The Telemachus Story Archive

By Hooder


“Zere has been slippage.”

Chris, the Mansion’s chief Senior, followed James’ gaze to the study ceiling. He frowned; everything there seemed to look all right to him. “I’m sorry, Sir?”

James flicked his eyes down to the boy and fixed him with a penetrating stare. “There has been deterioration. Standards. Discipline.” The man’s German accent came and went seemingly with a will of its own. “Zere will be changes, and with Master Jeff away, now is a good time.” He leaned forward, the move causing his several layers of shiny black rubber to creak, and pushed a notepad and pen towards Chris.

“Take zis down. From today there will be an extra four days between all boys’ milkings.

Chris gasped – but the man was far from finished yet.

“Punishment for unauthorised orgasms will be doubled, and will now be carried out by myself personally, in my private room.

”All residents – including Seniors – will now be expected to assist the cleaning and cooking staff when requested.”

”And boys have started to call this place ’Hogwarts’. This will stop.”

There was more creaking as he sat back in the chair.

Chris stared at the list with his mouth open. ”But–”

“Write zat up and put it on the noticeboard immediately.”

Chris swallowed. This wouldn’t have happened if Master Jeff had been here.

Jeff didn’t go away from the Mansion very often, but he was currently a guest of Master Mikael, on the Scottish island of Islay. As Mikael’s place was a stone’s throw from the Laphraoig distillery, Jeff wasn’t expected back any time soon.

Chris took the notice and stood up. He could almost hear Master Jeff’s Yorkshire accent echoing in his mind: ‘There’ll be trouble at t’mill.’

James had been Jeff’s butler, chief torturer and general aide since the two had started the Mansion many years ago. Like Jeff, his main turn-on was boys who were desperately, screamingly horny, and they’d set up the Mansion to be a place where they could be surrounded by them, and give intense pleasure to them. But James took this to new levels. The man was a genius with cocks, and a dangerously good psychologist. He was also a sadist, and spent all his free time dreaming up new techniques and new devices to make a boy’s need to cum increasingly unbearable. He could spend hours torturing a terminally horny boy with well-lubed black rubber gloves, softly vibrating brushes and gadgets he’d designed himself, or with only a single feather.

Each boy had a schedule designed to keep him as horny as possible: twice-daily edging sessions, with relief only being granted once every seven days when he would be strapped down and very slowly milked to as intense an orgasm as possible while the others watched enviously, their hands cuffed behind their backs and their hard cocks oozing precum in their jeans or shorts. Most of the boys at the Mansion were late teenagers, and so the thought of having to wait for four extra days – which meant eight more hour-long edging sessions where they would be repeatedly and cunningly brought to within a hair’s breadth of orgasm and then carefully denied release – was unthinkable.

At the entrance to the main hall Chris pinned the notice onto the board and made himself scarce before anybody read it.

Oh God! Please Sir! Let me cum! Don’t stop now! I can’t take it! Pleeeeease!”

James wished he had a pound for every time he’d heard that – it was pure music to his ears. He massaged his hard cock through his codpiece rubber jeans. “You heff five more days before your milking, Colin. Ten more edging sessions like zis – though of course each will be worse than ze last. I sink you will be even more horny by zen…” he looked with satisfaction at the squirming boy on the inclined restraint table, and then added, simply because he knew the words turned the boy on, “…zose skintight jeans making you need to cum .” He put the sonic toothbrush down.

All of the boys at the Mansion had fetishes – that was why they were here, after all – and like most of them Colin was very into the black-and-shiny, but James knew that this one’s overwhelming weakness was for denim jeans – tight, thin and sensitive enough for him to feel the lightest touch through them on his naked cock. Colin had told him when he’d first arrived at the Mansion that he came in his tight jeans regularly.

James had spent the last hour working with surgical precision on the boy’s desperate cock head through the well-worn, skintight faded denim. One of the things that made the man so dangerous was that he had an unerring sixth sense for when a victim was right on the edge, and he never ever allowed one to get relief by cumming when he was edging him.

