violently. I knew that was mostly from surprise, but also that after being untouched, immobile, sightless and unhearing for so long, his body would be unbelievably sensitive to touch. That stroke of the feather must have been intense. I drew the point over his cockhead again - and was rewarded by the instant hardening of his cock. He groaned again, but this time it was a groan of lust. Using light, slow strokes, I worked on his cock with the feather: stroking it up and down the shaft, over the head. I tickled his balls. Then I took a second feather and did both at the same time. His cock was harder than I'd ever seen it, and precum was running down the shaft. For the next hour I worked on his cock and balls with the feathers, pausing often to allow full sensitization to return, and to make the stimulus unpredictable.

Peter looked in at that point, and I beckoned for him to stay. He leaned against the wall silently and watched, playing idly with his cock through his jeans.

On the table by my side were a number of other implements I'd prepared, and I swapped the feathers for one of those now. It was a soft strip of thin leather about a quarter of an inch wide and six inches long. It had been soaking in a container of oil. I shook off the excess oil, took an end in each hand, and carefully wrapped it once around the teenager's cock, just under the ridge. Then I began to seesaw it back and forth very slowly. Sliding on its film of oil, the leather caressed the boy's cock directly on one of the most sensitive spots of all, and his reaction was extreme. The plastic wrap creaked as he tried to thrust his pelvis - but it prevented him from moving at all. His groans became louder, more urgent, then he began to plead. "Please make me cum. I can't take any more of this. Please make me cum. Pleeeeeeease."

I handed a bottle of poppers to Peter and silently asked him to administer some to the boy. He unscrewed the top and held the bottle under the open end of the corrugated rubber tube for a few seconds.

"Oh fuck. Oh shit..." Joey was beginning to feel the effects of the poppers. I knew that he'd almost undoubtedly never come across poppers before, that he wouldn't know what was happening to him, and that it would centre his entire universe on his cock. Restrained helpless, hooded and earplugged, the only stimulus he was experiencing was what I was doing to his cock, and I knew that would take over his entire consciousness. I continued to seesaw the oily leather with slow, carefully controlled strokes.

After a while I put the leather strip back into the oil, and left him again for a few minutes. When I thought he'd recovered, I took a small cock whip off a hook on the wall. It had a slim cylindrical handle from the end of which came a multitude of hair-thin elastic rubber fibres. I spread them out a bit with my fingers, and lowered them gently onto his cock and balls, swirling them around and tickling his sensitized skin with them. He gasped - and a big drop of precum appeared, then ran slowly and stickily down the shaft of his cock.

During the next hours I used all kinds of things on him: the corner of a piece of Kleenex tissue (wonderful for teasing a cock head with); a Q-tip soaked in oil, soft camel-hair paintbrushes, ice cubes...

Lunch time came and went, and still I teased and tickled his cock and balls with devious devices. I kept returning to the oiled leather strip and the tissue paper - those two seemed to have the most intense effect on the boy. Throughout all of this I hadn't been trying to keep him on the edge - that would come later - but just to work on his cock as lightly as possible, for a long time.

It was evening now and Joey had been there for many hours. I'd left Peter to be with him while I went to get a quick cup of tea, and when I returned I put all the implements I'd been using away. Now it was time to use my fingers on him.

I took the shaft of the lad's cock between a single finger and thumb. Very slowly I moved it up and down, causing the foreskin to slide over the ridges of the head. For a quarter of an hour I did nothing more than this, and I had to keep stopping as it got him close very quickly. By sign language I asked Peter to be ready to cut off the boy's air as I was going to start working on his cockhead now, and I knew that would take him over the edge very easily. He nodded and took the rubber breathing tube in one hand.

Joey's cock was wet all over with precum now. I put on a pair of smooth black rubber gloves, gently pulled his foreskin right back, and held the base of his cock with my left hand to keep it still. Then, cupping my other hand, I slid the smooth, shiny rubber palm over the tip of his cock. It glided easily on the thick lubricating film of precum. Slowly I apple-polished him.

Within seconds his body tensed and I heard the wailing noise begin. I took my hand off, and Peter pressed the end of the breathing tube hard against the plastic wrap, sealing it completely and cutting off the boy's air. He panicked for a moment, then Peter released the tube. I took the horny cock in my hands again and repeated the procedure.

Together, Peter and I kept bringing Joey to the very edge of orgasm and stopping, over and over again. The room was filled with the desperate creaking of the plastic film as the boy struggled and fought to get to his cock, or to push it into my hand to get the relief of ejaculation, and with the screams and crying of frustration - the teenager was in tears under the hood, he needed to cum so badly. I thought that a shot of poppers would make it even worse for him, so I asked Peter to give him some.

We continued to torture the boy for a long, long time.

