Date: Sat, 9 Sep 2023 20:53:10 -0400 From: Quentin Compton Subject: good boy part 7 I was starting to think dad wasn't coming to the cabin, ever. I was starting to wonder if dad even knew where I was. Why had I believed Ian when he'd said we'd see dad? Ian was a liar. I should have known better. Ian left the cabin to go to work exactly 2 hours and 37 minutes ago. Lame, that I was so precise, but I didn't have much to do other than count minutes. The basically ancient LED alarm clock on the nightstand had said 7:33 when he walked out the door. It was 10:10 now. That meant I had been drooling down the sides of my face for the last 2 and a half hours; a side effect of the ball gag. When we'd arrived last night, Ian told me to go inside, just the way I was. He watched me shuffle along with my jeans down around my ankles. Inside, he'd given me something to drink, and I drank it. We changed out the linens on one bed, and then another one in a different bed room. Ian was watching me closely the whole time, sipping bourbon or whiskey. I didn't really know the difference; I'd had like two beers ever. After about an hour, my fingers started to become heavy, my tongue started to feel fuzzy. I needed to lie down. Uncle Ian didn't seem surprised by this, instead he actually seemed satisfied with the timing. He stripped down to nothing, right in front of me. Even drugged, I remember thinking clearly: this man is beautiful. His legs were trunks. His torso, equipped with an adonis belt, once probably perfectly sculpted, now just powerful. His arms made me think of that blacksmith god we learned about in school. Hepha...something. I wished they were wrapped around me. I wanted to hold onto his shoulders, and still have shoulder spilling out of my hands. The topography map of his back, turned into his neck, just cords of muscle that I wanted to kiss and work over. Dad had recently taught me how to rub a man down, and I thought of showing off those new skills for Ian. Chest hair, on top of perfect pecs, happy trail, just how it should be. Not too much, but so much. Ian slurred that he was going to shower, and that was the last thing I remembered. Until it was 6:03 am exactly. I tried to roll over, and couldn't. I tried to scratch my head, and couldn't. My arms were spread out over my head, velcroed into restraints. My legs were pulled to either side of the bottom of the bed, my ankles in the same kind of restraints as my wrists. I was naked. Well, I had a jock strap or something on. All of this was cause for alarm, but the increasing discomfort in my lap was definitely what was most concerning. I looked down at my waist and figured the hard, geometric lumps in the jock fabric betrayed the presence of the same contraption Eric had gotten himself into over winter break. I started to panic. "Uncle Ian," I shouted. "Uncle Ian, help." Was it stupid, asking Ian for help, when clearly he was the one who had done this to me? Yes. But I didn't know what else to do. I was as helpless as I'd ever been. Ian, on the other hand, didn't look very concerned at all. He came into the room, unhurried. Bare feet, baggy yoga pants and a wife beater. Excited, I'd guess. Eager? Self satisfied? I wasn't sure, but seeing such incongruous emotions on his face, given my own emotional state, kinda snapped me out of panic. I calmed down a little, observing myself, it felt almost out of body. "Help," was what I managed to squeak. Ian walked toward the bed. I couldn't exactly explain it, but his gait reminded me of a bull dog. He got up on the bed and straddled my waist, keeping his weight on his own knees so he didn't crush me. "Help you what, Matty?" He'd scooted up, basically hovering over my neck now. He was putting one finger, two fingers, three fingers in my mouth and down my throat. I sucked on them, it was like a reflex. He reached behind with his other hand, played with one of my nipples, then the other one. The pressure in my crotch strained against the hard plastic. This was the most frustrated I'd ever been in my life. "Help me outta this," I mumbled, my mouth stuffed full of Ian's fingers. My back arched with pleasure whenever he brushed against or pulled on a nipple. He smiled looking down at me, "Do you trust me Matty?" I didn't wait a millisecond. "No," I blurted. "That's a shame," he said. He put his hands down on the bed, on either side of my head and leaned down, looking me in the eyes. "Because, by the end of tonight, you will experience the most intense pleasure you'll have ever felt. That's a promise." Despite everything being out of control, scary, terrible, I was also intrigued, I stared back silently. Dumb. Ian reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He got off the bed, and picked a bag off the floor I hadn't been able to see before. I recognized it instantly. It was the same backpack he'd dropped off at my mom's house months ago. My heart rate doubled. He took out the rubbery, black piece and threw it on the bed. He poured lube on his hands and rubbed all around the smooth, shaved entrance to my ass hole. He kind of slipped in, once or twice. Then, more lube, and this time he purposefully put a finger at least knuckle