The Telemachus Story Archive

Perversion by Proxy
By Hooder

Perversion by Proxy

The corridor echoed with his footsteps as Victor walked quickly towards his laboratory. Even though he knew he was safe inside the thick stone walls, the presence of the outside world beyond the windows still made him jumpy. Victor suffered from severe agoraphobia, and he never ever went out of the house; even the very thought of doing so made him feel ill.

He had tried all manner of treatments – none of which had worked, and some of which had left him temporarily gibbering – but luckily, the old place was enormous; he’d inherited it from his father ten years earlier, along with a considerable fortune, some of which he’d used to finance his ongoing research. He had gained a degree in advanced neurology through expensive online university courses, and ever since then he’d worked with obsessive single-mindedness on The Project.

Apart from the agoraphobia he was otherwise a reasonably normal, fit, straight, 61-year old man. But he had a high sex drive, and when he wasn’t working he spent much of the evening using his large computer system to surf the net for porn. Although he had never had sex of any kind with anybody during his six decades on the planet, he had raised wanking to an art form. Large bosoms, round buttocks, juicy thighs, red lips, and talented tongues were what turned Victor on. He adored all women, but he had a particular penchant for late-teenage girls, and they figured largely in his nightly fantasies.

Now, however, The Project was ready. His heart rate increased as he strode down the corridor – not through exertion, but through anticipation: he would shortly, for the first time in his life, be able to experience horny women first-hand. Or almost.

Halfway down the corridor he met Charlie, who smiled as he straightened up from polishing a doorknob. Charlie was Victor’s aide; He’d been butler to his father until the old Man had died, and Victor liked him, so he’d kept him on - though in a slightly less formal role. Now, he mainly just cleaned the place and did anything for Victor that involved leaving the premises. He lived in an apartment at the other end of the house.

“Hello Charlie. Listen, I’ve got a visitor arriving any moment, and I’m going to be busy in the lab for a while so could you avoid coming into this wing today please? Take the rest of the day off. Go visit your sister perhaps?”

Charlie nodded. “Certainly, sir – thank you. No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Victor smiled. “Excellent. See you tomorrow, Charlie.”

He walked on quickly. Usually he didn’t rush anywhere, but he’d seen the van coming through the main gate. He went into the lab, put on his white coat and stood at the window, watching as the vehicle reversed into the garage. He was impatient to start the experiment.

Two minutes later a trolley entered through the double doors of the lab with a thunk. Victor ignored the nervous-looking Chinese guy pushing it, his eyes instead running over the good-looking boy in his late teens who lay unconscious on the trolley. He was apparently a biker, as he was wearing leathers – his firmly muscled body clearly defined under the tight gear.

“His name is Jon. J – O – N,” said the Chinese guy. “He’s nineteen, fit, and as horny as fuck. There. I’ve done what you wanted. Give me the negative.”

Victor glanced up at the Chinese guy briefly, then his eyes returned to the figure on the trolley. “Yes, you have. He is perfect.” He ran his fingers thoughtfully down the boy’s arm. “Oh yes. You’ve done well.”

“The negative.”

Victor unlocked the wall safe and took out a packet. He passed it to the guy, who extracted a strip of 35mm film and held it up to the light. “You give me your word this is the only copy?”

“I do. You are free.”

The guy held a cigarette lighter to one corner of the film, turning it carefully as it buckled and burnt into oblivion. He glared at Victor and then, without a word, left the house.

Victor glanced at the wall clock; the Rohypnol he’d supplied the Chinese guy with would keep the boy unconscious for a while yet, but he must start preparing him now, and perform the operation - though ‘operation’ was possibly too grand a word for it; a small subcutaneous injection was all that was required.

He took a final look through the microscope and smiled: years of work, and now that tiny black cube was going to give Victor his freedom. With utmost care he transferred it from the microscope slide into a hypodermic syringe with saline solution already in it. Then he approached the unconscious boy, swabbed the area just behind his right ear and injected the cube, pushing the plunger down slowly.

