The Stable27 min read

To me the prettiest sight in the world is a bare-assed man, well built and in his early twenties, spread-eagled snugly between my stretching posts. That way I’ve got his cock and balls to work on in the front, and his ass at the back. I like to hang a five pound weight on his balls to stretch them down, then shove an eight inch dildo up his ass to stretch him out. Before I take a whip to him I spray down his throat a couple of times to work on his vocal cords so he can’t yell too loud. It really gets me hot to stand there and look him over before I start to play on him.

And I’ve finally got the perfect place to work out in. I found this farm a few miles out of town. The land’s no good for farming but there are no near neighbors to bother me. The house isn’t much, but the old barn out in back is still solid.

What I did was turn the front half of the barn into a garage where I work at repairing trucks on the weekend. I put a partition across the center to make my playroom at the back. First, I built a concrete block pen in one corner with a door made of iron bars I can padlock shut. When I was building it I set iron rings here and there in the walls.

There were two heavy oak posts, about six feet apart, in the middle of the backroom area to support the loft floor. I set two screw-rings in each post The top rings are eight feet high. The bottom rings are at floor level. One of the last things I did was to put pegs along one barn wall so I could hang my whips, my leather goods and shackles. Then I brought in a couple of chairs and an old wooden table, no one could ask for a better place. I’ve got two cow stanchions, too, over to one side, but more about them later.

In the pen, I’ve got some straw on the floor and a couple of old blankets. There are two pails, one for drinking water and one for a toilet. That’s all that’s needed. It’s damned seldom I don’t have someone locked in there, a hinged iron collar padlocked around his neck and a collar chain padlocked to a wall ring. It’s something to look forward to when I come home at night from the trucking company garage where I’m chief mechanic.

We do a cross-country business and that’s where I find my boys. They’re always hitchhikers picked up by the drivers. Most kids on the loose today know their business. Our drivers wouldn’t take on anyone who couldn’t give head. There’s nothing better than being sucked when they drive along at night. Helps to keep them awake, they say.

When I see one of those young hitchhikers that appeals to me. and if my pen is empty, I get him talking. Almost all of them are broke and on the bum, so I offer him a place to stay while he’s in town. It doesn’t really matter to me if he’s eighteen or fifty, just so long as I can feel my cock getting up while we talk. That’s my sure sign I’m on to something good. Well, with luck, he comes out to my place. Then the fun and games begin. I make him some food and I doctor it up a little. The next thing you know he’s getting sleepy. When he wakes up he’s in the pen, naked and chained by his collar. One thing I make sure of, though, I work on only one guy at a time. If I’ve got a boy or man in training I don’t take on another.

What do I do when I’m finished with one? It’s simple. I peddle him. There’s a good market for a well-broke young flesh if you know where to look. A lot of people and places can use a male that’s been gentled. But I won’t go into that. It all started on my sixteenth birthday. By then we were deep into the great depression years. Money was scarce and jobs were non-existent. Several weeks earlier Uncle Tom. Pa’s youngest brother, had shown up at our house, broke and hungry. Pa took him in, of course, and Tom bunked with me in my little back bedroom. Our house was pretty small.

Tom, only in his middle twenties, was a drifter and a wanderer. A good looking guy, with heavy dark hair and a broad grin, he had me fascinated from the start His stories were something else. He’d been everywhere and seen and tried everything.

The very first night after the lights were out and we had snuggled down in the same bed, Tom took my hand and moved it to his cock. He felt enormous, hard and thick and long. In return he reached over and grabbed hold of my cock. I had jerked off many many times, but this was the first time I had been jacked by someone else. I must say I liked it. We took it slow to make it last and I came first. When I whispered that I was coming, Tom shifted his body and took me in his mouth to drink me down. I kept pumping on him. Then it was my turn.

“Get it in your mouth, boy. Quick. I’m going to shoot”

Naturally, I had never swallowed cum before and I gagged when my mouth and throat filled with his warm, sweet load. I got it down though, and kept it down. Tom laughed quietly.

“There’s nothing tastes so good as thick cream, boy. No sense in wasting it and messing up the bed. I don’t think your Ma would like that”

With that starter we had us a session every night. When we had both come I’d turn on my side, facing the window, and Tom would cuddle up close to my back, his crotch tight against my buttocks. I could feel the push of his cock against me. He’d get it up, but he never tried to push it in me.

Tom was having a very rough time. Any job for him was out of the question. He’d earn a few bucks here and a few bucks there, but most of the time he idled with other out-of-workers, talking, playing cards, or fishing along the river bank under the approaches to the new bridge.

