Date: Thu, 24 Apr 2008 16:01:16 +0100
From: Speed Back <speedback11@googlemail.com>
Subject: Daredevil Speedo Boys - Live On Stage part 9 (M/b), cons anal, cons bond)

(WARNING: This is obviously fiction...nothing like it has ever happened in
real life, nor should it, for very obvious reasons. Don't try anything like
this at home guys, or anywhere else! And leave those boys alone!
Speedoboy711 speedback11@googlemail.com )

As the house lights went down again, the audience was surprised to see a
little boy smartly dressed in a rather formal school uniform get up from one
of the seats in the auditorium. He'd been watching the show with great
interest, sitting next to his constantly affectionate French teacher. The
little prep school pupil walked down one of the aisles towards the stage. He
scampered up a small flight of stairs and stood in front of the curtain.
Then, with an endearing look of uncertainty, the boy put his hand up as if
he was about to ask a question in class. The spectators went quiet so that
they could hear what about to be said.
The boy's teacher stood up from his seat towards the front of the
auditorium, and said in a loud voice: "Yes Paul, how can we help you, young
man?"
"Thank you sir!" the boy replied in a well-educated English accent. "I just
wanted to warn everyone what's going to happen....in case they got worried
sir!"
"Very wise boy...go ahead, so that they know we won't be breaking any school
rules, and you won't be losing any house points!"
"Yes sir...thank you sir!" the nine year old boy's wicked brown eyes shone
under his grey school cap with red trim. His French master sat down with a
smile and watched his star pupil.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." the child began, before he realised his mistake.
The word "ladies" prompted several sharp intakes of breath, and even some
wolf whistles, from the all-male audience of boylovers. The inexperienced
youngster blushed a deep red, and ran his hand nervously through his short
brown hair, knocking off his school cap in the process.
"Oh crikey!" he exclaimed as he bent to pick it up, prompting more grumbles
from the audience. He wasn't sure whether to dust his cap off and replace
it, or discard it.
His teacher found himself obliged to stand up again and address the boy, but
like all good schoolmasters, he was endlessly patient in his dealings with
his young charge.
"Don't worry Paul, just start again, and think carefully about what we
agreed that you'd say, and remember how we practiced it", called the teacher
in a kindly voice which seemed to reassure the schoolboy.
"Thank you sir! Ummmm...Gentlemen!" he grinned confidently, rolling his eyes
crazily to acknowledge his mistake. Then the pre-arranged script came
tumbling out of the gleeful child. "My name's Paul and I'm nine years old. I
just wanted to say that what we're going to do on stage might make
you....ummmm...a bit worried. You might think I'm being made to do things I
don't want to do. Don't worry, and please don't try to come and rescue me,
cos it's all OK and I think I can take it. I like acting a lot, so when I
start yelling for help and saying  I've been kidnapped and I'm being raped
and stuff...." (the audience pricked up its collective ears at the mention
of a rape) "....it's just me acting, OK? But don't worry...I'm not going to
cheat when it comes to the rough stuff. The electra...I mean the electrodes
and the cattle prod are all for real, OK?"
Further murmurs of interest greeted the boy's last words, before he found
the gap between the curtains and disappeared between it with a friendly wave
of his little hand. His gesture prompted a round of encouraging applause
from the audience, especially among those who were fans of little boys in
school uniform. Paul was such a sweet looking, well behaved little boy, and
so handsome (or even pretty) in his nine year old way, that even those with
no such interest in such attire were intrigued to see what the brave and
willing little lad was to about to undergo.
Few of the spectators noticed the boy's teacher slipped out of the
auditorium. The man headed towards one of the the exits near the stage with
a purposeful expression on his face, and an enormous erection visible in his
pants.
When the curtains parted, the stage set had been transformed into an idyllic
english park scene. Nine year old Paul was sitting alone on a park bench,
amid gentle birdsong, reading a comic studiously and then laughing at its
contents. He exuded an innocent air of total boyish contentment, happy in
his own skin, as he sat there, next to a pond, surrounded by
well-established trees and bushes. There was no sign of anyone else in the
park. As well as his school cap, he was wearing a red blazer, a red V-neck
jumper with grey trim, a beautifully ironed white shirt, a red and grey
striped school tie (which would soon prove useful as a restraint), a little
pair of grey shorts, grey socks with red trim, and a small pair of shiny
black leather shoes. Only the spiked metal railings surrounding the park
hinted at the sexual violence which was the small boy was about to be
subjected to.
A man in a black ski mask and a long black leather coat appeared at the park
gates. He walked slowly across the stage set and stood behind the boy.
