I can't believe it. I actually managed to get an adult man arrested and sent to prison for 5 years. Well, I did have assistance for others, but, nonetheless, the plot and execution worked. Not bad for a 15 year old kid!
By way of introduction; I am a rich kid. I live with my father and two servants in our large plantation. Sure, I have plenty of money and with that I have power, but the power I really crave comes from an intense desire to possess a body of magnificent strength and virility. I long ago gave up the impossible dream that I would ever look like some of the other guys in high school. You know, the ones with broad shoulders, full chests, muscular arms and legs, yet with tiny waists and compact bubble butts. Tall, handsome, _c_o_c_k_sure guys that all the girls and plenty of other boys just droll over. At 5'5" and a skinny and flabby 130 pounds, I am bright enough to know that all the calisthenics, weights, protein powder and supplements won't alter my appearance one bit. Besides, all I have to do is look at my father. At 5'7" and 230 pounds of fat, his premature balding head, thick glasses and long hook nose are what I have to look forward to. When people say how much I resemble my Dad (minus the layers of his fat) I take it as insulting reality and I get mad, real mad. That's something else I have in common with my father; we are well-known for our uncontrollable anger. For Dad, it's meant beign considered a tyrant, a ruthless business man who, due to his wealth, no one dares to cross. For me, unfortunately, my anger only results in the laughter of classmates, even kids way younger than me. You see, no one is afraid of a wimpy, somewhat homely brat, even if I am wealthy. This fact makes me even angrier and with that rage I have learned to plot my evil desires.
At times, I think life is so unfair. I don't have any friends to speak of, and with my father off on his countless business trips, i find myself home alone quite often. I use to be plain miserable, until the day Dad hired our new live-in cook/valet. Boris is nothing to look at; though tall, he's fat like my Dad (kind of fits right in our home), but I soon realized that he and I were definitely a 'cut of the same cloth', so to speak. Boris listens to me when I tell him of my frustrations, but more importantly, he suggests ways that I can go about accomplishing what I want. To be quite frank, Boris is a bona fide sadist. When he expresses his opinion on what I can do to satisfy my evil desires, he, most assuredly, is guiding me into what he also craves. Once, he showed me his collection of whips, straps, paddles, clips and harnesses. Immediately my _c_o_c_k_ hardened as I took hold of a long vicious whip handle, and, looking in his eyes, I realized that we, indeed, were 'kindred spirits' awaiting prey!
Marco is the most good looking kid I've ever laid eyes on. At 17 years of age, he stands 6 ft. tall and weighs 185 pounds. The reason I know his exact weight is that Marco wrestles on our high school team. He also is a star gymnast; he can perform an 'Iron Cross' and hold it for over a minute! But the one sport that Marco excels at the most, according to all the girls in school, is bodybuilding. Standing on the auditorium stage in a pair of skin tight posing trunks, his muscular arms raised overhead in a victory pose for the photographers and fans, is a sight to behold. Marco took the overall first place award. That meant that he beat not only every teenager, but all of the other adult bodybuilders in the contest. And it's no wonder.
The first time I saw Marco was when he and his father were moving into the old farm house on the back acres of our plantation. It was exactly one year ago. I drove over with my father. We stopped our limo in front of the old dilipidated two room shack, stirring-up dust that Marco and his father had to rub from their eyes. My eyes, however, were totally transfixed on this teenaged boy. I'd never seen anyone like him. He was wearing a worn pair of Levi's, old sneakers and a ragged T-shirt. It was, however, what was under those old clothes that completely captivated me.
