The Telemachus Story Archive

By Hooder


There were two things that were most important to Val’s sexual world. The first of these got him intensely horny; the second actually made him shoot his load - like there was no tomorrow.

The thing that got Val horny was chloroforming victims.

It wasn’t actually chloroform that he used; apart from doing your liver in, it was far too imprecise. Anaesthesia had come on a long way since actual chloroform had been in common use; nowadays there were much, much better agents for his purposes. Val’s favourite was a pale amber liquid he got by blackmailing a senior hospital employee he’d met some time ago; its chemical name had nine syllables and very few vowels, but Val still called it ‘chloroform’ anyway – at least that was pronounceable, and for some reason the word turned him on.

It was beautifully controllable, and for Val, control was what it was all about. More than anything, he got off on watching a victim struggling, trying to fight the anaesthetic, as he felt himself very slowly going under, and panicking as he realised that he was helpless to do anything about it. The main reason Val especially loved this stuff was because of the way it worked on you: one of the first things it suppressed was your primary motor cortex - before putting you out completely, it progressively reduced your ability to control your muscles. By very carefully adjusting the dose, it was possible to keep a victim unable to move at all – paralysed - but still conscious, so that he knew – and could feel – everything that was being done to him. And Val had become expert at adjusting the dose.

But used on a cloth, like the classic chloroform, it knocked a victim out very quickly, enabling Val to get him back to his dungeon. Once there he could take his time and play with him at leisure, using the infinitely more controllable anaesthesia machine.

* * *

When a victim regained consciousness he would find that he was naked, gagged, and strapped down to a table in a dark room with a bright light shining directly down on him. A figure would slowly walk out of the shadows – in skintight jeans that made his raging hard-on blindingly obvious, a heavy leather jacket covered with studs and with metal spikes all down the arms, black leather boots with straps, buckles and chains on them, skintight leather gloves, and a ‘Scream’ mask.

The reason Val wore that gear had originally been simply to create panic in the victim, but these days he found that just the act of wearing it was itself turning him on more and more.

The restrained victim now had to be made aware of two things: the effects the anaesthetic would have on him; and what Val intended to do to him once the gas had got him helpless.

For the first of these, Val would provide a demonstration. This was one of the parts he loved best of all; he would feel his cock getting harder by the second inside his tight jeans as he took the black rubber mask off its hook and slowly lowered it over the struggling victim’s face, strapping it in place tightly, making sure that it sealed around his nose and gagged mouth so that he would be forced to breathe whatever gas mixture Val chose to deliver to him, and positioning the corrugated black rubber tubes. Speaking in a whisper, he would carefully explain how the anaesthetic would render him totally unable to move, but that he would still be able to see - and most importantly to feel - everything that would be done to him.

There would be a hiss as he opened the valve on the machine, and he would keep his hand on it while he watched the flow meter gently rise, and the anaesthetic slowly and gradually making it more and more impossible for the victim to struggle. Just as the last muscle twitch died away Val would fine-tune the mixture of gases to keep his subject at that level and no deeper.

At this point the victim’s eyes would be staring wildly as he realised he couldn’t move, but that he could still breathe, see, and feel.

After letting him experience this for a minute Val would adjust the restraints on the table to allow the victim a great deal more movement, then turn the gas off and watch as he recovered, slowly regaining the use of his muscles. The struggling invariably began again, more violently now that he found that his cuffed arms and legs had more freedom on the lengthened ropes, and that he was able to buck more under the strong leather straps over his body.

Next, Val would pull a wheeled table into the light. It had a long metal tray on it. In the tray, lined up neatly in a row, were pliers of various sizes and with different shaped jaws, long knives, a wickedly sharp steel claw, a Stanley knife, thin metal skewers, a bone saw, and other instruments of torture. Val would wait, smiling to himself under the mask, as the victim took in the horror of these objects, with terrified eyes.

The table restraints in this looser arrangement were carefully designed so that although the victim could not escape, he could move a great deal in them – for Val, that made it much more fun when the gradual paralysis produced by the anaesthetic took effect, because it made the victim panic far more as he felt the slow but relentless approach of absolute helplessness. And slowness was what it was about for Val…

… He wanted to watch the victim’s face as he realised that he was gradually losing control of his body.

… He wanted to see the boy fighting against the gas with everything he’d got, knowing that if he allowed it to get him helpless, those horrifying instruments of torture were waiting to be used on him – and that he would be able to feel everything.