He would rather the lad’s fetish had been for black rubber – that was James’ own, overwhelming fetish – but he had become very skilled indeed at using whatever a boy’s biggest turn-on was, against him.

To allow Colin time to cool down from the unbearable edging, James busied himself tidying up his room – he preferred to work in this, his own dungeon, for a number of reasons: the facilities were excellent, it was totally private so he could indulge himself torturing a boy properly and at length, and also he knew that both he and this room were feared greatly by everyone.

Colin’s cock was still rock-hard inside his precum-soaked jeans, and his hips still thrust occasionally, but he had stopped squirming.

“Remember, boy, the punishment for unauthorised cumming has been doubled.” He went to the door to call a Senior who would be standing nearby and who would release Colin from the restraint table.

When he opened the door, he blinked: the expected Senior stood there – it was Chris - but he was flanked by Philip and Grant, both muscular Seniors. And behind them, standing quietly but looking dangerously determined, was every one of the Mansion’s residents.

Before James had time to react, they grabbed him. While they lifted the struggling and spluttering man up and carried him back into the room, others released Colin quickly. James was put onto the table in his place and within seconds he was strapped down securely.

“James. Sir,” said Chris. He held notes to which he referred now and then. “Our apologies for this, but by unanimous vote, your new orders are not acceptable. I speak for all the residents in what I say now. Four extra days between milkings – with the additional edgings that come with them – are more than most of the boys can take. Double punishment for unauthorised orgasms would be Ok, but the fact that you yourself would be administering them increases their severity by too much. And expecting the residents to clean is not on – we have staff for that.

“The general feeling is that while you have so far preformed your duties to the great benefit of the boys – and hence the Mansion - this time you have overstepped the mark. You have gone too far, and the consensus is that Master Jeff would not approve.

“Therefore, we’ve decided to punish you , Sir. Today is Saturday. You will be allowed to cum eleven days from now – that’s the one week plus your new four days. Until that time you will wear a chastity cage, and you will not cum.

“You probably won’t be surprised to learn that a there is a waiting list of residents who would very much like to torture you, and twice every day one will edge you for an hour and a half. If you manage, by some means, to cum before next Wednesday, the period of this punishment will be doubled. If Master Jeff returns before then, which is highly doubtful, we’ll explain everything to him and he will decide whether to end your punishment or not.”

Chris pocketed his notes. “Oh, and you will be permitted to wear rubber only for the edgings.” He placed a tweed jacket and trousers on the table by the window.

James was speechless. He lay on the table fuming. Finally he was able to speak. “Ziss is unacceptable! It iss outrageous! I demand to be released this instant! And you will all be punished more severely than you can imagine for ziss!” As he said that, he realised that the last bit probably didn’t help his case too much.

Chris smiled. “You don’t seem to be in a position to do much about it, Sir.” He looked round. “Donny, I think you’re first. Enjoy yourself.”

A short, slim boy appeared. He moved closer to James and looked down at him. The others filed out of the room, and the last one closed the door to James’ private torture chamber, leaving Donny alone with the helpless man.

All the boys knew well which ones of them James got off on most of all. Unsurprisingly, those who wore rubber gear were usually at the top of the list. But Donny was one of his particular favourites. James liked cute boys, and Donny was sickeningly cute. His fringe of black hair fell over wide, deep blue eyes in a very boyish face, and he had a cheeky smile. He was slim, and at just 5’ 3”, he gave the impression of being a little rascal. In fact he was 19. James had always found him sex on legs. The facts that the boy got off so much on rubber, and also that he was excruciatingly responsive to edging – it drove him insane – made him close to perfection in the German’s eyes.

James ran his eyes hungrily over Donny’s tight rubber teeshirt, his nipples visible beneath it. He licked his lips at the skintight, shiny black rubber jeans and chunky motorbike boots, and he itched to get his hands – and other devices – on the pert little bulge between the boy’s thighs. It may only be a bulge now, but by the time he’d got that cock out and made it need to cum very badly indeed, it would be substantially bigger.

