Tim—or “Duke”—had told the other two boys about sending his brother after Skip, but none of them really thought anything would come of it. The three had been lying on the gravel beach, using towels to protect their backs from the uneven surface. It had been almost half an hour, and Tim had just been wondering if he should go after his brother when the younger boy pushed his way through the underbrush, a delighted smile on his face.
“Look what I brought’cha,” he exclaimed brightly.
All three boys swung around abruptly, staring incredulously at the tall, bound figure trotting at the end of his lead behind the grinning kid. The sight of the three naked youths had caused Skip to hesitate again at the edge of the clearing. “Remember… you promised…” he whispered harshly.
“Yeah,” Paul returned. “I had to promise you wouldn’t beat up on him,” he told his brother. “But he’ll do anything you want, otherwise.”
It took the Duke a couple of moments to grasp the entire situation, during which interim he had gotten to his feet and taken the end of the rope as Paul held it out to him. “Naw… nobody’s gonna beat up on him,” he said slowly, hardly able to break his contact with the brilliant green eyes. “Guess we’re gonna learn somethin’ new, though,” he added. “I mean, a guy can’t very well pull ya, when his hands are tied behind his back.”
The others were silent, now—almost dumbfounded, and even Skip was suddenly questioning his own audacity. He had place himself in a situation where the reaction of this one guy, would determine his fate. Paul had bound his wrists with unexpected skill, making it impossible for Skip to free himself. On te previous few times when he and his boarding school companions had played at bondage, it had always been possible for the “captive” to work loose if he really wanted to. But, his own, overwhelming sexual urges had led him here, just as surely as he had been guided by the rope around his neck… the end of which was now being held by the young man the others called “The Duke.” In a vague, unstructured sense, Skip know it was up to him to evoke the desired sensual desire in this older boy.
“The kid told me you were boss,” he said at length, allowing his gaze to drop and fasten upon the rising tumescence above the other’s groin. “A prick like that deserves more than just being pulled,” he added softly.
The effects of Skip’s words, aimed instinctively rather than being directed by any sophisticated store of experience, struck exactly the right core in Tim’s mind. Always before, there had been at least the pretense of resistance of aversion. The required acts were performed as if they were unpleasant necessities to be accomplished and completed as quickly as possible, then relegated to the status of payment demanded and received—a debt acquired and discharged. Now he faced a young man whose physical and emotional surrender exceeded the basic demands. The prospect was tantalizing and strangely exciting, an unknown mire of intriguing darkness in which the captive stood as potential guide and mentor.
The Duke responded under direction of several unspoken, largely unrecognized vectors. He was the biggest, the oldest, and physically the strongest of all the assembled group. He was, therefore, the undisputed leader. It was a status he desired, and one he had consciously contrived to gain. To maintain the image he must appear, at least, to lead. But the full meaning of Skip’s surrender went beyond the scope of Tim’s experience, and he was uncertain of his own proper responses. Emulating the attitude one might have expected from any of several popular heroes on radio or in the movies, given this particular set of circumstances, The Duke drew himself up to his full height, allowing his masculine strength to display itself in the tightening of muscle and sinew. “I’m going to interrogate the prisoner in private,” he said. “The rest of you guys stay on guard to make sure no enemies get in to spy on us.”
The other three picked up the cue, though disappointed at not being allowed a sight of what was about to happen. “Com’mon,” Duke added, hauling on the prisoner’s lead. “If you give me the… information I want, I may let the others… question you later.” He led Skip toward a cluster of low brush and trees which surrounded a small sandy glade. His other followers fell immediately into their roles in this simulated game of soldier, standing sentinel to watch the road. Once Tim and Skip were out of sight, Paul was questioned in open awe by the other two boys—fifteen and sixteen years old, respectively—as to the manner in which he had “captured” the larger, older youth. Very pleased with himself, he merely glanced in the direction of the glade and smiled mysteriously.
Once alone with his tall, bound captive, it became easier for Tim to express his uncertainties. He need only be concerned with Skip’s awareness, he realized; and Skip, after all, was a quasi-alien being, a guy who was unlikely to expose any confidences to the others. “Okay,” he said, standing face-to-face with his prisoner, “what are you going to do that’s so super?”
