The man walked down the stone steps leading from the house into the basement. He held a struggling boy under one arm as he descended into the cellar. The boy had duct tape across his mouth, allowing him only to make muffled noises.
Once in the brightly lit cellar, the man crossed to a heavy wooden door at one end, opened it, and walked into a much smaller room. This room was barely six feet square. It had a single iron-framed bed with a dirty mattress. Apart from that, the room, which had whitewashed brick walls, a white ceiling, and a tiled floor, was devoid of any furniture. There were no windows, and the intense light was supplied by a mesh-covered light bulb in the ceiling.
Without speaking, the man dropped the boy to the floor, bent over him and pulled off the duct tape, then quickly left the room, locking the door behind him. He switched off the light from outside the door, and the boy was left lying on the floor in pitch blackness.
The man switched off the light in the main cellar and, whistling, went back up the stairs to the main house. At the top of the stairs, he closed and locked the door leading to the cellar behind him.
The man’s name was Paul. He was five feet ten inches tall, black hair, and black eyes. A scar ran down one side of his face from the eye to the neck. He was not muscular, but in fact, he was slightly on the thin side, and yet his looks belied his strength. He had handled the boy with comparative ease.
Paul, at twenty-eight years of age, was a happy man. He had achieved his goal at last. Two years ago, his father had died from a heart attack, leaving the house, which was set in an acre of ground and in an isolated part of the country, to him. Paul’s mother was also dead. She had died from a traffic accident five years previous.
Paul was not married and was not interested in girls or, for that matter, men either. His interests lay in boys. They were the only things that aroused him sexually, and from time to time, he was able to satisfy his sexual needs for boys. Once the boys were eleven or twelve years old, Paul’s interest ceased.
When he was fourteen, he had started molesting younger boys, some no more than six. At that time, it was mainly touching and playing with the boys’ private parts, occasionally making a young boy wank him off.
At sixteen, he raped his first victim, a boy of seven. He had enjoyed it immensely. Not just the sex act but the feeling of power it gave him over another human being. The next boy he raped, six months after the first, was older, being nine years of age. Before raping the boy, Paul had tortured him, and he found that it gave him just as much of a kick as the actual fucking did.
After that, Paul had managed from time to time to pick up young boys, take them to isolated spots where he could mistreat and rape them. In all, he had averaged at least one boy a year, but he was never fully satisfied. He wanted to have a boy as a permanent companion, one that he could torture and rape whenever he felt the need.
With the death of his father, Paul was able to convert the main cellar to a torture chamber. Hooks were in the ceiling, ropes hung down from some. He had a bench on which he could secure a boy and then begin to stretch him, rather like old-time racks. The rack could be lengthened, and it could also be made broader just by the turn of a wheel. A variety of torture instruments hung on the walls. To name a few implements, there was a selection of whips and canes, several branding irons, nipple cleats, dildos, and ball stretchers. In addition to the rack, he had installed a double bed with a thick mattress. The frame of the bed was metal, and he had welded metal rings onto the bedposts.
The smaller room he converted into a prison cell. That was the room in which the boy could live. Next to it, reachable only through the torture chamber, was a shower room and toilet, which the prisoner could use if the need arose and if Paul agreed.
Paul entered the kitchen of the house and began to prepare a meal as he reflected on the events that had led to him using the cell for the first time since it had been made ready some six months ago.
He had spent the weekend in London, a very rare occurrence for him. It was a five-hour journey from where he lived. He had wanted to visit specific shops that he knew of that sold the torture instruments that so interested him. His mission had not been a failure, although he had not brought anything back with him. He had placed an order for a couple of devices, and he was to return in a month to collect them.
On the journey home, he had left the highway as he needed to relieve himself and hated the highway rest stops. He had taken a side road once he was off the highway and came to a pull out where he stopped. He got out of the car to take a piss before continuing his trip. He was still standing by the side of his car when he saw the boy cycling toward him. As the boy got nearer, he could see that he was quite young, and he felt a stirring in his loins. He looked carefully about, no one, all was clear. He called the boy.
“Hey, kid, can you help me, please?”
The boy swerved across the road and stopped by the man.
