Date: Tue, 29 May 2018 01:18:42 +0000
From: paintedpony@vfemail.net
Subject: The Amusement Park

The Amusement Park

By

Old School Boy

paintedpony@vfemail.net



The two boys approached me at the edge of the seedy, run-down
amusement park where I often walked. I had noticed them on some of the
rides. They came directly up to me as I strolled away from the park.

"Hello, mister!"

"Hello, boys."

"You are maybe lonely?" one asked.

"Lonely? Why would I be lonely?"

"Maybe you are. We come with you?" said the other.

There was no mistaking the offer being made. It was a common one in
this city. They didn't look like gypsy boys, but I could not be sure.
I estimated their age as `about thirteen.'

"And why would you do that?" I asked.

"To have fun!" said the smaller of the lads.

"Wouldn't you like to have fun?" asked the slightly taller one. "Much fun!"

"Well," I replied. "Fun always has a price, does it not?"

"One hour, one hundred," said the taller boy.

"All night, five hundred!" from the shorter kid.

It was local currency. "Very reasonable," I smiled.

"For such fun, it is cheap like dirt!" said the shorter one and smiled
back at me. A lovely smile.

I do not do this sort of thing, but for some reason I accepted their
offer and in less than half an hour we were back at my small cottage
on the edge of the woodland.

Their English was very good and we chatted a while in the little
kitchen, sitting around the small table and drinking the tea I had
made for us. I was nervous, unsure of where this was going. This was
all new to me. They did not seem at all uneasy and their conversation
was relaxed.

The younger one had removed his dark sweater when we had entered the
cottage. Now he said "I am hot!" and quickly stripped off his shirt
and dropped it onto the floor. He raised his arms and clasped his
hands behind his neck and flexed his torso, as if displaying his
hairless armpits. He was a well-built muscular boy and probably spent
time on those neighborhood chinning bars that seemed to be everywhere
in this city. I couldn't help but look. And then I noticed the taller
boy had his eyes fixed on mine and was smiling.

"You like him?" he asked.

"He's very strong," I foolishly replied. Yes, it did seem hot suddenly
in the kitchen.

"You like strong boys?"

"Well..." I stammered.

He removed his own shirt. His skin was darker than the smaller boy's.
He, too, was defined, but not as tight and muscular as the other,
younger, lad who had the upper body and musculature  of a gymnast.

"Show us where you sleep," said the smaller. And then, I guess one
might say, the game was on.

I don't know why it should have been a surprise to me, but their
underwear was clean and looked almost new. A genuine and very
understandable surprise was that the younger boy was circumcised. They
both seemed to be wearing some kind of cologne, subtle and cinnamon.
Probably the same. Cheap, but not at all unpleasant.

I was embarrassed, even shy, but let them strip me. Once we were all
naked the younger boy flopped down on the bed, sitting, with his legs
over the side. The other boy then gently pushed me down so that I was
sitting between the widely spread legs of the younger kid who gently
put his arms through mine above the elbows, pulled them back, and
pinned my arms between us. It alarmed me but he had done it so gently
and now that I could feel his hard body against me, and his erect
penis against my lower back, it felt more erotic than threatening. The
taller lad dropped to his knees, spread my legs wide, and begin to
flick at my penis until it started to treacherously tumesce. In just a
few seconds I was fully erect. He then bent forward and took it into
his mouth. The lad behind me tightened his grip on my arms and bent us
both backwards slightly.

The taller one fellated me very slowly. And very well! Despite the
tension of the moment I was very close to coming when he stopped and
raised up, but kept one hand firmly on the base of my penis.

"We play a game now," he said.

"Yes, a game!" echoed the other, keeping my own arms tightly pinned
behind me. I might have been able to pull free, but I made no such
effort.

The other kept up a gentle pressure on the base of my penis. "The game
is that you are your James Bond..."

"007!" piped up the smaller lad, squeezing arms as he said it.

"Yes! And we have captured you!" the other went on.

"And now you tell all spy secrets!"

"Guys," I started, suddenly very nervous, "maybe we better stop..."

"No!" said the taller as he squeezed the base of my cock very hard.
"You are our prisoner!"

"And you will tell us secrets! We will make you!" I could feel the boy
behind had begun to sweat, his chest slick against my bare back.

"But..." I started, but was shushed.

"Is only game," said the boy with my dick in his hand.

"Yes," agreed the other. "Very good game!"

It didn't take them very long to have me spread-eagled on my own bed
with their shoe-laces. I did not resist. Why was that? It was obvious
that they knew very well what they were doing. Once they had me
helplessly bound to the bed posts things seemed to slow down. I felt
some of my own tension subside. I was almost mesmerized.