* * *


Yesterday had been an ordeal for Joey, so I wanted to give him a reward this morning. Actually my reasoning was far more selfish than that, because I wanted that sexy boy to make me cum again.

We were in my suite. His ankles were chained together loosely, and his wrists cuffed behind his back in the restraint belt. He was wearing the skintight stretch denim jeans, and bike boots.

"Kneel down," I ordered, and pointed at the floor in front of me.

He looked at me insolently - he hadn't forgiven me for yesterday. I was wearing my leather jacket, the mask of course, my combat boots, and those codpiece leather jeans again, together with a heavy studded belt. Eventually he dropped to his knees with an insubordinate thud and knelt in front of me.

"So, today is the day you cum. Looking forward to it?"

He didn't reply. There was a wild look in his eyes, as if he were more of an animal than he had been six days ago. His blond hair was all over the place.

"Well, you're not going to cum until this evening. It's a long time till then." I sat on the floor, then lay down with my hands under my head. I gazed up into his blue eyes. "If you're a good boy - a very good boy - I may let you lick my leathers."

He still didn't reply, but I could see him looking hungrily at my leather-clad body stretched out in front of him. I waited.

"What do I have to do to be good, Bastard?" He asked slowly. In spite of his wild look. his voice was surprisingly confident - cocky, even.

"Oh I don't know - start by kissing me."

He looked at me and blinked. Then he lowered himself to my face, stared slightly cross-eyed into my eyes, and brushed his lips against mine through the leather mask. After a moment, he pressed his mouth against mine and kissed me - at first tentatively, as if he wasn't entirely sure he was going to like this - but soon he was crushing my lips with his, his tongue was in my mouth, and he was kissing me passionately. I reached with one hand, found his tight-jeaned thighs, and pushed my hand flat between them. He squeezed them closed around it, and I used my thumb to tickle his balls lightly. Before I knew what was happening he began to groan - and the groan rose in pitch. I rolled out quickly from under him and clamped my leather-gloved hand over his nose and mouth, sealing them tight. He panicked, struggling to get away from my hands, unable to breathe, but I kept him there until all danger of his cumming had passed. That had been too close.

"That is NOT being a good boy. You nearly came just then."


I stood in front of him. "Lick my jeans. Just the legs. Don't touch the codpiece."

He leaned forward and began to lick. These jeans are so thick that I couldn't feel much of what he was doing, just a gentle warm pressure as his tongue moved across the leather. He did both legs, working carefully upwards from the tops of my boots and stopping just short of the press-studs each time he got to my crotch. I sat down in the armchair and stretched out. "Ok, that was good. Do it again."

He did it again, this time leaning forward and supporting himself against the side of my knee as he licked my thighs. His eyes were constantly on the invitingly, frustratingly close bulge of my cock under the thin leather codpiece as it towered above his face. I allowed him to enjoy doing this for a while, and then gently pushed him away. I got up, and rummaged in my bag to find some ropes.

First I tied one a couple of times around his waist like a belt, then attached another rope to it in the centre of the back, passed it under his perineum, over the belt rope at his hips and back again. I pulled it very tight before tying it off, then did the same the other side. The result was that the ropes pulled tightly into his groin, separating and enlarging the bulge of his cock and balls. I fetched the wooden chair from the other side of the room. "Sit down, with your arms round the back of the chair."

I tied his wrist cuffs to one of the wooden rails in the straight back of the chair, then ran ropes around his thighs to the corners of the seat, holding them apart. More ropes around his calves and ankles tied them securely to the legs of the chair. Finally a rope around his chest and another round his stomach. I stood back and inspected my work - he looked good in those skintight jeans, tied to the chair. I sat down again, my legs apart, and played with my cock gently through the soft leather.

"I'm horny, and I want to cum, so I'm going to wank myself off looking at you, boy. I'm going to play with my cock through the leather for a while, then unsnap the press-studs, take my hard, horny cock in my hand and stroke it slowly till I shoot my spunk. You want to see that?"

He nodded and licked his lips.

I smiled through the mask. I got up again, and took something from my bag, holding it up for him to see. It was a simple triangle of thin black leather. "You'd like to see me cum?" I slid the leather slowly over his face. I saw him lick it as it passed over his mouth.

"Oh fuck yeah..."

"One of the things that turns me on most about black leather," I said as I pulled the ends of the triangle behind his head, "is that you can't see through it - however much you want to." I quickly pulled the leather tight across his face and tied the ends at the back. He realized at that moment that I was blindfolding him - and started to struggle.

"No! You fucking bastard! NO! Let me see! I need to see!!"

I sat down again. "I know you need to see. That's why I've just blindfolded you."

"You fucking cunt." He shook his head trying to dislodge the strip of leather, but it stayed put, the bottom corner flapping loosely over his mouth.

"But don't worry, I'll give you a running commentary on what I'm doing."