“What is it you want, mister?” he asked as he stood on the road with his legs astride the bicycle.
He gave the boy a punch in the head, which knocked him from his bike, flying in a tangle of arms, legs, and bicycle. Before the boy had time to recover, Paul had grabbed him and dragged him to the trunk of his car. He opened it with his remote control key and lifted the dazed boy into it. He gave the boy another blow with his fist, this time in the kid’s stomach leaving the lad gasping for air. Paul reached for a roll of duct tape and stuck a piece across the boy’s mouth. He used a knife that he had in his pocket to cut off the strip. Once the boy had been effectively gagged, Paul closed the trunk, got into the car and drove off, leaving the bicycle in the road where it had fallen.
He quickly resumed his journey, getting back onto the highway, and then he sped home. The remainder of the trip took him three hours, but he arrived safe and sound. As we know, he then took the boy and locked him in the cell in the cellar.
Paul had finished preparing the meal. Before eating his, he put some food onto a second plate, poured a mug of tea, and placed the plate of food, a cup of tea, and a plastic knife and fork on a tray. He returned to the cellar with the meal tray.
Paul smiled as he heard no sound when he entered the torture chamber. He put a black hood on his head, not to disguise himself but merely to add to the boy’s nightmare. He unlocked the door, switched on the powerful light, and entered the cell with the food.
The boy, who had been lying on the bed crying, now sat up, blinking in the intense light. Without speaking, the man placed the tray of food on the floor and left the cell, locking the door after him. This time he left the light on.
As the door slammed shut and the key turned in the lock, the boy, his name was Brian, looked at the tray of food that was on the floor. He felt so hungry but was sure that if he tried to eat anything, he would be sick. Then he saw the mug of tea, his throat was parched and his mouth dry. He really did need a drink. He reached down, picked up the cup, and began to drink the warm sweet liquid.
As he slowly drank the tea, he thought about the events of the day. He was still bewildered about exactly what had happened. He remembered the man asking him for help, then when he went to his aid being punched and knocked off his cycle. His face still felt sore from the blow, as did his stomach from the later punch. He remembered being pushed into the trunk of the car, the lid slamming shut, and then the long journey in darkness.
Finally, the man had brought him to this room and left him. The only words that he had heard from the start of this horror had been when the man had punched him. He remembered hearing him say, “You, fucker.” The man had not spoken to him since.
Brian really was hungry. He looked at the food on the plate, meat, potatoes and gravy, and green beans. The boy bent down, stuck the fork into a potato, and began to eat it. Once started, he could not stop. He picked up the tray and placed it on his lap as he sat on the bed. He then quickly devoured the plate of food. Having finished the food and tea, he curled up in a ball on the bed. As he thought of his plight, he tucked his head in his arms and started to cry excessively.
Brian was tired and fell asleep. When Paul came back to collect the tray, he did not wake the young lad. He left the cell, locked the door, and switched out the light. When he returned upstairs, he also went to bed to sleep.
In the morning, about eight o’clock, Paul took breakfast to the boy. He again put the hood on his head before entering the cell. He gave Brian the tray on which there was another mug of tea and scrambled egg on toast. Brian took the tray from the man.
“When am I going home? What do you want me for?”
Paul ignored the boy and left the room, locking the door after him. He gave the boy a half an hour to finish the meal. When he returned, still wearing the hood, he picked up the tray and left the room. This time after locking the door, he also turned out the light. Once again, the cell was plunged into darkness.
Brian was very frightened by now. The silent man scared him. It was even worse that he could not see the man’s face because of the hood. His young mind began to imagine the most nightmarish things. Maybe the man had no face, or perhaps his face was in the shape of an eagle with a big beak. Poor young Brian was working himself into a terrible state as he imagined the things that the man’s hood might be hiding.
After a couple of hours, Paul returned to the cell. Brian looked up as the light went on, and the door opened. For a few moments, while his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he could not make out anything clearly. Then, as his eyes focused, he could see f a naked man ramed in the door.
