WARNING

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.

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Chapter 8

Four days later, we awake to the sound of my cell phone, a Madonna song. Jason giggles, but doesn't move. I dig it out of yesterday's jeans, and answer the call, walking slowly to my office.

"Hello." I'm groggy.

"Your package will arrive today." I recognize the voice instantly. It's the Private Investigator I've paid to kidnap Jason's cousin. I'm immediately alert.

"How will he arrive?"

"By freight."

This totally confused me. "By freight?"

"Yup. I shipped him to you from Bakersfield. He'll arrive in a wooden box, padded with foam-rubber. Marked: `Animals.' There are air-holes."

I laugh. "Okay. He hasn't seen you, right?"

Pause. "Of course not. You think I'm stupid?"

"Is he blindfolded?"

"He was when I packaged him, but don't count on it. Assume that he'll see you when you open the box, although he's been drugged, so he may not even be awake, and if he is, he probably won't be especially coherent. You may have to give him some time to recover."

"How much time?"

"Shouldn't take more than a couple hours, depending on when he arrives."

"Okay." Pause "And you're paid, right?"

"Yup. Free and clear." He chuckles.

"Any idea what time he'll get here?"

"None."

"Right. I'll expect him..."

I've been planning this for several days, or at least the several days since I called the PI. I've set up the basement in his honor. This will be sort of fun, although I've reinforced the insulation on the windows. Don't want the neighbors to hear him. And I've bought him a little toy that I think he's really going to enjoy...

I send Jason on errands, and then to enroll in Junior College. He'll probably be away for several hours. I don't want him around for this. I plan to record it for his pleasure, should he want to see it, and maybe he'll be back before this guy is gone.

Cousin arrives at 11:45am, and I have the crate taken to the basement. They tell me they've only been on the road for three hours, but I have no idea when he was `packaged.' Before opening the crate, I put on a ski mask, and then use a drill to unscrew the top of the crate. Somehow we got it right, and this guy is lying on his stomach, his hands cuffed behind him. He's gagged, his mouth taped shut, and his eyes are also taped. He's naked, and judging from his breathing, he's still asleep. The foam is clearly soiled, so at some point he pissed himself.

I haul him out of the crate and attach a parachute ball-stretcher to his scrotum. Then I tear the tape off his mouth and his eyes, removing a fair number of eye-lashes in the process. He starts to wake up as I lay him out on the punishment table on his belly, a foam wedge under his middle raising his ass invitingly into the air, his cock and balls (and the ball-stretcher) dangling through the hole in the middle of the table. I attach the straps to his ankles, thighs and back, and then, releasing his wrists from the plastic restraints, to his wrists and biceps. He is totally immobile, and very groggy.

I leave him to wake up, going upstairs for some lunch.

In about an hour and a half, I can just hear him downstairs, screaming to be released. I make my way back to the basement, and sure enough, he's wide awake and spitting mad, struggling. But he so tightly bound, the only thing he can move is his head.

 "What the fuck is this," he asks, aggressively. "Where the hell am I?"

I slap his ass, very hard, and he screams.

"Get this straight, asshole: you talk when I tell you to. Did I ask you a question?"

He shakes his head.

"Then shut the fuck up."

The first order of business is to hang some weights. Crossing the room, I retrieve three five-pound lead weights and put them on a small, portable roller-table that's set at eye-level with the punishment table. I want him to see these. I roll the table across the room, placing it just in front of the punishment table so he can see it clearly, and of course he's followed my every move with his eyes. Once the tables in place, I lift one of the weights off the roller-table, and show it to him. Then, reaching under the punishment table, I attach the weight to his ball-stretcher and let it swing. He gasps. "No...no...no. Take it off."

I slap his ass, again, hard, and he screams, as much, perhaps, from the slap as from the jerking of the weight.

Going to the wall behind him, I grab the razor strop, my weapon of choice for the first part of our little soiree. This guy is actually quite attractive, but very arrogant and very aggressive. This is going to be brutal.

"So, let's see," I say. "Five rape indictments against young boys, and those are only the ones we know about. How do you plead, Mr. Li?"