He was still thrashing about in the chair but getting nowhere.

"I'm leaning back. My legs are stretched forward, wide apart. I'm running my fingertips slowly up the insides of my thighs." I closed my eyes. "Oh, that leather feels so sexy. I love these jeans. They're sexual armour. I designed them specially to make boys want to touch them, feel the leather against their skin, rubbing against their cocks... Thick, skintight, shiny, smooth black leather... They get boys horny, and they're protection when a victim is struggling and fighting when I torture him or make him cum."

Joey was groaning with frustration at not being able to see them. I smiled to myself. "And the codpiece is made from the thinnest leather possible. Do you know, I can feel the touch of a feather through it? Imagine our positions were reversed: you'd got me tied up in that chair and you were free. You could run a fingertip lightly along the bulge of my cockshaft, rub it across the head. You'd feel my cock jerk under the leather at the touch. If you held the shaft with your hand, got your other hand between my thighs to tickle my balls, and licked your tongue over the very tip of my cockhead I wouldn't be able to stop myself from cumming. You'd feel my cock go stiff, then - as you licked your tongue slowly over it, you'd feel me cum: you'd feel each individual gob of hot, sticky spunk shoot out of my cock into the leather as you milked me. Doesn't matter how humiliating it would be for me to be forced to cum by a 17-year old boy when I'm tied up, or how much I struggle and fight to stop you from making me cum, or to stop myself from cumming - I wouldn't be able to do anything about it, and you'd milk me helplessly into these sexy leather jeans."

Emphasised by the way I'd tied the ropes, the bulge in Joey's skintight stretch jeans was enormous. He was still tugging at the ropes and the cuffs and shaking his head to get the leather off that was preventing him from being able to see the object of his desire.

"But you can't, can you? I said, silkily. "You're tied up, can't get out of it; blindfolded, can't get that leather from over your eyes..." It was wonderful seeing that sexy boy so horny, so frustrated. "You've had your cock teased for the best part of a week and you need to cum so badly - your cock is as hard as steel inside those tight jeans. A single rub over your cockhead right now and you'd shoot your load, boy. But you can't cum, can you? You can't cum." I paused for a moment, then continued, "But I can. I can cum any time I want. I'm stroking two fingers and a thumb slowly and very very lightly over my cock right now. I'm not going to be able to hold out for much longer. Seeing you over there tied up and helpless and vulnerable and soooooo fucking horny, makes me need to cum. Oh fuck it, I need to cum. Now!" I pulled the codpiece off, the press-studs snapping free loudly, and my cock sprang out, stabbing the air above my crotch. I did need to cum very badly indeed, but in fact I had no intention of doing so. I was just going to make the boy think I was doing. I wanted to stay as horny as I was now, for the rest of the day until I milked the little bastard.

So, in graphic detail, and making my leather jacket and jeans creak loudly, I faked a very slow, and very intense orgasm. I was watching him all the time, and when I eventually 'came', he stamped his feet on the floor and yelled in the pure, unbearable frustration of needing to see me cum; of wanting so much to make me cum; and more than anything else, of needing to cum himself.

I sat silently for a while, then replaced the codpiece on my jeans with the other, thicker one so that my still-horny cock wouldn't be so clearly outlined, and it wouldn't be quite so obvious to him that in fact I hadn't just cum. I left him there to cool down - still tied to the chair and blindfolded - while I made myself a cup of tea.

A bit later I released him, and Peter and Dave arrived to take him for lunch and exercise. As I watched them lead the boy out, I was already looking forward to the afternoon session.

* * *

For this afternoon, I'd decided that I didn't want anything to touch his cock at all. Not a single thing, not once - it would make the milking this evening much more intense for him, and would also be supremely frustrating for him - and so we got him standing spreadeagled between the posts in the same room where I'd first set eyes on the boy. As then, he was naked. Unlike the other sessions, this one began with a choreographed sequence: Dave, Gavin and I 'jumped' the blond, hunky Peter, got him hooded and hogtied on the floor in front of Joey, and I worked on his cock through his bulging leather jeans while he struggled and swore at us from inside the hood. After a while, I carefully unlaced the tie-front of his jeans and got his cock out, pulled on a black rubber glove, lubed it up well, and began very slowly milking him. He fought and rolled about on the floor, pulling and struggling in his restraints, but we kept him more-or-less facing Joey so that the boy could see every detail of the cock-rape. When I thought it was time, I used a series of long, firm strokes along the full length of his impressive cock to make Peter lose it, and pulses of spunk arced out into the air, hit Joey's thighs and ran down in streams. The sight of that sexy leather-clad hunk being forcibly milked was effective: Joey was beside himself with the need to cum, his muscles tense and sweating from his futile efforts to break free of his restraints or to get to his cock.

