Kelly – bdsm short story61 minutes of an awesome read

By R.F.M.

This man’s Navy had had me for twenty fuckin years now and I’d decided to turn in my blue jeans for civvie jeans; bag it in other words. I was thirty eight years and decided it was about time I settled down on that farm I’d always wanted. I’d just missed Korea but did my time in ‘Nam—what a shit hole that was. Only good part bout it was some of those gook kids a man like me could buy for a night or two and fuck the shit out of. Even that pleasure was never really that great. I never got my hands on a virgin—not even once. Not like Tokyo or Hong Kong—the was for God damn sure. In those cities you could get a virgin fairly cheap and easy—girls or boys alike.

Cheerist—I wonder how many gallons of cum I’d pumped up young cunts and butts in those twenty years. HELL—If you could take all the cum that me and the rest of the Army, Air Force, Navy and Marines shot into those Gooks and all the rest—and of course release it at once—it would float Saigon to the roof tops for fuckin sure.

I was state side now—layed up—in the Frisco Naval separation Center, waiting for my final papers. Had another month to go and nothin to do—just layin around and playin with my nuts—I was a signalman First Class you know—so didn’t have to do anything since couldn’t use my rate so I just fucked off. As usual in the PX—a couple of the guys were cock suckers. They were pressed into cock sucking duty pretty often—like five or ten times a night. A stranger at the base might wonder why these prick lickers ate so little in the morning, but the rest of us didn’t wonder. We knew why. Each of them drank the equivalent of three raw eggs at least the night before. Good protein for growin boys you know. Some Orange Juice, Toast and Coffee would be all they needed for breakfast.

Problem with the little cock suckers was there was not a one of them that liked to get fucked—fucked in the ass I mean. And me—I wanted to get my butt muscles into action again. Shit—they were getting flabby from no fuckin. I did manage to get in one big fuck party with about fifteen other guys but they all wanted to fuck—not be fucked—so it turned into a brawl. When one of em finally did get a cock in his ass—he gave in and took it. I never fought so hard just to fuck a guy in his ass—but it was really fun. Really had to use muscle. I finally gave in and got fucked that night—and that’s news—like man bites dog—of course I am not known as the fuckee—just the fuckor.

Reminds me of an old sayin, don’t know where it comes from actually—could be Navy, Army or maybe it comes from old Western cowboy culture. In truth, it was told me by a rodeo stud I tangled with once—think it went:

“I will bet you a dollar to a dog turd, and you hold the stakes in your mouth, that I can deck ya and dick ya, before you can throw me and blow me.” That was another one of those times I got decked and dicked. He was used to ropln steers and bull doggln. Jesus he was fast—and BIG. My asshole was sore for days afterwards.

But I was only about twenty-three in those days. I’m a lot stronger now, and bigger. Navy weight-lifting champion: 1964-1965. Boxing and wrestling: 1958 through 1963. Since the mid-sixties, I always got what I wanted, not seldom through the use of force. You can call it rape, If you want, cause that’s what it was a lot of the time. Male and female alike. Of course, the girls never had much of a chance with me, but some of the guys had to be taught a lesson first before they’d turn over and spread their cheeks. Or open their mouths. Or both, during the course of a three or four hour fuck-fest.

Kelly Penovich is my name, by the way. Odd name, you think? Well, fuck you. My daddy was a Yugoslav—a World War II freedom fighter for the underground, and my mama was Dublin Irish. When I was born in 1938, I was a bastard, and it wasn’t until after the war that they got married. I never was too clear on how they met, or got together. From what daddy’d said, he’d raped her a few times. He was a wrestler and happened to be touring in Ireland before the war broke out, and she was a big fan. He got her in his dressing room and socked me into her womb the very first time. At least that’s what he told me. Crude as it all sounds, though, they loved each other, and after they got married (when I was about seven), I used to like listening to him fuck her with the fat sausage of his. They’re both dead now.

Daddy always encouraged me to be aggressive—to use my strength to get what I wanted—to use my balls for what they were made for. He taught me how to fuck when I was eleven. Mamma’d gone to visit some friends in Yuba City so daddy and me went for a night drive. He picked up a young girl—snatched her, is more like it—and we drove out to a dead end street. While I watched, daddy worked her over in the back seat—fucked the literal shit out of her—and while he fucked, told me to watch closely his pelvic movements and the way he drove his cock up inside her. As he did this, he kept one of his huge ham-fists pressed tightly over the kid’s mouth. She was bleeding by the time he got done with her—evidently, he’d gotten hold of a virgin cunt. Hardly a few months later, daddy demonstrated his technique for raping a young boy. He bled, too. Daddy was a big man, if you know what I mean.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking me and daddy used to fuck around together. I used to wash his cock for him when I got older, that is, when I was attending him in the bath. I also washed the rest of him, so it was no big deal. Sometimes, there was blood—partly congealed under his foreskin. It wasn’t his blood, of course. Somewhere, he’d left a young girl or boy with a ruptured cunt or split anus.

Once in a while, they’d show up in the newspapers, but luckily none of daddy’s victims were ever able to give a good description of him. Anyway, who’d ever believe that a big-star wrestler was a rapist? When daddy died, his lusty secret died with him. Only I knew.