deep inside of me. I gasped. "Damn, boy," he said, "you're tighter than I would have thought. Has Luke," he almost rolled his eyes, "your dad, I mean, ever been inside you?" I shook my head. "A finger, maybe, just before I finish sometimes." Ian slipped a second finger in. I clamped around him and just oozed precum. I felt it running onto and down my taint. "This is going to be a lot then, but I bet you can handle it, okay, Matty?" He took the butt plug--I know that's what it's called now, but I sure didn't then--and pressed the tip of it against my hole. "We're gonna go so slow Matty. So slowly, and so gently. Remember, there's no rush. We've got all the time in the world." And honestly, Uncle Ian was amazing. If I had to pinpoint just when it was, this is when I fell in love with him. I'd take some of the plug in, and he'd be so encouraging. "Good job, baby boy. That's great. Oh wow, that's it. I'm proud of you." But then, when it was clear I was in discomfort, he retreated, and pulled all the way back out, then he'd use more lube. And just smile at me. "One more time, big guy," he said. My heart and my brain were so confused, but my cock sure wasn't. It drooled precum. It wanted whatever was happening. A leaky faucet of boy juice running down the cage, down my taint the entire time. Uncle Ian caught a little on his finger, and asked if I wanted to suck it off. I nodded more enthusiastically than I'd meant to. Yes, I wanted it. I wanted to do whatever I thought would make Ian happy. What was happening to me? This was the fifth attempt with the plug, I think. Uncle Ian had massaged all around my hole, coaxing my body to relax with his fingers. I was determined to do it this time, make him proud of me and to stop wasting his valuable time. "I promise I'll get it this try, Uncle Ian," I said. He growled and told me I didn't have to put that pressure on myself. He told me he was enjoying every moment of this, and that I should too. He kneeled down on the floor to the side of the bed. Firmly, slowly he pushed the plug in with his left hand, brushed my nipple with his beard, while his right hand slipped fingers into my eager mouth. He was playing me like I was some kind of horny instrument, and I went carnal. I became all animal. At what I'd guess was the half way point, he slipped my nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, and then kept it held between his teeth, never biting down though. Instinctively, I pushed down against the toy. It slid, and slid, and then, stuck. Ian pulled on it a little, gave it a tug, but it refused to give. I could FEEL him smiling. He gave the center of my smooth chest a little kiss. "You should be very proud of yourself, boy. Great work, Matty." Suddenly, I was very aware of how very erect my trapped cock wanted to be."Please take off the cage, sir." I sounded small, 100 miles away. "No." He said. And I collapsed inside. I had never known fear like this. It HAD to come off, I was losing my mind. All rational, logical thought was gone, just simple lust remained. If I'd been older and known more words, I'd had said my insides had been carved out, and filled in with pure libido. That was the first time my ass ever twitched. I stopped begging, and I moaned, softly, then louder. Uncle Ian flicked a nipple. "There it is," a chuckle, then, "good boy." He asked if I was happy here. I said I was. He asked if given a choice, would I try to leave. I said no. He said four hours was a long time, though, long enough for anyone to change their mind about anything. I told him, not me, not my mind. Then he asked what I'd hoped he wouldn't. "If Luke," another eye roll, "I mean, your dad, came in, would you leave with him?" My ass twitched again, the plug hit a pleasure button deep inside me, and I moaned even more loudly. Gasping, I said, "No, sir." He opened the night stand drawer, "Liar." He pulled out a ball gag. "People will say anything when they're horny." He strapped the gag around my head. "It's incredibly unlikely anyone is coming around here, but playing it safe never hurt nothing." He lightly stroked the whole length of my torso, the side of it, with the back of his hand. Shivers shot across my whole body, pure electricity. I wanted him to do it again, but I couldn't say anything. I whined instead. He grabbed some earbuds out of the night stand drawer, connected it to some music player. "Here," he said. "So you don't get too bored." He stuck them in my ears. "I'll be back at lunch time, kid." He kissed my forehead, stood back and admired his own handiwork, then walked out of the room. Twenty minutes later the front door slammed shut, and the whole cabin kind of vibrated. The playlist, or whatever it was, wasn't like anything I'd ever listened to before. Something like hypnosis. Then dirty talk. Then moaning. Then hypnosis again. Then dirty talk again. I found myself starting to ride the plug. Bringing it to a place inside that felt good, then letting my hole relax it away, then pulling it back in again. It hit that same pleasure button from earlier. It did it every time. And it drove. me. wild. The precum, a whole puddle of it below where I lay there, I was damp with it. "You