Chapter 4: Cellar


When he heard the voice of Mr. Handelsman he unconsciously stepped back a few paces. He stood still and listened. The voices of the two men were muffled now, he heard footsteps in the hall and descended the stairs some more. He listened again, his chest went up and down and he was angry at himself that the sound of his breathing was so loud. Of course this was just his imagination.

He heard a rattle at the door of the basement.

Tension was raging through his body, he closed his eyes. His feet were getting cold on the concrete stairs but he didn't notice.

More footsteps and then a bang from the front door closing.

He opened his eyes and waited. The house was in silence. Finally he approached the door and tried the doorknob, the door was locked. He tried harder, pulling and pushing, still no movement.

"I don't want to be alone here" he thought. "Please let me out."

He banged the door and called out... Complete silence.

The boy went down the stairs, and looked around for something he could use. There were some shelves containing cleaning products and other useless stuff, an old lawn mower in a dusty corner, and, in the middle of the room, stood a supporting pole. On one side hung a broom on the other a bunch of chains.

Seeing nothing he could use, he went back up and busted his shoulder against the door. The door wouldn't budge. He tried again, his shoulder got bruised.

He was locked in.


Rubbing with one hand over his painful shoulder the boy went back downstairs. There was nothing he could do but wait until Mr. Thompson came back. He discovered an old metallic bed with a mattress on top under some boxes and other stuff. He shoved the junk off the bed and sat down.


Sitting there he remembered he still had to pee.

"Fuck" he thought "What is Mr. Thompson doing? Get back, ..."

He put his arms around his legs, making himself smaller, trying to hold his urine. "Come on man."

Finally he couldn't hold it, he looked around and saw a large ceramic garden pot on a shelf.

He grabbed it. As soon as he had the pot in his hands he started to pee. A powerful stream of piss, relieving himself of the tension built up in his bladder. The pot got heavier in his hands; he tried to hold it while still peeing. As it got heavier, he wanted to put it down but the pot slid out of his fingers and crashed to the floor.

He jumped trying to evade the ceramic pieces. The lower part of his legs got splashed with piss. His feet were now standing in an expanding puddle of urine. It felt warm around his cold feet.

He stroked his hair with his hand cursing himself. Like any teenager, he tried to cover up his mistake. He shoved the ceramic pieces under a shelf and with a rag he tried to clean up the spillage.

Mad at himself he threw the rag away and lay on the bed.


Laying down his thoughts wandered off. He thought about the things that happened, the foster homes he had been in, he even thought of his father. The last time he saw him was when childcare took him away.  His father in a drunken haze living in his own reality had just mumbled something, but didn't object. He probably didn't know what was going on, just interested in his booze. 

Before childcare took him away from his father, there were many times he had waited for him to come home at night. But he often waited in vain. Several times he went out onto the streets looking because he was worried and sometimes he got beat up by hoodlums. In the long run he was normally starving and just tried to find some food.

After Childcare, He never saw his father again. In the boy's eyes, his father was dead and maybe he really was.


While thinking all these things his hand caressed his body. The outline of the muscles on his stomach, his nipples. The other arm was positioned comfortably under his head. 


Unknowingly he started to play with his dick.

He started to think about his escape from the orphanage. It had been an uncertain move but he had to risk it. He was sick of the atmosphere, hated the people there. He thought about Mr. Thompson and the way he found him.

He continued playing with his dick.

He was reliving the bath scene. How Mr. Thompson had washed him like a stray puppy. The sensation it gave, he felt ashamed about his growing dick.

The boy was jacking off now.

He could still feel the wash cloth rubbing his body. Brushing his nipples and his armpits. Cleaning his ass, the pressure against his crack.

The boy continued jacking off. His hand went up and down his shaft. A warm glow was building up inside him.

The friction of the cloth had been a strange situation, but it had turned him on. He didn't know why. He had known some girls before but never had a relationship of any kind because there simply wasn't time to develop one, as he had moved from one place to another.

His hand felt good around his dick, rock hard now.

At this point the only thing he wanted to do was jack off, and make sure he ejaculated hard. It had become a habit. Something he could do on his own with no people intervening. It was time to himself. He found it relieved him of stress and he just liked doing it. His technique had improved through the years and he made a twisting movement with his fist knowing it would give him a thrilling orgasm.

His hand moved over his shaft faster still picturing himself in the bath tub.

Going over the edge he thrust his hips forward and his cum launched into the air. Trickles of cum hit his cheek and chest.

Exhausted, he lay there, thinking this was a good one, more cum than usual.

Getting his breath back he relaxed and closed his eyes. He didn't care that he lay there naked on an old dusty bed.


Suddenly a noise from the cellar door opened and someone stomped down the stairs.

Frightened he jumped off the bed. 

It was Mr. Thompson.

"Sorry I had to lock you in" he said, "I was afraid you were going to do something stupid..."