After that, we all put on black rubber gloves, and teased his body with our fingers. Four masked, sexy guys in full black leather and rubber, standing behind him, in front of him and at both sides, caressing his skin lightly with our hands, brushing our leather jackets and jeans against his naked flesh, enclosing him in black leather - but being very careful not to let the slightest thing touch any part of his cock - at all. Within minutes he was in tears - crying with frustration. We showed no mercy whatsoever. I lubed a finger and inserted it gently into his arsehole, just up to the first knuckle - that was enough - if I'd touched his prostate he would have cum, no question. Dave pressed his leatherclad body and legs against the boy's bare back, Peter tickled his perineum and balls lightly, Gavin stroked his inner thighs. We swapped over often, we licked his skin, we kissed him through our leather masks, and our hands and our bodies were all over him in an orgy of black leather and rubber. But the one part of him that needed to feel something more than any other - his cock - went completely untouched.

This proved to be the worst ordeal for the boy of anything that had been done to him so far. By the time we took him down for dinner, he was hanging there exhausted and sobbing, and the floor beneath him was awash with his precum. In my lifetime I've had prolonged cum-control sessions with many guys, and I've driven more than a few of them to the extremes of lust - but never once had I seen a boy who was as terminally horny - as desperately in need of orgasm - as Joey was at that moment. For me, the entire week had been worth it just for that.

* * *

Saturday evening

I'd showered and dressed, and looked in the mirror. The reflection looking back at me made my cock hard: I was wearing my bike boots over the skintight codpiece jeans but without the codpiece attached; a leather harness; and a black leather apron. The apron had a hole, through which I'd pulled my cock and balls, and the thin, bulging leather codpiece from the jeans snapped in place onto it. Instead of my usual mask, I was wearing one that looked like a black leather monk's hood: it was long, coming to a flattened point on the top, shaped to fit around my head, and then spread out again to cover the tops of my shoulders. The eye holes were set at a slight angle, giving the face a sadistic, evil expression, and the mouth opening was covered by a black fabric grille. Finally, I pulled a single elbow-length black rubber gauntlet onto my right arm. I looked like a perverted, sadistic, medieval torturer who was intending to do something unspeakable with that one rubber-gloved hand - and that was exactly the effect I wanted. I gave my cock a squeeze under the thin leather codpiece and felt it jump in hungry response under my fingers. With a final look at my reflection, and taking the other rubber gauntlet with me, I left the room.

Joey had already been prepared. I'd told Dave what I wanted to do to the boy, and how, and he'd suggested a room I hadn't used yet. I opened the door.

The room was smaller than some of the others - and the only things in it were a table at the side to put bits and pieces on, and in the centre of the room, against one wall, a very large bed with a leather-covered mattress. As I'd asked, Joey was wearing the red football shirt and nylon shorts, football boots and socks, and was temporarily blindfolded. His shorts were stretched out at the front by his horny, erect cock as he lay face up, his wrists cuffed to points at the top corners of the bed, but otherwise free of restraints. Dave and Peter stood around watching.

"Hello, Joey," I said quietly. "Are you horny, boy?"

"Bastard," he said quietly. I took this to be an affirmative.

"I hope so, because I am going to make you cum before long." I nodded to Dave, who removed the boy's blindfold.

Joey's mouth fell open when he saw me. "Oh fuuuuck," he whispered. I watched his eyes travel down the full length of my body from the evil, pointed leather monk's hood; over the harness; the pervy, shiny black leather apron with the enormous cock bulge under the codpiece; and down to my leather-and-steel motorbike boots.

I raised my rubber-gauntleted hand as if it were an instrument of torture. "You see this hand? These black rubber fingers? They are going to get to your cock, and toss you off, boy. The other lads will be holding you down to begin with, but they'll let you go later so that you can fight and struggle if you want to. And you are going to want to fight and struggle against it." I waited for a moment, then asked him: "Tell me, sexy boy, do you feel lucky?"

Joey frowned. "Lucky? Why?"

"When you arrived here, you were told that you would leave with a thousand pounds in your pocket, is that right?"

Joey nodded, the frown deepening.

"Well, I've come to an arrangement with my good friends here. I've paid them a little more - quite a lot more, actually - to allow me to alter the Institution's rules a bit." Dave handed me an ornate dark wood hourglass. "You see this? The sand takes fifteen minutes to fall through it. Once we've got you ready I'm going to turn this over. Now, listen very carefully please. If you cum before the glass is empty, you will get nothing at all. Not a penny. You'll only get the thousand pounds if you can hold out against me for the fifteen minutes. Just think about that, boy. You're more horny than you've ever been in your life. You're desperate to cum. But if you want that money - and just think what you could do with a thousand quid - you're going to have to fight with everything you've got to stop me from making you cum." I smiled devilishly under my mask, and said very quietly, "but I'm gonna try to make you lose control, boy..."