… And he wanted to watch the victim’s realisation that the sickly sweet gas in the rubber mask - which he couldn’t get off - was going to make him fucking incapable of doing anything to avoid it.

With his cock throbbing in his jeans, Val would open the valve for the second time.

As the anaesthetic gradually overpowered the frantically struggling victim again, Val’s cock would be so hard against the tight denim that it was almost painful. There was nothing that got him more horny than watching someone trying to fight the chloroform, and the sight of the things in that tray never failed to give the victim a very strong motivation to do exactly that.

When the struggling had eventually stopped, the final muscle had relaxed, and the gas had been adjusted to keep the terrified victim horrifically conscious but completely helpless, Val would speak in a whisper from behind the Scream mask.

“Instruments of torture…” He’d say very slowly, relishing the word. “Am I going to torture you?” He could almost hear the adrenaline coursing through the victim’s bloodstream.

“Actually I’m not. I have no interest in inflicting pain, and I have no intention of doing so.”

He would push the wheeled table away, back into the shadows. It had done its job. He would then remove his Scream mask, exposing the black leather one he was wearing underneath it. Then, while very obviously teasing his rigid cock through his jeans in full view of the victim, he would whisper some more. He loved this part; so he always enunciated every word very slowly, and very clearly.

“I am not a torturer. I am a gay, sexual pervert. I like boys . Boys just like you. I want one thing from you – your spunk. And I am going to get it, boy . I am going to make you cum, boy . I am going to extract your spunk from your hard, horny cock, and there will be fuck-all you can do to stop me, boy . And you’ll be helpless to stop yourself from cumming, boy . I am going to work on your cock until you shoot your spunk uncontrollably, boy . When I have that, I will put you fully under and take you back, quite unharmed, to where I got you. So you see, you have nothing at all to fear. Boy.

He had to be careful during this speech – he could cum so easily; and he did not want to cum yet. Oh no. When he came, it was going to be in a very special way.

Val would turn the gas off and allow the victim to recover again.

All of Val’s victims were aggressively straight - he selected each one very carefully indeed for that - and most of them, the very best of all, were queer-hating thugs of the worst kind. They were usually ugly, snarling bastards, and often they were skinheads.

The sight of the torture instruments always made a victim fight the gas, but that speech of Val’s invariably caused an equally frantic determination to resist.

During this pause, with the gas switched off and while the victim was regaining the use of his body, the same things always happened: with the realisation that he was not going to be tortured after all, relief would visibly flood through him. Then would come a rapidly-mounting fury at having been terrorised like that - and then this fury would escalate to incandescence at the foul, disgusting thought of having the thing he loathed most - a fucking queer – touching his cock, masturbating him, or worse. The way the perverted cunt kept calling him ‘boy’ – he would want to spit in the fucker’s face, crush his balls under his boot, kick the cunt in the head until there was nothing left that was recognisable. And even then he wouldn’t stop. With his muscles working again his fists would punch, but find nothing to hit; his feet would kick impotently; his body would thrash about under the restraining straps; he would swear into the gag. He would be beside himself with insane, violent rage.

Although watching a victim fighting the chloroform was what got Val horny, there was one thing that made him cum more intensely than anything else: and that was using the spunk of a helpless, straight, queer-hating boy as lube – smeared all over his cock - while he wanked.

Such straight boys did not give up their spunk to gay perverts easily, and for Val this made the process so much more fun. After everything the victim had experienced so far, his cock would – unsurprisingly - be soft and small, and so it was always a challenge to get him hard, horny, and then to the point of orgasm. This was intended and, as with the chloroforming, Val loved to do this slowly. It was so much more maddeningly infuriating and frustrating for the victim when he had plenty of time to realise that he was getting hard in the pervert’s hands in spite of that being the very last thing he wanted his fucking cock to do.

Once Val was satisfied that the victim was no longer expecting to get tortured but was now thinking about the less painful - but, to an ultra-straight thug like him, the almost equally horrific - idea of having his cock milked by a masked gay weirdo, he would take the boy back down towards paralysis even more slowly than before. But quite a way before he reached total helplessness – while he was still able to struggle enough – Val would tighten the straps over his body again, then – with his own cock straining at the denim of his tight jeans - adjust the gas to keep him there. He would lube a prostate massager and insert it carefully and slowly into the victim’s arse. Because of the boy’s lying position on the table, and also because he was still able to move quite a lot, it usually took a while to get it in, but Val had infinite patience. Bit by bit the black rubber dildo would disappear past the sphincter and into him despite his frantic efforts to stop it. And once it was there, Val knew that with every movement the victim made it would be working on him from the inside.