Eventually, the engrossed child sensed that someone was watching him. He
turned around, looked up and gasped as the man reached down menacingly,
gripping the boy's bony little shoulder.
"I fancy some chicken, and I'm going to have you for supper, boy!" hissed
the man through his mask in a theatrical whisper.
The child actor played his role to perfection, gazing up in innocent
wide-eyed nine-year old schoolboy horror at the powerful man towering above
him.
"W-What are you doing? Let me go sir!"
"Not until I'm fucked you, boy!"
"What d-do you mean sir? I don't understand! Please sir! Let me go! I'm only
nine!"
"That's why I want to fuck you, little chicken - because you're nine!"
The little boy actor made an desperate attempt to flee, but the man used his
other hand to grab the trembling child's other shoulder, gripping deep into
the preteen's soft flesh like a skeleton rapist.
He flung the boy like a rag doll face down onto the park bench, prompting
cries of protest from the audience as they heard the boy's chin smash
against the wooden seat. A small trickle of blood began to flow from the
corner of his choirboy mouth. Both actors were certainly tacking their roles
seriously. The real violence which was an integral part of the act had been
agreed beforehand between the boy and the man. But that didn't make it any
easier to watch for those of a less sadistic bent when it came to the
treatment of young boys, some of whom started a slow hand clap in protest.
The child looked a little worried by this, and so he got up from the bench,
spat out some of the blood from his mouth and sought to reassure the
audience:
"It's alright gentlemen...we've practised nearly all of this before, and
it's jolly good fun! Ummmm...it's going to get a bit rougher, so please
don't stay if you think you're not going to like it!"
No one left, and the boy looked pleased that he'd managed to calm the
situation. He scampered back to the bench and leapt onto it face down,
giggling and calling the word "Action!"
The savagery with which the man ripped the boy's clothes from his body took
the audience's breath away. The brass buttons flew off the child's little
red blazer as it was cast to the ground. The boy tried to kick out, but the
man grabbed his little legs and wrenched the black leather shoes from his
tiny feet, throwing them completely  offstage. The schoolboy's grey pullover
was torn over his little head in a blur, and his school tie was undone (and
pocketed for use in a few moments) in a matter of seconds. His small
boy-size shirt was torn to shreds as it left his hairless preteen body. The
little lad's smart grey socks were soon dispensed with, exposing his
gorgeous smooth legs in their full glory. The child was so sexually
attractive that some members of the audience were already cheering. Others,
knowing that the whole thing was staged and the boy actor wasn't really
being forced in any way, felt free to shout either "Fuck him, fuck him, fuck
him, FUCK HIM!" or even "Rape! Rape! RAPE!...RAPE THE BOY! RAPE HIM HARD!"
Nine year old Paul grinned delightedly from ear to ear, showing his healthy
little white teeth, which he was careful to brush every night before going
to his dormitory. The act was going far better than he'd expected, with the
audience already calling for him to be savagely deflowered. A little boy
felt a small erection stirring in the tight pair of pure white speedos he
was wearing underneath his tiny, teasing shorts. The child was eagerly
anticipating the massive physical, sexual and psychological trauma he was
about to undergo in public, and on film. The preteen boy couldn't resist
touching his own little hard cocklet through his silky white speedos as he
thought about what was just about to be done to him. He almost swooned with
pleasure as he felt his little schoolboy shorts whipped harshly off his
young body, but then he remembered to start acting again, and so he began to
plead "Wait till my housemaster finds out what's happening...he'll come
and...and he'll bash you up!"
In a dramatic gesture, the man ripped the black ski mask from his face and
the boy pretended to gasp in horror, spluttering "Sir! It's you!
but...but..."
The boy's housemaster clamped a firm hand over the child's gorgeous mouth.
He grabbed the boy's arm in his other hand, twisting it viciously hard
behind the child's bare back as he forced him to the ground. The boy assumed
a quivering foetal position, tyring to protect his head with his puny little
arms. He knew he was about to be hurt very badly, because he'd helped to
write the script himself. But now he wondered if he'd set himself too great
a challenge. He thought about his safeword, "Jennings" and wondered if he'd
even be given the chance to say it.
Without further ado, the boy's housemaster tied his small pupil's hands
together with his prep school tie, and tied the garment to one of the metal
legs of the park bench.
Then the schoolmaster  unzipped his black leather trousers, so that his
engorged rape-cock could spring forth to seek its prey. The man fished a
knife out of one of the pockets of his black leather coat, and slashed the
back of the youngster's silky swimwear open carelessly and roughly, just
like a real boy rapist. He cut the child's smooth small buttocks a little,
only partly by accident, as he did so, and the audience was delighted to see
the white speedo fabric stained with a small amount of pure bright red nine
year old boy-blood, as fresh as a daisy.