Momma never found out, in case you’re wonderin’. Daddy was always ripe and ready to screw—sometimes not more than an hour after he’d worked over some kid. Sheesh—he had cock power—for goddamn sure!

So, anyways, there I was, laying in my bunk, smoking a cigar, nursing a can of beer, and wondering what to do for excitement. I’d already staked out a farm. In the San Bernardino Valley. Small, but adequate. Just this morning I’d sent my offer to the real estate company. It’d be a week, at least, before I got an answer, so I had nothing to do. One of the PX fairies might be in the mood to suck, so I got up and began to dress. I had a good load and it was itching to be taken. I’d hardly pulled on my tee shirt when Ed Turner walked into my room. Good ol’ boy, he was, ol’ Ed. A real friendly fucker. Big prick, big balls. He was a Petty Officer and about five years older than me, but we’d become friends. No—we’d never played around together, but we’d had a few good fights. I’d broken his nose a few years ago and he’d given me more than my share of black eyes. Each of us had spent days in the hospital because of our fights. In fact, we had kind of a mild notoriety. “When Ed and Kelly get together, get the hell out!” was the saying.

But it wasn’t that bad. We didn’t fight all the time. In the last year or so we merely grumbled at each other, and maybe flung out with a face-slap or butt-kick, often just to please our public. Later, we’d meet in some out-of-the-way tavern and laugh it up. The truth was that Ed and me were friends: good friends. “Asshole buddies,” like some guys say. We had a lot in common: not just the fights and the bruises, but that we both liked to fuck, and fuck hard. We never talked specifically about this matter, but we somehow knew it about each other.

“C’mon, you asshole,” said Ed, slapping me on the rump with his hand, “let’s get cracking the fuck outta here. We’re gonna have some fun, tonight.”

“What do ya mean? Where? Who?”

“You know what a peg house is?” he asked. His grin was one of purest lust. So lusty, in fact, that it turned me on and my prick began to stiffen.

“No, I don’t know what a peg house is, you mother-fucker. Shit it out—tell me.”

‘It’s as illegal as premeditated murder. Or better yet, rape. You know what a whore house is, o’ course. Well, the peg house is just a bit better. It’s all young boys. Young boys—get me? There’s a peg house here in San Francisco. There used to be a lot of ’em around the country seventy or eighty years ago. In Atlanta, New York, here in Frisco, and especially around the Mediterranean—in Turkey, Greece, North Africa… Now they got one again—right here! You wanna go?”

“Awww, shee-it!” said Ed, with a definite tone of exasperation. “You been in the Navy for almost twenty years and you don’t know what a goddamn peg house is?” He bonked me on the head. “You shit head!”

“Honest, Ed,” I said, “I don’t know.”

Ed grabbed for my balls and got ‘em. He yanked. “Pack these fuckers into your Jockeys,” he grunted. “I’ll show ya what a peg house is. Are you good and horny?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Horny as a fuckin’ brass section.”

“Good. You ’n me are gonna have a lotta fun tonight. You ain’t fucked until you fucked a kid in the peg house. No holds barred, buddy. You understand?”

Ed explained it to me as we drove to San Francisco’s North Shore district. The word “peg” in the name, Peg House, came from the fact that the boys were kept sitting on wooden pegs which were shoved up their butts. This loosened up their tight assholes and dilated them so a customer could slip his prick in without much trouble after he’d picked out a boy and taken him to a private room. The display room was where all the the boys sat, on a long bench with the wooden pegs hammered through the bench. When choosing a boy to fuck, a man would inspect the underside of the bench because the lower protruding part of the peg, which could be seen, was equal to the length and thickness of the part the kid was sitting on. That way, a guy could pick a kid whose asshole would fit his cock nicely.

There weren’t any really strict rules about picking a boy by asshole size, though. According to Ed, it was better to pick one a size or two smaller than your own cock so’s you could get a good tight fuck and make the kid squirm a bit while you did it to him. I liked that idea. I asked him about what he’d meant when he said “no holds barred”.

“Oh, well,” he answered, “you can rough ‘em up—punch ‘em around a little. They’ll supply ya with whatever ya want—whips, paddles, binding, dildoes, and lots of other stuff. I ain’t been there but once, but I found out a lot.”

“You already been there?” I asked. “How come you never told me?”

“It was just two days ago. I haven’t seen ya, buddy.” That was true—he and I hadn’t gotten together for a few days. “Glad you picked me to go with ya, tonight.”

“Wouldn’a picked anyone else, Kelly,” he smiled back at me.

The peg house was in an old building about three or four blocks north of the North Shore entertainment area. It looked like it was abandoned and any stranger in the district might wonder how come there were so many cars parked in front. One of ‘em was a cop car.

“Looks like trouble, Ed,” I said.

“No, hell no. They come here too. Nothing some of the cops like better than getting a young punk kid alone in a room for a few hours and work him over with a rubber hose or a belt. And then fuck him a few times.”

“Where do these kids come from, anyway?”