Once it was fully in, Val would open the valve slightly and watch as the boy sank deeper towards full paralysis – but again he adjusted the gas so that he was still able to move slightly. Val was a connoisseur of control, and for this it had to be just right: he wanted the victim to be able to struggle just enough for the prostate massager to work on him, and he also wanted him to feel that he stood a chance of getting away from Val’s fingers, while of course not actually being able to do so.

When he was happy he had the level right, Val would pour lube onto the thin, tight leather of his gloves – making sure the boy could see him doing it – and then take the balls and the limp cock in his hands. At the first touch the victim always yelled incoherently into the gag and tried to struggle like fuck to get those hands off him, but under the controlling grip of the anaesthetic, he couldn’t.

It usually took a long time to get the cock hard, but Val had skilful fingers, and as much time as was necessary. Always, at some point, he would feel the first stirrings of hardness. From that point on it was easier, and under the slow, relentless teasing of the naked cock and balls, the victim invariably got harder and harder until his cock was fully erect and, eventually, leaking precum.

Throughout all of this the non-stop threats and cursing coming from the victim would be rendered muffled and incomprehensible by the gag.

Edging was not and end in itself to Val, and he never had any intention of edging a boy for long, but bringing him almost to the point of orgasm and then letting him back off a few times was always fun – it was another way to play with a victim’s self-control: he knew that at one moment the boy would be fighting like fuck to stop himself from cumming, the next moment he would be fighting like fuck to make himself cum, and shortly after that he’d be fighting against it again.

When Val got so horny that he could stand it no longer, he would bring the victim back up to full struggling, fighting ability for the final time, wait for a while, enjoying the creaking of the leather restraints as the boy fought them, then set the gas to take him down – this time to total unconsciousness - very slowly indeed. And at that point he would begin to milk the cock – equally slowly. This was critical: he wanted to make the boy lose control and cum just as he felt himself going completely under – that was when the feeling of total and absolute helplessness was at its most intense, and Val wanted him to feel very helpless indeed.

He almost always got it exactly right: the victim would now be incapable of struggling at all, but he would still be acutely aware of the slippery leather gloved fingers teasing his balls, sliding over his cock head, milking him slowly and irresistibly. And then, after being incapable of fighting that, he would be furiously conscious of his uncontrollable ejaculation – of his fiercely straight spunk jetting out helplessly into that loathsome gay cunt’s milking fingers. The fact that he couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop it would probably be the most ragingly humiliating thing he’d ever felt in his sorry life. As his orgasm ended, his gagged swearing would become slower and slower, quieter and quieter, as the inescapable gas hissing quietly in the rubber mask took him down, finally and un-fightably, into unconsciousness.

Val would collect the spunk in one hand, quickly adjust the gas to keep the boy out, then rip his tight jeans open and cover his desperate cock with the dripping, milky fluid. A few strokes with his slippery leather fingers sliding and squelching over his cock head in the boy’s spunk as he stared at the helpless victim lying there would give him the longed-for orgasm he’d needed since he’d started working on him. It was always intense and long. It was always the best thing ever.

* * *

Val buckled his boots, pulled on his leather jacket and checked the bottle and cloth in his pocket. Everything was in order. He put on his crash helmet – he didn’t have a bike, but everyone would assume he did, and the dark visor was the perfect mask for outside. For a moment he stood gazing out of the window, down at the city. He’d been looking forward to today - there’d been a football match at the stadium, and they’d be leaving any time now. Perfect. All those ugly, belligerent, ultra-straight, right-wing thugs and skinheads. Oh, how he loved those sexy boys.

There was a corner of an alley he’d used many times before, where he could wait for one to come along on his own. He would step out behind him, gagging him with the chloroform cloth tight over his nose and mouth so that he couldn’t avoid inhaling it. As he dragged him back into the shadows he would feel the chloroform quickly overpowering the boy’s struggling until, within seconds, he would lose consciousness in his arms. He’d perfected his technique to the extent that he always got a victim into the darkness unseen. The next thing the boy would know, he’d be in the dungeon. Strapped down, gagged and helpless.

Val felt a jerk inside his tight jeans. He was imagining the feel of that beautiful, slippery, straight-boy spunk all over his cock, dripping stickily down onto his balls. Aggressively straight, queer-hating boy spunk. He couldn’t wait any longer. He lowered his visor.

It was time to go hunting.