Warming to his role, and surprised at how much he was enjoying the mixture
of sadism and boysex, the pitiless man rammed a long finger up the boy's
anus with absolutely no thought for the child's welfare. The little prep
school pupil let out a desperate, long scream as he felt his rape-me boycunt
being prepared in the most painful and rudimentary way for penetration. Some
of the audience were already applauding the boy for his bravery, bringing a
small smile to the little boy's delicious lips, amid his frightened, hot
tears.
All of the spectators were surprised to see how the man then simply plunged
his unlubricated supersize pulsating penis hard into the small boy,
bellowing like a ferocious bull as he did so. He only got a little way in,
so he pounced on the child's helpless little frame, squeezing it painfully
tightly to his own huge body. He screwed and screwed his way into the nine
year old child as if he was determined to murder his little private school
fee-paying pupil on the spot. The brave little boy was beating his fists
hard on the stage in a mixture of agony and shock as he felt his own little
boycunt ripped more savagely than he could ever have imagined in rehearsals.
They'd only pretended to fuck then, and normally, when the housemaster
fucked them in the dormitory, he did it quite gently. This was something
quite new for the nine year old boy, to feel the fury and hatred which came
with every brutal thrust of the man's obscenely-swollen member. Gradually,
it began to excite the child more than anything he'd felt before in his
young life, despite the sexual agony being inflicted on his small body. To
know that he had inspired such feelings in an adult, at the age of only
nine, thrilled him as never before. The boy turned his little head around
for just a moment and caught a glimpse of the pagan, animal lust burning
devilishly in his housemaster's eyes, darker than he'd ever seen before. The
boy knew he was close to the heart of darkness, nearer to real evil than
he'd ever been in his young life. Despite the pain, the thought filled the
boy with an intense sexual thrill. He knew he was a real boy daredevil now.
He'd completely forgotten he was on stage. He could only see the man who was
sexually brutalising him so mercilessly, and darkness all around him. The
child decided to push the man as far as he could.
"Please sir!" the boy begged pitifully, "You're killing me! Stop! I'm only
nine!"
The housemaster took his words as an encouragement to piledrive his penis
even harder, again and again, into the child's dilated anus, which was now
lubricated by the boy's healthy bright blood.
"I've hardly started on you yet boy...so shut up and take it!" spat the man
cruelly, getting carried away in his role.
Time after time he sodomised the little schoolboy like a piece of fuckmeat,
grinding the child's tiny body into the stage as if he was determined to
snuff him. Although he wanted to carry on, young Paul knew he couldn't last
much longer, and the act was only halfway through. He had to save himself
for the next part of the performance.
 "Jennings! Jennings!" the boy sang desperately, using his safeword at last.
Immediately, the rage cleared from the man's eyes and he kissed his boy
tenderly on the back of his neck. He thrust hard one last time inside the
boy, squeezing the last drop of semen out of his monstrous cock into Paul's
resilient but ravaged little boyhole, and then at last he withdrew.
A medical team stemmed the boy's anal bleeding as best they could, and
patched him up on stage so that he could perform the next part of his act.
A conversation took place between the man and the boy which the audience
couldn't hear. Amid painkilling injections and shots of adrenaline, the boy
nodded vigorously. He was determined to carry on.
The stage set began to revolve. The park disappeared and  a new scene
appeared. It was the housemaster's sitting room, part of his private
apartment at the school in which he worked, teaching boys from the age of
eight to twelve French. His extra curricular activities, for which he
refused payment, included teaching the boys swimming, wrestling, diving,
ballet and escapology (performed by the boys wearing only the briefest of
red thongs). He also offered tuition in sex, bondage and torture, but only
to boys who specifically expressed an interest in these more challenging
areas.
His sitting room was comfortable and homely, if a little old fashioned. The
boys liked it because it reminded them of home, and he gave them chocolate
biscuits to eat when they came to see him. They liked the way he made them
beg for the biscuits like little puppy dogs. Shrieks of boyish laughter
filled the room frequently. There were shrieks of pain too though...he had a
black leather couch permanently available on one side of the room for any
boy feeling an urge to be chained or tied up, spreadeagled, for a spot of
sexual abuse or preteen boy bondage.
It was to this room, the programme notes explained, that the teacher brought
his young pupil, in order to revive him after such a devastating and brutal
boyrape. He laid the unconscious boy face up on the black leather bench. The
child was wearing only his bloodstained white speedos, tattered at the back
where they'd been slashed. His badly torn nine year old boycunt had
been packed with wadding and antiseptic balm by the medics.