“Runaways. Delinquents. A lot of ‘em are supplied by the cops, themselves. Some of the little bastards are real hard-core punks—criminals. They get caught by the police but, instead of being taken to a reform school they end up here. All very secret, mind you. As far as anyone knows, they just disappeared.”

We parked and walked into the vestibule of the peg house. A huge Jap guy sat behind a teller’s cage and we each paid him ten bucks. That was just the price of admission, and it didn’t buy anything but the click of an electronically-controlled lock in a door that swung open to reveal a dark flight of stairs. We went in and walked up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, another guy, who looked like an ex-wrestler, asked for ID. And another ten bucks. He pointed down the hall, directing us to the door at the very end of it. The door had a big red “X” painted on it.

“What’s behind all these other doors?” I asked as Ed and I walked down the hall. There were at least ten shut doors along the sides of the hall.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “The work-out rooms are one more flight up. Maybe sleeping rooms.” The room behind the door with the red “X” was the display room. It was a shock. The kids were there all right. All naked—some of them handcuffed—some of them with hoods or head restraints on them—all of them chained by ankles to the peg bench. The room smelled vaguely of shit. I could guess that sitting with pegs up their rectums might make some of the boys get the urge to shit. Another ex-wrestler sat in an old over-stuffed chair at the end of the room. “Take your pick, gentlemen,” he said.

The peg bench was actually about seven feet off the floor, cantilevered out from the wall and reached, apparently, by a short staircase at one end. A customer could walk down the row of boys and inspect the peg sizes easily, as well as get a good look at the boys, themselves. I counted—there were fifteen boys sitting on the pegs, but there were five empty pegs. Evidently five other guys had already come before me and Ed and had picked their boys for the night.

“Shit,” Ed said. “The youngest ones are gone already. But there—that kid down there—the third from the end—he looks pretty young. Ten, or maybe eleven. You want him?”

“I don’t know,” I said, studying the merchandise. “I know those pegs are supposed to open ‘em up and make ‘em easier to fuck, but don’t they have some kids that ain’t dilated? I’d just as soon stretch one open with my own prick, rather than have him stretched open by one of these goddamn pegs. I’d take that young kid if he hadn’t been pegged. But, even at that, I’d rather have an older kid—one who could take a few hard punches and some slapping around. You know?”

“Why’n’tcha ask the man, there,” suggested Ed, pointing to the brute in the chair.

When the man saw that I was approaching him, he stood up. I swear to God he was seven feet tall. “Yes sir,” he said. “Do you wish assistance?” Polite as hell.

I told him I’d prefer to have a boy that hadn’t been dilated by sitting on a peg. Any age was OK, as long as he was younger than eighteen. I wanted him short and well built; tough. “Bring me your worst punk.”

“Certainly, sir,” the brute said. “I presume you’ll be wanting some restraints and instruments of discipline?”

“What? Oh—yeah. Sure. You pick ‘em out for me.”

“I will be most happy to do so, sir. We have a boy that will be quite to your liking. He is new here and has not yet been pegged. Very tight. He is sixteen. Is that too old?”

“No—I guess not,” I answered.

“Do you intend to spend the night, sir?”

“Yeah. The whole fuckin’ night. How much?”

“It is one hundred dollars a night Sir; If you damage the boy so he cannot be used for a week or so—then it is $500.00—depending on the extent of the damage of course—and if the damage is too severe of course you just bought the boy—and that is $1,000.00—that is what we charge for a boy this old—the younger ones are more of course. When a man of your interests comes in for a boy—we do require a $500.00 deposit—and of course after we inspect the boy if he is O.K.—we return your money.”

“Ya, ya, ya—sure.” I was hot to get my hands on the little punk.

“We will bring the boy to you shortly. You will find a set of printed rules on the door. Read them while you are waiting. We hope you will enjoy yourself and return in the future.”

Ed was still inspecting when I told him that I’d gotten set up for the night. We agreed to meet in the morning around ten.

The man on the third floor, who also sat behind a barred teller’s cage, took my money, said “Glad to have you as a customer,” and directed me to room number nine. As I walked down the hall, I heard the sounds coming from behind the other doors. It was pretty well sound-proofed, but not enough to cover up the loud yelling and screaming. Those high-pitched noises snaked under the locked doors and through the keyholes. Christ—by the time I walked into room number nine. I had a roaring hard on.

There was a window, but it had been painted black. The bed was made up, but it wasn’t much more than a bunk in a flop-house. For light there was nothing but a bare light bulb hangln’ from the ceiling, with a pull-chain dangling from it. There was a toilet in one corner and a sink next to it. Both were quite clean. The room wasn’t too small, actually. About ten by fifteen. Sixty or seventy years ago, it was probably an office.

I waited, sitting on the bed. I didn’t know whether I should take my clothes off, or what. I was sure that the kid chosen for me would show up naked—so maybe, it’d be better if I left my blues on. Then I remembered—the rules and regulations. There they were on the door, just like in a motel. I got up and walked over to the door to read them.

I had no sooner started readln’ the fuckln rules—rules—In a place like this—anyway—I just started, when—

There was a light knock at the door, so I stopped reading the instructions. I opened the door and in walked the kid followed by the big guy from the display room. “Here you are, sir,” the man said. “I think he will be to your liking. He has never been with a man before.”

