THE STORY CONTINUES (the next 2445 word episode of an eight-part story)

 

Part Three

Wednesday.

The threatening clouds of the previous day hung darker and heavier, layered ominously across the sky, completely obliterating the sun and requiring the use of artificial lights even at high noon. A relentless wind whistled incessantly through the streets of the little Indiana town, screaming around corners and under eaves, heightening the dumb frustrations of all who were helpless against its blasts, emphasizing their sense of grim eroticism.

Such was the mood that prevailed among the five high school football heroes who assembled for their third session in the trainer's room that night. As compared with the night before, a strained silence reigned as they methodically divested themselves of their clothes: team jackets, long-sleeved plaid shirts, T-shirts, engineer boots, white athletic socks, jeans, and, finally, jockey shorts - their unofficial civilian" uniforms.

Guards Dicko and Manuel, eyes glinting, stood close together in an unconscious alliance of shared experience, as Moses, Johnny, and Thaao went through the

now-familiar ritual of the marbles: only two white to the one fatal red. Even at this early stage in the proceedings, some Pavlovian conditioning caused cocks to become partially hardened, twitching against tightened testicles and tensed thighs. Breathing was heavier than normal, and jaws clenched.

The three remaining potential victims warily uncurled their fists: Thaao, white marble; Moses, white.

So it was to be Johnny Todd tonight! Johnny Todd, the 17-year-old left tackle, the all-American blond, blue-eyed boy with the champion swimmer's body. This idol of the gridiron was to be the helpless slave, without a will or wish of his own, to the sadistic inventions of his peers. He who had applied the feathers to Dicko's feet and the Coke bottle to Manuel's asshole was now, himself, to be completely at their mercies.

He felt very alone, standing naked under the harsh fluorescent lights, as the others completed the process of deciding the line-up of tormentors. The lithe lines of his hardened torso shone with sweat, all-American nipples erect and all-American cock halfway on the rise. He compulsively clenched and unclenched his fists, shifting his weight from one bare foot to the other in nervous anticipation. At last it was decided: Moses Brown was gleefully first, to be followed by Thaao and ending with the two former victims, Dicko and Manuel.

"Me first, me first!" Moses exulted. "Hey, I need help, you guys, t'get this fuckin' stud up! Man, you creeps ain't seen nothin' 'til y' see what I do t' Blondie, here! "

First Moses taped Johnny's wrists together behind his back, then ran the tape all around his waist and over the hair-encircled navel, locking them into position. Next, under the black giant's sneering supervision, the boys got onto the rubbing table and lifted Johnny's naked body, feet first, toward the overhead pipes. Climbing up with them, Moses tied his victim's ankles with nylon straps to widely separated pipes so that the body, hanging helplessly, formed a Y, head suspended just an inch or two above the table top.

Moses stepped back down to the floor to gloat over his preliminary handiwork. He let his thick black fingers sweep lightly over the spread out thighs, the balls hanging limply atop the circumcised cock, the strongly defined rib cage, the hardened nipples. Johnny was aware at this time only of the ache in his groin from the way his legs were so brutally stretched apart, and that his vulnerable ass and sex organs were at just about everyone's eye level.

"Start timin'!" the command shot out. "I choose the motherfucker's pretty head! " So saying, Moses snared a heavy round metallic trash container and, thrusting the golden boy's hanging head inside, set it on the bench. Then he grabbed a broom handle and, shouldering it like a baseball bat, let go a lick at the outside of the trashcan.

Inside the container, and inside his skull, the effect on Johnny was as if all his senses had been suddenly converted into a clapper of a gigantic bell. Although actually touched by nothing more concrete than sound waves, it felt as though his brain abruptly ballooned, thrusting outward against eyeballs, sinuses, and eardrums, conducting like a jolt of electricity through every delicate head bone. His scream echoed hollowly, ineffectually, within the confines of the container.

The onlookers saw a shudder pulsate through the naked body, tightening stomach muscles and curling toes. Dicko and Manuel had drawn so close to each other that their bare shoulders and flanks were touching. Manuel draped an arm over Dicko's shoulder and, as he saw Moses ready another blow of the broom handle, he gripped that shoulder tightly. In the space of a moment, Dicko's arm slid around the waist now pressed so urgently against him. Their two uncircumcised cocks continued a slyly silent burgeoning.

Alienated in near-darkness, immobilized and exposed, Johnny Todd found that the real horror of his dilemma was in not knowing precisely when the next blow would come. And when it was at last landed, the second shock caused twice the agonizing reaction as had the first. He tried to jerk his head out of that enveloping agony by bending at knees and waist, but a stinging slap on the butt plunged him down into it again. Third, fourth, fifth blows were rapidly delivered and combined with the blood rushing to his head to produce an unendurable build-up of pain. He no longer knew if he were screaming or not.