Skip’s green eyes held for a moment on their cold gray counterparts, then dropped to focus on the body of the commanding figure before him. Slowly, he slipped to his knees, averting his gaze to stare directly at the stiffly risen cock in its sea of flame-red hair. “You’re the boss. You can make me do anything you want,” he said softly.
The suggestion was implicit; expressed as worshipful surrender, it was actually a demand. Tim took the couple of forward steps necessary to cover the distance between them, allowing the underside of his cock to graze the forehead of the kneeling figure. The captive leaned back slightly on his heels, and his lips fastened moistly, hotly about the crown, shoving back the remainder of foreskin that hooded a portion of its deep scarlet knob. Tim gasped at the unexpectedly intense sensation, hands moving without his commanding them to seize the back of the other’s head, fingers twisting into the silky brown hair. The warm, wet motions of lips and tongue were almost too much to bear, yet too exquisite to terminate. Thus Tim remained in place, feet planted wide apart, hands resting gently on the other’s head while the kneeling captive moved slowly forward and back, always gaining a modicum more of distance than was relinquished by each withdrawal. The fiery rush of feelings engulfed Tim’s body. He had never known such an all-inclusive voluption, nor had he ever experienced such a sense of omnipotence.
The seeking, driving lips had reached the base of his cock, seeming to pull the crown inside a moist, dark inferno. Tim had reached a stage of receptivity and desire that was almost hypnotic, when abruptly the warmth was gone.
“Don’t stop,” he muttered. “Take it… take it again!”
Tim gazed down on the bowed head, seeing the kneeling youth through half closed eyelids. His fingers tightened against the silky hair, forcing the captive’s face against his groin. Once more, his cock sank deeply into heated ecstasy, and the desperate sensations coursed his body. But the motion was his own, hips thrusting forward to drive his cock at the desired pace; his fingers guided the captive’s face until the heat seemed thick and heavy in his loins.
Skip sensed the approaching climax and suddenly wrenched free of the other’s grip, falling backward on the sand. He stared up at Tim, a taunting smile on his lips as he surveyed the slender strongly muscled body, noted the regular, rapid swelling-contraction of chest and belly.
“Com’mon, kid; finish it!” said Tim.
“What if I don’t?” Skip asked. “You gonna punish me if I don’t?” His gaze moved to fall upon a nearby clump of reeds… willowy, supple wands that grew from the seepage of the pond. “Don’t you want to punish me?” he asked again.
“You really want me to… whip you?” asked Tim.
“You’re the boss. You’re The Duke, aren’t you?” The green eyes flashed in the brilliant sunlight, and their Implicit message was communicated without need for further words. Tim stepped to the clump of reeds, breaking off several of them, quickly stripping away the nubs and leaves. He was holding half a dozen wands when he turned back to Skip.
In the interim, the captive had gotten to his feet and now stood facing a small tree, his naked body tense, legs slightly spread as he awaited his master’s attentions. Again, the message was clear and definite. Tim placed the reeds on the sand and quickly tied the end of rope about the nearest limb, securing his prisoner’s neck to the tree. As he bent to retrieve the wands, he felt an elated sense of pleasure, a knowledge of possession and mastery. “Maybe the others oughta see this,” he muttered softly, allowing the supple ends to brush across the small, tight curves of his subject’s ass.
“Maybe they should… sir,” Skip replied. “But “ His tone held Tim’s attention. “Well, you should be… you are the boss.”
Tim agreed, responding again to a series of unrecognized stimuli. His own pleasurable arousal was the result of the captive’s willing responses. Almost instinctively, he acknowledged the relationship. Without fully realizing all the ratifications or motives, he was pacing his discipline and mastery to the limits established by the words and reactions of his prisoner. He knew, for instance, that the improvised act would remain in his hands, and that its application must be restricted to whatever degree of harshness would continue to elicit a positive, sensual response. Assured that the presence of the others would not interrupt his rapport with the captive, Tim summoned his followers.
