The Telemachus Story Archive

The Vinyl Solution
By Hooder

The Vinyl Solution

Master Jeff had a headache. This wasn’t helped when James, the Mansion’s pervy rubber-clad butler entered the study whistling the German national anthem very loudly and slightly off-key. He stopped half-way through a particularly piercing high note and looked at Jeff, sat there with his head in his hands. “Iz zomesing wrong?”

Jeff raised his head and blinked. “Too much single malt last night. I really must try to control myself.” He reached for the decanter and saw James raise an eyebrow. “Hair of the dog.”

“Hair of ze dog? Vot heff ze dogs got to do vis zis?”

Jeff sighed. “It’s a saying.” He poured himself a small shot. James’ German accent was always more pronounced – sometimes to the point of unintelligibility - after he’d been back to the homeland for a while.

James sat down and spread his legs. He was dressed rather conservatively today, for him: heavy rubber boots over thick black rubber chaps; thin rubber codpiece shorts under the chaps; a black rubber jacket, but at the moment no rubber mask. “Ze boys vant an entertainment. Haz been ze long time since von.”

Jeff had a pained look on his face. “One. ‘Wuh’, not ‘vuh’. and ‘Thuh’, not ‘zuh’.”

“Oh viddlesticks. I vill be talking like ze native again very soon. Is alvays ze same.”

Jeff closed his eyes and shook his head. He considered keeping them closed – it felt good – but needs must. They opened again slowly. “So vot - what - brings you to my sanctuary? Or is this just a social call?”

“An entertainment, like I just zaid.”

“Oh yes, so you did.” His eyes lifted to the wood-panelled walls and he stared at them vacantly. “An entertainment. I’m still recovering from the last one.”


“Lucian. And Günther almost cleaned me out of Laphroaig.”

“Zat vos veeks ago. It is time for anuzzer.”

Jeff continued to look troubled. “Can we keep this one in-house then? It’s all very well having Masters and their boys trooping all over the place but it can be vexatious to the spirit.”

James nodded. “Ve could. Zis could be an on-going event, over zum days if necessary. Not vun special day.”

His gaze returned to James, who was looking enthusiastic. This was always a bad sign, he thought; it usually presaged disruption. A feeling of dread settled on him like a large, black crow. “So. Do you have any ideas?” He knew that the man already had everything worked out, and that this conversation was, as usual, a formality.

“You know Sigmund? Ze boys call him ‘Ziggy’.”

Jeff nodded. “The big muscular boy with the shaved head with a tattoo on it? Russian, isn’t he?”

“Zat’s ze von. Vell, zat boy is proving to be a – how do you say – a prick in my margin.”

Jeff shook his head, confused. “Prick in my margin...” He whispered to himself, trying to deconstruct the phrase. Suddenly his face lightened. “Thorn in my side?”

James frowned. “Vatever. He is being a pain in ze ass.”


“Zat boy is unmilkable. He has been here for three veeks now and not vonce heff I been able to make zat boy cum. I can edge him – edging him is no problem – but making him actually cum? I can not do it. Und neizer can anybody else.”

Jeff chuckled. “Oh dear. That can’t be doing your reputation much good.”

James looked annoyed. “It is not. So, I sink zat if ve offer ze reward to anyvon – everyvon in ze Mansion – anyvon who can make Ziggy cum, zat would be a goot idea.”

Jeff nodded. This appeared to have less potential for disaster than some of James’ suggestions. But, he thought with a sigh, the patron saint of fiasco seemed to stalk these events with infuriating persistence. “Ok. Let’s do it. Can I leave the arrangements to you?”

James smiled. “Of course. As alvays. Sank you.” He stood, nodded curtly, clicked his heels, and exited with a rustle of black rubber.

James poured another scotch, then looked at the glass and grimaced. Sainsbury’s own-brand scotch whiskey just was not Laphroaig. He must organise a shopping trip, he thought.

Master Jeff walked onto the stage in the Mansion’s main hall with confidence. This time he had rehearsed what he was going to say. It was short, and to the point. There would be no waffling. He had learned from bitter experience that waffling came naturally to him. But this time, no.

Everyone was assembled. The general buzz of conversation died down and all eyes turned to Jeff. There was much expectation – rumours had been going round that something was being organised. Now there was silence – you could have heard a rubber dildo drop.

“Staff, seniors, boys. I am happy to announce an event.”

There was a murmur of excitement. Jeff smiled – and immediately forgot what he’d planned to say. “Um – an event. Yes. A few weeks ago (or was it longer than that? Seems longer somehow. No, can’t be. It was what, three, possibly four weeks ago) a boy came to us from Günther in Germany. You all remember Günther? Large, plump, wears lots of leather. Drinks a lot of scotch.” He thought about this. “Mind you that doesn’t really narrow the field very much, does it?”