He closed his eyes and groaned "Nooooooooo....... Not fucking fair..."

"I know it's not. But fifteen minutes isn't very long. You can do it. Only your arms are restrained - apart from that you're free. All you have to do is keep my hands off your cock. Just imagine having a thousand quid to spend on anything you like. A thousand pounds, Joey, a thousand pounds..."

I could see Joey spending it already. He groaned again. "But I'm so fucking horny."

"Oh I know you are. But I love to see a boy fighting against being tossed off. If you do everything you can to stop me from making you cum - struggle if you want, think about unsexy things - you can do it. Tell yourself that you can do it, Joey."

The boy was shaking his head from side to side. "You fucking unfair BASTARD! That money is MINE! I've earned it!"

"No, not yet. But now you're going to have to." I looked at Dave. "The PVC hood, I think..."

Joey gasped. "No, please, not that one. Pleeeeeeaaaaase..."

I held his head while Dave forced the hood over it and buckled the strap around his neck, sealing the hood tight. It began to balloon in and out as the boy breathed. I knew that hood turned him on more than anything else - the shiny black PVC clinging to his face each time he breathed in made him feel unbearably helpless and horny. It was the most unfair thing I could do to the boy.

I pulled the gauntlet off my hand and nodded to Dave and Peter. At my signal they grabbed his ankles, pulling his legs straight and holding them down to the bed, wide apart.

"Ok, I'm turning the hourglass over now. Fifteen minutes, Joey, for a thousand pounds." I upended the glass and placed it on the table. The sand began to trickle through to the bottom.

I knelt on the bed between his spread legs and touched his calves. He jumped. As I ran my fingertips lightly over his bare skin, moving upwards, he started to groan. I teased his legs, going no further north than the bottom of his shorts legs, for several minutes. His moaning got progressively louder.

At my request, the lads bent his knees and held his legs so that he feet were flat on the leather mattress. Carefully, I pulled the leg of his shorts away from his thigh, inserted a feather, and tickled his balls with the soft pointed tip. The PVC hood was ballooning slightly faster now as his breathing rate increased.

Dave passed me the squeezy bottle full of oil I'd asked for, and I squirted a lot of it down inside the waistband into his shorts. He moaned and writhed when I did that.

Immediately the shorts went semi-transparent and his cock became dark and clearly defined as the wet nylon stuck to it. I moved his cock around in the oil, and stroked the fronts of his thighs, slipping my fingertips just under the bottom of the legs to tease his balls.Then I rubbed my flat hand down the length of his cock once.

The boy was in ecstasy - he was moaning, and his body was writhing in slow pleasure. He was trying hard to close his knees together but couldn't as I was kneeling between them. I checked the hourglass, and was surprised to see how much of it had gone. I got off the bed, stood at the side of him, on his left, and put the black rubber gauntlet on again - it had cooled down nicely since I'd taken it off. Then I nodded to the lads. As they released Joey's legs I thrust my gauntleted hand down the waistband of his shorts and onto his cock and, as his knees came up and he curled into the inevitable ball, I pushed my other hand quickly up the leg of his shorts from behind, onto his balls.

I was keeping very low - and for a good reason. As soon as he realized that he could struggle, he started to kick and writhe on the bed to get his cock away from my hands.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME YOU CUNT!," He yelled. By ramming his left leg down straight onto the mattress he managed to dislodge my hand from his balls, but it was going to be a lot harder to get my rubber fingers off his cock. I wasn't moving my hand yet, just holding his hot, steel-hard rod. Then he twisted away from me sharply. I tried to follow him but I wasn't quick enough and he slipped out from under my hands. I waited until he wasn't expecting it, then got my rubber hand up his shorts, gripped his cock and pulled it down, out of the shorts leg. I kept my fingers locked around the shaft - above them the shiny purple head glistened with oil and precum. The wailing noise had started, so I knew he was close. I checked the hourglass - not much more to go, but I wanted to time it exactly if I could. Dave was standing with his hand on it, ready.

I rested my thumb on the head of his cock, and held it there, not moving. When he felt it, he let out a scream and started fighting with redoubled strength. A deafening stream of threats and insults reverberated around the room from under the hood, and he struggled and fought like a demented demon - twisting and kicking with all his might.

He continued to fight, but the way I had him now he couldn't get away from me. I watched the hourglass. The wailing was very high indeed now - he was so close.

"Almost time, sexy boy. Fight it. Don't let me make you cum... Fight it... "

There was very little sand left in the hourglass now; it was time. I gripped his cockhead in the cool, shiny black rubber, held it there for a couple of heartbeats - and then suddenly started to wank it fast and hard. I got my other hand up his shorts and tickled his balls with my fingers.


