“You look terrible.” Master Jeff offered James a glass of Laphroaig, but as usual the man declined; for some strange reason that Jeff had never been able to understand, the Mansion’s perverted torturer preferred schnapps. Jeff had tried it once – never again.
Multiple layers of shiny black rubber rustled as James crossed his legs and sat back. He sighed. “I’m fine. Ze vork load iz heavy at ze moment. Ze Mansion iz getting full and zere are many boys to see to.”
“Yes. I’ve been zinking.” Jeff frowned. “Thinking.” James’ accent was contagious – “And I’ve come to the conclusion that you need an assistant.”
James looked up, startled. “An assistant?”
“Yes. Your edging duties are getting more than you can comfortably deal with, not to mention the punishments and the other calls on your time. It’s too much for one man.”
“Rubbish.” James did not like the idea of another torturer in the Mansion. “I am quite capable.”
“No, I’ve made up my mind, James. Just someone to take over a little of the edging. Take some of the load off you.”
James felt threatened. He took great enjoyment and pride in his position at the Mansion, and this suggestion of Jeff’s was not good. But the decision, clearly, had been made. This required fast thinking. He appeared to be considering for a moment, then he nodded and smiled. “You may be right, Sir. How vill you choose anozzer edger?”
“I already have one in mind. I was talking to Master Medwyn at Ponty – Ponthd – ” he picked up a post-it note and handed it to James.
James glanced at the note. “Pontrhydfendigaid.”
Jeff blinked. James had pronounced the Welsh name perfectly; there hadn’t been a z in it anywhere. How?
“Yes, I know ze place,” continued James. “It’s in Ceredigion. Wales. I visited zere a vhile ago.”
“Well, yes, there. Medwyn has a talented edger, name of Arwyn. And he’s happy for Arwyn to join us at the Mansion.
James exhaled. “Very vell, Sir. If you zink it iz necessary.”
“I do. Ok. That’s settled then. I’ll – ”
James held up a finger. “Perhaps a test would be in order, to make sure zat you are completely happy viz him?”
“A test?”
“Indeed.” James raised his eyebrows. “If Arwyn were to be teased and edged himself by one of our boys vhile he is edging another boy, it vill make him vork on ze horny cock more… creatively .” An expression of sadism passed over his face for a moment. “Believe me, I know. Zis will provide more entertainment for ze audience. Also, it would demonstrate that Arwyn has the concentration and skill necessary for ze job. I would zen be happy to have him as an assistant.”
Jeff thought about that, then nodded. “Ok. Yes. I like that idea. Discuss it with the boys, get them to decide who they want to work on Arwyn. I’ll ask Arwyn to choose a victim to edge. Make the arrangements, will you?”
James nodded. “I vill make it so.”
The boys were not happy. The very last thing they wanted was another expert edger. It was the Mansion’s mission to keep all boys terminally horny between their milkings, which were every five days, and this was accomplished by daily edging sessions which were carried out by James. And edgings by James were to be feared greatly: making boys suffer was the man’s obsession; the sound of their begging and pleading for the relief of orgasm echoed around the place every day despite the padded walls of James’ torture chamber. Recently things had improved, though – there were so many residents at the moment that James had been forced to delegate some sessions to the Senior slaves, and they were nothing like as good at it as he was.
However, Master Jeff had made his decision. James informed the boys and, as he had been instructed, told them to choose someone to work on Arwyn during the test. They went into secret conclave. Later that day they came back to him – he’d been half-expecting to see white smoke issuing from a chimney somewhere – and said that they had decided on Dylan to edge Arwyn.
Dylan was a 23-year old, athletic and muscular skinhead. He had an overpowering fetish for leather, and wore it all his waking life (and often while he was asleep too). Although he was one of the Mansion’s subs, he also had much expertise with working on cocks. Before Dylan had decided he really wanted to be a sub, and had come to the Mansion, he had been an edging Top at Master Craig’s house in Oxford. James smiled to himself when the boys told him – they had made a good choice.