At the side of the stage Jeff rolled his eyes.

“We have a boy. Well, not one of our boys – although we always think of visiting boys as our boys, don’t we. All one happy family, I always like to think – but no, the one from Günther. Ziggy. That’s his name. Well, this boy has proved to have a talent. It would seem that he is impossible to milk.” Jeff glanced at James apologetically. “Well at least so far, though I suspect James hasn’t tried everything. Or perhaps he has. No, he couldn’t have.” He blinked. “Have you?”

Beneath his rubber cape James was making covert get-on-with-it motions with his hand.

“Anyway, I am here to announce a challenge. A challenge open to everyone here. Everyone from the most senior senior to the most boyish bo- the most lowly boy. Make Ziggy cum. In any way possible. The first one who brings me his spunk, which has been extracted under the supervision of one of the seniors - or of James or me, of course – will be rewarded.”

Another buzz of conversation threatened to start but was quelled by a stern look from James.

“Rewards, yes. Um – if it is a boy who succeeds, then for a period of three weeks his punishment milkings will be commuted to pleasure milkings.”

There was a roar of approval from the crowd.

Jeff looked around for something like a gavel to bang but there was nothing. He appealed to James.


The room was instantly quiet.

“Where was I? Yes, rewards. If the successful person is a boy -” He looked down. “I’ve already said that, haven’t I… If he’s a senior, then for one week all his duties will be suspended and he may choose one boy per day to play with as he wishes.”

The seniors smiled at this.

“So, go to it everyone. No-one is unmilkable, and Ziggy must have some weakness. James just hasn’t been expert enough to find it yet.”

James scowled at this.

Jeff looked around. “Um - I think that’s it. Yes. Have a good evening. Well, those of you who are not due punishments tonight. The rest, well, no – those as well. All of you.” He nodded to himself and sat down.

James closed his eyes in despair.

“It’s just not possible.” Declan, one of the seniors, dipped his croissant in his coffee and shook his head. “Nobody has that much resistance. I’ve watched James get that boy to the edge over and over – but he just can’t push him over. He’s tried everything.”

On the other side of the breakfast table John winced as he watched the soggy end of the croissant disappear into Declan’s mouth. It had had jam on it before it had gone into the coffee. “Well either Ziggy doesn’t have an irresistible trigger, or nobody’s found it yet. Perhaps we should start off by interrogating him, find out his weaknesses.”

Declan thought about this. “He’s more immune to pain than anyone I’ve ever known, so I don’t see how that would work.”

“Hmm. So far about half the boys in the Mansion – and all of the seniors – have had a go. Rusty’s keeping records of who’s done what to him and when. The boy Ziggy seems unbreakable.”

“No-one is unbreakable. We just have to find the key.”

Ziggy was strapped to an ‘A’ frame in the main dungeon. He’d been enjoying all the attention during the last few days, but he was exhausted. It was all very well being teased, sucked and wanked, and having assorted butt-plugs, dildos and vibrating devices inserted into his arse, but after a while things started to get sore. He was thinking of asking James if he could have a day off to recover.

One of the Mansion’s boys – a good-looking leatherboy named Tony – was currently knelt down in front of him, sucking his cock expertly while stroking his leather-gloved hands over Ziggy’s bare thighs. It felt wonderful, but the Russian knew that it was not going to make him cum.

For as long as he could remember, Ziggy had always had unusually good control over his orgasms. As with anyone else, he could be brought to the edge but - unlike most others - even at that point he was still able to decide whether or not to shoot. Oh, the need was there all right, but it never seemed to overpower his will completely as it did with other guys. When they got to that edge they ceased to have any control whatsoever over it, and if the stimulation was kept up, they came. Simple as that. But not him; he could control it. He knew that that was the main reason Günther had sent him here: to be broken. Günther himself and none of his stable had been able to do it. There in Germany, as here in the Mansion, they’d tried everything – huge muscular guys in leather, sporty types in shorts, skinheads, bikers, boys in tight jeans, military uniforms, cops – whoever had been available. Some had turned Ziggy on much more than others, but not one of them had been able to make him lose control.

The leatherboy stopped sucking his cock and stood up, shaking his head. Rusty marked off another name, along with the time, on his clipboard. “Next,” he called.

A blond boy in a tracksuit and carrying a skateboard came in. He put the board down and walked over to Ziggy. “I’m gonna make you cum,” he said.

