This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage where ever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional, the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.
When we get up the next morning, I'm curious about Jason's high school experiences. I don't want to pry, but I do really want to know what happened. As he's making breakfast, I broach the subject.
"Look, I want to be a little nosey. You say you were raped at 12, and bullied in high school. I'd sort of like to know what your childhood was like."
Jason looks embarrassed. He doesn't want to talk about this, and starts to back-track. "It really wasn't that bad."
"Rape and bullying sound pretty bad to me. I'd really like to understand."
He smiles at me, sort of coyly. "Wouldn't you rather fuck me?"
His face drops. He looks at his feet, then at me, and smiles wanly.
"I wasn't the most masculine kid in the class," he says, sadly.
"I think they raped me because they thought I was girly." He's clearly ashamed.
I'm a little surprised. "Did you have any girl cousins?"
"Why didn't they rape them?"
He pauses, thinks. "I...don't know."
"You blame yourself for that rape, don't you?"
Long pause as he stirs the porridge, which doesn't need to be stirred. "Maybe."
"Why would you do that? Why would you blame yourself? Why DO you blame yourself?"
Long pause. He's close to tears. "I don't know."
"Jason," I bark, and he jumps! "Why would you do that?"
He sniffs, holding back the tears. "I've thought about this a lot. I think...I...enjoyed it...a little...in a way."
I'm stunned, but I should have expected this. It's so obvious. It's not that he enjoyed it, but he's having problems squaring it with the fact that he's gay. His feelings are so confused. He hated it, probably, but he doesn't know how to explain that to himself in light of the fact that he likes boys, in light of the fact that he likes submission. I'll bet I'm going to get the same kind of answers when I start asking him about the bullying. I press on
"And, as you got older, you say you were bullied? Why do you think that was?"
"Well, I wasn't into sports, and most of my friends were girls. And, I'm a little...girly."
"Oh, come on, Tim, I'm pretty much a dead giveaway. I'm smallish by Caucasian standards, and a little flamboyant, I guess. I've tried to `dress down,' but I don't think that helped. Other guys aren't as curious as the girls. The girls I could fool. The girls would ask themselves whether I was gay, or just foreign. In the end, the girls didn't care, or actually it's better if you're gay because you're not a threat, you're not pursuing them sexually, so you're safe to be friends with. But, the guys hate your guts. Once they smell a gay guy, or something they perceive as `weak,' they're all over you. I can't tell you the number of times I got beat up. I can't tell you the number of times guys threatened to beat me up. I can't tell you the number of days I made my way home terrified that I'd be beat up. I went home so many times bloody. My parents would just stare at me; but, of course, they couldn't speak English, so talking to the administration wasn't going to work. I tried talking to the principal once, after I'd been beaten up so many times, and he told me to `butch up.' That's literally what he said. I was called every name in the book – so gay, fag, faggot, queer, cock-sucker, fudge-packer. You name it, I was called it. I tried to ignore it, but at some point it starts to erode your self-esteem. At some point you start to believe the evil things you're being called. At some point, you start to think that you deserve this.
I was starting to tear up, and so was he. But I was also angry, at the bullies, at myself, and at Jason.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
He just stares at me.
"You were a perfectly normal, perfectly charming kid. Right?"
"You are now. Has something changed?"
He shakes his head.
"None of that bullshit was your fault," I say, softly. "NOT YOUR FUCKING FAULT," I shout, scaring him into listening to me. "Not your fault," I whisper. I kiss him.
"Could you identify him, the guy that raped you" I ask?
"Of course. He's my cousin."
"Could you draw him?"
"I can't draw anything, but I have a picture of him, a couple of years old."
"Do you know where he lives?"
confused. Of course. He lives in
"And what's his name?"
"Ping Li. He may have an American name, but I don't know it."
I smile, kiss him.
I'll call my lawyer and get him to find this turd. In the mean time, I'm hungry.
I smile at Jason, and let him get back to making us some breakfast.
absolute and utter amazement, there had been only one Ping Li in Queens, but
he'd moved to
He gasps, and actually backs away from me and the picture.
my cousin. That's
I pet his hair and kiss him. Then I call the lawyer and ask for the PI's name and phone number.
"I can take care of this for you, Tim," he says.