After Arwyn had done some research he’d chosen a cute teenager named Bobby to be his victim. None of the Mansion’s residents could resist being edged, so it didn’t make a lot of difference who he chose, but apparently everything seemed to turn this boy on: being restrained, being hooded, humiliation, breath control, leather, PVC, tight jeans, hunky guys – Arwyn wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that being slapped about the face with a wet fish did as well. Bobby seemed to be as good a choice as any, and Arwyn thought the blond boy was as gorgeous as fuck. It would be a great pleasure to make him suffer.
James had decided on the way the test would be presented in the main hall, so he made arrangements for the equipment to be set up, and the date was set.
The residents of the Mansion were filing into the main hall and taking their places. A restraint table stood in the open central area, raised off the floor a little by wooden blocks, with a stool by its side. Master Jeff was already seated with a glass of Laphroaig in his hand, chatting to James. He looked up as the victim, Bobby, was brought in by two of the Seniors. They removed his handcuffs and left the boy standing at the end of the table, looking cute and vulnerable. His cock was already semi-hard.
A moment later Arwyn entered, in full leathers and motorcycle boots. Arwyn was a 19-year old goth boy with long, spiky, jet-black hair, a small ring through the side of his nose, and a sexy grin. He had black make-up around his hazel eyes, chains hung from his belt and there were zips everywhere. His skintight, shiny jeans were obviously made of much thinner leather than his jacket – this had been specified by the boys, on James’ suggestion. He stood facing Bobby, his hands on his hips, the two of them looking each other up and down.
They turned as Dylan came in. His leather jeans were heavy black horse hide and his chunky motocross boots were grey and white with quick-release fasteners at the sides. He was naked down to the studded belt at his waist, his muscular, athletic body clearly visible to all. Blue-eyed and with his straw-coloured hair cropped to a No 1, he licked his lips when he saw Arwyn’s leather gear, a predatory grin on his face. Arwyn smiled back confidently.
James joined them and, after Arwyn had sat down on the stool, slotted a thin, black plywood screen horizontally into the edge of the table; the screen had a curved edge to fit around Arwyn’s waist and extended eighteen inches or so to either side of him. James locked the stool into position, then stood back and nodded to the Seniors before returning to his seat beside Jeff. They watched as Bobby was put onto the table, strapped down and hooded.
Dylan crawled under the raised table and knelt between Arwyn’s open legs, facing his crotch, his hands behind his back.
After taking another sip of whiskey Jeff walked to the centre of the room. He scanned the audience of boys and smiled. “You all know what tonight’s entertainment is about. Poor old James has been overworked lately. He needs an assistant. Master Medwyn in Ponty… in Wales has graciously agreed to let us have Arwyn here, to help take some of the load off him. Arwyn is an expert edger, you’ll be delighted to hear.”
Groans could be heard from the boys.
Jeff chuckled. “But still, we’re going to test Arwyn to make sure he’s up to the job. James says that any edger worth his salt should be able to work on a boy effectively while he’s being teased and edged himself. In fact James said to me, ‘Zis iz how I vos trained myself.’ The imitation was not good. James scowled from the shadows.
“Yes. Anyway, Dylan there is going to edge Arwyn while Arwyn edges Bobby –” Jeff frowned. “Is that the right way around?” He looked at James, who closed his eyes, sighed, and nodded.
“Ok. Now, just to make sure I’ve got this right, Arwyn is going to try to keep Bobby as close to the edge as possible for the duration of the test. Dylan will work on Arwyn from under there, trying to make him lose his concentration, make mistakes, and allow Bobby to cum. If Bobby does cum, Arwyn will not be offered the position at the Mansion. The purpose of the wooden screen here, around Arwyn, is so that he can’t see what Dylan is going to do to him, can’t interfere with it, and can’t stop it.”
“To make things a little more fair, and at James’ suggestion, Dylan is not permitted to open Arwyn’s jeans; he must work at all times through the leather.”
Jeff blinked, slightly surprised that he’d got through this without being more confused than he was. His surprise was shared by James.