His body was bouncing and twisting under my hands, and his legs were kicking. Although I was keeping very low down he still managed to land a couple of hard kicks to my chest and shoulder, but I didn't care about that. Wheverever he moved, my hands followed. I made very sure he couldn't get away from them. As he yelled, swore, writhed, fought and struggled, I raped that boy's teenage cock in his football shorts.

At that point I came in my jeans. Again.

His body went rigid, he stopped breathing, and then he screamed. His cock throbbed and jerked insanely against the smooth black rubber of the gauntlet as a week's worth of teenage boy spunk pumped out into it. His body arched in the air, then bounced on the bed, his hips thrusting his cock madly into my hand as he came, and he continued to scream; but my fingers kept on milking him...

... milking him...

... milking him.

Eventually his body went limp and he collapsed back onto the bed. Peter removed the hood quickly, and checked the boy over. He was unconscious, but Peter nodded - he was ok.

Joey came round very soon. He lay there on the bed, staring vacantly up at the ceiling for a minute, then his eyes focused. "Ooooooh..... Oh fuck," he groaned.

Although he could only see my eyes behind the mask, I smiled down at him.

As soon as Joey had started to cum, Dave had turned the hourglass onto its side, to stop it and to preserve its state for the boy to see later. I picked it up carefully and showed it to him. There was an eighth of an inch of sand left that hadn't trickled through. "Looks like you lose," I said.

He groaned again. He'd just lost what was to him, a fortune. He looked at me with smouldering eyes. "That wasn't fair," he said quietly. "You knew I couldn't win, you bastard."

"I made fucking sure you couldn't win," I replied. Then I winked at him.

* * *

It was strange to see him sitting in the other armchair in my suite without any restraints on at all, but it was still only mid-evening, and I intended to milk Joey again before the night was through. I knew that even after an orgasm as monumental as the one he'd had earlier, he'd be horny again very quickly. Teenage boys are like that, especially when they've been teased for a week.

He'd been monosyllabic since he'd arrived at my suite, and I assumed he was still smarting from having lost the money. "Try not to think about the money," I said. "Think about the good times we've had this week. You must have enjoyed it... a bit?"

He looked at me. "Oh fuck the money," he said. "It would have been nice, but I've never had money like that so I'll get over it. I'm not sad cos of that. I'm sad cos I won't see you again after tomorrow. You ask me if I've enjoyed this week. Of course I've fucking enjoyed it. It's been hell, but it's been the best fucking week of my life." His eyes dropped. "And I don't want it to stop."

I handed him a glass of Coke. "Well, there's not a lot we can do about that." I stretched out, and smiled under my mask as his eyes went straight to my bulging crotch. "I'm going to milk you again tonight, Joey. How'd you like me to do it? Your choice this time."

He took a sip from his glass and looked at me. "Any way I like?"

"Any way you like."

He thought for a while. "You wearing those codpiece jeans and all the other leathers. Me naked. No hood, no restraints at all. On the leather bed. Just feeling your leathers..." he looked down selfconsciously, "and kissing you."

"Is that all? Nothing more complicated?"

"That's it."

I was so pleased - much as I love restraining boys, the fact that Joey wanted just to roll around on the bed, with me in full gear, and kissing him, was perfect. I pulled him up out of the chair, put my arms around him and hugged him. It felt wonderful.

After a while I led him to the room with the leather bed.

* * *

Joey's second and third orgasms may have been much less spectacular than the first, but they had been, if anything, even more satisfying. During a lot of cuddling and rolling around on the bed, he'd finally cum twice more by the simple expedient of rubbing his cock against my leather jeans while lying in top of me and kissing me through the mask. I'd cum at almost exactly the same time as the first of those two.

Now he lay in my arms, nuzzling my neck with his lips. A suspicion had formed in my mind some time ago - and since what he'd said in my suite earlier, had got very much stronger - that Joey had a crush on me. His big blue doe-eyes gazed into mine with a look that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than adoration. This worried me, because the rules of the Institution state that no client or his victim may reveal his full identity or details of home or work to the other. That meant that when we said goodbye neither of us would know who the other was, or where to find him. I could see the sense in this, and on balance I thought it was probably for the best with us two, but I didn't like to think about little Joey pining for me or for his experiences this past week. He was at an impressionable age, he was sexually very active indeed, and these past days must have been unbelievably intense for him - and he'd loved it.

I pulled him closer and kissed his blond hair - he smelled wonderful. I didn't really know what my feelings were for him, other than I felt protective towards him, and that I fancied him like fuck - he was without doubt one of the cutest, sexiest boys I'd ever seen, let alone cuddled in bed. If I was honest with myself I wanted to see him again. But it was not to be.

"Come on," I said finally, "it's time for bed. Gotta get packed for leaving in the morning."

He didn't reply, but continued to lie there snuggling close to me. A little later I felt wetness running down my neck and I realized he was crying to himself.