No response. I give him a hard smack to his ass with the razor strop. He screams. "How do you plead Mr. Li," I repeat?

"Umm... Not guilty." He has a heavy accent. Cantonese...Vietnamese...not sure.

"Your cousin is not on the list of the five rapes. Why is that?"

No answer. I smack him again. He screams. "Because it didn't happen."

I smack him again, three times. "What didn't happen? What is `it'?"

He looks suddenly fearful, guilty, having just incriminated himself. He didn't say that he didn't rape his cousin, but rather that `it' didn't happen.

"What are we talking about, Mr. Li?"

Now he tries to backtrack. "I did not rape my cousin."

I smack him again, hard. "Are you sure?"

He's panting now, negotiating with the pain. "Yes."

I give him four more hard smack, really hard. His ass is crimson. "I have a lot of spare time today, Mr. Li. Are your sure?"

Pause. "Yes."

I give him four more smacks. His ass is starting to bruise. "How's your ass feel, Mr. Li, because it's going to get a lot worse than this unless you start telling me the truth."

"Who are you? What do you have to do with me?"

I give him four more really hard smacks, and he is screaming with each blow."

"I'm asking the questions, here, Mr. Li, and you're answering them, or, in this case, not answering them. If you don't start answering them, truthfully, you're not going to be in very good shape for your ride home, assuming that happens."

I give him four more, and he continues to scream with each stroke. "We were talking about your cousin, Mr. Li, wondering why he wasn't on the list of five rapes..."

He screams. "Because he didn't fucking tell anyone. That was seven years ago. I told him that if he told anyone, I'd fucking kill him."

"So, you did rape him," I ask, softly?

Long pause. I smack his ass with the razor strop, viciously, and he screams. "Yes."

"Good. But you didn't go to jail."

Long pause. "No."

"Why do you think that is?"

Long pause, with a sneer. "Because he liked it."

The next twenty-something strokes wear me out. I beat him until I'm out of breath, until my arm is sore, until I can't beat him any more. His ass is a mess, bruised and bloodied. His voice is nearly gone – from screaming. I clean off the razor strop and hang it back on the wall.

Walking back to the punishment table, I pick up another five-pound weight. He's watching me in sheer terror. "Please...no." I reach under the table and hand this weight from his ball-stretcher, and give the weights a slap. He screams. "No...please...please...take it off." He's panting now from the pain, can't catch his breath.

Because he can only turn his head so far, he hasn't noticed the apparatus at the far end of the punishment table. It's something I've bought just for him, although, in truth, it's something I've had my eyes on for some time. Made of heavy-gauge steel with a ¾ horse power motor, it's a fucking machine, and it's mounted today with a really nasty-looking dildo, 1 ¾ inches in diameter, seven inches long, with fairly large nubs all along its length. It's intended to stimulate pussy, not an asshole. What it will do to an asshole – this asshole – will not be pleasant, I think. The machine is quite versatile. The length of the penetration is adjustable, as is the speed or frequency of penetration. In fact, it's possible to adjust the speed so that it automatically increases over time. I've set the penetration to six inches, so the dildo will never come all the way out, but nearly. And, I've adjusted the speed to be fairly slow at first, increasing to 20 penetrations per minute at the end of the hour I intended him to enjoy this machine.

Pulling a portable mirror over to the head of the punishment table, I placed it so he could see the machine, and then lightly lubed the dildo. "It's time, I think, for you to discover what you put those boys through."

He begins to struggle, violently, to scream, curse, to beg me not to do this to him. I laugh. "What mercy did you show those five boys, Mr. Li? What mercy did you show your cousin?"

Lining up the plunger arm with his anus, I make the initial penetration, inserting the first inch of the dildo into his asshole. He shrieks, as well he should – besides the lube, I've done nothing to make this pleasant, certainly no stretching. He doesn't seem as tight as I expected him to be, though, so I wonder vaguely whether he's done this before.

I turn on the machine, and it slowly drives that dildo six more inches into his ass, and then pauses. He screams, struggles, pleads. He is impaled. After ten seconds, the machine draws the dildo back out, leaving one inch of the dick head buried in his ass. Another ten seconds, and the machine drives it back into him.