Sir Pouncealot, the Mansion’s ginger tom, chose that moment to appear. He jumped up onto the restraint table between Bobby’s spread feet, scanned the audience disdainfully, then sat down and began leisurely to lick his furry balls.
Jeff chuckled. “Now is not a good time, Pounce.” He lifted the cat into his arms. “So, let the test begin.” He carried him back to his seat, where Sir Pouncealot curled up in Jeff’s lap, intending to stay there for the rest of the night.
Bobby’s cock had got hard as soon as the hood had gone on and the restraints had been tightened over him, but it stiffened even more as Arwyn’s fingers caressed it very lightly and cautiously. Arwyn didn’t know this boy, but he had to work on the assumption that it would be all too easy to make him cum; this was true of most of the boys he’d seen here at the Mansion.
Under the table Dylan brought his hands from behind his back and carressed the chunky motorcycle boots at each side of him, feeling the buckles and the leather lovingly. The skinhead had an overpowering fetish for leather, and he was in heaven as he looked along the ‘V’ formed by the hunky Arwyn’s thighs to the shiny round bulge between them. He’d recognised straight away the type of leather the Welsh boy’s jeans were made from; it was thin and flexible, and very sensitive. Arwyn would be able to feel the lightest touch through them. Perfect. He felt his cock beginning to stiffen in his own jeans as he began to stroke his fingertips gently over the shiny black legs to either side of him.
Above him, screened by the black plywood, Arwyn held Bobby’s cock at the base and pulled it slightly away from his body. The fingers of his other hand began to tease the shaft, squeezing and releasing it as they moved slowly up and down its length. He was monitoring the boy very closely indeed, and realised that already he was getting close. He was sorry that he was unable to see the cute teenager’s face.
Dylan breathed in the heady scent of leather beneath the restraint table. He ran the fingertips of one hand up a smooth black thigh to the perineum. This brought a gasp from Arwyn. The fingers began to tickle the balls. The other hand traced the rapidly-hardening outline of the boy’s cock and moved it around under the soft jeans. He closed his fingers behind it, stretching the leather, and pulled it slowly towards him for a moment. Another sharp intake of breath escaped Arwyn’s lips.
Strapped to the table, thus far Bobby had made no sound, but now, as Arwyn worked on him, a quiet groan escaped from under the leather hood.
Jeff smiled when he heard it. He leaned closer to James. “I reckon Arwyn’s going to walk this.”
James considered. “You may be right. He has excellent technique – look at the lightness of his touch. It is very good. But it’s all too easy to make Bobby cum. Believe me, I know. The boy has little self-control. Arwyn will have to be very careful. And Dylan knows leather, so if anyone can edge a guy through it, it’s him.”
“Hmm.” For the hundredth time since he’d known James it occurred to Jeff to wonder about the man’s accent. It came and went seemingly at random. Like now – there was no trace of it. Privately Jeff thought that he just turned it on or off whenever he felt like it. “How about a small bet? Fifty pounds says that Arwyn will be the winner.”
Sir Pouncealot was in danger of sliding off Jeff’s leather lap so he pushed him back on. The cat grumbled, then went back to sleep.
“Fifty pounds?” James took a deep breath, uncertain. He shook his head. “I don’t know. But in the spirit of friendship I will bet you five pounds that Arwyn fails and makes Bobby cum.”
“Five? Have you no confidence, my friend? Make it twenty.”
James sighed. “Very well. Twenty pounds.”
From where they sat they could see both over and under the table, and it was very obvious that the muscular skinhead was enjoying what he was doing. His fingers were working on Arwyn’s cock now – a cock that was fully hard and was stretching the thin leather out into a clear shape that was thrusting up and sideways from his crotch. Dylan’s fingers were tickling his balls and teasing the cock. Every now and then, unexpectedly, he gripped the head firmly and slid his fingers up over the head, bringing the goth closer to the edge and trying to break his concentration.
