Date: Sun, 26 Oct 2003 00:09:06 -0000 (GMT)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: Rob and Gordon - Night One, Rob's View

Night One, Rob's View

Copyright by Speedyboy, Sept 2003.  This story is submitted to Nifty
under their submission guidelines.   No part of this story can be submitted
or archived by anyone else without my express permission. If you are
too young or don't like stories about rough play with erotic overtones
press the back button NOW!

This story is fantasy.  The author does not endorse, encourage, or
consent to any attempt to make any of the below described scenes real.

Please send feedback to Speedyboy, Rln1966@aol.com.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat on the edge of Gordon's bed, eyeing his huge sports bag.
Its contents would be revealed to me soon enough, but I could not wait.
I had to know now!

"Could I have a glass of milk?", I asked Gordon in the sweetest little boy
voice I could muster.  The question was incongruous, given what Gordon
would soon be doing to me, but it was the best I could come up with.
Gordon rolled his eyes and looked contemptous, but, although he was
a sadist, he was well mannered.  He left for the kitchen.  As soon as
Gordon left the room, I lept up with a grin and pounced on the sixteen
year old's sports bag.  It weighed almost as much as my ten year old body.
I could just make out the sound of metal clinking and rattling inside
it. A thrill of anticipation ran through me. The hairs on the back my
neck stood up, and my little cocklet became suddenly engorged with blood,
tightly imprisoned inside my silky black speedo.  My mind was racing...padlocks
and metal?...chains?...what should I wear...which trunks would fit
the torment?  I shed my black tracksuit trousers and ripped off my
black speedos.  Then I plunged into my own sports bag and snagged my
dark-blue/grey pair of speedos. That was the nearest colour I had to
grey metal. I would be the boy-padlock, the boy-chain. I snapped the
tiny garment onto my hairless body, and tumbled back into my track suit.
I lay on the bed nonchalently as Gordon returned with the refreshments.

"So what are we going to do tonight Gordon? C'mon, you gotta give
me a clue at least!"  "No clues, Rob, except you'll be reaching for
that safeword soon, little dude, and I don't know how quick I'll be
about respecting it...oh, and from now on, when we're alone, it's not
Gordon...it's Sir, got it? Your body belongs entirely to me, and you will
obey my every command. You will be my speedo slave boy, and I will be
your only master. Do you agree and do you understand how much agony this
will involve?"  Gordon seemed bigger and more dangerous when he finished
the speech.  A pang of fear grabbed me.  But I also found myself more
aroused than ever in my short life, and it was all I could do to keep my
hands from slipping down inside my track suit to relieve the tension.
My mind was zig zagging.  One moment I wanted to follow Gordon, the
next I wanted to flee for safety.  Finally I decided I wanted more
than anything in the world to have my young body tested to the absolute
limit.  I heard my voice reply "Yes sir!" with a tone of defiance that
utterly belied my real misgivings and burgeoning fear.  I had a peculiar
tendency to become over-confident and mouthy when frightened, and I'd
never been this afraid before.  I hadn't known Gordon that long, and had
no idea how far the teenager really wanted to go. The sixteen year old
had already promised that he would never kill or permanently injure me,
but what if he got carried away with the enjoyment of inflicting pain,
or made a mistake?  Gordon was strong.  At the baths he could toss,
dunk, and outlast me in any contest.  I'd felt the superior force of the
sixteen year old in underwater breath-holding contests.  I wouldn't be
able to compete for long if it came to a wrestling match or a fist fight
to protect myself from real harm.  But every fiber in my body craved
the stimulation that I knew only Gordon could provide.  On impulse, I
suddenly spreadeagled myself, face up, at Gordon's feet, and spread my
small but muscular legs. Then I pointed cheekily to my groin. "Kick me
hard in ther nuts to see how tough I am, Sir!"  I taunted.  "Go on...as
many times as you like, and make it as hard as you like...go on Sir,
really hard...I can take it!"  Gordon just laughed scornfully and walked
away, saying "It'll be a lot tougher than that, kid, I can promise you!"
The dismissal sealed my commitment.

On our way out that night, I marvelled at the way Gordon had fixed things
so that they were alone and running wild.  I envied the teenager's ability
to manipulate situations ...Gordon was bright...very bright. He seemed
able to see right through things, and work them to his advantage
so that he got what he wanted. He was patient and cunning...so different
from my impetuous nature.