Tom kept telling me he had a surprise for me on my birthday. That day we started out after lunch and we walked all the way ‘cross town to the river-bank park. There we joined two rough looking men seated on the grass in the shade. They couldn’t have been older than their mid-thirties.

“This the boy you want serviced?” asked the one named Len. “Looks kind of young to me but what’s that matter so long as he can get it up.” Turning, he yelled, “You, Harry. You get over here. I’ve got a job for you.”

An older man, seated some way apart rose. He was maybe forty, slender, with matted blond-gray hair, a stubble of beard, mismatched pants and jacket, both much too large; a torn shirt and gaping shoes. His cheeks were somewhat sunken, giving his face a hollow appearance.

Len gave him orders. “Take the kid out in the weeds and suck him off. It’s his first time so give him a good one or I’ll stretch your balls down till they touch your knees. Remember how you yelled the last time I grabbed them. This’ll hurt you twice as bad.”

Then he said to me, “You let me know after how he does. He’s the best cocksucker in town, but sometimes he goes lazy on me.”

The second man, Dan, spoke up. “And when Len gets done pulling on your balls I’m going to tie you to a tree and take my belt to you till you can’t sit down for a week. I’ll have you crawling around on your hands and knees like a puppy dog. You been needing the whip for quite a while now. You hear me?”

Old Harry didn’t say a word. He led me down river, beyond the park fencing to an area overgrown in weeds and brush. As we walked I asked him, “Would they really stretch your balls and whip you?”

“Those bastards. They’d like nothing better. The more they can hurt a man the more they enjoy it. That Len’s always grabbing some guy’s nuts and giving them a squeeze. That’s how he gets his kicks. Paining people. Then he gets a hard on and I have to suck him off. He’s queer.”

“Why don’t you run away?”

“I can’t. Where would I go? I got no money. Every cent I get they take away from me. And they’ve got my teeth. They say if I don’t mind them good they’re going to hammer them to pieces.”

“You mean you’ve got to do whatever they say? Like you’re their property, their slave?”

“Hell, kid. I been a slave to one man or another ever since I was ten. When we come back I can point out another slave or two right along this river bank. You’d be real surprised how many men want punks like me to wait on them and service them. You watch out that that Tom man you came with doesn’t make you into one. He’s bad, that fellow. I know. I’ve seen him around.”

Harry led me away from the water, deep into the bush and saplings. On his orders I dropped my pants and my undershorts. He knelt on the ground before me and took my cock in his mouth. It felt good from the very start but nothing seemed to happen. Then he began to kind of chew on me, working around my cockhead and I began to harden. Finally, he went all the way down, sucking like a vacuum cleaner. Never had I imagined that anything could feel so good. I felt his pull right up into my guts. He had me whimpering with pleasure. Never before had I shot a cum like that. I didn’t think I’d ever stop flowing. Old Harry just stayed there on his knees, sucking and swallowing for all he was worth, his lips holding tight against my hairs.

When he rose, licking my cum off his lips and chin, he said, “You give nice thick cream, boy. The kind I like best. How did you like it?”

“Great” I gasped. “I never felt anything like that before. I thought you were going to kill me and I didn’t even care. You know your business, don’t you?”

“I should. Like I told you I been sucking cock every damn day of my life since I was ten. That’s twenty-eight years of it and that’s a lot of practice. I tell you boy. Anytime you want some more you just come to this park and look for me. Nothing tastes so good as heavy boy cum. I’d rather have that than steak.”

On the way home I was walking on air I felt so good. But I couldn’t get Old Harry out of my mind. Just thinking about Len and Dan working on him gave me a hard-on.

“Uncle Tom,” I asked. “Will they really stretch Old Harry’s balls and take the whip to him?”

The thought of it fascinated me.

“They sure will,” Tom replied, “and it will do him good. Keep him in line. I hope I’m there because it’s sure something to see.

“I was with them once when they took him into the bush. Old Harry was blubbering like a baby but it didn’t help him any. They stripped him down, tied a rope around his bag, and then tied the rope ends around a tree. I never did see that before. They tied him so tight his balls were squeezed against the bark. Dan cut some switches and let me lay it on. I welted Harry’s ass and back like you couldn’t believe. And every time he’d twist or pull he’d stretch his balls out. We had us a good party out there in the woods. Old Harry was squealing like a hog getting butchered. I wouldn’t mind whipping him up again any time if I got the chance. There’s nothing like a whipping to get you up and horny.”