After replacing the syringe on the desk, he rolled the trolley through the house to the back door. There he stopped, and took a slow, deep breath: this was the part he’d been dreading most of all, but it had to be done. He opened the door wide, pushed the trolley out down the ramp and across the lawn to the far end near the open gate, and lifted the boy off it, lowering him carefully onto the grass. Already he felt sick, and was afraid he was going to pass out, but – stumbling and running - he managed to get the trolley back inside. Breathing hard he slammed the door closed, locked it, and leant against it. Then he threw up.

The boy Jon would wake up with a bad headache, and with no idea where he was or of how he’d got there – and crucially with no recollection that anything had been done to him. He’d doubtless assume that he’d wandered here drunk. He would find his way through the gate to the road, and from there he’d make his way home.

By the time he’d had a short lie down and then cleaned up, Victor was feeling better.

Along with a desk with a bank of monitors on it, the computer room also contained a camp bed. He skidded the chair away from the desk and pulled the bed closer, so that he’d be able to reach the keyboard from it. Then he lay down, took a headset consisting of a soft, flexible array of electrodes, and fitted it carefully over his head.

Glancing at one of the monitors that showed a view of the back lawn, Victor saw that the boy had gone.

With a shaking finger, he pressed the ENTER key, and lay back.

Victor had expected a delay while the system found the signal, processed it and delivered it to the headset, but immediately he yelped as he felt water hitting his head. Before he could look up to check for a leak in the ceiling he realised his whole body felt heavy – and he had a splitting headache. Rapidly, more sensations came – and then, finally, vision. He was walking along a road – the road outside his house – in the pouring rain. He’d never experienced rain before, and for a moment it, and the shock of being outside, overwhelmed him. He brought his hands up to rip the headset off – but then he remembered that he was lying on the bed, safe in his computer room, and also that he could control the inputs with his mind. ‘Less,’ he commanded the system breathlessly. And everything attenuated a little. That was better.

He concentrated on what he could see, and feel. The heaviness was the gear Jon was wearing – his already heavy biker leathers were soaking wet. And the boy’s body felt wonderful. He could see, hear and feel everything: the sound of his boots on the wet tarmac, the wind in the trees and the feel of it on his face, the rain hitting his head and his hands, the youthful muscles working, and he could even feel the boy’s cock moving inside his jeans as he walked. Victor breathed out a shuddering breath – this was working far better than he’d ever hoped. And he could just about deal with the fact that he was outside; it wasn’t easy, it took some effort, but it wasn’t making him feel ill as long as he constantly reminded himself of where he was, that he was safe, that he was actually still inside his house.

The vision thing was interesting: he had intuitive control of the balance between what the boy was seeing and what Victor could actually see through his own eyes – he could change the ratio as he wished, even without conscious effort – and very soon the superimposed images of the road and the computer room ceiling didn’t seem strange at all: he found that he could concentrate on either at will.

At a bus stop a very pretty girl with long blonde hair joined the queue. Fuck, thought Victor, she is gorgeous. She smiled at him, and Jon smiled back.

Victor breathed quickly. “Yes. Come on, come on boy…” He was hoping Jon would try to take this further, but the bus arrived.

The girl smiled again as they waited to get on. “Hi. You’re cute,” she said.

Victor felt Jon smile back, and then wink. “Thanks.”

They boarded the bus and sat in different parts of it.

“What? No! Is that it?” Victor was annoyed. “You fucking idiot – she liked you!” As Jon glanced at the girl he saw that her attention was already on her phone.

He stayed with the boy until he reached his home. He was there as Jon stripped off, and took a shower. Victor closed his eyes and purred as Jon lathered his firm young body. The boy’s cock was substantially larger than his own, he noticed, and it began to get hard under the slippery soap suds.

After the shower Jon hung his bike gear up to dry and put on a pair of shorts. Then he took a beer and a packet of crisps and settled down in front of the TV to watch football.

Victor took off the headset, exhaled, and lay there thinking. Clearly girls fancied Jon. This hunky young man was going to provide him with an altogether new level of sexual entertainment.