This time Paul was not wearing a hood. What Brian could see was a thin naked man with a slight covering of black hair on his chest. His stomach was flat, but his nipples were large and pink, standing out from his chest and must have been half an inch long. Paul had a deep belly button, and from there to the base of his stomach ran a long thin line of black hair. The hair then carried on to form a black bush around his cock and balls. Paul’s still soft cock was about five inches long. His balls hung low between his legs. His thighs and legs were covered in a mass of black hair, and he had an ugly scar running down his left shin.
Brian watched with fear and dread as this naked man entered his cell. Then Paul spoke in a normal voice for the very first time. His voice sounded gentle as he spoke to the frightened lad.
“Would you like to use the toilet, and would you like a wash?”
Brian replied, “Yes, please, sir, I would like that very much.”
“Don’t call me sir when you speak,” Paul said. “My name is Paul, and that is what you will call me. Come with me, and I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
Brian jumped off the bed.
“When can I—”
His words were cut short as Paul struck him hard across his face.
“You only speak to answer my questions or when I say you can speak. You will not say a word at any other time,” Paul shouted at the crying boy.
He placed his hand on Brian’s shoulder and guided him from the cell, across the torture chamber, and into the bathroom.
“Get undressed, have a shit and piss and then have a shower,” Paul ordered.
The boy waited for the man to leave the room, but he made no effort to do so. Instead, he shouted at the lad.
“Come on, you little fucker, get your clothes off and have a shit and piss.”
Brian hastily began to undress. He took off the sweater first, and then he removed his shirt. As he was doing this, the man was eyeing him carefully. Next, the boy bent down and removed his cycling shoes and socks. All the time, he was conscious of Paul’s hot eyes following his every movement. After his shoes and socks were removed, the boy undid his trousers at the waist. He lowered the zip fastener and then let his pants drop around his ankles and stepped out of them. Now Brian was left wearing a pair of red boxer shorts. He waited a moment until Paul shouted at him.
“Come on, you little fucker, I haven’t got all day.”
Brian slowly lowered his shorts and then stepped out of them before quickly sitting down on the toilet seat, using his hands to cover his private parts.
Paul chuckled at the boy’s antics.
“Don’t worry, boy, I’m in no hurry to see what you’ve got hidden under your hands. I’ve got plenty of time to see all that. Now get on and have a shit.”
Brian was humiliated as he tried to shit with the man looking at him. After straining hard for a while, his bowels opened, and he was able to shit. He then started pissing as well. Once finished, Paul told him to get under the shower and clean himself real good. The boy obeyed, and after five minutes, Paul told him to get out and get himself dry. With a towel that Paul had handed him, the boy dried himself thoroughly. He then went to where his clothes lay and bent to pick them up.
“What the fuck do you think that you are doing?” the man shouted. “Leave those clothes where they are. You won’t need them again. Now, go into the next room—it’s our playroom—and stand by the wooden bench.”
Brian was obeying the man blindly. He did not even consider saying no. Some instinct told him that nothing he said or did would matter to Paul. He went into the torture chamber, or as Paul had called it “the playroom” and stood by the wooden bench. He covered his genitals with his hands. Paul sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the boy standing with his hands covering his genitals.
“On the wall is a board with some chalk. Every time that you disobey me, I will make a chalk mark on the board, and for each chalk mark, you will receive a punishment. I will not tell you what the various punishments will be, you will find out as we go along. You will only speak when I ask you a question or tell you that you can. You will do whatever I tell you without hesitation or argument. Now put your hands on your head.”
For a moment or two, Brian looked at the man. The boy was trembling because he was terrified, but then slowly, he placed his hands on his head. The man stood up, crossed to the board, and put a white chalk mark on it.
“No fucking hesitation” was all that said as he returned to sit on the bed.
As the man looked at the naked boy standing in front of him, he saw a brown-haired, three-foot- eleven, fifty-five-pound boy. The boy had blue eyes and a tanned skin except around the middle of his body, which was white. He was slim, and his nipples were small buttons pressed flat against his skin. He had a little belly button that stood out from his tummy, and his penis was soft and about one-and-a-half inches long. It was uncircumcised, and the foreskin completely hid the prick head. His balls had not yet dropped and were tight against his body.
“Turn around,” Paul ordered the boy.