Marco wa a tad shorter that his current height, but even then, a year ago, he was the most muscular boy I could ever imagine. His shoulders pulled the large T-shirt in such a way that it caused the material to stretch tightly across his broad manly chest (you could even see his large nipples protruding) and super wide back, yet the shirt was quite loose around his waist. It seemed that the way his pants fit snugly around extremely narrow hips, then flared out across his solid legs, that his physique took on an 'hour glass' look. I nearly began to drool when I looked at Marco's arms. They weren't over thick like a steroid using bodybuilder's, but, instead, were incredibly defined. His biceps, even relaxed, showed all the cuts and separation of a human anatomy chart. Thick veins coursed down into his forearms. Even the slightest movement of his hands caused his forearm muscles to dance under his smooth, tan skin. I did begin to drool when I beheld Marco's face. Sitting on a thick, yet graceful neck, his strong sharp jarline, dimpled chin, round full lips, high cheekbones, large blue eyes and thick, wavy brown hair were enough to make my already raging hard-on begin to drip precum; a noticeable spot showed on my pants.
Dad immediately got out of the car and approached Marco's father. I could definitely see where Marco got his looks, yet his father had a sort of 'beat down' look. He seemed even timid as my father spoke to him.
"Well, I see that you finally moved in, but, don't forget, I expect a full day's work out of you. Do you understand?" My father made his point by jabbing his finger into the man's thick chest.
Marco's father cast his eyes down and meekly replied, "Yes Sir."
My father then went on about how he expected the labor to be completed each day or there would be consequences. As he ran down the long list of work projects to Marco's father, I looked over again at Marco. He was still rubbing the dust out of one eye, but the unmistakable expression on his handsome face, unlike his old man, showed resistance and hostility towards my father. I could tell that he was embarrassed for his father and sort of ashamed like poor folks feel in front of powerful rich people. My stare then suddenly dropped to Marco's waist as I watched him pull up the bottom of his T-shirt to rub the dirt off his face. Now I could see another part of his body that absolutely mesmerized me. You see, I may be skinny, but I have a thick fold of flad around my midsection. No amount of sit-ups cold ever melt the fat away. But what I now veiwed of Marco's stomach made me melt on the spot. As he casually lifted the shirt, he revealed a flawless, darkly tanned lower torso of tightly etched, smooth, hairless abdominal muscles. His waist looked so compact and impossibly small for a boy of his height. My eyes slowly gazed up marveling at the finely detailed ribs and lat muscles as he twisted slightly. Sitting low on his sharply cleaved pectoral muscle was the _s_e_x_iest nipple I'd ever laid eyes on. The dark sphere must have been 2 inches across, but it ws what protruded our from the delicious areola that made me bite my tongue. The very thought of actually biting down on the thick, pea size teat made my _c_o_c_k_ actually jerk in my pants.
I had to have this boy! I knew that very instant that I had to have this boy!
Thus, my plan began to take shape.
CHAPTER 2
It isn't fair. How can someone be so poor and yet so popular, attractive ad the wet dream of so many people?
Marco was an immediate sensation at the high school. Everywhere he went, girls, and even some boys, followed. When he walked into the cafeteria everyone stopped to look and admire him. Teachers smiled. The coach was ecstatic to have an athlete of such natural talent. Marco was the most desirable boy in the entire town. But nobody desired him as much as I did. And nobody desired him in the way that I did, except Boris.
Boris didn't even have to actually see Marco to know fully well that my compulsive desire would match his own. We would sit in Boris' room late at night as I would describe how Marco looked that day, how his clothes barely concealed his magnificent body. I would often repeat the story of the time I actually glimpsed sight of Marco's _c_o_c_k_ in the locker room. Even in it's flaccid state, I estimate that it hung down ove 5 inches. His huge egg size balls were equally low in their sack. I reminded Boris about how Marco's smooth ass cheeks were deeply indented on each side. During these daily talks with Boris, we would hold and caress the many whips, canes, shackles and numerous other torture devices that we were now mutually collecting for the day that they would be used and who they would be used on. We both would have raging hard-ons as we went over every detail of our plot.
And finally the day arrived.
CHAPTER 3
The day Marco's father received his sentence of 5 years in prison for raping a woman from a neighboring town was the day that Marco's life changed for the worst. And the change in his life would now be like descending into HELL!