Victor ate a light dinner and read until the sky began to get dark on the CCTV screens. Then he changed into some shorts himself and went back to the computer room. He positioned the electrodes and pressed the key.

Ear-splitting music beat at him. “Less!” The sound decreased. Jon appeared to be in a club of some kind. He was jerking around on the dance floor as coloured lights flashed overhead. The floor was crammed with strange-looking people: guys and girls in leather, rubber, fishnet tights, studs, chains, big boots and other odd things. It felt like Jon was in leather trousers of some kind as well – at least something extremely tight and constricting; he could feel them gripping his thighs like a vice.

And then Victor noticed the girl facing Jon. He gasped: those were some of the biggest boobs he had ever seen. They rested half-covered in a kind of black leather harness with lots of unnecessary (but nevertheless worryingly fascinating) straps. And they were bouncing hypnotically. Was this the girl Jon would be fucking later? Oh God, Victor hoped so. He couldn’t take his eyes off those boobs, and he was imagining his cock between them.

But the boy was turning slowly as he danced, and a young man came into view. This one was bare chested, in leather jeans and heavy boots with studs on them, and had a short blond mohican.

“Turn back you cretin! The girl! The fucking girl!”

After a few moments the boy with the mohican smiled at Jon sexily, made some kind of hand gesture, and raised his eyebrows. Jon nodded. He turned back to the girl with the big boobs, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then followed the blond boy off the dance floor and out of the club.

“No! Fucking no! Go back and get that girl with the huge tits you fucking idiot!” Victor screamed. He really wished he’d been able to incorporate some way to control and direct his subject’s thoughts or actions when he’d designed this system; he’d done much research on that, but in the end it had proved to be beyond his capability. He fumed impotently as Jon and mohican walked over the concrete to a motorbike. He felt the crash helmet go over his head, the bike start, the noise and the wind as he rode through the city on the pillion.

A few minutes later they were in a flat. The moment the boy had kicked the door closed they embraced and kissed roughly. Victor cringed as he felt a tongue exploring his mouth and then fingers working their way under Jon’s leather jacket and closing around his nipples.

“Aargh shit!” Victor yelled in pain. Thankfully the fingers were soon removed.

In a frenzy of pawing they tumbled onto the bed. Victor felt the blond boy’s hands as they unzipped Jon’s Jeans, and saw his head move towards his crotch purposefully.

No!” Screamed Victor into the laboratory. “This is wrong! This is not what I fucking want! What about that girl with the big tits? She was fucking wet for you for God’s sake. I do NOT want my cock sucked by aOh fuuuuuck…” The shouting subsided into an incoherent gurgle as his eyes slowly crossed. Victor lay on the camp bed, unable to speak as the blond boy worked on Jon’s cock. He had fantasised many times about having his cock sucked but no amount of fantasising had prepared him for what it actually felt like. He realised that he was about to cum, and reached blindly for tissues. He was too late.

“Less! Less!” The sensations he was feeling receded to a more manageable level. Lying in a pool of cooling spunk Victor considered taking the headset off, but a morbid curiosity was getting the better of him. Not at all horny now, he waited to see in what other ways these boys would debase themselves.

After a while the blond one pulled away, zipped Jon back up again, and sat astride his waist. He leaned down and kissed him again briefly, then took something from the side of the bed. Handcuffs. “You want tying up?”

Jon smiled. “Oh yeah.”

No. This was getting worse. Bondage? Bondage was something Victor had zero interest in. Bondage or guys. Not his thing. At all. He was thinking about that big-boobed girl in the leather harness again. A sexy slut with big breasts that you could really lose yourself in.

He watched through Jon’s eyes as mohican slowly removed the boy’s motorbike boots, and then his socks. He buckled leather cuffs around Jon’s wrists and ankles, and tied them to the corners of the bed. The boy looked down at Jon and grinned evilly. Then, to Victor’s horror, he leaned down and took the boy’s toes, one at a time, into his mouth, sucking and teasing them with his tongue.