This time Brian obeyed instantly. Paul could see that Brian’s back was nicely tanned. His buttocks, two beautiful half-moons, were white with a dimple on each cheek. His thighs, also a lovely white, were well-formed, as was his sturdy tanned legs. The boy was, of course, devoid of any body hair.
Paul thought to himself, ‘Just what I like, not a cute looking kid but one that looks a bit of a scamp.’
Aloud he asked, “What is your name?”
“Brian,” the boy replied in a low voice.
“Speak louder in the future, Brian. I want to hear what you say. Now, as I have told you, my name is Paul. When you speak to me, you will always address me as Paul. How old are you?”
“I am eight years old, Paul,” Brian replied in a louder voice, but as he spoke, his body continued to tremble.
“When is your birthday, Brian?” Paul asked.
“First of August,” was the reply.
“That was three weeks ago, so you’ve only just turned eight. Is that right, you are only just eight?”
“Yes, Paul,” the unhappy boy replied, “that’s right.”
“Did you live with your mommy and daddy?”
“Yes, I live with Mommy and Daddy, Paul. Paul, they’ll be so worried when I don’t go home. Please, let me phone them.”
Paul got to his feet and crossed to the board, where he made another white chalk mark.
“That’s two punishments to come,” he complacently said as he returned to sit on the bed. “You are wrong about one thing, Brian. You do not live with your mommy and daddy. You live with me now. You will never see them again.”
At these words, Brian’s body began to shake with bitter sobs. Paul took no notice of the lad’s distress.
“Now, because this is the first punishment, I’m going to be easy with you. When we get to your second punishment, it will be a little harder,” Paul said. “Now, Brian, come over here.”
Brian crossed to where Paul was sitting, and the man took hold of him by the arm and pulled the boy across his knees face down. He arranged the boy so that Brian’s buttocks were across his lap. The boy’s shoulders and head hung down one side of Paul’s legs while the lad’s legs stuck out the other side.
“I am going to give you a spanking for your first punishment. Have you been spanked before?”
“No…I haven’t, Paul…please, don’t hurt me…I won't do it again.”
“When this punishment is over, a new one will be entered on the board. You only answer my questions. You don’t add anything at all. I think that soon you’ll love these little punishments, and you’ll be naughty just to get more.”
As he finished speaking, Paul brought his hand down hard, slapping Brian across his buttocks. The boy let out a yelp as he felt his skin begin to sting, and then Paul hit him again. The boy cried out louder this time, as the blow seemed to cause his skin to sting even more. A third hard slap made him scream out loud, but the child bit his lip to avoid speaking. He did not want any more punishments to be added to the growing list.
As Paul looked down at Brian’s buttocks, he could see how red they were turning. He slapped the boy again very hard and watched as his hand left a clear imprint before the skin turned from white to red. Brian was crying, he could not help himself. Each blow that landed caused him to scream aloud and his ass felt as if it were on fire.
“Okay, Brian, this is what we’ll do. I will hit you another ten times. After each smack, you will shout aloud, ‘Thank you, Paul.’ If you make a mistake in the words or do not say thank you before the next smack, then we will start again. So it works like this, I smack you so,” the man slapped the boy again on his buttocks, “then you call out, ‘Thank you, Paul.’ Have you got the idea? That one does not count.”
“Yes, Paul, I have.”
Through his tears, Brian sobbed. Paul brought down his open hand and hit the boy again.
Brian called out, “Thank you, Paul.”
Paul smiled and said, “That’s a good boy. That’s how to do it.”
Hardly were the words out of his mouth when he struck the boy again.
“Thank you, Paul,” Brian called out amid his sobbing.
This went on for another three blows. Now the child had received five of the ten whacks. Paul decided that he would try to catch the boy out so that the count could start from one again. The sixth blow landed, and Brian called out, “Thank you, Paul,” but the words had hardly been uttered when Paul struck him again. “Thank you, Paul,” Brian managed to say. Paul raised his hand for the next blow and brought it crashing down, only to stop before he actually hit the crying child. Brian’s mouth was open to thank his tormentor, but the kid managed to stifle his words and remained silent. Paul smiled and raised his hand again. This time the blow did connect, and Brian sang out, “Thank you, Paul.” Two more strikes to go. Paul raised his hand and slapped the boy's buttocks, and Brian called out, “Thank you, Paul,” but while he was still speaking, Paul struck the tenth blow. Fortunately, Brian had managed to gasp out the three words immediately.