When I realised we were heading for the school pool, my heart pounded so
hard under my black tracksuit I thought it was going to explode...words
and phrases ran through my head. Ideas from the many times I'd gripped
my speedos under the bedclothes and stimulated myself with terrifying
thoughts. Fantasies about the possible fates of ten year old boys
just like me, clad only in a pair of silky speedos, beholden to a
cruel master. Words like pool torture...boy bondage...speedo slave
swimmer...flooded into my overactive brain. In my wildest moment of
fantasy, I imagined being carried into the pool in a boy-sized coffin,
lined with the same material as my black speedos, wearing only tiny trunks
and bound hand and foot, by a cruel master dressed as an undertaker,
who promised I would be leaving in the coffin too, with the lid nailed
down, if I didn't pass the imminent, agonising tests. I glanced quickly
at Gordon, and was almost relieved to find the older boy looked nothing
like the undertaker of my fantasy. No, the undertaker figure was from way,
way back, from a time when I had been too young to go to school.

The smell of chlorine wafted through a loose window that Gordon opened.
The odour excited me, and I began dancing around in front of Gordon
as we approached the pool, demanding to know what was coming next. My
head realed further when he ordered me to strip to the speedos, and I
divested myself with furious haste, leaving the black tracksuit, bright
yellow swimming club T-shirt, yellow socks, and black trainers on the
floor in an untidy heap, next to my unzipped sports bag.  The subdued pool
lighting thrilled me as I willingly entered the dark nightmare. I noticed
the sixteen year old admiring me, so I didn't anticipate the sudden lash
of the cord across my shoulder blades.  I let out a of yelp of astonishment
and lurched forward.  A sheet of pain washed over my body, and then returned
like a wave again and again as the wound throbbed angrily.  I grinned
inwardly. At last, it was finally happening. Then Gordon was in my face,
barking orders, terms and conditions which had seemed so reasonable in
the bedroom.  Now it sounded as though I'd be throttled on the spot if
I ever dared to think about using the safeword. The fear was returning,
but, when Gordon asked if I still wanted to proceed, I snapped back
"Yessir!" with a defiance verging on rudeness, which I knew would only
provoke Gordon to greater brutality.  Another savage cut of the cord across
my tiny nipples restored my spirits somewhat - the fear gave way to
anger, mixed with a thrill at the cruelty of the act.  Even at ten,
I was as much of a sadist as my sixteen year old master, and now we
were locked in a dangerous battle of wills.  Gordon's bag was open.
Chains and padlocks were coming out and encirling my wrists, waist,
and ankles.  My raging cocklet strained unbearably against the silky
nylon of my small speedos. On Gordon's command, I began to breath deeply.
I stood tall, showing off my big smooth chest as I took in air.  I was
starting to feel vulnerable. Suddenly, Gordon wrenched down my speedos
and tied a nylon cord around my balls, manipulating my boy-organs roughly
in the process.  My ever excitable cocklet came to attention with pride
as Gordon melted the knot (to secure it) with a cigarette lighter, which
played deliciously over my unblemished body.  More wild phrases flashed
through my head...ball-burning...penis-roasting...speedo-scorching. I
excelled at Engish at school - it was my best subject. I was always being
praised for inventive turns of phrase, and exciting adventure stories. I
wondered how my teacher at junior school would feel about reading a
carefully-written account of the night's ordeals, fully decorated with
boyish illustrations. The idea of handing it in to her brought a wicked
smile to my face.