“In other words.” I said, “he’s tight.”

“Tight asa new derby,” replied the man and winked at me.

One look at the kid told me he was a punk, all right. Sullen face, pug nose, butch-lookin’, mean little eyes. He was wearing a white hospital-type smock and a leather collar around his neck. Apparently, that was all—his bare feet and legs that showed beneath the hem of the smock implied he was otherwise naked. The guy who’d brought the kid to the room explained that the police had brought him in just the night before. No known relatives. He’d been living with a couple of other JD’s who’d gotten away from the cops. I was kinda glad that he was a young hood. Now, I wouldn’t feel too bad about working him over—not that I’d feel bad about it, anyway, regardless of who the kid was, but somehow this knowledge helped.

The man closed the door and walked over to the small nightstand. He had also brought a bag of “supplies” which he now emptied, cataloguing each item verbally for me. “Five packets of anal lubricant. If that isn’t enough, you can ask for more. A leather paddle. A short whip. These rooms are too small for the long whips—you can’t get enough of a swing. A head harness with a built-In mouth opener. See?—these rubber clamps fit over the teeth and are hooked to the mouth-bits on each side. You rotate this steel rod like a crank and it forces the mouth to open as wide as you want. We don’t want our customers to get their cocks bitten, you know. Of course, the kid can’t suck while he’s wearing the thing, but you can still fuck him or piss into his mouth. Here’s a ball-gag in case he yells or cries too much. You ever used an enema pump?”

“No. What’s it for?”

“The kid’ll probably have to shit at least once. If you want his asshole cleaned out for fucking afterwards, clean him out with this. Fill the sink with water and stick this end of the tube into it. This other end goes up his rectum. Shove it in about a foot—it’ll bend right into the colon. Then, you just start squeezing this big bulb here in the middle. There’s a one-way valve inside so the water gets squirted in, but it won’t come out again—until, that is, you let it. That’s one of the reasons all the rooms have a toilet. O’ course, if you wanta fuck a shitty asshole, and not clean it out first, that’s up to you. But you really oughta use the pump on him, anyway, at least twice. If you wanna see a kid squirm, this little baby’ll really do the trick. And since you control the rate of flow, you can make it last a good long time, too. Hell, I’ve used the pump for hours on some kids—pumped ’em so goddamn full they’d throw up. Then tie ‘em down on the bed good and tight and shove a big plug up their butts—leave ‘em like that for a few hours.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “What else ya got in the sack?”

“You’re gonna knock him around, aren’t ya?”

“You damn right!”

“Well, then, we suggest that you wear these leather gloves. They’re regular gloves but they’re padded a bit. You can punch a little harder and you won’t hurt your knuckles.

“Here’s some cock rings you might like to wear, and a few cock and ball harnesses you can put on the kid. They’re adjustable so you can make ’em pretty tight. And a heavy-duty pair of tweezers for yanking out hairs. In case you never done that before, I recommend you use the tweezers on the balls, crotch and around the asshole. More painful. The inside of the thighs is good, too, and the nape of the neck. But you do what you like.”

“How do I tie him down?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re new here. Lift up the bed cover.”

Attached to the bed frame were over a dozen thick leather straps, most with heavy-duty buckles and loops for arms and legs. I was informed that the boy was wearing hand cuffs and his collar was fitted with several protruding metal rings for securing his head to the restraints. If I used my ingenuity, he added, I could tie the kid down in any number of positions because of the large number of straps and the fact that they were all adjustable.

When the man left, he gave me the key to the handcuffs and said he’d be locking the door from the outside, just in case the boy might try to escape. If I wanted anything—extra lubricant, or some other equipment—I’d only need press the buzzer by the bed and someone would come.

“Oh, by the way,” said the man, just before he locked the door, “you might like to know that your buddy, the guy you came with, ended up picking a sixteen year old kid, too. He’s in the room right next to this one. He asked for a rubber hose. You want me to bring you a length of hose?”

“No, not right now. maybe later. I’m itchln’ to get started. Thanks.”

All this time the kid stood in the corner smirking. I don’t think he realized what he was in for. I sat down on the bed and pulled my Navy blouse over my head and followed it by removing my tee shirt. I decided to leave my pants on until I was ready to start fuckin’ him. I put on the thick leather gloves and told the kid to approach me. He stood still. I repeated the order. He smirked. I guess he needed a little softening up.

I stood up and walked over to him. He was about five foot six so his head just came to the base of my neck. I pulled the smock up over his head and, just as I’d thought, he was stark naked underneath. Well built—tough little body. “I told you to come over to the bed,” I said, “and you didn’t do it.” I grabbed him by the hair and delivered a heavy punch to his mid-section. He tried to double over but my hand on his head prevented this. Another punch with the fist doubled-up hard. He grunted and the breath whooshed out of him. This time, I let his hair go and he did double over only to find himself caught in a neck hold by my left arm. My right fist went to work on his again, slamming upwards into his belly—once, twice, three times—practically lifting him off the goddamn floor. Christ—this was really going to be fun! He was struggling alright—but his hands were chained to his neck—it was useless.