“Thank you, Paul.”
“Shit,” Paul said, “you were too good for me. Okay, that’s your first punishment over. Now relax and lie still.”
The boy lay unmoving on Paul’s lap as the man began to caress his hot red buttocks. His hand patted and stroked the cheeks of the boy’s ass, and then his fingers trailed up and down the crack dividing the child’s buttocks. As his fingers reached the boy’s closed anus, Paul allowed them to linger before moving on. Paul did not touch Brian’s cock but continued to stroke and pat his hot red bum.
“You have a lovely ass, my boy,” Paul said, “I’m going to enjoy having you with me so much.”
Brian was still crying. He was so unhappy. His bottom was hot and sore from the spanking, and he desperately missed his mommy. Paul pushed the boy off his lap
“Okay, Brian, now stand up for a few minutes. I have things to attend to.”
As the boy stood near the bed, Paul got up and walked across to the board. He crossed out one chalk mark, leaving the second one untouched and then entered a new mark below it. He turned and called Brian to join him. As Brian walked toward the man, he could see that Paul’s cock was now semi-hard. He lived on a farm and was quite familiar with the way that animals had sex. His parents had never tried to hide how babies were made and such things from him. What Brian did not know was that men could get aroused without intending to make babies. The boy was, therefore, very puzzled as he saw Paul’s cock begin to get hard. He could not possibly want to make babies as no female was here.
When Brian reached Paul, the man said to him, “I think that you had better have your second punishment now and then we’ll have a rest. I will think about getting lunch ready for us.”
Brian noticed that Paul was holding a couple of leather wristbands in his hands. Paul told the boy to hold out one hand and strapped the wristband in place on the boy’s arm. The wristband had a metal ring attached to it. Then Paul did the same to the boy’s other hand. Now Brian was wearing a pair of leather wristbands, each with a metal ring attached. He then linked the bands together by using a chain, the ends of which had heavy metal clips that could be attached to the wristband rings. In the center of the short chain was a large metal ring.
Brian now reached for a rope that was hanging from a hook in the ceiling. He took hold of the two loose ends and tied one end to the ring in the chain. He began to tug on the other end of the rope. First, the rope pulled the boy’s arms above his head, and as Paul pulled harder, the child began to be pulled up toward the ceiling. When the frightened crying boy’s feet were a foot off the ground, Paul secured the rope to a peg on the wall.
He walked across to a rack containing various whips and selected one, taking it down and practicing a couple of swings with it. The round, wooden handle of the whip was two feet long. The thong itself was made of a thin leather strip. As Paul swung it about, it made a whistling sound as it cut through the air.
Returning to the boy, Paul stood looking at him and smiling. Brian was crying. He did not seem to have stopped since waking up earlier that morning. His body was trembling and shaking as he hung suspended from the ceiling. The strain on his armpits was almost unbearable, and his wrists ached as the leather wristbands bit into his flesh.
“Punishment two, my darling boy,” Paul said. “You’re going to enjoy this one a lot. I know that I am.”
Paul raised his arm in the air and brought the whip whistling down, and the lash struck the boy across his shoulders. Brian screamed loudly as the whip cut into his naked, tender flesh. His body jerked and swung backward and forward from the hook.
A second blow struck the boy across his still red buttocks. This time the lash curled around his buttocks and part of his thigh. One scream from the boy was quickly followed by another as Paul struck him across the small of his back.
Brian’s body was thrashing and jerking wildly on the hook as the pain-crazed child tried to evade the cruel blows. There was no respite. As Brian’s body twisted around, the lash struck him across his chest. No sooner had it struck there than another blow caught him across his stomach.
Through his screams and tears, the boy managed to gasp, “Please…please, stop…please don’t hit me anymore.”
Paul stopped the whipping for a moment.