A corner of Ziggy’s mouth raised. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Jeff smiled as a boy put the box down on his desk. “Thank you.” Mmm… Six bottles of the 30-year-old Laphroaig. Things were looking up. “You’re… Pup?”

The boy smiled. “Almost. Pip. Been at the Mansion a couple of months, Sir.”

Jeff wasn’t sure if Pip was a goth or an emo, or something else entirely – he never could get his head around the labels. The lad was deliciously cute in a sort of squishy way. A small boy, with shaggy, jet-black hair the front of which formed a perfect fringe, and with long bits sticking out at odd angles. Big blue puppy-dog eyes, and full, red lips. He was wearing faded jeans, a ripped leather jacket, and boots with chains and studs on them. The boots looked several sizes too big for him. ‘Cuddly’ was the word that came to Jeff’s mind. The man had a sudden, unexplainable urge to wrap his arms around him and give him a biscuit.

Jeff nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen you around though I haven’t worked on you, I don’t think.”

“No sir. James and Declan usually work on me.”

He nodded again, then frowned. The boy looked far too young to be at the Mansion. “How old are you? Fifteen?”

“Eighteen, sir. Nineteen in May.”

“Oh.” Another nod. These boys looked younger to him every year. He must be getting old. “Have you had a go at Ziggy yet?”

“No sir. I don’t think I’d be able to make him cum.”

“You never know. You should think about it. Nothing to lose. And much to gain.”

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you sir.”

Jeff nodded once more – actually it was a continuation of all the other nods. He stopped it. Must look like one of those nodding dogs, he thought. “Well, thank you again, Pup. That’s all.”

Pip’s face lit up as he smiled, and then he left.

Jeff lifted the box to transfer the scotch into the drinks cabinet, but then put it down again. He opened the top, took a bottle out and cracked the seal. Just a small one, he said to himself.

It was two days later. To Ziggy’s surprise James had, without being asked, suggested that a day off from the constant milking attempts may be a good thing. Ziggy had been very grateful and had spent the whole of yesterday lying on the bed reading porn. As had been the case since this event had begun, he was wearing a chastity cage to make sure he didn’t cum while not being milked. Today it was back to business as usual, but at least he felt more able to deal with it.

The dungeon door opened and a good-looking body-builder came in. Cropped blond hair, and almost as powerfully-built as Ziggy himself. He was naked apart from a pair of shiny black speedos that strained to contain what was clearly a cock that was in full proportion to his body. His muscles bulged as he walked slowly over to the ‘A’ frame and looked Ziggy up and down.

“You like working on your muscles, I see.”

Ziggy’s face remained impassive. “You have a nice body too,” he said.

“I’m Gary.” He looked over to Rusty and Paul, who were sat by the wall. “Could we get him off the frame please. I’d like his hands cuffed behind his back on a 2-foot chain, and a blindfolding leather hood over his head. A tight one. No other restraints.”

This was done. Gary led the hooded boy over to the large floor pad. “So. You can move. Your legs are free. You can move your arms a bit. But you can’t see. Think you can stop me from making you cum?”

Ziggy sniggered under the hood. This sort of thing had been tried before. It hadn’t worked then, it wouldn’t work now.

Gary walked around the hooded boy silently until he was stood directly behind him. Without warning he pushed one of Ziggy’s legs out from under him and landed on top of the boy when he went down. He used his weight to pin Ziggy down, and got his hand between his thighs and onto his cock. He started to wank it.

Gary had expected Ziggy to fight, but the boy just lay there, letting his hand slide up and down his rapidly-hardening cock. Gary pulled his hand out and worked on him from above, using both hands. He pulled the boy’s balls. He tickled his inner thighs. He pushed a finger into his arse. He sucked and bit Ziggy’s nipples. And all the time he kept on milking the now rock-hard cock. Precum was oozing. He was getting there!

Suddenly Ziggy’s body tensed. Gary knew he was on the edge, and he milked the cock for all he was worth.

But try as he might he could not get the boy past that edge. He tried everything, but nothing worked. Ziggy was breathing rapidly, and moving on the floor under him, but he was not cumming.

In the end Gary shook his head and gave up. “Never seen anyone like this,” he said, and walked out, defeated. Rusty added his name to the growing list of failures. He looked at his watch. Time for a couple more and then dinner. More afterwards. He sighed. “Next.”

There was a pause. He looked towards the door. It opened slowly and a boy was pushed into the room, the door being closed firmly behind him. “Name?”

“Pip, sir.”

“Pip. Ok Pip. How do you want him?”

The boy frowned, not understanding what Rusty meant.

Rusty smiled. “What position do you want him in? On the frame? Strapped to the gurney? On the floor? Hooded? Unhooded? Gagged…?”