"Hey," I said softly, "stop that. All good things have to end sometime. Who knows, we may run into each other again." I bit my tongue - that was such a lame thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else.

We lay there for another half hour or so, and then I got up and pulled him to his feet. "We'll say goodbye tomorrow. Right now it's time for bed, boy."

Back in my suite I was glad to take my leather mask off and have a shower - I was hot and sticky - and that codpiece was going to need cleaning: it was stiff with my spunk. I eventually slipped between the sheets and closed my eyes. I was not looking forward to the morning.

* * *

Sunday Morning

I'd folded everything up and packed my panniers ready to put on the bike last night, so there was very little to do this morning apart from have breakfast and get going. All the guys - Dave, Peter and Gavin - were at breakfast. They smiled and greeted me when I entered, and I joined them at their table.

"That," said Dave, "was a very successful week, I think."

"You can say that again," I replied. "It's been everything I could have hoped for - and more. Joey was perfect, absolutely perfect - thanks for finding him."

"All part of the service," smiled Dave. "Tell me - and I'm asking you for the record, cos I think I know the answer - will you both be parting on good terms?"

I chuckled. "Oh yes. The boy's got a massive crush on me, and I must admit to liking him a very great deal. It's been hell for him this week, but he's loved every minute of it." I paused, not sure I should say what was on my mind, but decided to press on. "I understand the reasons for the no-exchange-of-information rule, but in this case it's a shame, cos I think Joey's discovering parts of himself he didn't know about. And I would certainly love to help him find out about them." I smiled, then changed the subject in case they thought I was pleading for exemption from the rules. "So, let me thank you - all of you - for being so great this week. You all made it possible, and you all made it an amazing experience not just for me, but for young Joey as well."

Dave smiled. "Been good having you here." He stirred his tea for a moment. "That rule is sometimes unfortunate, but it's for the safety of all parties. I know you understand that." He took a sip of tea and then added some more sugar. "So, back to work tomorrow?"

Gavin looked up. "No, it's Bank Holiday tomorrow. A day to recover, eh?"

I smiled ruefully. "I wish. No, I'll have to go in to make sure everything's ok. I get nervous when I'm away for long."

I stood up and grabbed a tray. "Right, something to eat, and then I'll be off."

"Ok. I'll get Gavin to bring your bike round to the front."

The victims weren't allowed out of the building - with the exception of the exercise compound, as it was screened - in case they recognised the surroundings and could find the place again, so I said goodbye to Joey in the foyer. Dave had the diplomacy to leave us alone with each other.

"So you really are a biker!" Joey was wearing the tight jeans, trainers, and the red football shirt. He looked good enough to eat.

"Yep, sure am. Honda Fireblade."

He made a sweeping motion with one hand over the top of his head. "Means nothing to me. Is it big and fast?"

"It's very big, and very fast," I laughed.

"I'd love to ride on the back of it with you." A wistful, little-boy look came to his eyes. "I've never been on a motorbike."

I sighed inwardly and cursed that rule again. All the fun that boy and I could have... For a moment I considered whispering my address or phone number to him, but I knew that even here in the foyer everything was being recorded - quite apart from the fact that I still wasn't completely sure it would be a good idea. "Well go find yourself a biker. There's lots of them about who'd be only too happy to have a sexy boy like you on their bikes."

He nodded, looking sad.

"Ok, I'm going to go. I've got a long ride home. Think about me when you're tied up and hooded in that van on the way back."

"Oh I'll be thinking about you a lot, Bastard."

I felt a lump in my throat when he called me that. I pulled myself together and put my arms out to him. "Come here, you."

He melted into my arms, the top of his blond head only coming up to my nose. "Take care of yourself, Joey," I whispered. "Remember the good times."

I pulled away from him, then gently kissed his tearful eyes one by one. "I'm gonna miss you," I said. "Bye bye, sexy boy." I picked up my panniers and went out through the black double doors without looking back again.

Dave was outside with my bike. He gave me the pack of DVDs of our sessions. I fitted the panniers, and shook his hand. "Thanks again Dave. Look after the boy on his way home. We're going to miss each other like hell."

Dave looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "I know you are. Ride safely."

I started the engine, put my helmet and gloves on, waved goodbye and powered the bike down the drive.

The ride home was dreadful. A feeling of emptiness inside me grew and grew until I felt ill. When I finally got back to my house the answerphone was blinking but I ignored it and sat in front of the TV for the rest of the day. I didn't feel like doing anything and the only thing I could think about was that beautiful, cocky boy. I went to make myself a cup of tea but had to have it black because the milk in the fridge had gone off. When I finally went to bed I was hard, but I fell asleep before I could do anything about it.

* * *


Back to work. I run a company that installs and repairs heavy industrial washing equipment and, although today was Bank Holiday Monday and my staff were no doubt off enjoying themselves in the sun or putting up garden sheds, I rode the bike into the office to make sure they hadn't bankrupted me while I was away. Everything seemed good so I settled down to do some paperwork.