“That is two more punishments you have earned,” he told the crying boy. “You spoke without permission, and you did not call me Paul. I guess that I was right, my little darling, you do enjoy these punishments. Now I want to hear you scream a little more, make your screams long and loud, my sweet boy.”
Paul had spoken these words in a very gentle tone, a loving tone that completely belied his cruel actions. He brought the whip whistling through the air to strike the boy once more across his sore behind. Brian screamed again as the stinging lash bit into his flesh. He had no time to recover before the lash struck him once more, this time across his back.
The boy’s body was now covered in deep red welts left behind by the lash as it struck his quivering flesh. His cries of pain were unceasing as he continued to jump and jerk about on the rope from which he was hanging. No matter what he did, he could not evade that whip.
For fifteen minutes, Paul whipped the boy, the blows rained down on the lad’s defenseless body in a never-ending stream. The more the boy screamed, the harder the strikes, now traces of blood could be seen. At last, Paul lowered the whip. He looked at the still screaming boy.
“That’s right, my darling. Let me hear how much you like the whip. That’s your second punishment completed, my darling. There’re still lots more to come, but those can wait till later.”
Paul’s cock had become rock hard as he whipped the boy and heard the screams of pain the lad was making. His hard cock, now seven inches long, was standing out from his body and leaking a generous amount of pre-cum.
“Oh, Brian, my darling,” he said to the boy who, though still crying, had ceased to scream, “I’m going to have to change my plans. I think that I’ll fuck you now, and then I’ll make us something to eat.”
Paul now stood close to the boy and looked up at him.
“If you want me to get you down and not whip you anymore, you must ask me to fuck you. You must say, ‘Please, Paul, fuck me.’ If you don’t, I’ll leave you where you are and whip you again later.
Young Brian did not fully understand what the man was talking about. He knew that fuck was a bad word to use, and he had been forbidden to use the term. It had something to do with making babies, but he was not sure exactly what it meant. Rather than endure any more pain from being whipped, he would say what the man wanted to hear.
“Please, Paul, fuck me,” the boy said, his voice full of terror.
“Okay, Brian,” Paul said with a smile, “but first, I must enter your new punishments.” He crossed to the board and deleted the second chalk mark, made another two marks, and said, “Three punishments left, my sweet, I’ll make sure that they’re ones that you’ll love.”
He returned to the boy and lowered him from the hook. He removed the wristbands and lifted the young boy into his arms. He crossed to the bed as he kissed Brian on his tear-stained cheek.
“Okay, my darling, you want me to fuck you, and I will.”
He placed the boy onto the bed, face up, and kissed him again. Then he moved to a cupboard on the wall and took from it a tube of lubricant. As young Brian watched with wide-open, terror-filled blue eyes, the man smeared the lubricant liberally on his seven-inch hard cock.
“I’d better make sure my cock is well oiled since I don’t want to hurt you too much, but I do hope that you will scream for me.”
Paul returned to the bed and told Brian to kneel on his hands and knees. He turned the boy until the child’s ass was positioned against the side of the bed with his head facing the other side. He put his hand on the small of the young boy’s back and pushed down until Brian’s head was touching the mattress and nestling in his arms.
Standing behind the boy, Paul placed his hands, one on each cheek of the boy’s ass. He then pulled the lad’s buttocks apart to reveal the tight little pink anus, wrinkled and closed tight. It looked like a tightly closed little rosebud, and Paul whispered, “Spring is here, and you are about to bloom.”
He let go of the boy’s buttocks and took hold of his hard cock with one hand and placing the other hand on the small of the boy’s back, he pressed down firmly to ensure that the lad could not move. He positioned his hard purple cockhead in the crack of Brian’s ass, making sure that it was pressing against the young boy’s anus.
Still holding his cock with one hand, Paul thrust his body forward at the hips. He pressed hard, but for a moment, nothing happened. Brian’s sphincter held firm. Not for long, however. The strength of the man was more than a match for the young boy’s asshole. It opened slightly, and the tip of Paul’s cock entered that secret place.