“Oh. Um… I don’t know. On the frame, if that’s all right, please. Sir.”

Ziggy was put back onto the ‘A’ frame.

“Do you want us to leave his hood on or take it off?”

“Oh. Um – take it off please.”

While they were removing Ziggy’s hood Pip walked around behind the frame. He was very nervous and he wanted to put off the moment when this muscular boy saw him for as long as possible – the guy would undoubtedly laugh at him. He hadn’t wanted to do this – he knew he stood no chance with this powerful guy – but the others had insisted. He was only going to humiliate himself. Oh well, better get it over with.

He reached up and stroked his fingers over the bits of Ziggy’s back that weren’t covered by the thick leather straps holding him there.

Ziggy tried to look over his shoulder to see who this one was, but he couldn’t turn his head far enough to see. Not that it mattered, because whoever he was, this one was going to fail as well.

Pip took a deep breath and walked around to the front, his eyes opening wider with every step – Ziggy was a very good-looking guy indeed. And oh fuck, those muscles…

Ziggy breathed a resigned sigh as he heard the boy begin to move around the frame. And then he swallowed. God, this boy was fucking beautiful. He was one of those little, soft, puppy-like boys with big blue eyes and shaggy black hair. He could imagine him in one of those leather dog-masks, with ears and a red, lolling tongue, with his hands up like paws. And he was wearing the shiniest black PVC gear Ziggy had ever seen. Huge studded boots with chains; skin-tight, clinging PVC jeans that showed his little cock bulge; a studded leather belt; a tight black tee shirt; and a shiny black PVC biker jacket with studs on it. Ziggy thought he could have encompassed the boy’s waist by stretching his thumbs and fingers out into a circle. The boy was very slim, and very small. And one of the most gorgeous boys he had ever seen. He desperately wanted to touch him and slide his fingers over that sexy PVC.

Pip moved closer. He had no idea what to do. He’d never been much good at working on cocks, not that he’d had to do that very often as - along with most of the Mansion’s other cutest boys - his life seemed to consist mainly of being edged, and occasionally milked, by James. And he was a particular favourite of James: for some reason Pip just could not stop himself from doing everything he could to get away from the man’s fingers when he was being edged or milked, and seeing the boy struggling under his hands appealed greatly to James’ well-developed sadism. So much so that the man always arranged the restraints so that the boy could struggle. Just not quite enough to do him any good, of course.

Standing there, Pip hardly came up to Ziggy’s nipples. He looked round. “Have you got a box please?”

Rusty sighed and moved a wooden box over. Pip stood on it. That was better. He gazed into Ziggy’s eyes. They were a beautiful warm brown.

On an impulse he put his arms around the restrained boy and hugged him, nuzzling his shaggy head against the muscular chest.

Ziggy sighed in unexpected pleasure at the feel of the cool, shiny PVC gear against his naked skin and this gorgeous boy cuddling him.

‘I should do something,’ thought Pip. But he had no idea what. He was supposed to make this powerhouse of a boy cum. How the fuck was he supposed to do that? He lifted his head and touched his lips to Ziggy’s.

Ziggy froze for a moment, and then returned the kiss passionately. He could feel the boy’s small cock getting hard inside his tight PVC jeans – the shiny bulge of it was pressing against his balls.

Ziggy closed his eyes and breathed in as Pip looked down and his hair brushed over his face.

“You’re hard,” said the boy, surprised.

Ziggy nodded. “And so are you.”

“Mmm…” Pip purred. He didn’t care about forcing this guy to cum – it was enough to hug him. He licked Ziggy’s pecs. He’d never seen muscles like this before in his life. He was having visions of being held down by Ziggy and of being raped. Except that with him, rape would be impossible: it would be absolutely consensual as far as the boy was concerned. He hugged Ziggy, kissed him again and moved his body slowly against his.

With a yell, Ziggy came. Spunk squirted out and ran down the shiny PVC.

Rusty’s eyes opened with a start; he’d almost been asleep. He blinked and stood up. His mouth open, he ran disbelieving eyes over the spunk on the small boy’s PVC jeans. For a moment he thought it must have been Pip who had cum, but his jeans were still zipped up and little drops of cum were still dribbling out of Ziggy’s convulsing body. “Erm – right.” He pulled himself together. “Paul! Container. Now!”

Paul produced a small plastic container and managed to get some of Ziggy’s spunk into it. He put the lid on.

“Well, good grief. Well done. Master Jeff and James will be proud of you, Pip.”

But Pip wasn’t listening. Pip was still kissing Ziggy.

And Ziggy was kissing back.