are a hole for your master's enjoyment. It is the source of all your pleasure." Some monotone voice said in my ears. "You are just a boy hole, your cock is no longer useful, no longer worth thinking about. No longer even there." Another voice, gruff and authoritative. Commanding, encouraging, paternal. "That's it, son, sniff my arm pits, my crotch, get a whiff." Deep and resonant, "Learn that smell. It's all dad. My boy likes my cock? Takes whatever comes out of it? Good boy. No thoughts, just obedience. Suck and swallow for daddy." And then moaning, and begging and more moaning. The first monotone voice came on again. "The only cock that matters is Sir's and your whole purpose is providing it pleasure." Then the second voice again, "Worship the cock that made you, boy." And so on. Eventually it repeated. Four times through before I heard the front door open. I'd started to memorize it. I held my breath. 12:17 pm. Uncle Ian opened the bedroom door; the expression on his face just plain boyish joy. My heart ached. "Good. You're still here." He chuckled. God, what a lame joke. He took off his suit jacket, hung it on a bed post, then he rolled up his sleeves. -------------------- Uncle Ian took my ear buds out. He unhooked the leather cuffs at my wrists and ankles. They were, besides the cock cage and jock, the only thing I was wearing. My body was sore from straining against everything. I was just an inch shorter than Ian, defined muscles, but a runners build. Slight, wiry. He sat on the side of the bed, pulled me up to himself and sat me in his lap. His crotch pushed against the plug making me light headed. Making it difficult to focus. "I don't have much time, boy. I have to work the rest of the day from home. So let's figure this out, fast." He pulled me up under my armpits, so that I was kneeling, my knees on either side of his lap. I was facing him. He reached underneath me and tapped on the plug. "This has to come out." I started to whimper, started to actually sob a little. That idea sounded horrible. Ian crooned, "Don't worry, baby boy, we're going to put something better inside. Let's move to my room." He threw me over his shoulder. I was giddy. I laughed, and Ian lightly slapped my ass while he carried me off. New bedroom, new night stand, Ian pulled out a similar looking plug, but the circumference, or radius of it, or whatever, had to be 50% bigger. Putting the first one in had felt like I was being stretched to the point of being split in two. So this one terrified me. I held my breath. "Remember, boy, I would never let anything bad happen to you." That shouldn't have reassured, me, but I decided to let it. I started breathing normally again. Ian worked the old one out. I was on my back, Ian held my feet so my legs were straight up, and he pulled. It took...some convincing. My hole did not want to give the plug back. Eventually perseverance prevailed, but it felt like a deep, core knowledge of myself was gone. I felt empty, so empty. Ian was already lubing the new one up, though. "We're so going to surprise Luke," he said. My immediate reaction was to say, "Who?" But I didn't. Of course I remembered dad. But when I closed my eyes, and tried to picture him, I was only seeing Uncle Ian. I started to wonder if I'd been brain washed. I didn't feel guilty about it. I shrugged, mentally. I guessed I wasn't too worried about it either. This wasn't going great, though; I was closing up, pushing back. Ian left and came back in with the back pack. He took out two of the clothespins, and when he tried to clip one on my nipple, I brought my hand up to block him. He grunted. Clipped my wrist restraints to the posts on his bed, rendering me helpless, and then, he clipped me. Ian was an evil genius, because it really did help. We were making progress with the new plug, now, the stretching was easier. Somehow my nipples stimulated my ass to relax? They really didn't teach that connection in anatomy. "There we go," Ian said. "Almost there." Going back into his nightstand drawer, he took out a wand with a ball at the end, touched it to my taint, and turned it on. Vibration. So much vibration. I yelped and squirmed, but the new plug went deeper still, hit deeper, then slipped into place, and I was back in business as a precum machine. Ian tugged on it, and it did not give. His smile melted my whole brain. "Hot, sexy boy. Clipped, plugged, caged. Perfect." He jiggled one of the clothespins. I did summersaults inside myself. Ian unclipped my wrists and clipped them to each other behind my back. He left me standing there, looking at myself in the big mirrors that covered the entire closet doors. A whole wall of mirrors. I focused on Ian, avoiding my own reflection. Too shy of myself to look at myself. I didn't know why. It was weird. I looked like a prisoner. He looked like some lumberjack business man. He sat down at the desk in the room. "Get down and get over here, underneath." I got on my knees and waddled, slash, duck walked, slash, wormed my way under his desk. "Do whatever you want down there, whatever feels right. Do not make any sounds, I might be on calls, and do not let those clothespins come off. Ian tossed