The keys to the chains were in the pool, and the next phase began. I was
horrified at the force with which Gordon shoved me into the water. It
almost knocked my breath out. The shock of the freezing pool cooled
my excitement instantly, and I suddenly felt very weak as the surface
receded above me. My thoughts and fantasies about boys in speedos being
tortured vanished, as a primeval urge for survival took over. I searched
for the keys frantically, already feeling a tightening in my chest.
As my fingers closed around them after what seemed like several minutes, I
found myself making a strange underwater choking sound - a cry of relief,
which I hoped Gordon would not hear. Thirty seconds later, my unlocked
body surfaced, but my sense of acheivement turned suddenly to agony,
as I felt what must have been my young balls being ripped from my body.
I'd forgotten the nylon cord, and the underwater chains still attached to
it. It was painful, but it was a delicious discomfort. But the pain in
my lungs, by contrast, was anything but delicious.  I had no air left -
although I'd exhaled, I hadn't had time to inhale as I went back under.
By the time I eventually grabbed the offending chain, I thought my
lungs were being turned inside out and torn away from my chest. A
drumming in my head grew to a pounding, and I fancied that my brain
was desperately expanding and contracting, as painfully as my lungs. As
I broke the surface, bearing the weight of the chain, I felt a surge of
triumph at my hard-won victory. Surely Gordon would be pleased ... I'd
come through the night's ordeal with flying colours! But Gordon looked
stern and angry "Get those chains up here!" he barked, without a flicker
of pity. My heart sank, and tears welled up in my eyes.  But I fought them
back, and managed instead to stare at Gordon incredulously. When I tried
clumsily to emerge from the pool, I felt again as though my immature ball
sack were being torn from my body, and this time the pain outweighed the
thrill of the torture. Gordon's kick to my chest came as some relief,
as it sent me back into the freezing water - but the casual savagery
with which it was delivered was frightening.  I knew he had to use
my intelligence as well as whatever strength I possessed, so I wound
the cord around my foot, to relive the tension on my balls, and was
just able to scramble out in time, although my small muscles protested
vigorously, and threw the chains at my master's feet.  "Good enough"
said Gordon with no affection in his voice, but his words warmed my
chilled body a little. But then the taunting continued: "Had enough?
I know some nice gentle bed time stories..."  I looked away.  I had
already had enough. The coldness of the water was crippling, making it
impossible to last underwater for any length of time. And Gordon wasn't
giving me enough praise for what I'd achieved. I needed some approval
to feel strong, and Gordon was giving very little back. The sixteen year
old seemed to have forgotten that although I was tall and strong for my
age, I was still only ten - the older boy was acting as though he was
dealing with one of his contemporaries, and not a boy who had yet to
reach puberty. But the thought of failure was too awful, and the thought
of bedtime stories was unbearable.  I gathered myself and snapped to
attention as Gordon wrapped me in chains again. And again. And again. More
chains, so that eventually my whole body seemed to be smothered in them.
Eventually I was acting on auto-pilot, desperate to get out of the
pool alive.  I knew I could end the ordeal at any point by using the
safeword, but by now I actually hated Gordon with such a fierce loathing
that I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. The only moments of
light relief came when Gordon used a great tactic of sending me flying
into the water with a savage scrotum punch, which filled me with a fire
that saw me through. I loved having my balls punched hard, and liked to
feel Gordon's strength as the older boy leaned his shoulder against my
chest before the punch came, so that I wouldn't double up as I sailed
into the water. I also cheered considerably when Gordon produced some
specially barbed chains to wrap around my shoulders. They stung far more
than I'd expected as I let the barbs to sink into my smooth white flesh,
but the biting sensation was wickedly stimulating, and even seemed to
warm my frozen body a little. After twenty-two rounds of the ordeal,
I could no longer feel my fingers or toes. I was dimly aware that I was
shivering uncontrollably, and had what must have been tunnel vision as
I stared around the swimming pool/torture chamber.  This part of the
night's proceedings was over.