It tickled like fuck for Jon, but also for Victor - even with the system level turned down. Victor’s toes curled up reflexively, but Jon was loving it. Then it suddenly got much worse: there were fingertips stroking and tickling over the bare soles at the same time. Jon was moaning with pleasure but Victor had curled up into tight ball on the camp bed, and he was squeaking.

At last the boy stopped. He stroked his fingers over Jon’s leather jeans, across his calves, his knees, then higher, over his thighs. The fingertips teased and tickled, getting everywhere, but Victor found that this was bearable through the leather. In fact, when the fingers got to Jon’s balls Victor turned the gain back up.

Jon was watching the blond one’s hands carefully as they teased his inner thighs, his perineum and his balls. Victor could feel Jon’s need for those fingers to start on his cock, but – frustratingly – they seemed to be avoiding it. Victor was hard.

Then they were unbuckling and unzipping Jon’s jeans. They pulled them down as far as the spread legs would allow, and Victor could feel the cooler air on the boy’s cock as it stood erect, now free of the tight leather.

Smiling wickedly again, the blond one produced a hood. He turned it around for Jon to see; the only hole in it was for the mouth. “You can see far too much…”

Victor squirmed in frustration as he felt the leather come down over his head, enclosing it, and the fingers tightening the straps. He could see nothing, and hear much less than before. And he could smell the leather.

Nothing happened for an agonisingly long time, and Victor was gradually going soft – then both Jon and Victor yelled as something touched their cock: something very soft. It traced its way slowly up the shaft, teased around the ridge, and slid sensuously over the head.

Victor gasped. He’d never felt anything like this before in his life: it was unbelievably horny. It had a similar, if somewhat less, effect on the more experienced Jon: he moaned sensuously as if he’d just tasted a particularly wonderful toffee ice cream.

The soft thing – was it a feather? Victor wondered – slid slowly back down to the base and began another slow, tortuous journey back to the tip. On the way it played with the frenulum for a while.

Victor’s cock had rapidly become erect again and he wanted to cum. His hand kept going towards it, but he stopped himself. “No. Jon can’t bring himself off, so I won’t either.” He nodded decisively.

The feather, or whatever it was, went away. There was a pause, and then something cool and viscous ran down his cock. Fingers spread it around. Lube, Victor guessed. Another pause.

Cool, smooth, slippery fingers enclosed his balls and cock. It felt like leather or rubber gloves. More like rubber, Victor thought. For a moment they stayed where they were, and then they began to move: the one on his balls stroking and sliding round and round over them; the one on his cock very, very slowly slipping up and down the shaft.

Victor made a sound like he was straining very hard to have a crap: a tight, stifled groan. What the boy was doing to him felt – he had no words to describe it.

The hand on his cock was now limiting itself to the head, the fingers gripping it lightly and rotating around it, backward and forwards. Every now and again they stroked on the film of lube and precum over the glans itself and right over the urethra before returning to the ridge.

“Mmmm.” Jon was moaning louder now. “Oh fuck I need to cum.”

“You and me both, boy,” gasped Victor.

“Oh I’m gonna make you need to cum worse than that…” The blond boy’s voice was slightly muffled through the hood.

Victor jumped – literally left the surface of the camp bed - as a lubed, rubber-gloved finger found Jon’s arse hole and slipped inside.

No no no! Fuck off!” Victor had never had anything in there and the sensation was both mortifying… and, he realised after a moment of being completely unable to do anything about it, shamefully – scandalously - interesting. Victor’s face went through an assortment of strange, twisted expressions as the finger explored, and then finally settled in a place where – whenever it moved in the slightest – it sent shivers of something indecently wonderful through him.

Jon had had his prostate worked on (with varying degrees of success) many times, but this boy was, he realised, very good at it. He pushed down gently against the finger, encouraging it.

The other hand was still teasing the head of Jon’s cock slowly, and the boy was getting more desperate to cum by the second. As for Victor, he was fighting against the compelling urge to bring himself off, and barely succeeding.