James smiled. “Donny. If you release me I’ll give you the most beautiful orgasm you’ve ever had. And you know how well I can do that.”

Donny smiled back at the man. “Yeah, you can. But you’re the one strapped down right now, and I’m gonna show you what edging’s like.” As with all the boys who’d been on the receiving end of James’ skills, Donny had learned a lot from the man while being tortured. He knew how James’ devilish devices worked, and he’d watched his techniques for long enough to know what each and every one felt like, and how each made a horny boy suffer.

“Very well. Do your vurst.”

Carefully and slowly, Donny pulled each press-stud of the man’s rubber codpiece open one by one. He removed it and put it down, then turned back to James and smiled slowly. Even when he wasn’t trying, Donny’s smile was sexy, but when he was trying, it was lethal at twenty paces.

James groaned quietly.

“You fancy me, don’t you. You like to look at me – especially in tight, shiny black rubber…” He picked up a thick rubber hood, pulled it over the protesting man’s head, and tightened the straps. “Well you can’t see me now, can you… But you can lick the rubber if you want. And you can imagine this cute, sexy rubber boy working on you.” He chuckled, and took the hardening cock gently in one hand.

An hour and a half later Donny was exasperated. He’d got James hard very quickly, and the man had groaned and thrust his hips from time to time, but he hadn’t got him anywhere close enough to cumming to make him beg. He’d used feathers, tissues, vibrators, brushes, well-lubed rubber-gloved fingers, in fact everything he could think of that the guy had used on him at various times and which had proved devastatingly effective, but they hadn’t had the desired effect on James. Donny thought that the man had been fairly close a couple of times, but he just hadn’t been able to get him to the edge.

James was smug as he sat in his office chair. He’d hated having the chastity cage locked on before the Seniors had released him, and he despised the feel of the tweed trousers, the shirt and jacket he’d been left with – they’d confiscated all his rubber gear – but he was pleased that he’d been able to control himself enough not to plead for orgasm. Having that gorgeous boy playing with him had resulted in a couple of close calls, but the thing he got off on most of all was not there when it was he who was being worked on. He sat back and applied himself to thinking up some new and particularly unbearable techniques he’d use on Donny - when all this was over he intended to torture that little brat out of his mind.

“Hmm,” said Chris, frowning. The Seniors were gathered around Donny, who’d told them how it had gone.

“You were one of our big guns – he fancies you like fuck.” Chris consulted his list. “It’s Jason next session. Let’s see how he gets on, and we’ll have another talk tonight.”

Jason had had no luck either: he’d resorted to wanking James’ cock furiously towards the end of the session, but with little effect. It seemed to him, though, that the man enjoyed having something up his arse. He’d only tried a finger, but perhaps more would be good. He also reckoned that James got closer when he wasn’t hooded, and could see.

The following morning everyone was surprised by the unexpected return of Jeff. Apparently the Laphroaig distillery was closed for holidays, and Master Mikael, not being a fan of single malt whisky, kept none on the premises.

Jeff beamed at Chris and Grant, sat in the comfortable study armchairs. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, chuckling. “James being punished. Ha! I like that.” He lifted the notice and read it again. “Four extra days between milkings? Double punishment? Fetish gear only for…” He dropped the paper. “I can see why there’d be trouble.” He took an appreciative sip of the scotch.

“I thought we’d worked out the punishment levels and the times between milkings pretty well – it’s worked for a long time, after all. But then it’s James we’re talking about. He is, I’m afraid, a little obsessed with edging torture. Not that that’s a bad thing by any means, of course, although I’m sure many of the boys would disagree – that is until they have that mind-blowing orgasm on milking day. Much better than they could get by other means…” He realised he was rambling.