Thaao had been avidly watching Johnny's cock slap against his belly, but his eyes were drawn momentarily to Dicko and Manuel. Each was now openly clasping the other closely about the waist, free hands dropping in awkward caress over strongly fleshed buttocks, cocks jutting upward, their attention riveted on the squirming nudity of the evening's victim. Moses began a steady syncopated drumming on the trash can, and Johnny's constant screams created a curious counter-rhythm of gasping sobs.

Thaao broke the spell: "Time!"

Manuel and Dicko drew apart somewhat self-consciously and lent their efforts to releasing Johnny from his bondage. All tried to avoid staring at his bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks as he jogged in place to restore the circulation to his limbs.

When the rest period was over, Thaao ordered Johnny to sit on the rubbing table, straddling it, aching thighs again spread wide. The ankles were fastened together under the table, locking the legs in place. His wrists were again tied together behind his back. Thaao paused a moment to savour his dominance over the blond captive, then knotted several shoelaces together into one long line of cord.

Forming a noose at one end, he took considerable time to tighten it around the base of the scrotum lying on the table. Johnny winced at the pressure. The worst came, however, when Thaao grasped him by the nape of the neck and violently pulled his head downward, anchoring it between his thighs by two turns of the free end of the cord. Back severely bent, neck tautly fastened to scrotum in a fashion alternately threatening suffocation or castration, Johnny felt that 15 minutes of this and nothing else could be more punishing. His forehead resting on the cold table-top, he could not see what would happen next.

"That big broad fuckin' back there is all mine, now," Thaao declared. "Y'can start timin' me."

A searing sensation between his shoulder blades made Johnny lunge forward, causing a jolt in his sacred sac. He thought his balls had exploded. He couldn't even find relief in a scream, so tight had the lacing around his neck become. But, he wondered, what was that burning feeling on his back?

He could not see that Thaao had lighted an emergency candle from the janitor's supplies and had let fall a drop of hot wax to the unprotected back of his victim. Gulping for air, Johnny felt another pinpoint of pain further down toward the small of his back, on more tender skin, and involuntarily repeated his initial reaction. He didn't know if the hurt were worse on his back, at his throat, or in his crotch. What he did know was that just another few minutes of this would surely be the end of him.

Manuel and Dicko had moved to the end of the table, where they could better see the angry red spots forming from the drops of hot wax, the taped crossed wrists, the lift of the bare buttocks. They were now openly playing with each other's erections, not quite idly, while Moses, who had moved in behind them, allowed his own hard-on to brush between their two bare asses. His free hand kneaded first one back, then the other. His eyes returned frequently to the stopwatch he held in the other hand.

Aware only of his personal purgatory, Johnny tried to scrunch his head closer to his crotch, and was astonished to see there that his prick was as hard and thick as ever he had known it to be. No time to wonder why, however, as the drops of burning wax fell ever more frequently across his shoulders and down his sides, each one churning a chain reaction of recoilings that escalated into countless separate agonies. He was near collapse when time was called, and more than needed the regulation 15 minute break now due him.

As his own turn was next, Dicko pulled a bit apart from Manuel. But their eyes locked together, holding aspects of challenge joy, shame, and lust. Thaao and Moses whispered in undertones. Johnny, freed temporarily, had slumped right back on the table, fighting for breath and control, feeling utterly alone and conspired against, not able to believe that his martyrdom was only half over ......

Taking charge, Dicko had him straddle the table and fastened his ankles beneath it as they just had been. He then had him cross his wrists in front of him, palms up, and tied them together that way with the center portion of the long, sweat-slippery cord. Next he made Johnny raise his arms and bend his elbows so that the locked together wrists were at the back of his neck. The two long cord ends were knotted in front, below the chin. Finally, the victim was pushed onto his back and apiece of tape wrapped around the top of his chest and under the table.

"I'm goin' for thecock, but it gotta be hard before I start operatin'," he announced.

Ignoring Manuel's surprised glance, he took hold of Johnny's partially-erect member and began running his index finger around the tip of the glands. He thrust his other hand under the buttocks, and, with his middle finger, toyed there with the silky anal hairs, tantalizing the tight little target of targets. All eyes focused on the handsome captive's cock, watching with fascination as it filled and lengthened. All eyes, that is, but those of Manuel, which were instead intent upon the equally engorging cock of Dicko. Spread out helplessly, Johnny Todd could but give himself over to the warmly sensuous feeling that spread through his battered body.

His respite was to be all too brief, however, as Dicko called for "Time!" and picked out an 18-inch length of uninsulated electrical wire from the janitor's supplies. Taking a rough grip on Johnny's balls, he slowly inserted one jagged end between the lips of the hardened prick. Johnny yelped at the first sharp contact on the most sensitive part of his person, but found that the hurt magnified excruciatingly as the wire was inexorably pushed deeper and deeper into his tumescence.