In the presence of the onlookers, The Duke proceeded to redden the back and ass of his bound, clean-limbed subject. Again, by instinct more than conscious consideration, he tempered the weight of his blows to the twisting responses of the victim, holding back when the groans became louder, increasing the strength of his ministrations when Skip stood in place, barely moving as the reeds struck his skin.
Tim was acutely aware of the awe-struck attitude of the other three boys, and it heightened his sense of command to know they envied and respected his mastery. His brother, of course, had always accorded him an almost worshipful admiration. Of the other two, it was the big, dark haired Pete whom the Duke wished most to ingress. Only a year younger than himself, Pete was the natural successor when Tim was no longer there. Pete now stood to the side, his cock fully risen, lips parted as he maintained a soft, admiring monologue of, “Wow!” and, “Yeah, let him have it!”
Jim, a smaller, almost pretty kid with blond, crew-cut hair, stood silently beside Pete, absently fondling himself as he felt the waves of sensation course his groin with every fall of the reeds. “I… I thought you weren’t gonna beat up on him,” he said at length.
“Not beatin’ up on him,” muttered Tim. “He just needs his ass whipped a little… punishment for not doin’ like I told him,” He paused, stepping back to survey the glowing evidence of his usage. “You gonna do like I tell ya, now?” he asked.
“Sir… anything you tell me,” Skip whispered.
Tim untied the rope from the tree limb and ordered the captive back onto his knees. His first impulse was to assume his previous position in front of the kneeling figure, but instead he motioned Pete to take the place. The other did so uncertainly, not exactly sure what to expect. “Give’em your prick,” said Tim. “He’ll show ya a good time.”
Within seconds, Pete’s powerfully muscled body was swaying and twisting in response to the fantastic series of sensations. Tim placed himself to the side and slightly behind the kneeling youth, flicking the reeds across Skip’s back and ass whenever he showed signs of lessening his motions. Pete now held the supplicant’s head, forcing it all the way onto his wide, stubby shaft, groaning and sucking air in deep, gasping breaths. He was ready to explode inside the hot, driving mouth… unsure whether this was expected of him… finally deciding it didn’t matter.
Nothing… nothing mattered except fulfilling the fierce desire which gripped his loins. He pulled Skip’s face hard against him, held it there while the pulsing spasms boiled through his lower body, gathered in his balls and rushed outward through the fleshy bridge.
Tim observed the moment of heightened exchange, Pete’s nuts tightened against the underside of his cock, heard the choking gurgle of the captive as he took the blast of fluid. He let the bundle of switches touch Skip’s back, saw the muscles twitch… drew back and let them strike the long, tapered surface, grazed the fingers where they curled in tightly bound helplessness.
When Pete had finished he stepped back, his softening cock a gleaming arch of slippery wetness, final drop of moisture balling at the tip. Tim beckoned to Jim, who quickly replaced his companion, holding his cock with both hands as he guided it toward the waiting lips. He had been so close during the final moments of Pete’s possession, he exploded almost as soon as he felt himself enclosed; but he held the face against his groin and continued a slow, steady pumping motion which required only seconds to rejuvenate his previous lust. His long thin cock never softened, and a few moments later it shot forth a second stream of searing moisture.
Skip seemed capable of taking all they could give, and under Tim’s guidance he obeyed each demand of the other boys. Whenever the bright green eyes flashed upward to glimpse the commanding figure of The Duke, they seemed to communicate a sense of his doing this at his master’s command… permitting himself to be used by the others and displayed before them, all for the credit of the boss. The first two taken care of, it was now the youngest’s turn. Tim grinned at Paul and gestured for him to stand in the place of honor, wondering if the kid was well developed enough to shoot a load. He watched in curious interest as the stiff, pubescent prick disappeared between the eager lips. As he saw the tensions spread through his little brother’s body, Tim felt a fresh sense of pride… like the owner of a brand new car as he took his friends for a drive. The kneeling slave belonged to him, and was his to share… or not to share—however he chose. It was a totally new sense of awareness for Tim, and it tantalized him, making the sight of the slender, older boy sucking on his brother’s cock all the more exciting. Using the reads with muted care, he continued to warm the captive’s backside, finally seizing the end of rope about his neck and helping to guide the grasping face against Paul’s groin.