I gave him four or five more belts, putting plenty of muscle into the upward swings, and then dropped him. He fell to the floor all doubled up and groaned, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him lay there for too long now that I was beginning to enjoy myself. I pulled him up by the hair, wound up and gave him a loud smack across the face. Spit sprayed out of his mouth and I saw tears begin to drip from under his closed eyelids. Another slap—backwards this time, and then, while I still had a good tight grip on his hair, a really good punch to the stomach that sent him flying across the room, his hair slipping out of my grasp by the force of the blow.

I went back to the bed and sat down again. “Now, you crawl over here,” I said. “On your knees.”

He started to bawl, but he was getting his breath back. Still, he did not do as I’d ordered. “You want some more?” I asked. “If you haven’t started to crawl by the time I count three….”

“No,” he grunted. “I’ll come. Don’t hit me in the stomach no more.”

When he was kneeling between my legs, I grasped his chin in one gloved hand. “Now look, kid, we’re gonna be here together all night, so I suggest you cooperate. What’s your name?”

No answer. I slapped him hard, and repeated the question. “Denny,” he spluttered.

“Denny what?” I slapped him again.

“Denny Smith.”

“Well, Denny, you know what I think? I think you need a little more softening up. That’s what I think you need. You still got a smirk on your face. And I know just how to wipe it off. Stand up!”

I knocked him around for a while free-style. He tried to walk or run away from my fists, but the room was small, he was hand-cuffed, and I was always in back of him. Once, I got him against the wall facing it, and with one arm around his neck, I delivered a series of fast hard punches to his kidneys; first the right, then the left. Not too many, of course, but I hit hard enough that he’d be feeling the pain for days. Now I kinda wished I had asked for the rubber hose. But then, there was still the whip and the thick leather paddle.

The work out was gettin’ me hotter than hell and my prick was beginning to put a strain on my pants. I turned the kid around to face me and delivered one final hard punch to the belly, knocking him backwards onto the bed. While he lay there, I slipped out of my shoes, socks and pants, and after I’d pulled my briefs off, stood by the bed with my cock and balls near his face.

“Lookit, kid,” I said. “See this?” I waggled my erect cock in front of his eyes. “This is all gonna go up your ass—all eight inches of it. And later on tonight, you’re gonna take it all down your throat. Comprende? But before I fuck you, I gotta prepare your butt. I like a nice red butt to fuck—nice and hot. Turn over.”

He didn’t move, so I began to put the gloves on again. When he saw this, and saw my fists double-up, he turned over. I unlocked the hand cuffs and strapped his wrists to the bed, then got him on his knees, thighs wide apart, and strapped them securely into place. He looked like a frog in a squat, just about to jump. But this little frog wasn’t about to jump anywhere. Not for many hours. And right now, that tough little butt of his was going to get tanned and fucked.

The leather paddle was shaped like a slapstick. It was slightly flexible but quite thick—about a foot-and-a-half long by five inches wide, and it had a sturdy handle one could get a good grip on. I lifted the paddle high in the air over my head and brought it down fast on his rump. Jesus, it made a loud smack! He yelped. After five minutes, I rested. His ass was a hot pink, now, and he was crying to beat the band. I decided it would be best to put the gag on him, because his high-pitched squeals kinda bothered me while using the paddle, and I wasn’t half-done with it yet.

The ball-gag fit just right, almost as if it’d been sized specially for him. For all I knew, maybe it had. I pulled the straps tight and buckled them in place around the back of his head.

Five more minutes of hard strapping followed. The leather bindings were holding perfectly and prevented any but the most minimal of struggling on his part. His ass cheeks finally got red enough for me, and when I felt them, they were hot. No skin was broken and there was no welting, but there was a slight swelling overall. The welts would come later that night, when I used the whip on him. I hoped that “management” wouldn’t consider welting him as a form of mutilation cause I sure planned to use the whip.

I cracked open a packet of the lube, greased up my cock and stuck some up his asshole with my finger. He was tight as hell—Christ, was it gonna be nice forcing my cock up there and feelin’ his hole spread open around it.

My cock was roaring, now, and stiffer than a stuffed polecat. If it’d been just one degree softer, I’d never have been able to shove it up his butt—he was that tight. I actually had to grunt to get the head in. He tried to yell but the gag prevented him from making too much noise. It was obviously hurting a lot, so I pushed harder to make it hurt more. I clenched my butt muscles hard, got a good grip on his hips with my hands, and thrust. The hole gave in to the tremendous pressure I was putting on it, opened wide, and my prick slipped in full length. Ahhhhh, I sighed. That was goooooood! Rather than start fucking right off the bat, I elected to just let my cock soak up some heat. I ground it around inside him for a while, digging the head in deep. I could sure tell this kid had never been fucked before—even the inside of his rectum felt tight—and, his goddamn anus gripped my shaft so hard I figured it might even hold back my cum when I let go. I’d find out soon enough.

I was kneeling in back of him, between his legs, and quite comfy. The slightest attempt on his part to move his butt forward did him no good at all, cause I just scrunched up closer and dug my cock in full length. His butt cheeks felt nice and hot against my thighs and I found that if I gripped ‘em with my fingers, hard, I could leave white finger-marks in the flesh that lasted for a few seconds after I let go. While my cock was enjoying itself, I eyed the tweezers on the nightstand. May as well have a little sport while I soaked my cock in his ass.