He thrashed his head from side to side, groaning, chest heaving, fearing permanent damage to his most precious part, about to protest, to shrill his capitulation. The rubbing table was slick from his sweat, and tears ran in a steady stream from the corners of his eyes. Yet some small vestige of virility still prevented that ultimate sacrificing of his manhood.

When it felt as if the end of the wire had penetrated to the very core of his being, to tease there an especially sensitive cluster of raw nerve ends, the probing ceased. About eight inches of wire remained protruding from the end of his stiffened rod. All onlookers gasped as, to that exposed remnant, Dicko applied a lighted match.

Even Moses, leaning against Thaao, considered shouting an order to stop, but was nearly hypnotized by the steady reddening of the wire toward Johnny Todd's throbbing penis. Then, with a pair of pliers, the torturer began a painfully slow withdrawal of the red hot insertion. Alternately applying the freshly lit matches, following the heat's progress, then pulling out a bit more of the wire, Dicko kept his victim on the near edge of utter surrender without actually blistering the cock-head. And, through it all, his firm grip on the balls retained its constant pressure. Johnny had long since lost all sense of anything except the all-consuming agony in his cock and balls.

"Time!"

For the first time that week, all four rushed together to help free the victim. to assure his taking greatest advantage of the upcoming five-minute rest. Moses and Thaao again muttered together. eyeing Dicko, and even Manuel drew away from him. As for Johnny. again he just remained limply spread out on the table, right hand gingerly massaging his balls and gradually subsiding erection.

Manuel, whose turn was next, was of two minds - compassionately to take it easy on the already-exhausted victim, or, contrariwise. to go all out on that ultimate symbol of the hated WASP. He had started the evening eager to get at that honky's lily-white ass, glad as no one else decided on attacking that portion of Johnny's anatomy. Now, aware of the trembling within that body. aware of all the punishment it had absorbed that evening, he hesitated. But then he inventoried that short-cropped

blond hair, those bright blue eyes, the pink flesh about to be totally in his power, and made his decision.

So it was that Manuel Alvarez, minority outsider, required Johnny Todd, Mr. Teenage America, to spread-eagle his naked body, face down, legs wide apart, on the table, there taped and tied, totally unable to protect or defend any portion of himself, the round mounds of his buttocks asinine under the bright fluorescent lights.

"For the next 15 minutes, here, that smooth white ass is gonna be all mine!" he cried out triumphantly. "Start yer fuckin' timin'!"

Johnny guessed that this was indeed going to be IT, the ultimate ache and indignity, compounded in humiliation by the fact that his assailant, out of all possibilities, had to be this thick-cocked spic. Dicko looked up from his concentration on those firmly clenched buttock cheeks to search Manuel's eyes, finding there only a coldness of determination, remembering with a strange mixture of pleasure and pain how it had felt to have his own buttocks strapped by those strong brown hands. Thaao and Moses were once again rubbing against each other, crowded close to the prone figure of the evening's sacrifice, fingertips touching, tentatively exploring.

To everyone's surprise, Manuel did not reach for either his belt or his cock but rather for a straight razor from his locker. "I purposely ain't sharpened this fuckin' pig-sucker lately," he gloated, settling himself cross-legged between Johnny's thighs. "Nothin' like a dry shave around the shit-hole!"

That which had seemed to Johnny at first to be a reprieve, turned out instead to be a unique kind of torture. Manuel spread the cheeks with one hand, and with the other scraped against the tender flesh downward into the hairy valley. He maintained a steady swishing with the dulled edge of the razor, half cutting and half extracting by their roots the hairs that grew in that sensitive area. Tiny cuts and pits appeared in the darkened flesh, small droplets of blood speckling the area.

There was no way Johnny could control the spasmodic quivering of the various muscles beneath the skin under attack, the uncontrollable tensions thus created at each fresh touch of the razor causing even greater pain from the removal of the hairs. His stomach was shrunk into a leaden ball, and all he could mutter was an endless string of "Omigod's." He was sure there were a thousand vicious incisions all concentrated in and around his asshole and each one with its own nerve cord direct to the base of his brain. When he tried to pull his ass away from the torment, by pushing into the table, the pressure on his still tender cock-head caused him to shout out in a combined wail of agony and frustration.

Just as time was about to be called, Manuel climaxed his session by covering his hands with rubbing alcohol and slapping them smartly over the tiny breaks in the skin of his victim. Johnny shrieked a final "Omigod! "just as time was called. When he was released and forced himself into a sitting position on the edge of the table, he noticed something singular.

There was a gleaming pool of gluey translucent fluid where the end of his cock had been.

 END OF PART THREE

FIVE MORE EPISODES TO FOLLOW
NEXT EPISODE

Return to
EPISODE ONE
EPISODE TWO