Above him Arwyn was as horny as fuck. He had always loved edging – it was something he could lose himself in more than almost anything else. As always, when the familiar feeling of sadism began to engulf him, he remembered why he was so obsessed with it. He’d never before had anyone tease him while he was doing it, though. The feel of the heavy boots on his feet, the tight leather jeans gripping his legs – and even though he couldn’t see them, the thought of Dylan’s fingers sliding over his shiny leather thighs and bulge below the screen – were all making him dangerously horny themselves, but what Dylan was doing to him was something else: it was making him want – need – to torture this cute boy insane. His fingertips teased ever more lightly and cunningly over the boy’s cock head.
Bobby was squirming on the table and a constant stream of moans was coming from under his hood.
Arwyn concentrated. He was an expert edger: he’d always somehow been able to feel a victim, know how close he was, somehow intuit what to do to make him really need to cum. But he was having to be very careful indeed with this one. He was no longer sure that Bobby had been a good choice: the boy seemed to have vanishingly little self-control. He could edge him, no problem, but getting him to that point was going to be fraught with danger – he must not make him cum accidentally.
Even just pulling his cock out away from his body had made Bobby gasp, and what Arwyn was doing now – using just the lightest of strokes around the head – had got the boy very close indeed. Still, it was only a matter of baselines – this boy had a low one. As long as Arwyn maintained his concentration, he was confident that he could easily hold him close to the edge.
But Dylan was intent on making Arwyn lose that concentration. And the bastard was turning out to be good at it. The sudden grips and firm wanking on his cock were making things difficult. And, Arwyn realised, he was getting him very close to cumming.
“Please Sir, let me cum.” The desperate plea had come from under the leather hood.
Both Jeff and James heard it. Jeff smirked at James. “I think you’re about to lose fifty pounds.”
“Twenty,” said James.
Dylan had also heard the boy’s plea. He began wanking the head of Arwyn’s cock through his jeans continuously now, with increased pressure and speed. The shiny soft black leather rode up and down over the horny cock in his grip.
Arwyn groaned. He must not let Dylan distract him, and he must not allow him to make him cum. But it felt so fucking good… His eyes narrowed in renewed concentration as he stared at Bobby’s naked cock in his hand. This was good, but it could be better; he needed to get the boy even closer. He scooped up some precum and slid his fingers around the ridge very lightly. The feel of Dylan working on his hard cock through his leather jeans was making him need to torture this sexy teenage boy very badly: he needed to get him to the very brink of cumming and to keep him there, struggling and begging for the orgasm he needed so badly, but which he was helpless to achieve.
Bobby was fighting the restraints now. His pelvis was trying to thrust, but the wide, tight strap over it prevented any movement.
Arwyn smiled. The boy was right on the edge. All he had to do now was keep him there.
Bobby was desperate. “Please! Pleeease make me cum…”
Beneath the screen Dylan knew it was time. He formed his left hand into a fist, pressed it against Arwyn’s leather-covered balls, and pushed.
Arwyn took a stuttering breath and tried to slam his knees together, but the skinhead’s muscular body was between them, keeping them apart.
Dylan smiled devilishly, feeling the leather knees suddenly ram together urgently against his sides. He increased the pressure of his fist, squashing the Welsh boy’s balls as hard as he could inside his leather jeans.
Arwyn’s body jerked, his hand wanking Bobby’s cock jerkily and uncontrollably.
Will a deafening yell, Bobby started to cum.
Dylan was milking Arwyn’s cock through leather jeans and squashing his balls - two things that were guaranteed to make Arwyn lose it. Arwyn lost it. As Bobby’s spunk started to jet out, landing on the arm of Arwyn’s leather jacket and on the padded table, the goth’s body convulsed and his own orgasm began under Dylan’s fingers, his hand – no longer under his control - wanking Bobby’s cock so fast it was a blur.
Dylan was on the very edge of cumming himself – working on such a sexy guy in such horny fucking leathers was absolute perfection. He couldn’t stand it any longer – and at the precise moment that Arwyn started to cum, Dylan’s hand flew from the goth’s bulge to his own cock. He wanked his cock hard and fast through the horse hide leather jeans.