“You know what, Uncle Tom.” I said, “one day I’m going to have me a slave man like Old Harry to suck me off whenever I want. And I’ll whip him and grab his balls and make him yell and crawl for me.”

“You’d better wait on that boy, until you’re out on your own. I don’t think your Pa would like you having a slave boy at his house. That’s not his way.”

In another week Uncle Tom was gone. I don’t know what happened. Maybe Pa caught on to our jerking off. However it was the two of them had a red hot argument one night. In the morning Tom left and I never saw him again.

I never saw Old Harry again either. Without Uncle Tom for company I was leery about going to the park. I guess, without realizing it I was afraid that Len and Dan would make me into their punk. And I had definitely made up my mind. I was going to be the master, not the slave.

Well, I didn’t get very far with my project though my compulsion developed and grew stronger, week after week. I could just imagine what Pa would say and do if I had my own girl-boy, my man-woman. I’d have to keep him in the woodshed out back and Pa wouldn’t stand for that one minute, especially since he and Ma had got religion. Besides, I was still in school. That didn’t stop me from looking around. I checked out every kid I saw as a possibility, even though I knew they wouldn’t do. If I flogged any one of them their folks would have the police on my neck, and quick.

When I was done with school I still lived at home. But I still kept on dreaming of what I wanted things to be. I jerked-off every night just thinking about the man I was going to own one day, pretending I was being sucked on.

Then, finally, I was drafted into the Army. That’s where I learned my trade. I ended up getting to be a first-rate mechanic in a motor pool. Life there and overseas was a ball. I made Corporal, and then Sergeant. One of the old-time Army men, another Sergeant, sure knew how to get what he wanted. He was my buddy and there wasn’t a time when we didn’t have a wide-eyed boy to bed down. We’d lose one and he’d find us a replacement fast I played with their balls, sure. I’d stretch them and squeeze them until those kids hollered and begged me on their knees to leave them go. Old Sarge kept warning me not to play so rough, not to get us in trouble. I couldn’t help myself. I’d grab them and twist and pull on them, getting a hard on while they squirmed and yelped. They had no choice. We could make them or break them there in our garage workroom and they knew it And Sarge was a good picker. We never got into any real trouble over it I couldn’t stop my habit. In my mind I would see each boy we used, tied fast to a tree while I tickled him up good with my whip. God, how I wanted to make them cower and dance for me. It all had to be in my mind, though. There was no chance to make it real.

Finally I was discharged, mustered out. My service days were done. I returned to my town, a city now of more than two hundred thousand. With my background and skill I had no trouble getting a job in a trucking company garage. That’s when I started looking around for a proper place to live. Evenings and weekends I drove the back roads of the entire countryside, searching for the right property. It took a while, a long while, before I found it I had saved my Army pay and I had my work earnings to make my down payment and some left over.

While I worked on my property I kept up my search for the companion I wanted. Late at nights I’d visit bars. Sunday afternoons I prowled the parks and the river banks. Then, one night I bumped into Len at a bar. He didn’t remember me, but I bought him beers to keep him happy and talkative. Maybe he didn’t remember me but he could sure recall Uncle Tom and Old Harry. Eventually I got him into a booth where we could talk in private.

“Old Harry,” he reminisced. “How that man liked to suck on cock. He’d rather have a belly full of cum than a real dinner. I kind of miss the old punk. We used to whip the Bejesus out of his ass when we’d had a little too much wine to drink. How that man would yelp for us! It was a real pleasure to work him over.”

“Where’s he now?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s long gone. I heard he died a good year or two ago.”

“I’m looking for a punk like him for out at my place. Know anyone I might get hold of?”

“I’m out of that business now. I go in for one night stands. Life changes.”

“Come on, Len. You must know someone with your connections I’m willing to pay if I can find the right guy.”

“Well, there is one punk I’ve heard of that might do you. A guy I know is working him. At least that’s what I hear. He’s not too young. I’d say he’s in his thirties but I understand he gives good head, or anything else you want”

“Any chance of seeing him?”

“I’ll try to set it up. It’ll cost you, though. Maybe his bossman will sell him to you: I don’t know. And I’ll want my cut for setting it up.”

We arranged to meet in the riverside park on the following Saturday afternoon. I went home happy. For the first time in ten years I felt I had made some progress.