I began to pull the short hairs out of his neck with quick fast yanks. This made him tense up each time I pulled and his asshole constricted tightly around my prick. I worked slowly, teasing the hairs a little before giving the final pull. It would be fun doing this to his nuts and asshole, later. I looked around at his face and saw that the pillow was getting wet with tears, so I pulled out a dozen more hairs. Eventually, the urge to fuck became too strong, so I set the tweezers aside for the time being, and began whaling away at his butt with my pelvis.

I looked down and watched my shaft goin’ in and out, in and out. Lovely sight. Each time it slipped out, a ring of the tender inner flesh of his anus extruded outwards around the shaft like a set of very thin pink lips. Each inward ram was hard and lifted him a bit off the bed. I was hitting home each time, using about a six-inch stroke. It didn’t take long, I tell you. I unloaded up his guts as deep as I could get it. Fuck number one was over.

I got up, lit a cigarette and had a drink of water from the sink. As long as the kid was in the position he was in, with his nuts hanging between his open thighs, I figured I may as well put one of the cock and ball harnesses on him. The one I chose fit tight around the base of his cock and separated his balls, and when I tightened it to the final notch, his nuts stood out hard with the skin stretched till it was shiny. Perfect for pulling the hairs out. I set to work with the tweezers again.

After about fifteen minutes, and thirty-some hairs, I spread his butt open and started on the anal hairs. With each yank came a squeal of pain, but the gag kept his vocal complaints fairly well muffled. When I started pulling out the hairs of his inner thighs, I was surprised by the reaction. He really got fidgety and started sobbing heavily when I began working with the tweezers there.

A half-hour later, after I’d pulled out all the hairs along his upper thighs, and quite a few from his crotch (another very obviously painful area), I found I had to take a leak. Now was the time to put that head harness to work—the one the man had explained was to crank the kid’s mouth open.

It worked great. His mouth was on the small side, but the opening device forced it to spread wide, big enough for me to slip my cock to the back of his throat. My dick wasn’t hard, of course, but even when it’s half-limp, it’s still pretty goddamn big. The only thing about the head harness I didn’t like was getting it on the little bastard. He wouldn’t open his mouth. I had to put the gloves on again and threaten to use him for a punching bag before he submitted to the harness. He gagged and choked when I started to piss, but it all went down his gullet. Before I was done, I slipped my cock out of his mouth and squirted the final spurts in his face. My cock was gettin’ hard, again, so as long as his mouth was open—what the hell—I’d fuck his face.

I had him sit on the edge of the bed while I stood in front of him, holding his head with both hands, and pumped my cock in and out of his mouth. With each punch I felt my cock head slip part way into his throat, and my balls swing upwards to slap under his chin. It felt good. It felt even better when I blasted my second load into him, this time right down the throat to swim around in the piss he was already holding in his belly. Because he couldn’t close his mouth, however, not all the cum got swallowed, so when I slid my prick out, a few long strings of it drooled out over his lower lip and down his chin. I wish I’d brought a camera to take a picture of that. Nothin’ I like to look at much better than the sight of some young kid’s mouth with my white cum dripping out of it. But I figured cameras weren’t allowed.

The punk had stopped cryin’. He looked beat and broken and I was kinda tired, myself. Time for a quick snooze. I pressed the buzzer by the bed and within one minute somebody was unlocking the door. A new face peeked in. “What would you like, sir?” the guy asked.

“Bring me a sleep-mask and take the punk outta here for a while. I want to take a nap and get rested up. When I’m ready to go to work on him again, I’ll let you know. OK?”

“Yes sir, of course.” When he left, he took Denny with him after hand-cuffing him again and hooking a chain to his collar which he used like a dog leash.

“Oh, wait a minute,” I called out before he’d gotten too far down the hall. “Do you have a whipping post of some sort you can bring in here? Or some sort of way I can tie him to the wall?”

“We have portable whipping posts, sir. I’ll bring one back with me when I return.”

The post was rolled in when he came back. It was a thick wooden pole about the size of a telephone pole but only six feet high. The platform it stuck out of had steel leg shackles attached to it and the sheets were under this platform. A steel crossbar was inserted through the pole near the top making it look somewhat like a letter “T”. The bar, of course, was for securing the arms. “Here is your sleeping-mask, sir,” the guy said. “Do you have a whip?”

“Yeah, but you might bring me a length of hose, too. A good thick one.”

“I certainly will,” the guy replied. He was young and good-lookin’ and I bet myself that he’d worked out on the weights a lot. “Oh,” he continued, “I see you have an enema pump. Uh, have you used it yet?” I told him I hadn’t. “Well, if you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to borrow it. The boy, Denny, is shitting right at this moment, you see, and we will rinse out his rectum for you before returning him—and, frankly, sir this is one of those nights when we’re running short of supplies. Of all things, we got four doctors in tonight and they dote on these enema pumps and, well, there are some clients who aren’t too happy with us because of this unforeseen shortage.” While he spoke, his eyes looked me over—I was still naked, of course. He seemed to like what he saw.