"I don't think so, Bernie. I don't want you involved in what's likely to happen here." He's silent for a few seconds. "Let's just say that he's caused someone dear to me a great deal of pain. He's going to pay for that."
silence. Then he gives me the number, and I thank him. He pauses. "If there's
anything I can do...that's not illegal...let me know." he says cheerfully. He's
gotten it. I thank him, hang up, and call the PI, telling him I want a full
background check on this guy. I want to know everything about him. To my
surprise, he's already done that, and reads off a list of offenses that include
five reported rapes, all but one of boys under 14. No convictions. Lack of evidence, which pisses me off. He moved to
to the kitchen, the phone is ringing. Jason is only allowed to answer the phone
if I'm not home, but hands me the receiver anyway. "It's
"Nathan has been fucking another guy, Asian guy," he begins. I can hear Nathan crying in the background.
me the whole story: met at AsiaSF, going on for four
for a while, and it sounds like this is a dalliance. Nothing
more. I know that Nathan adores
I get an idea. "Let me call you back, okay. Under an hour. I'd like to ask Jason what we should do."
He pauses. "Okay," he says, skeptically.
"Okay," he says, pulling himself together. "I'll wait for your call." Nathan is still sobbing in the background.
I walk back to the kitchen. Breakfast is on, and I am seriously hungry, and chow down.
Between mouthfuls, I broach the question. "Hypothetically, let's say that you cheated on me, that you went and fucked someone else, what would you expect me to do?"
Jason is stunned by the question. "Tim, I'll never do that."
"I know, but...hypothetically...let's say you did. What should I do?"
Jason stops chewing and sits back in his chair, thinking. "That's about the worst thing I could ever do. I can't really think of anything worse. I mean, it's cumming with out permission, which you told me is the worst offense, but it's with someone else, which makes it much, much worse. I guess it would take multiple days of punishment, and probably in front of other people, because...umm...that's what I hate most." He pauses, looks into my eyes. "But, honestly, Tim, I'll never do that. Not because I want to avoid the punishment," reaching for me, stroking my face, "but because I'd never want to hurt you like that...because I love you too much." He smiles.
"I know." I smile back. "Gary and Nathan have a problem..."
"Oh, my God." He pauses. "When I answered the phone, I could tell
I nod. "I think that was Nathan."
Jason gulps, looking very sad. "Can I talk to him, to Nathan?"
know. I'll ask
"Wow. That's so sad. I really like Nathan, but...you know...he does strike me as a little...wild. Maybe a little...out of control."
"I guess." I smile, stroking his cheek. "Something like this would really destroy me, Jason. Please don't ever make me think about something like this."
He reaches for me, across the table, and caresses my neck, pulling my face to his. "Please don't worry. I never will."
"Public punishment is exactly right. He'll hate that. He can either accept it, or we're through. And multi-day is also right, giving me the opportunity to assemble an audience for each `spectacle.' Great suggestions. Are you free in the next few days?"
"Thanks, Tim. I'll let you know what I decide." He pauses. "I love you both."
"And we love you," I respond, instantly.
leads us to the living room, where
This is going to be quite an evening.
This is apparently the deal they've made. Public humiliation, and clearly Nathan balls are causing him quite a bit of pain. And, it gets worse. After cocktails and dinner (which Nathan has prepared), after about an hour with them, Gary gets up, moves to Nathan's chair, pulls it out from under the table, kisses the boy on the cheek, and turns the compression screw on ball weight yet again. Nathan suppresses a shriek, but starts to cry, to sob.
don't you clear the table, Nathan,"
Nathan slowly gets to his feet, and begins to collect the dirty dishes, weeping all the while. Jason looks concerned. "Why don't you help him," I suggest, smiling at Jason, who is instantly on his feet, collecting everything that Nathan hasn't already picked up. They move to the kitchen – slowly – and begin doing the dishes.
"So, how'd you discover the infidelity," I ask?
"Well, like you, I have cameras everywhere. Bluetooth is just amazing. But I don't leave them on. But two days ago, I forgot to turn off the camera in his bedroom, and it ran all day, nearly filling up my hard drive. In trying to erase the damned video, I happened to view some of it, and found Nathan with this other guy. I was shocked. Distraught. I confronted him with it, and he began to weep. He'd been caught. He was inconsolable all last night, sobbing, pleading."
"He knew he was going to be punished," I chuckled.
"No. He wanted to be punished. He kept begging me not to stop loving him. Tonight's punishment was his idea – except for your presence – he told me what to do. We give the ball-crusher a half turn every hour...until we go to bed. However it ends up at 10pm is how he wants to wear it until we wake up tomorrow morning. I don't think I can do that to him. I'm worried about rupturing him. He's already so compressed now, and we have two hours. But, he's certainly taken responsibility for his actions, and is genuinely contrite. I think. I know he loves me. I think he just got...distracted."