Brian, not exactly crying, more of a whimper than cry, did not feel any real discomfort as the tip of Paul’s cockhead entered him. Paul pushed harder with his body as he continued to pin the boy to the bed with his free hand, and his cockhead now slipped into Brian’s rectum. As the whole of the cockhead entered the child, stretching his asshole to accommodate its size, Brian let out a long shrill, scream of agony from the pain that was worse than anything that had gone before. He felt as if he was being split in half.
Paul waited a moment, allowing the boy to give full vent to his feelings. Then he pushed harder and thrust the cock deeper into the boy’s virgin hole. As his cock forced its way up Brian’s shit channel, the boy screamed. He did not have time to cry, all he could do was scream.
Paul removed his hand from Brian’s back and his other hand from his cock. He placed both his hands around the boy’s waist and pulled him toward his thrusting hard cock. As sweat poured off the man’s face and chest, Paul continued to force his cock into Brian’s hot bowels. He had now had more than five inches of his hard rod deep into the boy’s intestines. He pulled out slightly for the very first time, and then he shoved his cock back up, gaining another half inch. Out he came and back in he went; now, six of his seven inches was in the boy’s guts.
Brian continued to scream in pain. His asshole had never been subjected to this treatment before, and it hurt like hell. His screams were mixed with his tears once again as the boy blubbered in agony.
‘When would it stop,’ the boy wondered.
Paul pulled his cock almost out of the boy’s asshole and then drove back up him again. This time the whole seven inches penetrated the child, and Paul’s balls slapped against the cheeks of Brian’s ass. Without waiting to pause, Paul pulled his cock way out, leaving less than an inch in the boy’s asshole. With a mighty thrust, the entire length of his hard cock was driven back up that child’s virgin asshole. Brian hollered in agony. No thought about punishments entered his head when he cried out.
“Stop…stop…please, stop…it hurts too much.”
Paul ignored the boy’s pleas as he drove his cock into Brian’s intestines. How he loved the hot feel of the young boy’s insides, the tightness of the channel that his cock was traveling through, and the velvety pulsating sensation of the colon around his cock. Nothing could possibly be better than fucking the tight asshole of a young boy as the victim screamed and pleaded for him to stop. For a few moments, the man rested on top of the boy, his cock buried deep inside the child.
He whispered into the crying boy’s ear, “Come on now, my darling, and stop your crying. This is what you wanted me to do. You’re now my sweet lover, and I will be fucking you a lot. I bet that you really love my cock up your sweet asshole.”
Paul then resumed his fucking. He pulled his cock out of the boy, this time all the way out. Then he drove it back up the screaming child before pulling all the way out again. He held the boy’s waist firmly in his two hands as he punch-fucked his victim’s unwilling body. His actions got faster, now there was no pause between his movements in and out of the boy.
Paul could feel his balls tightening. He felt the tingle of his sperm welling up. His legs began to shake, he pulled Brian close into his body. His cock was buried up to its hilt in the child’s guts as Paul shot his hot sperm into the boy’s insides. Paul did not yell out, he made almost no sound, as he filled the young child with his hot cream.
As Brian wept loudly, the boy could feel the man’s throbbing cock inside him, shooting out its love juice. Once he had finished cumming inside the boy, Paul lay on top of the lad, leaving his cock where it was.
“Brian, my darling, that’s the first time I’ve fucked you. That’s the first time anybody has fucked you. I know it felt good since I could hear you scream with joy. My darling, I am pleased that I gave you such a good fuck.”
After he said those words to the weeping boy, Paul began to withdraw his cock. Once he was fully out of the child, he told the boy to turn round, staying on his hands and knees, and face him. The boy, who’s crying had died away, at last, turned and faced his rapist.
“Now, Brian, I want you to lick my cock clean. Stick your tongue out and lick my whole cock clean right now.”
What choice did the boy have? He stuck out his tongue and began to lick Paul’s semi-hard cock. The cock was not clean. It was smeared in shit together with streaks of blood and a generous amount of spent sperm. The boy tried hard not to vomit as he started to lick Paul’s cock clean.
His sweet young pink tongue ran down the shaft of the filthy cock, leaving a clean trail behind it. He licked down and around, back up and over the cock head, then down and around it again. As he licked the cock clean, he had to keep swallowing the slime to get if off his lovely tongue.