The man raised the boy's thin little wrists above his head, and secured them
in a Y-position to the top of the torture table. Then he spread the boy's
lickable little legs apart and chained them to the bottom of the bench. The
nine year old boy was spreadeagled in an X-shape, totally helpless. The man
fished out some equipment from under the table....a box with switches and
dials, and long wires protruding from it.
Laughing like a pantomime villain "He he he he HEEEEEEE!" reached under the
boy's swan-like white speedos and attached the wires to the little boy's
testicles. Then he turned on the machine, yelling "Time to wake UP now,
little Paul!"
The jolt of electricity brought the boy round in an instant, and his tiny
bird-like body flew upwards, contorted horribly by the massive electric
shock running through his hairless little frame. The electrodes stayed
firmly attached to his immature balls as the man increased the voltage,
causing the boy to froth at the mouth in shock and terror. The boy kept
yelling the word "Pax! Pax!" for some reason, to which the man replied
"You're not in the playground now boy...come on..."Pax" doesn't stop the
game here...give me your safeword!"
The little boy innocent brow furrowed slightly, and he yelled back "Not a
chance Sir! I'm a brave British schoolboy and we don't give in to bullies!"
But the child's eyes widened in terror when he saw the cattle prod.
"Come on boy, raise yourself up, I need to see how you fare with this right
up inside you!"
"N-no sir...you've hurt my bottom too badly already! I can't take that up
me! It would be too cruel!"
The boy and the man stared at each other.
And then the boy said his safeword very firmly and deliberately. "Jennings".
"Very well boy - you shall feel it on your little cock and balls instead -
at maximum strength...let's hope you survive it eh, you little rascal!
The man removed the electrodes from the little schoolboy's genitals, and
switched on the cattle prod. The long metal tube danced around the boy's
slim bound body, not touching it yet.
Then the audience jumped in surprise as they heard the boy's absolutely
earsplitting banshee scream. The boy's wildly arched body was a perfect
crescent of sheer, glistening preteen sexual agony, terrible but fascinating
to behold. The man had only touched the front of the child's little white
speedos very slightly, on his cocklet, but it was enough to finish the boy.
"Jennings! Jennings! Sir I can't take any more, it's too cruel...and my
bottom really really hurts sir...I think I'll have to go and see Matron! And
I'm supposed to be playing rugby tomorrow!"
"Yes, and don't forget you'll need you ballet tights tomorrow morning too,
boy, for your dance class. I won't spare you!"
The boy smiled weakly, rubbing his wrists and ankles as his loving master
released him. "I won't forget sir...oh and thanks for today sir...I really
enjoyed it and it's very kind of you to spend so much time on me!"
"Run along now boy...you'd better leave those speedos with me...and I think
you'd better pop on another pair to sleep in - you know the school rules!"
"Yes sir...could I have a red pair please - just in case I bleed on them?"
"Of course boy...here you are...now run along, and not a peep out of you
till the morning!"
The schoolboy trotted offstage, and the schoolmaster sank back into an easy
chair, lit his pipe, and began re-reading de Sade in the original french. As
the stage lights went down, he chuckled, and reached into his trousers to
masturbate, as he read about the harem of little boys, and their grisly
fate.
The audience gave the boy and the man a warm round of applause for their
efforts. Some were a little disappointed not to see the cattle prod inserted
into the boy's rectum, but the rape had been a little more brutal than the
performers had expected, and the boy's welfare took precedence over all
other considerations. As they left the stage, the man gave the little boy
the cattle prod and a portable generator, so that he could use it on himself
in the dormitory, after he'd healed up a bit. The boy's eyes shone and he
kissed his master's hand in gratitude. He looked lovely in the little red
speedos he'd chosen, and there was no sign of any blood on the seat of his
speedo. It's amazing how resilient little boys are, particularly at the age
of nine. The next group of boys to perform, the three ten year olds, would
need all their resilience to survive the ordeals they'd chosen. Many men in
the audience prized the ten year olds most of all - the perfect age for a
boy, and the one at which he is beginning to be very daring indeed, and very
highly sexually active. But even the most daring and most sexually aware of
the three ten year olds about to step onto the stage would find himself
utterly unprepared for what was to come next.
(there's still more to come, if anyone wants it!)

Thanks for reading! And for all the great support from so many people, cos
that's what keeps me writing! Any comments, however harsh, and anything else
(!), always welcome at my new address for feedback:
speedback11@googlemail.com

The speedo boys also perform in:
/nifty/gay/adult-youth/speedo-boys-daredevil-challenge/
and
/nifty/gay/adult-youth/boy-daredevils-in-speedos/
Enjoy!
Speedoboy711