I was hoping to get a couple of hours' work done and then slope off home but the phone rang at ten past eleven. Wouldn't you know it? One of our carwash machines in Coventry had sprung a fault and the thing wouldn't stop. They'd shut it down, but there was a queue down the road to use it, apparently, and the petrol station was losing money. Normally I'd have sent one of the engineers off to sort it out - sounded like the end-of-sequence microswitch had gone, a small job that would take me ten minutes to fix, and Coventry was only 15 miles away - but being Bank Holiday, I was the only one available. I tried to get out of it, but eventually I said I'd ride down there on the bike and take a look. I got a couple of the switches from the stores, packed my electrical kit, and went to Coventry.

The machine had seen better days and was overdue for replacement, but when I looked at the offending switch I frowned. It was the switch that was the problem all right, but the switch itself was perfectly fine - except that a plastic bottle cap had got stuck between it and the cam, preventing it from breaking contact. How on earth had that got lodged there? I'd never come across that happening before. I removed the cap, ran the machine through a test cycle, and it was fine. That job had taken me thirty seconds. With a shrug I followed the manager back to his office to complete the paperwork - I'd only charge him the call-out fee.

"Bloody vandals," he grumbled as he took the receipt from me. "It's getting worse round here."

"I think it's getting worse everywhere," I said. I put the paperwork in my jacket pocket and shook his hand. "Well at least the machine's working fine now. You might want to think about replacing it soon though - it's way past it's sell-by date." My head jerked up. "That reminds me - I need a pint of milk."

"In the cold cabinet at the far end of the shop," he said.

I thanked him and popped into the garage shop to get the milk. They only had full cream but it would do. On the way to the till I picked up a newspaper. "PM IN SLAGGING MATCH WITH CAMERON" Screamed the headline. Nothing new there, then.

"Can I help you?" The voice was bored, despondent.

I lowered the paper and found myself staring into the big blue eyes of Joey. I froze completely.

"Just the milk and the paper? Any petrol?"

"Erm...n.. no. Thanks." I put the paper on the counter and rummaged in my pocket for some coins. Two emotions surged through me, the first, an incredible feeling of happiness, quickly followed by disappointment that the boy didn't seem to care about me any more. Then I realized: he hadn't recognised me. Of course, I thought - he'd never seen my face! He rang up the money and handed me my change. When I didn't move, he tilted his head. "Was there anything else?" He was looking into my eyes, and a slight frown appeared on his face.

I looked at him. "What time do you finish work today Joey?"

The boy jerked as if he'd been electrocuted. His lips formed the word, slowly: "Joey..." His eyes opened as wide as dinnerplates and his jaw dropped. Then he seemed to register my bike leathers and the sound of my voice, which he'd come to know well in the last week. What happened next was completely unexpected - without moving from the spot, he burst into tears. There was nobody else in the shop to witness this, which was a good thing, because a moment later he'd rushed around the end of the counter and was hugging me so tightly I thought he'd break something.

I hugged him back. Then I reached into my back pocket and took out one of my business cards and picked up a pen from the counter. I wrote my home number on the back and put the card into his hand. "If you want to," I whispered, "ring me."

Any further displays of emotion were prevented by the manager's appearance from his office through a door at the back of the shop. Luckily, he stopped to move something along a shelf, which gave us time to separate and regain a semblance of normality before he looked up. "Ah right, thanks. I didn't see them there. I'll take one of those too." I picked up a bottle of olive oil from the stand by our side and Joey went back behind the counter, quickly wiping his eyes on his teeshirt.

I paid for the oil, smiled at the manager and said thanks to the boy. Then I left, got my bike from near to the carwash machine, and rode out onto the road. This time I looked back - and I saw Joey through the window. He was grinning fit to bust.

* * *

It was so different being back at my house now. When I'd last left it I'd been depressed; now I was elated. I noticed the answering machine still blinking from yesterday and pressed play while I set about making tea.

"Hello. This is a friend. You may get a call about a broken carwash machine tomorrow. If I were you, I'd deal with it personally. Have fun."

I put the kettle down, turned to look at the answering machine and waited - but that was the only message and that was all there was of it. I smiled. I recognised the voice. Funny thing - I'd never have marked Dave down as a vandal.

The phone rang. I picked up the kitchen extension. A familiar voice spoke to me.

"Can I have a ride on your bike, Bastard?"

I laughed out loud with sheer delight. "Oh yes, you most certainly can. What time do you finish work?"

He told me. "I'll pick you up at 6, sexy boy."

I put the phone down and went back to making my tea. I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Then I frowned. "Oh fuck." Looked like it was going to have to black tea again - I'd forgotten to pick up the milk.