"Have fun, Mr. Li. I'll see you later."

He screams at me, shouts, demands to be release. He is so hoarse now that there's almost no voice left.

I leave the basement, and walk to the living room, where I turn on the TV and watch his ordeal from the comfort of my LazyBoy. I have six cameras down there, giving me six different views of the punishment table, including one of the dildo and his asshole. This truly is a nasty device, with this large, nubby dildo, and as he screams and cries, I move to the kitchen to get myself a drink.

After half an hour, he's still crying, sobbing, but has stopped screaming, sort of settling into it. The machine has speeded up to about ten penetrations per minute, one every six seconds, roughly. His asshole looks raw and sore.

At the 45 minute mark he's still, and the machine is up to 15 penetrations per minute. He cringes as the dildo drives into him, but that's the only sign of life.

At 55 minutes, I go back downstairs, and as I move to the punishment table, I put my hand on his naked back. "Enjoying yourself, Mr. Li?"

"Please," he begs, "his voice raspy and choked with tears, "please make it stop."

I laugh at him. "You'll never get mercy from me. You're a piece of shit. The machine is set to turn off in about...umm... four minutes, so enjoy it until then, won't you? And, by the way, indictments are public records, even if there are no conviction. If I find, through public records, that you're indicted for rape again, this will seem like a walk in the park. Got it?"

He whimpers. He's not especially coherent right now.

Just as the machine shuts down, I clamp a rag over his nose, and he passes out.

I leave him at the bus station in San Mateo, on a bench, with just enough money to get him back to Bakersfield when he comes to. Greyhound. Fuck him.

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Returning to the house, I see Jason's car in the garage. He's sitting in living room when I come in, watching the recording of his cousin's ordeal. He looks up, pale, and a little tearful. Actually, he looks scared, very scared.

"How'd you find that recording, Jason?"

"I didn't," he sniffs, "it was playing when I got in." And I remember that I never turned off the TV before going back to the basement. The computer must have reset itself at the end of the recording and started it up in playback mode.

I sit down next to him on the couch. "Any thoughts?"

He looks really confused. "Where is he now," he asks, shuddering.

"On his way back to Bakersfield, I'd imagine."

"Bakersfield?"

"Yeah, he moved there from New York a couple of years ago."

"How'd you find him?"

"A private investigator."

"How'd he get here?"

"In a box. He was shipped here." He looks utterly lost.

I motion him to follow me, and we go down to the basement. I show him the foam-lined shipping crate. He is dumbfounded.

We go back to the living room and sit quietly for maybe ten minutes. Jason is taking it all in.

"That was intense," he says, finally.

"Was it just?"

"Oh, yeah," he shoots back. "Yeah, after what he put me through."

"You and at least five other boys of more or less the same age you were when he raped you."

Jason looks shocked. "Was I the first?"

I calculate, recalling the dates of the indictments. "You might have been. You were at least pretty close to the beginning of his `career'."

He looks down, sadly. "I should have told someone," he says after a few seconds. "If I had, the other five kids might have avoided what I went through."

I hug him. "Hindsight is always 20/20. You were 12 for god's sake."

He laughs, and then looks concerned. "How do you know he won't come back?"

"I don't, although he never saw my face, nor the house. He didn't even know where he was because he was drugged when he got here. I left him in San Mateo. He could find me through you, I guess, through your parents, but I have a hunch we're not going to hear from him again. I think I scared the shit out of him."

Jason giggles. "I'd say..."

"So, what do you think? Was this okay to do?"

"It's not for me to second-guess you, Tim. It was fun to watch him get his comeuppance, though, and that machine..."

"The fucking machine? You like that."

"I don't know. It was brutal."

"It all depends on the dildo, I imagine. That one was specifically chosen to cause him maximum pain. It'd probably be fine for a woman, but not for something as tight as a virgin asshole, assuming he is a virgin."

Jason looks at me, quizzically."

"He wasn't as tight as I thought he'd be."

Jason looks confused, and then gets it. "Oh, my god. You think..."