“Now clean my balls. Lick them and suck them,” Paul ordered the boy, and this Brian proceeded to do. He licked Paul’s hairy ball sac and then sucked on his balls, one at a time. “Now, suck my cock head,” Paul ordered. “Suck it real good.”
Paul opened his mouth and took the head of Paul’s cock in. Then he sucked on that throbbing nob. As Brian sucked cock for the first time, Paul put his head back
“Oh, my darling, that’s so good…your mouth feels so very good.”
He allowed the boy to suck his cock for a full five minutes without stopping.
At last, he said, “Okay, that’s enough, you’ve done a good job, and now I’m lovely and clean,” as he pulled his cock from the boy’s mouth.
Brian knelt, looking up at the man, his eyes bleary from the tears that he had shed. Paul looked down at the helpless little boy kneeling in front of him. A warm feeling of pleasure filled his body as he looked at his living toy.
“Brian, my darling,” Paul said to the boy, “each time that I have finished fucking you, I want you to ask me to clean my cock. This is what you will say, ‘Please, Paul, now that you have fucked me, may I lick your cock clean for you?’ Now, my sweet love, I want you to repeat those words and make sure that you remember to say them each time I’ve finished fucking you.”
Holding back his tears, in a voice that quivered and was full of fear, the poor little boy said to Paul, “Please, Paul, may I lick you clean?”
“Not quite right, my darling, try it again. This is what you say, ‘Please, Paul, now that you have fucked me, may I lick your cock clean for you?’ Paul said as he repeated the words to the boy for a second time.
In a voice that sounded a little stronger, Brian said, “Please, Paul, now that you’ve fucked me, may I lick your cock for you.”
“Almost right,” Paul said patiently, “let's try it once more.” He then repeated the words that he wanted the boy to say and told him to try again.
“Please, Paul, now that you have fucked me, may I lick your cock clean for you?” Brian said.
“That’s it. You’ve got it right. Well done,” Paul enthused. “You had better keep repeating that to yourself because every time you get it wrong in the future, it will mean another punishment.”
As Paul moved away from the bed, he told the boy to return to his cell.
“Oh, but there is just one thing I must remember to do,” Paul announced to the boy as he was getting off the bed.
Paul went to the board and made another chalk mark saying, “Never talk unless you are given permission. Now you have four punishments to come. Oh, we’re going to have such fun. Now then, Brian, go to your cell while I prepare a meal.”
The boy walked painfully across the torture chamber. His asshole was sore from the fucking, and his whole body ached and stung from the spanking and the whipping that he had received. When he entered the cell, Paul locked the door behind the boy and turned off the light. Once again, Brian was left in total darkness to dwell on all the recent evil events that had befallen him. Paul went off to get them a meal, feeling jubilant happiness. He had his own lovely boy at his beck and call.
‘How was it,’ he marveled, ‘that Dame Fortune had smiled so generously on me?’
The cruel man felt no remorse at all for the pain and suffering that he had inflicted on the eight-year-old boy. Instead, he was contemplating with a great deal of pleasure what more he could do to young Brian.
Having prepared a meal, Paul took a tray of food to his young prisoner. He placed the tray on the floor of the cell and told Brian that he had one hour to eat the food. When the time was up, Paul collected the tray. He noticed that despite all the stress and strain the boy must be under, he had finished the meal. Locking the cell door behind him and switching off the light as he left, the poor child was plunged into darkness once again.
Brian was left on his own for several hours until he was again given something to eat and drink. This time he was given thirty minutes to eat the light meal. When the man returned for the tray, he picked it up and saw that some of the food was uneaten. He did not speak to Brian. He had not spoken to the boy since telling him to return to his cell. He left, locking the door and switching off the light. Once again, the child was left in darkness.
In fact, although Brian had no way of telling it, night had fallen. Paul went to bed and slept soundly for the whole of the night. The boy in the cell tossed and turned, cried for his mommy and daddy, wept at the terrors that had befallen him and, eventually fell asleep only to be haunted by nightmares that caused him to scream aloud.