“OK, take it,” I said. “But answer me a few questions.”

“If I can, sir.”

“You’re a pretty goddamn good-looking stud—nice muscles. Do you ever tangle with the customers?”

“Very rarely. What did you have in mind?”

“Some rough-house stuff. A little wrestling. Winner fucks the loser. Maybe vice-versa. Some hard sweaty man-to-man fun.”

“Well…. ” he drawled, “with most clients I would say ‘no’. But I’d be interested in tangling, as you say, with you, if you haven’t guessed that already. Where and when?”

I grinned and walked over to him, reached out and fondled his nuts. He didn’t make a move to stop me—in fact, he put his right hand under my bare balls and toyed with them gently. “I’ll be back next weekend and’ll let ya know, then,” I said.

“Fine,” he said smiling at me. He took the enema pump and left and I flopped on the bed, putting the sleep-mask on to shut out that damned light globe.

At ten-thirty the next morning, I was drinking coffee with Ed in a pancake parlor while we both waited for breakfast to be set before us. I’d been tellin’ him about the night before and had just gotten to the part about the whip.

“Shee-it,” I said, “that fuckin’ whip was way too soft and light. It was like strokin’ him with a goddamn cotton string. I raised a few welts on his back but that was about all. The rubber hose at least left some red marks.”

Ed agreed about the whip. “Yeah—I think they don’t want the boys to show up with too many marks on ‘em. Next night’s customers might not like it. What did you do after you used the hose on him?”

“Fucked him again—what else? I left him chained to the post and fucked him standing up. Wasn’t bad. The leg shackles were about three feet apart so there was no way he could put his legs together. I had to squat a little, but that was all right. Gave me good leverage to pump my pelvis back and forth.”

“Did they clean out his asshole like they said they’d do?” Ed asked.

“Yeah. Christ—It was almost squeaky clean. Still good and tight.” I grinned. “Then I worked on him with the tweezers for a while. He was pretty broken by this time, didn’t give me no shit—I made him lay there—didn’t even chain him down—with his legs spread wide while I pulled the hairs off his balls and crotch. Did you hear him screamin’???”

“Yeah” Ed answered. “The sound proofin’ is pretty good in that place, but I could still hear him. I wondered what you were doin to him to make him yell for so long. Was about an hour wasn’t it.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “That was nice. I didn’t pull all the hairs out of course, I wanted to save some for the next week, and the week after.”

“You sound pretty damn cock-sure that you’re gonna get the same kid each time. How can you be sure?”

“I arranged it with my friend, there. The cute attendant I mentioned. The one I got a date to wrestle and fuck with. He’ll make sure Denny isn’t picked by some other guy next Saturday night. ‘Course, the kid doesn’t know that. I can hardly wait to see the expression on his face when he’s led into the room and finds me sittin’ there with the leather gloves on, waitin’ for him.”

“I’d like to see that,” Ed said, but before we could continue the conversation, breakfast arrived.

Saturday night came. Within five minutes of arriving at the peg house, I’d been ensconced in a room—a different number, this time, but otherwise almost the same as the previous one—had already gotten my supplies for the night—the gloves, the lube, the paddle, tweezers, hose and whipping post, and instead of the whip, I got them to bring me a long fat dildo. I decided to strip completely while I waited for the kid to be brought to me, and sat on the bed, legs apart, and hard-on sticking out. I put the black gloves on just before the door opened.

Denny’s expression sagged when he saw me and I noted a bit of sweat break out on his forehead. No smirk, this time. The attendant grinned at me and said “Here he is, sir—just as you requested. I’ll come back in about four hours to see if you want anything more.” He left and locked the door behind him.

The kid began to cry right away. ”Oh, please, mister. You ain’t gonna punch me around again, are ya? Please don’t.” He got down on his knees. I stood up, walked over to him, pulled off his smock, yanked him back up to his feet by the hair, and began with a heavy slug to the belly. God-DAMN, that was nice!

When the attendant returned, four hours later, I had the punk chained to the whipping post and was fucking him for the second time. I didn’t stop when the guy walked in.

“How are you doing?” he asked, as I banged away.

“Just great, but say. I don’t know your name. We got a date to play around and I don’t even know your name.”

“Call me Clark Kent,” he said.

“Bull shit! You’re kiddin’ me.” I thrust upwards into the boy’s rectum, hard.

“Of course that isn’t my real name. But that’s what you may call me. Have you set up a time and place for our ‘tangle’?”

“Out at the Navy base—I got a private room. I’ll just put a mat on the floor and move the furniture out of the way. You pick the day cause I’m free all the time. OK?”

“Do I just ask to see you when I arrive at the gate?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ll leave your name, such as it is, at the gate so you won’t have any trouble. ‘Clark Kent,’ my ass! When I get my hands on you, I’ll make ya tell me what your real name is.”

