Date: Tue, 1 Mar 2022 04:31:19 +0100 (CET) From: Eldridge Boyd Subject: Naughty Neighbors Naughty Neighbors Eldridge Boyd (eldridge@mailfence.com) I am sitting in my basement, on a chair that has been brought down from the kitchen. My arms are over the low back of the sturdy chair and my hands are tied and secured to the rungs of the back. My legs have been spread, raised, and my ankles tied to the chair where the back meets the rear legs so that my shins are parallel to the floor. I am naked and sweaty. I am being tortured. Well, that's what THEY call it. Torture. Of a kind. A boy is squatting in front of the chair. His hands are working on me and he is grinning. Oily, slippery hands from the bottle of baby oil on the floor beside him, brought down from my bathroom upstairs. His hands move slowly up and down my erect penis. I can see his own erection in his briefs, the only clothes he wears. I can't help but think, in a kind of lustful stupor, `If this is torture, bring it on!' But it's early stages yet. I feel other hands on my shoulders, from behind. Gently, lightly stroking me. Then a mouth close to my left ear, so close I can feel the warmth of breath as the other boy speaks. "Tell us where the M&Ms are. Talk and he'll finish you off!" Greg is the boy working on me. Stopping and starting again, working slowly and carefully. He is eleven. The boy behind me is Steve, twelve, or twelve-and-a-half as he insists on informing me at every opportunity. And I'm George. George McCready, 37, neighborhood good guy and generous provider of home-made lemonade on hot summer days for lawn-mowing boys with sweaty shirtless torsos and great thirsts. Believe me when I say that the ridiculousness of the situation was evident to me. To put it plainly, I was tied naked in a chair while an eleven-year-old pervert was keeping me almost painfully erect to make me tell where I had hidden a huge bag of candy from their pilfering ways. Too much! But it was what it was. Maybe later I will explain the trick the devious horn-dogs had used to get me in this extremely compromised position. But meanwhile... How about a headline? NIMBLE-FINGERED PRETEEN TURNS MAN INTO JIBBERING IDIOT. I would have deserved it but of course it never came to pass. Jibbering may be a bit of overkill but, toward the end, not by much. Where DID this kid learn those tricks with his talented hands? Practice, I can only assume, and a lot of it. Plus almost uncanny judgment about when to stop and how long to wait before re-starting. How long? I don't really know. An hour? Maybe. One thing is certain: toward the end I knew very well what they meant by calling what they did torture. Oh, yes. No question about it. I underestimated these guys. They definitely knew what they were doing. Plus, they were having a great time. Win-win for them; lose-lose for me. In a way. They got the M&Ms of course. A whole pound of them. Hidden behind the sack of potatoes in the pantry. And once they had them they were as good as their word: I got a world-class orgasm and made a big mess all over Greg who complained about it at first but was soon laughing. As was Steve. Me? Yes, after being untied and taking a much-needed shower, I laughed about it, too. And served them some lemonade.