a pillow underneath. "See, I'm nicer than Eric probably lets on." He chuckled. I wobbled left, then right onto the pillow, bringing relief to my knees. "Oh, right, this too." He brought a sleeping mask around my head. Everything went dark. I heard a zipper, a shuffle and then felt a hot, wet musk hitting my face and neck. I face planted into Uncle Ian's stomach, stuck out my tongue and rubbed it along the cottony fabric of his briefs. I lapped at the briefs till they were soaked with my slobber. Ian pulled on my right clothespin, then on my left, and I bit down on my lip to keep quiet. He was talking about liabilities on his Zoom calls. He talked about how far along projects were. Returns on investments. I had no idea what he actually did. He muted his mic. "Tell me what you want, boy." I threw my weight against the seat of his chair and tried to kneel erect. "To taste it, sir." I heard a little shuffling, then felt a hand behind my head tipping me back forward. And then, I feasted. I licked his hairy balls. Suckled them. Teased up his shaft. Sucked on the tip, cleaned out his foreskin with my tongue. Ian droned on about user interfaces and databases. Every once in a while, I'd get him to stutter, catch and hang on a word, and I felt proud of myself. He'd lightly slap my head, a tap really. That only encouraged me to work harder. I started trying to work the length of it down my throat. It was thick enough to stretch the corners of my mouth. Now instead of a light tap on the head when I got Ian to trip on a word, though, he'd use both his hands to hold me down on himself until I gagged. I could feel him tap out the seconds with his index finger on my head, even while he was speaking on his call. ...Eight. Nine. Ten... Then he'd let go, and I could breathe again. I learned the dimensions of his balls. And with my cartographer tongue, I mapped out the veins in his shaft. I had horny theories about the physics of his foreskin, and I tested them rigorously. Maybe two hours went by this way. Ian coached me into becoming a deep throating champ. Every time I gagged, I'd spurt precum, the reward all the while urging me on, challenging me to take the entirety of it. Meanwhile, I rode the toy inside of me, it kept me euphoric and stupid. Then, Ian pushed me back, wheeled away from under his desk, told me to crawl froward. "Stand up," he said and I did. "I'm going to uncuff you. Do you promise to not do anything...dumb?" I couldn't even imagine doing anything Ian hadn't told me to do. So as long as he didn't tell me to do anything dumb. I was over complicating it in my head. "Yessir, I promise." He unhooked my wrists from each other. Out of instinct, I reached up to take the mask off. "Leave it," Ian said, "for now." He led me to the bed, and much like before, he worked to take the plug out. After, he pulled me on top of himself. It's stupid, but I started crying again. Ian didn't say anything. But he kissed my cheek, and I started crying more. He unclipped one clothespin, and every one of my nerves was on fire. He rubbed the too sore nipple with his oversized thumb. He shushed me, gently. He unclipped the other one, and now was rubbing both. Everything was ablaze. My brain had cross wired. I thought I'd cum and never stop shooting, so many sensations, but I started balling too, crying and crying as heavy as I'd ever had. Then, Ian did something I never thought he'd do. He brought me to his now bare chest, and hugged me. "What is WRONG, boy?" I'd never heard concern like that directed at me. He sounded worried. It shocked me into deep breaths and a little regained composure. "You're taking everything out and off of me. Does this mean, you're done with me?" He kissed my cheek again. "I don't plan on ever being done with you, boy. Tell me what you want." I was suddenly super aware of his length against my still stretched open hole. So close to being where I wanted it, to where I needed it. "I want you inside of me, sir." He told me to slide on to it. To go as slow as I needed. He had been lubing it without me noticing. He told me he loved watching my face as I took him in. He took off the mask. Seeing his expression--sensitivity and determination and patience--I slipped the rest of the way down. "Look in the mirror, Matty." I saw me sitting in his lap, the whole of him inside me. His powerful body supporting my slighter one, and I did not want to look away this time. "Look at our noses, Matty. They're the same. Look at our eyes. They're the same color." Displayed all across the closet door mirrors were us, with our identical button noses, same green eyes. "Who do you look more alike, boy? Luke? Or me?" The family resemblance was suddenly so obvious, how'd I never seen it before? He looked up at me. "Call me dad, son. Ask daddy to fuck you. It's already on the tip of that talented boy tongue. I know it." All of it was too much to believe. I turned away and without meaning to, fixed my eyes on Ian's computer. We were on a call. I could see a man, Luke, I mean dad, I mean old dad, I mean Luke, jerking off, presumably watching us. My mouth opened, stupidly. "Do it, Matty," Ian purred into my ear. "Tell daddy. What you need."