He stopped talking and looked at the boy.

The boy still had a frightened look but something was dripping of his cheek. He looked at the boy's body. White stains were running down his face and body.

The boy saw him looking and lifted up his arm trying to cover himself.

"Don't move." Mr. Thompson said.

The boy froze and Mr. Thompson slowly walked around him.

It felt weird standing there naked, no one had looked at him like this. He felt vulnerable but safe on the same time.

"That's two times I've seen you with a hard on. And now I see you covered in cum?" Sniffing and curling his lip he asked, "And what the hell is that smell?"

He was now standing behind the boy. He reached out and brought his hand to the boys cheek. Taking the boys cum on his fingers.

"Stand still" He said.

His hand went now over the boys butt. Massaging his crack.

The boy felt it warm against his crack. Why was he allowing this. He was confused. He wanted to run up the stairs and just keep running. But he couldn't move, couldn't lift a foot. His brain wasn't ready to accept what was happening. His dick was in charge now and it said "stay put".

Mr. Thompson took some more cum off the boys body and continued massaging the boys ass.

He pushed with his foot against the feet of the boy. The boy set his feet wider apart.

He continued scraping cum of the boys body and slowly massaging it into his ass.


The warm fingers brushing the entry of the boys hole felt good, the warmth radiated inside his body. He looked in front of him but he knew his dick was growing fast.

Suddenly the fingers were in front of his mouth.

"Spit" Mr. Thompson said.

He spit a little more on the fingers and felt it rubbed on his ass.

"Spit harder this time"

He did, all the saliva that he had in his mouth.

This time the pressure against his crack intensified and he felt a finger penetrating. Slowly in and then out.

The boy jumped a little when this happened and sighted.

Again the fingers were in front of his mouth and he spat again.

More fingers entering his hole.

The boy was now enjoying the massage of his hole forgetting the world around him. He wasn't thinking anymore about his father, the orphanage or anything else. Just this moment, these fingers in his ass.

His head was pushed forward and he bent over.

He had never had something this intrusive in his ass. He thought his intestines just went up and connected it with his stomach somehow. But strangely the fingers weren't pushing upwards but forwards. It felt great however, a new sensation.

Bending over he had a good view over his rock hard dick. He saw a drip of pre cum forming. In slow motion it dropped from the side of his dick and fell down on the floor. A small string of pre cum now connected the floor with his dick.

The fingers continued exploring his ass. It was really strange, he thought, as more pre cum was forming now and constantly dripping on the floor.

He found looking at this excited him and he groaned.

In and out, more soft groaning.


At this point he heard more spitting. Something big now pressed against his crack. Worried he tried looking over his shoulder but couldn't see much. Slowly he felt a big dick entering his hole.

He panicked and bit on his teeth, it hurt.

"Relax all your muscles" Mr. Thompson said.

He tried this. But still felt nervous.

"You must relax."

The calming voice felt reassuring, he relaxed, the pace of his breathing slowed down but his hearth was still raging inside him.

The big dick slowly went in and out. After a while it got better and the pain seemed less. Mr. Thompson began humping in a steady rhythm. It felt nicer, this `thing' totally filling him up.

He kind of liked the fact that Mr. Thompson was inside him.

The pace continued and every time Mr Thompson angled at a certain position the boy couldn't help himself groaning.

Again and again he angled and hit something inside of the boy.

The pace got faster and harder. He was pushed forward onto his hands. He grabbed the pole in the middle of the room and held on. He didn't want this to stop, wanting to take Mr. Thompsons entire dick inside him.

The fucking intensified and his body was pushed further up against the pole. His hands felt the cold steel of the chains hanging down from the pole and he gripped onto them harder.

The rattle of chains joined his groaning.


With a final trust Mr. Thompson exploded in the boy's ass.

Exhausted the boy fell to the ground tearing some chains down with him.

He was sitting on his knees, his head almost against the floor, his butt pointing into the air. He caught his breath and felt the cold air entering his hole. He felt ripped open. With one hand he reached behind him and felt his crack. It was warm to the touch and he could enter his once tight hole easily. It really must be ripped open.

He looked up curious to see Mr. Thompsons dick but was disappointed to see he had already lifted up his pants.


"I'm giving you three options." said Mr. Thompson.

"One, I bring you back to the orphanage. Two, I bring you to a nearby city of your choosing. Three, you stay here but then you have to do as I say. At any time you can choose the other two options but in the mean time you help around the house and maybe when things cool down find a small job. You can stay until you get back on your feet." The boy looked up at Mr Thompson frowning. "Don't answer me now, think about it and tell me what you want this evening."

He turned around and went up the stairs. "Are you hungry? There's some food in the fridge.

I have to go to work, so I'll see you tonight".


The boy sat there still capturing what had happened. He swirled his fingers in his ass.