The smaller lad straddled my chest and by slightly lifting my head I
could stare directly at his very hard penis. He was about five inches
in length and only moderately thick but with a large, well-shaped
glans. Very little pubic hair, almost blond. Moderately sized balls,
tucked up under the shaft. We were both perspiring and I felt his hard
gymnast's thighs slippery against my ribs. The other lad squatted on
my right side, his own penis now completely out of its sheath making
it impossible to be sure that he was not himself circumcised. His was
longer then the smaller boy's by a good inch, but thinner. Their
pleasure in this `game' was palpable, electric. My own erection had
gone limp.

"You are now our prisoner, Mr Bond!" said the smaller boy, waving his
cock at me and grinning. "Are you ready to tell us the secret plans?"

The game. Yes. I played along. Why not? In for a penny... "No! I'm not
telling you anything!"

"Oh, what a shame!" pouted the one sitting on my chest, lightly
strumming and pinching my left nipple. "Now you are forcing us to
torture you!"

"Yes, torture, Mr Bond!" said the other boy as he reached out and
squeezed my flaccid penis. "Terrible torture to make you talk! Which
you will!"

I was tied to my own bed, very expertly, by two unknown and possibly
dangerous boys who were now threatening to torture me. How could it
possibly be that I was now getting a hard on? Clearly impossible!

When the taller lad came back from my bathroom he was carrying a
bottle of my expensive vanilla scented suntan oil. The smaller boy had
scooted up so that his knees now pressed against my ears and his dick,
slightly less erect, flopped over my chin and lips. "Poor, poor
prisoner!" he said. "Now he is going to be hideously tortured and made
to talk!" He reached down and lightly, playfully, tweaked my nose. And
though his body blocked my sight, the torture began.

We had played a few tie-up games at my boarding school. What boys
haven't? And once or twice I had been tied up and wanked to climax,
all in fun. But I had never been edged before. I knew about it, knew
vaguely what it was, and suspected without much real thought about it
that it was mostly a ruse.

How wrong I was! Edging is, indeed, torture when done by an expert.
And this boy was definitely an expert. Patient, adroit, and quite
completely merciless. I don't know when I started to beg. I don't
think it was very long into the `session.' The smaller boy had slipped
off me and squatted to my left. He watched, and almost absent-mindedly
squeezed and twisted my nipples and stroked his own penis while his
partner worked on me between my wide spread legs. Of course, it being
edging, he stopped frequently. These pauses are what triggered my
pleading, to no avail. I was very definitely being tortured.

All during my ordeal they kept up a teasing conversation with me.

"Are you ready to talk, 007?"

"Talk and the torture stops, Mr Bond!"

"Talk! Tell us what we want to know!"

"You belong to us, Mr Bond! We OWN you!"

"Sweet torture, 007! But look at how much your spy cock likes it!"

On and on it seemed to go. I begged, I pleaded, but I refused to lose
the game by 'talking.' Stubborn pride! These mere boys were not going
to break me! How wrong I was!

The human hand is a marvelous instrument. The hands of a sculptor or
violinist can create beauty. A surgeon's hands can save lives. The
slippery, oiled hands of a knowing boy can be awesome instruments of
torture and persuasion. The variations of pressure, position,
movement, friction, lubrication, speed, temperature, and tempo are
almost infinite. Infinite, just as a restrained, aroused male's
ability to withstand such torment is not.

It was well dark when the end came. I finally could not take any more.
"I'll talk! I'll talk! Please! No more! Finish me! For god's sake,
finish me!" It didn't matter that I had nothing to tell them. Saying
`I'll talk!' was enough to signal their victory.

Later I would read that an orgasm after a long session of edging would
be very powerful. An understatement, I think. I believe I may have
briefly passed out as I was `finished' by my successful torturer.

I lay, virtually comatose after my explosive orgasm, as my captors
took turns relieving each other across my still restrained body with
my lotion. Afterwards, we cleaned up and I cooked them a meal in my
tiny kitchen. With wine, which they appreciated, and friendly
conversation. I paid them, with a substantial bonus, and they were
gone. I slept a very long time.

It was almost three weeks before I dared to return to the dilapidated
amusement park. I had a pot of tea at the grubby little outdoor café
near the bumper cars and then headed home. As I passed the smaller
ferris wheel I saw a boy I thought I recognized: sturdy, light brown
hair, dark skin. But he was much younger than either of my former
captors. Still, he smiled at me in a way that seemed strangely
provocative and familiar. I lost sight of him as I past the wheel, but
when I had nearly reached the old gate to the park I saw him ahead, on
the cracked concrete walkway. As I came nearer he stepped forward,
almost blocking my path.

"Hello, mister!" he said.

THE END