"Could be. He fucks boys, after all..."

Jason goes to make us dinner, and I turn off the TV, wandering into the kitchen as he begins to cook. "What are we eating?"

He looks a little sheepish. Umm... Something different?"

"What?"

"Umm...stuffed bitter melon soup, baked cat fish, and stir-fried on choi with fermented tofu. I thought we'd have a Vietnamese dinner." He looks at me concerned.

I chuckle. Jason is still concerned about how far to push me in terms of food. What he's hasn't gotten yet is that I am not squeamish. I'll eat basically anything. I might not eat it again, but I'll try nearly anything, which the exception of insects, which I have tried, and am not fond of. I grin at him. "Sounds great. And if it's not..."

He giggles, and continues cooking.

"Gary wants to know if we'd like to go to the beach tomorrow, Santa Cruz."

His eyes light up. "Yes, please..."

"We'll have to see what condition Nathan is in."

Jason looks concerned. "What's wrong with Nathan?"

I giggle. "The last part of Nathan's punishment for `The Dalliance' is cum control, and it's a little insidious, even for Gary. But Nathan agreed to it for six months. Picture this. You have thirty marbles, one green and twenty-nine red. Each of the red marbles has a number on it between 1 and 45. At the beginning of the week, Gary places a randomly selected seven marbles in a bowl, and each day of that week, Nathan closes his eyes and reaches into the bowl, selecting a marble. If it's the green marble, he gets to cum that day in any way he chooses, however many times he chooses. If it's one of the red marbles, he isn't allowed to cum, and the number on the marble indicates the number of minutes that Gary can try to make him cum, again, in any way he wants. The first seven marbles must include the green marble, and whatever marble Nathan chooses each day is returned to the bowl and might be selected again the next day. At the beginning of the next week seven more red marbles are added to those already in the bowl until all thirty marbles are used up, and  at the end of the month they start the cycle again with an initial seven marbles (six red and one green). Obviously, given this scenario, you have a much better shot at an orgasm early in the month than later – 1 in 7 versus 1 in 30. Nathan hasn't cum in four days, which Gary tells me is a record for him. And he's apparently climbing the walls. Luckily, he's been drawing low numbers on the red marbles, so Gary hasn't gotten to really work on him, yet. By the way, if he cums on a red-marble day, he gets punished in any way that Gary sees fit."

Jason snorts. "And Nathan signed up for this?"

"Yup. Apparently this is the only part of Nathan's punishment that Nathan didn't specifically design." I giggle. "This is so Gary. But it's also ironic, because we were all so horrified by how far Nathan was taking the punishments he requested – the intense ball compression, the severe spanking – and then Gary comes up with this, which, to my mind, is so much worse. Nathan may not cum for months. The luck of the draw."

"Isn't Gary concerned that this might cause further infidelity?"

I chuckle. "I think that's why he invited us to Santa Cruz. I think he's hoping that you'll be a good influence on Nathan, and keep him in line." I pause, and then laugh. "And that is funny as hell, because when he suggested that the two of you witness your respective punishments last week, the object was to have Nathan modeling behaviors to you, to have Nathan teach you how to submit. This just fractures me."

Jason chuckles, but is clearly concerned. "Tim, I don't ever want to cheat on you," he says, seriously, "but...umm...I need regular...umm...release." He's beat red. "Celibacy isn't a good punishment for me."

I giggle. "You mean, celibacy isn't a pleasant punishment for you. Should punishment always be pleasant? What does the word imply?"

He continues to stir-fry, thinking. "No," he finally concedes. "But please use it as a last resort, when you're really pissed off. I will always try to please you. But know that celibacy would really be torture."

"I know, Jason," getting up from the table and kissing him, "as it is for Nathan. Gary is really pissed off, really disappointed, and Nathan is enduring this because he knows that, he knows that he let Gary down. He knows that his infidelity could destroy their relationship. Rather than do that, he's agreed to this." Caressing his face, "I hope we never have to go this far, babe. And I hope Nathan picks the green marble soon."

"Me, too," he says, smiling wanly.

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/