“So, you want me to decide whether to end James’ punishment early.” He was thoughtful for a moment, then he looked at the two Seniors, and smiled. He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It will do James good. Don’t tell him I said so, though.” He chuckled again. “As for not being able to get him to the point of begging, I’ve known James a long time, and I may be able to help there.” He sat back in his chair. “The thing with James, the one thing that he lives for more than anything else, is torture. Everything to do with it – seeing the restraints, the hoods, the gags, the implements, the victim’s helplessness, the power differential. And of course the victim’s inability to get away from it, to control it at all, and to stop himself from reacting to it. And the accompanying humiliation. Have a think about that. See if any ideas come to you.”

He closed his eyes and basked in the heady aroma from the glass. He’d missed that. Mikael was a lovely guy, but he was sorely lacking in taste.

The restraint table was inclined to almost vertical this time. James was strapped down to it again, but this time he was stark naked. He looked the three muscular rubber boys up and down and smirked. “There is nothing you can do to break me. Others have tried. And failed. You will do no better.”

When the hunky Grant moved close and pressed his rubber-clad body to his naked skin, however, the man gasped with pleasure. “Oh yes, zat is nice. But not nice enough, I think.”

Grant placed his rubber-gloved hands over James’ mouth and eyes, Philip began to stroke the man’s legs slowly, and Chris took the cock in one lubed hand. James heard the door open, some unidentifiable sounds for a moment, and then the door close again.

Chris was one of the Mansion’s best with cocks. As he worked on James’, it grew and solidified slowly but surely.

Grant took his hands away and moved to the side. The first thing James saw was Donny looking at him, with a quiet smile on his boyish face. Then he saw that a large, full-length mirror had been wheeled in.

Grant was back, holding a thick rubber mask. It was a full hood, but with eye holes. He got it over James’ head and strapped it in place.

James frowned. What was that for?

They started. Philip crouched down, sliding his hand between the man’s thighs and inserting a finger into his arsehole, then used the other hand to tease the balls with his rubber fingers. Grant took the base of James’ cock and balls in a firm grip, holding the balls vulnerable to Philip’s teasing, and Chris transferred his attention to the head of the cock. Any free hands stroked and caressed James’ inner thighs, his feet and legs, his nipples.

James looked at the scene reflected in the mirror. He saw the restraint table with its thick leather straps holding a victim completely helpless, and the three hunky boys in shiny rubber working slowly on him. He found himself watching spellbound as the light reflected from their shiny gear when they moved, and the erections stretching their jeans out obscenely. He could also see Donny; the boy was doing nothing, just watching everything closely.

Three rubber-clad torturers working on one helpless victim - it was a vision straight out of his wank fantasies. And now he understood the reason for the mask: although he knew that the victim was himself, in the reflection he was anonymous. His gaze was fixed on the mirror. A helpless victim being tortured.

Oh fuck, what their hands were doing was amazing. His hips began to thrust – he didn’t even try to stop them, it felt so good.

He felt himself getting very close to cumming.

Then Donny’s face was inches from his. James raised his head to kiss him – but the boy backed away out of reach, smiling sexily. And at exactly that moment the others stopped.

No! James felt the most intense need to cum he’d experienced so far, but he managed to stop himself from making any sound. Just.

Donny’s face was back. “Good. But do you think you’ll be able to keep that up? Twice a day for the next ten days…? Watching a helpless victim being… tortured by rubber boys…?”

James closed his eyes and groaned.

The week passed more slowly for James than any he’d ever known. He came both to dread those sessions but also to crave them. He’d never known such extremes – two, three, sometimes four boys in rubber all working on him, all intent on making him need to cum more urgently than he could imagine – then making it worse still – and then stopping just too soon so that he was left hanging, begging and pleading for them to continue for just another two seconds so that he could achieve that longed-for orgasm. He knew that all he had to do was close his eyes, not look at the reflection of the helpless victim in shiny black rubber being worked on sadistically by those fiends. If he didn’t look at that he knew he’d be able to control himself. But, try as he might, he just could not stop himself from watching it all. The sight of the straps holding him; the thick mitts over his hands, rendering his fingers useless so that he couldn’t get to the buckles that were just there, within reach; the layers of lubed rubber they’d put him in, their hands sliding between them; the gear the torturers were wearing, calculated to work on his fetish. It was all rubber, rubber, rubber. And Donny, whom he fancied madly, teasing him, almost – but never quite – kissing him, always just out of reach.