"Well, you know, boy, that your old man is going to be gone for a long time", my father sternly stated to Marco. Marco had never been in the plantation mansion. It reminded him of his father's servitude to the rich owner and his strange son. He now shuddered while standisng in my father's large study. He was confused why the sheriff was present. He was confused about how his father could be charged and convicted of a crime that he couldn't possibly have committed. He was anxious about what would become of himself, how he would be able to care for himself. To his utter horror these questions would be answered in a way that only a nightmare could produce.
"Yes, boy, your father actually owes me a cosiderable amount of money, or shall I say, labor. While you were off involved in your after-school sports activities, your father wasn't able to keep up with hid daily quota of work. I guess he never told you about how he was so far behind in his labor that he now owes me 5 years of hard work." Marco begins to squirm as his nervousness becomes visible while he listens to my father. This is a great scene as the young muscle boy becomes aware of how his life is going to be for the next 5 years!
"You'll quit school and begin to work here starting immediately. The sheriff is here to inform you that if you decide that you aren't going to fulfill your family obligations and leave, that you will be hunted down and brought back here. I wouldn't suggest escaping since it will mean adding another year to your, shall we say, sentence of hard labor"! Marco begins to sweat; his manly odor is quite evident even in the large study.
"You'll be well-fed. I need a strong back for the heavy work that you will be doing. You will work from sun-up to sun-down. Any slacking will be dealt with severely. Am I understood, boy?" Marco's look of dread is worth the entire plot to have his father arrested on a fabricated charge. You see, money can buy many things.
"Oh, by-the-way, I think you know my son, Edgar, right?" Marco glances over and stares at me probably for the first time since he and his father moved in a year ago. Now, he can't stop staring as he looks into my evil eyes.
"I'm quite often away for weeks on business trips and certainly don't have the time to supervise a laborer, so Edgar will be in charge of you. You will obey him at all times. Any resistance to his authority or a lack of respect will result in severe discipline." Now, Marco becomes increasingly anxious.
"But, Sir, he's younger than me", Marco states in an almost pleading way. I will enjoy seeing him beg every day!
"Don't back talk to me, you ungrateful bastard", as father quickly walks over to Marco and slaps him very hard across the face. "I won't tolerate any signs of disrespect"; father backhands Marco across the othe cheek. "You will obey Edgar's every order, or suffer the consequences"; another loud slap. Marco's head is reeling from the blows to his handsome face as tears well up in his eyes. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Marco is learning his first lesson in how quickly his master can lose his temper. Yet this little display of slapping is mere child's play compared to what I, his real master, have in store for Marco on a regular and severe basis. Now, at last, I am entering the world of having complete dominion over another human being. This boy will become my total slave. I will now begin to have my lustful desires satisfied with the most beautiful specimen of teenaged manhood. Oh, what bliss!
CHAPTER 4
That very morning father left on a 4 week trip to South America.
Marco stands, a forlorn look on his ever to handsome face, befor me and Boris. We marched him down to his room in the basement. Actually it's a cell. Through a very large room, it is sparely furnished. In-fact, it consists of a bare mattress on the cement floor and a drain on the side that serves as a toilet. There are, however, other objects in the room. Marco looks, open mouthed in disbelief, at what appears to be medieval torture devices. He's only seen pictures of such dreadful apparatus and can't imagine how it would feel to be the victim of these hellish machines. He's sensing that he will find out sooner than he would like.
Marco is breathing deeply, sweat begins to form on his brow as he recognizes what must be a heavy wooden rack with a crank at the top and shackles at each corner. There's a large barrel-like contraption, also with a crank and shackles. In-fact, there are shackles everywhere, attached high up on the walls, hanging down in chains from the high ceiling, attached to the floor and on each corner of the mattress. He is beginning to perspire through his T-shirt; his muscular chest is rapidly contracting as he contemplates what will become a major part of his life. His so called 'bedroom' is a torture chamber! Another cruel looking machine catches his eye. It appears to be a large X shaped cross, again, with shackles at each end, but on the back side, in the middle, is a drive belt that is looped around an adjoining motor. Marco realizes that his hedeous large cross is able to spin around, probably at terrifying velocity.