Skip worked a long while on this youngest boy, much longer than he’d worked on the others, until finally… amidst a series of moans and the writhing motions of Paul’s tightly flexed body, he felt the jet of fluid cascade down his throat. He continued to hold about the softening prick, milking the final drops as the boy held tightly to his head as if too weak to support himself without the bound and kneeling figure to steady him.
Then it was Tim’s moment once again. Legs bent, cock jutting upward against the flat, washboard surface of his belly, he presented himself for the ultimate servicing. Without regard for the captive’s will, he slammed his pubic shield against the young man’s face, drove his cock in all the way and held it while his prisoner gasped for air and gagged on the penetrating length. Phlegm rose to coat the shaft, bubbling across the other’s lips as Tim’s rod drove in and out with a fiercely demanding rhythm. When he shot his load it was all the more exquisite for the delay, he felt as if the burled roots of passion were being sucked from his body and carried on the waves of gism.
When he finally stepped back, he looked at the kneeling youth for several seconds, knowing a brief interval of contempt, now that his momentary passions were spent. But the span was short, as immediate recall forced The Duke to accept an entirely fresh complex of awareness. Skip was still on his knees, motionless, head slumped forward, long brown hair falling over his face. Jim had stepped to the side of the clearing and was about to piss into the bushes, when the captive looked up sharply at Tim.
“Don’t let him waste it,” whispered Skip.
For a moment, Tim was once again uncertain. But the kneeling supplicant arched his body backward until his head touched the sand behind him, stretching his body to form a bridge of solid, curving flesh. “Please,” he whispered. “All across my chest and stomach… on my nuts… legs…”
Jim had heard him, and at Tim’s nod of permission he took his place, standing over Skip as he toyed with his cock to produce a narrow stream of piss. Then Tim moved up on the other side, aiming his cock to spray a heavy cascade across the waiting youth. The other two joined them, until all four were letting go in unison, splashing piss along the length of Skip’s body, from groin to torso.
When they’d finished, they left him where he was and walked back to the gravel beach. Tim watched his three companions diving into the pond, swimming… splashing one another, as they laughed and called back insults at the kid who’d just provided them such pleasure. Tim remained in a state of puzzled emotion, wanting to return to the glade, but fearful of derision if he indicated any feeling other than contempt. Then it didn’t matter. He was boss, no matter what he did, and he did want to return.
As he reentered the clearing, Skip was just struggling to his feet, hands still secured behind him, rope fastened both to his neck and genitals. He looked at Tim with a cautious, guarded expression, questioning his intentions without actually speaking. Silently, Tim approached his prisoner, took hold of the rope and led him back to the tree where he had tied him for the whipping. Once again, he passed the loop of rope about the limb, this time with the captive facing him.
“Want me to finish you off?” he asked, glancing down at the other’s rigid cock.
“Whatever you want to do,” Skip answered.
Slowly, Tim’s hand grasped shaft, holding it gently as he started pulling it. “I never done this to another guy,” he murmured, “but… no other guy’s ever given me… good time… not like you…” He worked the rigid joint, feeling it swell and stretch beneath his palm. “I hope you’ll come back “ he added hoarsely.
“You’re the boss,” Skip repeated. “Just say when you want me. I’ll be here.” The captive’s eyes locked with Tim’s, as The Duke’s fingers maintained their steady, pumping rhythm. Their faces were a scant few inches apart, seemingly held for an interminable moment as the master manipulated his prisoner, and appreciation of his total control became manifest in Tim’s awareness. Gradually, without fully knowing he would do it, he allowed his face to move a trifle closer, his lips trembling as they touched the other’s, his own body pressing hard against the sticky, piss-streaked chest and belly. He closed his eyes, depending completely on a sense of feel… of physical and emotional possession as he kissed the bound and helpless figure.