And those unthinkable edges. He’d long ago given up even trying to stop himself from pleading for orgasm. Now, every single time they got him there he begged unashamedly. He struggled and squirmed, promised them anything, threatened them, implored them – but their only response was quiet, sadistic laughter.

And at the end of each unbearable session the chastity cage was locked on so that he couldn’t make himself cum even when he was alone. Everything had been arranged to make it as unendurable as possible – he hated having to wear that damn tweed jacket and trousers, and it reduced his horniness considerably between sessions - but once he was made to put all the rubber gear back on for the torture, the absence of it between sessions made him hornier than he’d have believed possible, even before they’d got him strapped into the frame. And once restrained, it made him excruciatingly vulnerable to their devilry.

Different boys took turns to work on him; it seemed that every resident of the Mansion was getting his chance to wreak revenge on the man. Some were more effective than others, but no matter how expert – or not – they were, it made little difference; James was so unimaginably horny: the feel of the lubed rubber sliding over his skin and the sight of multiple boys in rubber working on him was all so pervertedly wonderful that his own fucking grandmother could have made him lose it. And however inexperienced a boy was, there was always one of the seniors there watching to make sure the boy didn’t inadvertently let James cum.

“It’s your last session,” said Donny, feigning sadness. Then he smiled slowly. “And this time we are really gonna make you scream…” It was he who took James’ achingly hard, precum-oozing cock in his slippery rubber-gloved hand. Much had been learned about how that particular cock worked during the last eleven days, and Donny had been an extremely attentive student. Very slowly, he set to work while the other three boys applied themselves to the rest of James’ anatomy.

Outside, in the main house, boys smiled in satisfaction at the sound of the screams echoing around the stone walls.

“So, how was it?” Master Jeff chuckled. “Did the boys meet your exacting standards?”

James sat in the armchair. He was back in his rubber gear, and he was scowling. Avoiding Jeff’s gaze, he stared instead at the fireplace. “Zay vere… effective.”

“Yes, I heard that.” Jeff looked at his friend. “Come on, James, admit it – you deserved everything you got. And I bet you loved every minute of it.”

“I did no – hmph.”

Jeff picked up the notice. “Now, do you think we should reconsider these new edicts? They seem a little… unnecessary… to me. I agree that we must not let standards slide, but perhaps, if changes need to be made, we should move gently? Four extra days between milkings does sound a bit excessive. Well, you’re in an ideal position right now to know about that. Still think the extra days are a good idea?”

James grunted. “Perhaps I was a little over-zealous there. After a while you tend to forget how… intense… a schedule can be. Let us leave things as they were, at least for now.”

Jeff smiled. “I think that’s probably best.” He took a last look at the notice. “And the other suggestions?”

After a moment James let out a short, reluctant sigh and nodded his head once.

“Ok. Good. Well, I think that’s all sorted then.” He threw the notice on the fire. “Now, I understand that you’d like a “prolonged and private” session with young Donny?”

James looked up. “I would like that very much.”

Jeff looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I haven’t seen the boy running screaming for the hills yet, and I’m quite sure he must know that you have intentions towards his slim little body. So sure. You’ve earned it. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you. And yes, I most certainly vill.”

James very slowly pulled on a pair of thick black rubber gloves. He looked down at the youth who was restrained very tightly indeed to the table, and smiled. It was a very evil smile indeed. “Oh, I heff been looking forward to zis, Donny boy…”, he said slowly.

He closed one hand into a fist, with just the first finger held out. The finger descended to a pair of buttons on his desk. He pressed one of them.

Outside, on the door of his private torture chamber, a sign lit up. It read:

“Do NOT disturb”.