I was so sure of myself that Friday noontime, on my lunch, I visited a tack shop that advertised in the yellow pages. I was the only customer in the place. The salesman was a seedy looking, tired, middle-aged man. I told him I wanted a whip or two and he showed me the racks where they hung. I selected a nice black buggy whip that had a good feel when I swung it. Then I picked out a short two-lashed riding whip the salesman called a quirt. It was shot loaded and bent in my hand like a half-hard cock.

Handling those whips I knew I had a hard-on and I was pretty sure the salesman had noticed it. When I was ready to leave the shop he asked me, “How about a cow prod?” He reached inside a case and brought out a cylinder about ten inches long.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“Wait until you try it. You hold down this button on the handle and touch the end of it to somebody’s ass. It’ll give him an electric jolt like you wouldn’t believe. It won’t leave a mark either. I sell a lot of these. It doesn’t matter where you touch a guy. He’ll move and he’ll move fast. I keep one at home I use on my boy. All I have to do is pick it up and he does whatever I say. No arguments. It’s the only thing that scares him. It sure comes in handy for training. You’d be surprised what I’ve taught my boy to do.”

“How come you know I’d want it for a man? Maybe I got a horse or a steer.”

”Maybe you do. I can usually tell what a guy is up to, though, especially when he’s got it up like you do. Well, it’s none of my business anyways, but I like to give my customers new ideas. That way they come back again.”

I bought the prod and I thanked him. That man could be an education.

On Saturday I was at the park early. Len was late, but finally I saw him coming down the path. To my dismay, he was alone.

“You got your car?” he asked. “I got it all set up. We’re late, so let’s get moving.”

In the car, driving cross-town, Len asked me, “You got money? Barry says he’ll maybe sell if he gets his price. And then another hundred to me for all my trouble. How does that sound to you?”

I hated to spend so much, but if I had to I would. I’d waited too long for this to miss it now.

Eventually we turned off the street we were following and drove up a narrow alley. Len directed me to a parking place in the fenced back yard of a run-down apartment house. It was a tight fit among the overflowing garbage cans and debris. We entered a back door and descended a half-flight of steps to a basement apartment Barry, the house custodian, met us there. He was dressed in a stained pair of trousers, a dirty T shirt, and slippers. A fat man, his belly swelled forward over his belt and, from the smell of his breath, he’d been on beer.

“You the guy who wants to buy my punk?” he asked.

“I’d want to see him first and try him out”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I got him in the furnace room where it’s private.” He led the way down a hall and unlocked the door.

Fred, bare as the day he was born, stood close to the boilers. In his middle thirties as Len had indicated. He was thin, with quantities of dark hair on his shoulders, back, and chest.

“Man wants to check you over,” Barry announced.

I don’t know why, but I was delighted with what I saw. Fred, although dirty and unkempt had beautiful, even teeth, unlike Old Harry. I particularly liked his equipment. He had not been circumsized and his cock hung thick and limp. His balls were good sized, dangling down below his cock. I palmed them and they felt hard and solid, a hefty handful. But he was pretty thin—not handsome, yet somehow sexy.

“Show the man how good you suck,” Barry ordered.

I certainly did not welcome an audience, but I took it out and Fred began to mouth me. It had been a long time since I had had a blow job and it did feel good. Fred seemed to know his business.

“He fucks good, too,” Barry continued. “He’s still tight and he’s got an educated asshole.”

“Where did you get him?” I asked.

Barry laughed. “I won him in a crap game about a month ago. My old lady left me after I brought him home and he’s been taking her place. Makes a damn good woman, too. If I didn’t need the money so bad I’d keep him on.”

“Well, let’s talk,” I said.

We moved back into the filthy parlor and Barry offered us beer. Barry wanted a thousand and I laughed at him. After some more talking I made my offer. Five hundred. Take it or leave it Barry took it and so fast I was sure I could have gotten him down further if I’d tried. We shook hands and I paid him. Fred, dressed in rag-bag trousers and jacket, walked to my car in bare feet I taped his eyes and had him lie down on the floor behind my seat. I gave Len his hundred, and we were off.

Somebody or sombodies had broken Fred right. Maybe too good. All I had to do was give him an order and he obeyed me immediately. At the farm I took him into the barn and had him strip. I took the tape off his eyes and threw his clothes aside. He wasn’t going to need them for a good long while.