Arwyn’s orgasm, however, had only just started to get going when Dylan’s hand left his cock. Two drops of spunk oozed out slowly, and a tormented wail of frustration came from him.
The sound level in the hall increased abruptly at that point: Bobby was screaming in ecstasy as he came for the first time in five days; Arwyn’s desperate wail of ruined orgasm joined it; this was overlaid by a loud crack as he tried to get to his cock but only succeeded in splintering the wooden screen; Dylan was roaring under the table as he, too, came; and a yell issued from Jeff as Sir Pouncealot, startled by the sudden uproar, jumped two feet in the air and sprinted off in the direction of the door. This was closely followed by more yells as a ginger furball with claws cut a swathe through the boys in the audience. There was blood.
Eventually things settled down. Jeff stood up, brushing clumps of fur off his leathers. “Well. Erm. Yes. That perhaps didn’t go quite as expected. But a round of applause please for Bobby, Arwyn and Dylan.”
There was applause (rather quieter from the scratched bodies in a line between Jeff and the door).
“Thank you for taking part in this, Arwyn. Unfortunately you made Bobby cum. And you came yourself. At least I think you did. Yes. Unfortunate. But thank you again.” He sat down, looking slightly confused.
“I think you owe me fifty pounds,” said James.
“Well at least that’s sorted.” Jeff was pouring himself a large whiskey. They were back in the study.
“Indeed. I zink Colin will be fine as a temporary assistant until some boys move on from ze Mansion.”
Colin, one of the Senior slaves, had been recruited.
“His technique is by no means perfect, but I vill teach him ven I can spare ze time.”
“Good.” Jeff took a sip of Laphroaig. He leaned back. “James. Look at me. Tell me how you did it.”
“I don’t know vot you mean.”
“Yes you do. You made sure Arwyn would fail. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did.”
James was silent for a while, and then he sighed. “I was in Pontrhydfendigaid a year ago. You remember, you sent me there to help train one of Master Medwyn’s tops.”
“Ah yes, I did, didn’t I? Go on.”
“Well, Arwyn was zat top. To be a good edger you heff to know what it’s like from ze receiving end, and so I showed him. Several times, in fact. In doing so I may heff discovered some of his weaknesses…”
Jeff waited.
“All right.” James sighed again. “I discovered that he loves being milked through ze leather jeans, and he especially loves pressure on ze balls. Eizer of zose on zeir own will make him lose it. But both togezzer…” He gave a Gallic shrug.
Jeff nodded. Things were becoming clearer – despite James’ accent, which was almost unintelligible at the moment.
“Hmm. So you suggested to the boys that they require Arwyn to wear thin jeans so he would feel the leather more - and so that he’d feel everything that Dylan did to him, and you told Dylan about squashing his balls.”
James took a sudden interest in the fireplace.
“Hmm. Well, that is unfair, James.”
“But I vos only– ”
“Quiet. I’m thinking of a suitable punishment for you.”
James closed his mouth.
Jeff took a couple of sips of the whiskey then looked up. “A question: what’s the name of that pretty blond boy you fancy the arse off?”
James frowned. “Iz it Daryl zat you mean?” He said uncertainly.
“Daryl. That’s him.” Jeff leaned forwards, his elbows on the desk. “The table is still set up, though you’ll have to replace the plywood screen. Tomorrow night you, James, will take Arwyn’s place at the table, and you will edge Daryl. Arwyn will be under the table, working on you. It would be… unfair… if Arwyn found out about your part in his failure, don’t you think? He would doubtless try very hard to make you lose it. It would be a shame if that were to happen. Let’s hope nobody tells him…”
James swallowed. “Yes Sir,” he said. “It would indeed be unfortunate. The humiliation would be… unpleasant. I will make the arrangements as you have ordered.”
Jeff leaned back in his chair and swirled the amber liquid in its glass. The fingers of one hand were feeling the fifty-pound note in his pocket. It had been intended for James in payment for the wager. He smiled to himself and took his hand out of his pocket. The note could stay where it was.