I relaxed for a second and suddenly, amazingly began to feel stronger,
even though it seemed like my physical energy was gone. I was mastering
my fear, and enduring the suffering with a fortitude which I had no idea
I possessed.  If only Gordon would give another kind word...I was only
a young boy, I thought, in a moment of childish self-pity... but it was
not to be.  The teenager merely looked a little annoyed as he ordered
me to change into a new pair of speedos and meet him by the diving
board.  I chose something that would contrast with the previous pair -
a sky-blue suit this time, for soaring through the air, if indeed that
was what Gordon meant to use the diving board for. I caught a glimpse
of myself in a poolside mirror as I snapped on the fresh swimwear. I
admired myself just half a second, thinking "You did it!  You did it!",
and briefly stroked my cocklet to bring a taste for savagery back into my
mouth. Then I trotted back to Gordon with a boyish, wide-eyed enthusiasm,
not daring to say out loud what I was thinking; "Chain my balls to
the bottom of the pool...padlock my cock down and make me try to jerk
off". These were brutal thoughts for one so young, but they filled
me with a love for my body, and for the life I had chosen for myself.
The rubdown that Gordon gave me after he'd put some of the chains back
on restored my previous feverish excitement.  I almost regretted being
shoved back into the pool, I knew it would take me further away from
the direct touch of the sixteen-year-old for a while. But I needn't have
worried. The diving board torture that came next was the finest experience
of my life. I am still left breathless with wonder that Gordon could
have devised something so absolutely devious and utterly perfect. My
boy-cock was ragingly hard as Gordon tied my ankles to the board, and
bent me over so that the my head hung underwater. It was everything I'd
ever wanted, and I was almost sobbing with delight at the experience. I
began to feel an even fiercer sense of loyalty towards Gordon.  I would
undergo whatever the teenager wanted. I would die for him if I had to,
and the safeword would never leave my lips. I would never show Gordon the
terror and the agony I felt, in case the game stopped. I was Gordon's
pool plaything, Gordon's speedo swimmer boy-slave. I would overcome
physical and mental limits in the hope of earning some admiration from
the sixteen-year-old. I had had many a schoolboy crush since I was five
years old, but this sure as hell beat them all. I had found my master. So
when the cruel hose smashed into the front of my speedos whenever I took
a breath, it sent waves of pleasure rolling through me. The only pain
I felt was in my lungs, and that was getting worse. Try as I might, I
couldn't seem to last underwater. Then, when I felt the cunning carresses
of the hose on my cocklet as long as I stayed underwater, I forgot my
burnt-out chest for a few moments, and luxuriated in the outrageously
sensual stimulation. If it got any better than this, I knew I would die
of overexcitement. Already, my boy-organs were going through the fierce
motions of a series of spontaneous ejaculations, even though at that
age I had nothing to ejaculate. My admiration for Gordon's inventive
mind knew no bounds, and I felt incredibly flattered that the older boy
should have thought it was worth pleasuring me. I wondered how far Gordon
intended to take the sexual element of our games. I hoped there would be
no limits whatsoever.  I loved to experiment, and hated the thought that
any experience might be denied, however intially painful it might be.
After twenty minutes, my lungs were letting me down. Then I panicked as
Gordon seemed to disappear from the pool entirely.  I hated this more than
anything I'd undergone so far. Being abandoned was my biggest fear. Being
left alone, utterly alone, was how all my problems had started, before
I'd even reached my second birthday.  Now Gordon was gone, leaving me
vulnerable, just like everyone else I had ever loved and trusted. I hung
there, weeping underwater.

So when Gordon came back, bearing the hose, my spirits soared again.
Something plopped in the water behind my head, but I could not see
what it was.  Gordon administered the severest beating of the night,
but I joyously endured it.  I thought the cycle of pain and pleasure
was starting again, when Gordon released my ankles, lifted me, and
dropped me into the pool.  As I reached the bottom I could see what
he had dropped, and as soon as I could get my hands on it, the cold
of the water disappeared, even as I struggled into the new garment
at the bottom of the pool. First I thought of the Silver Surfer...I
loved superhero outfits..and then I recalled the compulsion of boy-padlock,
boy-chain.  Now I was at one with the metal, a link in the chain.  I was
no longer stung by Gordon's curt comments that my performance had been
satisfactory....I understood now that this was a serious business, and
that I had a lot of training to do. It was just like swim training -
no one spares your feelings. A word of official approval is enough,
and the touch of Gordon's hand as he rubbed me down and adjusted the
shiny new speedo with great care was such an unexpected bonus that I
became light-headed. I wanted to jump up onto Gordon's side like a little
monkey, wrap my arms and legs tightly around his torso, and nuzzle my
new speedo loyally into the teenager's flesh. But of course I didn't
dare -I wouldn't be so forward as to think that I could.

As we left, I noticed Gordon glancing thoughtfully towards the boiler
room. I tingled with excitement as I quietly wondered whether I'd
be imprisoned there for a truly gruelling session of unspeakable
torture. I could make out deep mechanical rumblings coming from behind
the doors. The sheer brutality of what must lay behind them filled me
with horror and wonder. I hoped that Gordon wouldn't flinch in my quest
to find my breaking point, and maybe go beyond it.

(ENDS)

So there we are, Gordon! Do your worst, you pussy, you'll never break me!