“You can try if you want,” he said, and I was surprised to see him smirk at me. What did he know that I didn’t know? His white tee shirt was tighter tonight than last week and the sleeves were high on his biceps. He was somewhat more muscular than I’d thought at first. He raised his arm to scratch the back of his neck and his goddamn bicep bulged tremendously. Christ! Had I miscalculated and figured he would be an easy fuck just because he talked and acted in a way that didn’t fit his obvious strength? I fucked the kid harder and gripped him around the front with both arms. “This is the way I’m gonna fuck you, Clark,” I said.

“You put a lot of force into it, don’t you? That’s nice. It looks like you could use a little help, though.”

“Like what?” I asked, slamming my dick hard enough into Denny to make him grunt.

Clark came over and stood in back of me and cracked open a packet of the anal lube, greasing up his middle finger with it. “Like THIS!” he said, and rammed his finger up my butt. Jesus Christ, but that felt good! He kept it there and his hand followed the movements of my ass as it pumped back and forth. The tip of his finger found my prostate gland and pressed on it, hard. I felt like a violin string pulled taut as possible while someone twanged it with a piece of fine sandpaper. The ejaculation was more like an explosion. The only words I can use to describe it are “Mmmmm” and “Ooooo.”

After I slipped my cock out of the kid, and Clark slipped his finger out of me, I felt like collapsing. I told him to undo the kid from the post and take him away from a while cause I really needed to have a short snooze. As Clark left with Denny, he said “I’m leaving for the night, so when you want the boy brought back to you, just ring the buzzer and someone else will do it. As for our date, is Tuesday all right?”

“Fine. Come around about two in the afternoon.” Clark shut the door and I lay back on the bed.

Goddamnit, anyway! When I woke up, it was early morning! That last climax had taken a lot out of me, I guess. I pressed the buzzer quickly—I had a few hours to go, yet—time I’d paid for—and I wanted to get a little more action before leaving. The man who answered my ring was the big guy from the display room. I asked him to bring Denny back.

“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t. You slept so long, and we have had so many clients in the past five hours, we had to use every available boy. There was no way to know when you would awaken. Denny is now with another client.”

“Another client?!! Who?”

“Does it matter to you, sir?”

“YES! I mean, no.” I was acting stupid. “I mean in a way it does. I still got two hours that I paid for and I want work it out on the kid—or some kid, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t help it if customers go to sleep and snore their time away. What would you have us do? Force you to stay awake against your will?”

“No, I guess not.” Now I was more fully awake and understood the logic of what the man was saying. After all, the peg house wasn’t an overnight hotel for dumb shits that wanted to sleep. “What’ve ya got available right now?” I asked.

“In five minutes I’ll have about seven boys ready. We have a large clientele of swing shift workers from various plants around the area who come here early in the morning and buy a boy for just an hour or two. They don’t do much else than play with him and fuck him once, maybe twice. Usually, they prefer the younger boys.”

“How young?”

“Oh, seven, eight, nine. But I must remind you, these boys are in great demand. If I bring you one, it goes without saying that his colon and rectum will be full of semen. Most of them get fucked between five and ten times a night, and some of these hard-hats that show up in the early morning arrive carrying big loads. When we examine the boys after the activity dies down, and have them expel the semen, quite a bit comes out—anywhere from a half-a-cup to over a cupful. You see, they don’t have time to rest between one fucking and the next. If that’s all right with you, I’ll bring you a boy very shortly. Since you have been inconvenienced, I’ll try to get the best of the lot for you.”

“What would the ‘best of the lot’ be?” I asked.

“Why. the youngest, of course.”

When the boy arrived, I almost felt like I couldn’t go through with it. He was seven and a little cutie-pie. I had him stand between my thighs while I sat on the bed and examined him. His ass was red, evidently from previous spankings, and streams of white cum gurgled out of his asshole when I spread his cheeks to look at it. I poked a finger into it and found it an easy entry—it’s been stretched out plenty. I’d fucked kids this young before over in ‘Nam and the other countries, but never had one presented to me like this for that purpose, and he didn’t seem in the least bit scared. In fact, he took my cock in his tiny hands and said “Gee, you got a nice pee-pee, mister. You want me to lick it for ya, first?”

Now, that turned me on, and my cock throbbed up stiff. “Sure—go ahead,” I said, and leaned back on the bed on my elbows. He licked it up and down with his tongue, down the shaft, over the head, around the balls, but his mouth was too small to get the head into it all the way. He was only able to suck on the very tip of it—more like he was kissing it.

After I was good and hot. I had him sit on my lap while I toyed with him. I got a finger up his butt and finger-fucked him while the other hand set to work fondling his little dick and small hairless nuts. It was kinda fun. “Golly, mister, you got big nipples, too.”

“Suck on ‘em for me, kid,” I said. And he did.

When I finally placed him face down for fucking, I had no trouble shoving my cock up his backside. His asshole opened wide and the slickness of the male juices swimming around inside his rectum provided all the lubrication necessary. I fucked slow—somehow, I didn’t want to hurt him. He was just too sweet a kid. No wonder he and the other younger ones were in such demand. He was a sweet long fuck.

After I was done. I continued playing with the kid for a while and brought him to a dry climax. He liked it and thanked me for it, telling me that not many men did that to him. I asked him his name.

“I’m Billy Hanrahan, mister. That man that brought me in here—he’s my daddy.”