A previous owner of my farm had kept cows in the barn and when I remodeled I kept two of the heavy wooden stanchions. I had remade them and installed them at one end of my back room, adjusting them so I could close them tightly. I had Fred put his head through the vertical bars and I closed them snugly against his neck. I padlocked them in position and there was no way he could possibly pull free. The height of the stanchion top forced him to step backards and bend over slightly from his waist. Next I took a short length of two-by-four with a screw ring fastened at each end. I brought Fred’s arms forward, past the stanchion bars and under his protruding head, and tied his wrists to the rings. Even if he pulled off his ears and wriggled his head free the two-by-four would hold him in place against the stanchion frame. When I’d cleaned him up a bit, I realized that he was a good looking man, although thin and rundown.

Fred was a sight standing there, partly stooped over. I got me a hard-on again just watching him, thinking he made me a mighty fine cow. I couldn’t resist it. I got me an old milking stool, sat down beside him, and grabbed hold of his cock. I had never milked a cow, but I had jacked myself off plenty, and I’d jerked on Uncle Tom. I squeezed and pulled on Fred until I had him moaning. I used my right hand on his cock and I circled his bag with my left thumb and forefinger. In between pulls on his cock I’d give his balls a hefty stretch. Each time I yanked on them I could feel him tense up and jerk. A little of this and I had him yelling full out. By the time I was done with milking him he was down on his knees on the floor.

I left him there in the stanchion all that night. He couldn’t have gotten much sleep. In the morning when I went out to water him and feed him his breakfast scraps I turned him loose. He had a rough time trying to stand straight. I took care of that and fast. I had the electric prod hanging from the wrist thong and I shoved it between his buttocks, tight against his anus, and pushed the button to “on.” When that juice hit Fred, I’ll swear he jumped six feet letting out a screech you could have heard for a mile. I couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. After I had him suck me off, I locked him in the pen. That would be our pattern for pleasuring from then on. He would give me a blow job each morning and again, after supper, at night.

I didn’t take the whips to him until Tuesday and I could hardly wait to try them out. That night late, I took Fred out of the pen and spreadeagled him between the two posts. Once I had him stretched wide I hung the weight from his balls. It was comical to see. His balls hung down like you couldn’t believe. I started the weight swinging with my hand, back and forth between his spread legs, and Fred began to blubber.

“Please, Master. Please,” he begged. “You’re going to pull my guts right out of me.”

I didn’t say a thing. I stood behind him and to one side, holding my black buggy whip. I laid it across his buttocks, full force. Fred gave a mighty jerk and a scream of pain. A welt raised dark red across his ass and the weight hanging down from his balls swung wildly. Then I gave him more, on his shoulders, his ass. his thighs. Fred was screeching like a banshee and trying to pull loose from the tie-rings. I had a hard-on I couldn’t believe and I could feel it throbbing inside my pants.

After I had warmed up Fred’s back I moved around so I could whip on his chest and stomach. That weight on his nuts was swinging so hard it would hit up against his belly. How that man did yelp. Then I couldn’t wait any longer. I got behind him, opened my pants, and shoved it in him right down to my hair. He was tight all right and it was just as good as a blow job. I don’t know when I had ever felt better.

The only thing wrong that I could find is that you can’t whip up a man every day of his life, even though you ache to do it. A man can only take so much and then you’ve got to rest him. And you can twist and squeeze his balls only so many times before he’s had it. I kept Fred welted up good, though. There wasn’t a day he didn’t have whip marks, some partly healed, some fresh. There wasn’t a day, either, that I didn’t grab hold of his nuts to make sure he walked with his legs spread apart. We had us a real time out in that barn for close to two months.

Then I began to get a hankering for someone new and different someone I could pester and train from scratch. That’s when I began to look for a boy of maybe nineteen or twenty. I found him, too, in the company garage. All I had to do, it turned out, was to offer to take him home. I had him chained up in my pen that same night long before midnight. Then it took me some thought before I decided how best to rid myself of Fred. First I had to make certain that there were no major marks left on his body. This took a little time, then I made a deal with one of our drivers. It cost me fifty dollars but it was worth it. I got Fred some clothes and gave him a nest-egg of one hundred dollars. The driver took Fred cross-country, letting him off in Chicago. Fred had never been there and he was willing to try out his luck. I have no idea what happened to him after that. I never heard from him or of him again. I didn’t want to. By then I was much too involved in training and enjoying Donny.

I’ve had a number of Donnies and I must say that I have gone through a fair number of whips. When one wears out and frays, back to the tack shop I go. The man who runs it and I have become great good friends. He usually has something new for me to try out on my current boy. I’ve got me harnesses, hobbles, bridles, and whips that you wouldn’t believe. And I use them all.