I smile at him. "Sounds like you're inclined to cut him some slack."
"He's young, maybe too young to be in a committed relationship, realistically. I was certainly sleeping around at his age. But, he's so earnest. I'm not sure he's going to let me cut him some slack. He genuinely wants to be punished for this."
"Yeah," he says, getting glassy-eyed.
minutes later the boys emerge from the kitchen. Jason looks really concerned.
Nathan looks terrible, his eyes red and swollen. He's walking so slowly, so carefully,
trying to minimize the pain. He presents himself at
Nathan begins to cry, and then get's angry. "Do I have to do this myself?"
"Nathan, who's in charge here?"
Nathan knows him, too, knows that he's crossed the line. He starts to sob, covers his face. "You...are..."
Between his teeth, "Then, let me fucking be in charge!"
Still sobbing. "I'm so sorry."
Nathan moves to the couch, hugs Jason, hugs me, and leaves the room, the ball-crusher dangling between his legs.
and I get up, preparing to leave, and
We smile, hop in the car, and head home.
On the way home, Jason is quiet, pensive. "What's up," I ask him.
As though talking to himself, he replies, "That was pretty intense. I hope I never do anything to deserve that much punishment, that much pain."
"I hope not, either. " Pause. "You realize that Nathan was basically punishing himself?"
Jason looks up, confused. "I don't understand."
devised that punishment himself.
Jason nods. "He threw up in the kitchen."
"He threw up in the kitchen. The pain was so intense that he threw up while we were washing the dishes. We didn't get to talk much because he couldn't stop crying, and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. I made him sit down and put rest the ball compressor on the seat of the chair – reducing the weight on his balls. I asked him if he thought maybe he should back the compression screw off a little bit, but he wouldn't do it, said he deserved this. He's very...regretful."
Still pensive, Jason is quiet for a while, and then asks, "Do you have one of those ball compressors?"
Quietly. "Umm...could that be my next punishment?"
I glance at him, surprised.
like to know how it feels." Pause. "I'm not asking for anything like what
Nathan was getting. Please be gentle the first time. I'd just like to
know...umm...how it feels."
I squeeze the back of his neck. "Sure." I'm touched. He's just seen a friend endure so much pain from this specific apparatus that he's thrown up, yet he trusts me enough to request it, trusts me enough to know that I'll carefully gauge how much pain he can take and not push him beyond his limits. "Sure. We can do that." I lean over and kiss him on the cheek, and he smiles, staring at his feet.
get home, the phone is ringing. I run to my office and hit the speaker button.
"I really hate to impose," he says, "but could you guys come back tomorrow at around 10am? We're going to complete Nathan's punishment. He's not convinced that I'm convinced that he's really penitent, even though I've told him over and over that I forgive him. He's in bed now with that damned ball compressor screwed down so tight that he can't stop crying, and he won't let me reduce the pressure, says he deserves this and more. He says he thinks he can forgive himself if I beat him soundly – in front of the two of you. You know how he hates this sort of thing, being naked in front of other people. I think that's why this punishment appeals to him. He really has chosen the penalties he hates the most, and gone way too far with them. Tomorrow he'll get twelve with the tawse, which is more than I'm comfortable giving him, but that's what he says he needs. So be it. Would you mind joining us," he asks, almost pleading.
"Sure," I reply. "You know how I function. I get most of my work done in the middle of the night." He laughs. "I'm a little concerned about Nathan, though. Jason tells me he threw up while they were doing the dishes. He was in so much pain."
"That goddamned ball compressor. But he's adamant that I not touch it, not reduce the pressure. I'm not sure what to do."
"I understand. He loves you so much. That's obvious to everyone. Jason knew it the first time he met the two of you. He mentioned it. Nathan is trying to expiate his sins. He's doing this for himself. But maybe it's time for him to submit. Maybe you can couch it as a safety issue, telling him it's not safe to be that compressed for this long, telling him that his balls are central to your sex-life and you're unwilling to damage them, telling him (as I tell Jason all the time) that his body doesn't belong to him; it belongs to you. You may have to be just really dominant in this case."
"I think you're right, Tim. This is my decision. Between the two of us, I just can't stand to see him in this much pain for this long. It's got to stop, and it's going stop now. Thank you."
"No problem," I laugh. "We'll see you tomorrow."