The finger came out, the hand went away. A chorus of “ Nooooooo!” came from Jon and Victor with perfect lip-synch.

Victor felt the mattress move as the blond boy changed position, and then something warm touched Jon’s lips. The boy opened them to allow what was unmistakeably a cock to enter his mouth.

This was too much. Victor felt a wave of nausea. “Fuck, fuck, fuck no! Why? All those gorgeous girls out there and a sexy guy like you could have any of them – yet you let another guy make you suck his cock?” He felt like shaking Jon bodily and beating some fucking sense into him. However, the feeling of revulsion went away abruptly when the blond boy’s fingertips found his cock head again. Immediately the need to cum reasserted itself to the point that he suddenly didn’t care that his throat was being reamed by a guy’s cock. In fact, for some unaccountable reason it now seemed to be adding to the party – and he found himself slightly disappointed when the boy pulled out.

Victor and Jon felt the ankle cuffs being unbuckled, then their legs were hoisted up into the air and came down on the blond boy’s shoulders. After the unmistakable sound of jeans being unzipped and lube being applied, a cock was inserted without preamble into the now more-accessible arse hole.

Fucking NO! No way! Not that!” The thought of being fucked by a guy was anathema to Victor – on the occasions when he hadn’t been quick enough to avoid seeing such pictures on the net he’d felt a disgust that was almost physical. And here he was with his legs akimbo and a boy’s cock inside him. As it began to fuck him, his hand reached urgently to remove the headset.

The cock hit Jon’s prostate at the end of the stroke and Victor’s hand froze. A short, quiet, surprised “oh” escaped his lips.

The blond boy gripped Jon’s nipple again with one hand and squeezed. Funny – it didn’t seem to hurt as much this time, thought Victor with the tiny part of his mind that wasn’t concentrating on being fucked. In fact the pain felt strangely good right at this moment.

The boy’s other hand went back to Jon’s cock, pulled it back towards him and began to wank it: slow, long strokes from the base to the tip. “Gonna make you cum, boy,” whispered the voice gloatingly.

Jon moaned, and thrust his cock deeper into the rubber fingers.

Suddenly the hand gripped harder and speeded up, working now just on the head, and at he same time the cock began to fuck Jon like an industrial piston.

Together, Jon and Victor were bouncing on their respective beds in unison. Victor couldn’t hold out any longer. There was no choice.

His hand shot towards his cock and wanked it fast –

– and at that moment Jon began to cum –

– and Victor’s mind exploded.

His last coherent thought was that perhaps he should have considered what two simultaneous orgasms – one experienced vicariously via the system and the other directly in his own body – would be like.

It hit him like double bolts of lightning. He screamed in ecstasy as he felt Jon cumming, at the same time as his own spunk was pumping out of his cock. Pleasure of unimaginable intensity coursed through his body as he convulsed on the camp bed.

Charlie found him the following day. He’d never known what it was his employer did in here, but he’d always suspected it would come to no good. He’d watched with mixed feelings as the undertakers had taken Victor away; the man had always been good to him, but he supposed that he’d have to find somewhere else to live now that the old bugger was gone.

He picked up the strange device that had been on Victor’s head when he’d found him, and frowned. He turned it over in his hands. The computers were still running.

A quick look wouldn’t hurt. He sat on the bed and pulled the headset on.

Nothing. For a moment he thought he heard something like a quiet snore, but then there was silence again. Must have been his imagination. Charlie removed the headset. It looked like some kind of VR thing; the old man must have been into playing those boring, pointless computer games. He shook his head. Now if it had been VR porn – hunky, muscled guys in tight black leather and holding heavy restraints, say – now that would have been different. Whatever the thing was it wasn’t working now and he didn’t know how to get it working. Best thing would be to wipe the hard drives tomorrow and dispose of the headset. Would avoid any awkward questions later.

He stood up and walked across the room.

With a last look back at the lab, he switched off the lights and closed the door.