I hang up, and turn to find Jason in the doorway. He's smiling vaguely.
"You heard all that?"
looking up at me. I give him a skeptical look, a
what-are-you-doing-in-my-office look, and he goes a little sheepish. "I'm
sorry," he says, "but thank you. I've been so worried about Nathan. He fucked
up...big time, but I don't think he can endure what he's putting himself through.
I walk to the door and hug Jason roughly. Lifting his chin, I look into his eyes. "I think it's time I fucked you, don't you?"
He giggles. "Yes, please..."
I've set the alarm, and the next morning it goes off at 9am. I've been up since 4am. The good news is, I don't need much sleep. I average maybe four hours a day. I nap occasionally, but not often. The only problem this causes me is with my eyes – they get very dry and I have to hydrate them with saline. I just don't make tears very well unless I get over six hours sleep. But I just can't sleep six hours, and when I do, I feel guilty, unproductive. When I hear the alarm, I turn off the monitor, and walk to the bedroom, where I find Jason carefully shaving his pubic hair. "Let me help," I say, taking the razor from him and shaving the stubble. I like him smooth – and hard, which he gets the minute I start shaving. He giggles, obviously excited. "No time to fuck you this morning, babe. We have to be a Gary and Nathan's in 50 minutes."
We shower quickly, and head out, stopping at Peet's, around the corner for coffee and a scone. We arrive at their house two minutes early (by my watch) and ring the bell. Maybe thirty seconds later Nathan opens it. He hugs us both. "Thanks for coming." We both smile. He's still wearing the ball crusher, but it's noticeably looser, and he has no chain connecting his nipple rings, and no nipple weights. He's also wearing no butt plug. Jason looks relieved, and Nathan smiles.
to the third floor punishment room where
A tawse is a Scottish instrument, I think. It's like my razor strop, except it's cut in half length-wise, providing two "tongues" that lash out independently. One tongue hits you, and then the next, and it's unpredictable which will strike first. The pain isn't so much accentuated by those two tongues, but by the space between them, because when the second one lands, it pinches against the first one, producing a wheal much like a cane, but a really big cane, a senior cane. I've been tawsed a number of times. There's almost no spanking more painful.
"You said 12, Nathan. I think that's too many."
what I need, please,
"It's too many."
"Please," he whines.
"No," he screams. "No matter what I say, no matter what I do, no matter if there's blood, I want twelve heavy strokes. Please. I need this. And you need this. Please."
"Please, Tim," he says, turning to me, "please don't let him stop until I've had twelve."
He smiles at us, and turns away to face the back wall.
Nathan is sobbing, inconsolably. He has screamed with each of last six blows. His ass is crimson, and he has vicious wheals where the two tongues of the tawse have met. Jason takes a washcloth from the sink, and swabs his ass with cool water, washing away the blood. Drying him off, he applies ointment, stroking Nathan's back and kissing his neck. Nathan continues to cry, but begins to calm as Jason continues to whisper in his ear. At some point, Jason begins to sob again, speaking English all of a sudden: "I was so stupid, so fucking stupid. I love him so much. I deserve so much more than this."
Jason looks angry. "No." He starts speaking in Cantonese, and then whispering in his ear, and Nathan slowly calms down again, whimpering softly.
We leave the boys together, and for the next hour-and-a-half Jason continues to comfort Nathan, stroking his back, his hair, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear, tickling him behind his balls. We even get a giggle or two out of the chastened boy. But, we also get some stern words from Jason: "You are such a fucking idiot. How could you do that to him?" Tears, and then back to Cantonese. I wonder if Jason knows how to swear in Cantonese. I wonder if that's why he shifts into English. I'll have to ask him that
we return to the third floor, and I sit where I'd been sitting before. Jason
comes to join me.
ever do this again," he commands, breaking the kiss, and trying to hide his
sobs. Nathan wraps himself around
On the way home, Jason is once again quiet, pensive. "'Sup," I ask, in my best jive? He giggles, and then turns serious.
"I don't know if he knows what he's got. I got very angry with him there for a minute."
"Yeah," I say. "We saw."
momentarily surprised, and then smiles. Then he goes back to serious. "I've got
to be honest, Tim. I know you and Gary are friends, but he's not my cup of tea.
He seems a little too brutal, a little too into himself. I love Nathan like a
brother, and he loves
He giggles. "Umm, yeah." He turns, abruptly, and kisses me, and then we're silent until we pull into the garage.
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