Now, real panic is setting in as Marco sees what are hanging from hooks in the walls: WHIPS! A nasty 8 ft. bullwhip, a savage looking 5 ft 'cat-o-nine', thick 3 ft. razor straps, rawhide belts and leather straps of evey size, quirts, switches, paddles, canes. He can clearly comprehend what the car battery with wires and sharp clips will be used for. He knows what an alligator clip is since he's used them in metal shop at school. There are hundreds of these vicious razor teeth clips in various sizes on a shelf. Marco looks down at his heaving chest with his large protruding nipples and begins to tremble.
"Take off your clothes", I order him. Marco, visibly shaking, begins to back away from me.
"Please, Edgar, No", he pleads.
You were not given permission to speak. For that offense you will need to be punished', I calmly, but deliberately announce. Boris grabs Marco by the arm, amazed how hard an 18 inch biceps feel. Marco pulls away and turns towards the locked metal door, yet is only able to take two steps before he feels the thud of a cudgel crash down on his skull.
Minutes later.
"Alright, Boris, he's ready. Get the smelling salts."
Marco stirs from his short-lived unconsciousness, and will learn that unconsciousness will always be short-lived. As he opens his eyes he is looking straight into my eyes. How is that possible since he is 6 ft. tall and I am so much shorter. This puzzle and the rest of his condition is quickly figured out as he can feel the painful pull on his shoulders and thighs. Looking up he sees that his wrists are clamped into thick metal cuffs with chains pulling his arms up and out at an uncomfortable angle. His legs are also painfully pulled down and out almost horizontal to the floor. The chains to all 4 cuffs are controlled by a crank that is attached to a nearby wall. Now Marco knows why he is at the same height as me.
"You made me angry when you tried to get away. You made me angry when you spoke without permission. You made me angry when you did not obey my order to take off your clothes. I am angry that I will, now, have to disrobe you. Those are 4 offenses that need to be punished. And believe me, boy, you are most definitely going to be punished." Marco could only gasp and groan in terror.
"Boris, strip him."
Boris took hold of Marco's shirt collar and with one swift pull tore it right off Marco's torso. Now, both of us gasped as we beheld the incredible body of Marco. With his arms spread out his physique is beyond imagination. His thickly muscled, unbelievably wide shoulders produce a V taper of amazing proportions. His deep, nearly hairless armpits make an indentation under his paper thin, smooth, tan skin that just invites abuse. I am already thinking alligator ciips as I approach him and slowly begin to pinch his mouth-watering tits. Being this close to Marco I can smell the wonderful masculine odor exuding from his arm pits. I can't help but put my whole face down into his wide, deep armpit exhilarating in the heady aroma of his quaking fear. He trembles and lets out a low moan as I grab hold of his sparse armpit hairs and violently jerked them out by the roots.
"Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Marco howls. Sweat is beginning to form and drip down out of his armpits.
"I told you not to make a sound, didn't I? I don't think you understand that each offense is worth 25 lashes of the whip, and, now, I count 5 offenses." Marco closes his eyes shut and with a sigh of despair, loses all control; he pees in his pants.
Boris and I laugh softly as the urine spreads out and down Marco's pant legs.
"That's 6! One hundred and fifty lashes of the whip! Boris, cut the 'peeboy's pants off. Our boy here needs a hard whipping right now."
Swiftly, with a sharp knife, Boris cuts the Levi's off of Marco's beautiful muscled legs, and, to our delight, he isn;t wearing underwear. But it isn't Marco's legs that we are both now totally in awe of. There, right before our eyes, is the most perfect _c_o_c_k_ and balls that could be imagined. I remember seeing his manhood briefly once before ancd could never forget how wonderful it looked. But, now, with his legs pulled painfully apart, his penis easily measures 6 inches soft, and his huge testicles hang down so low that you can wrap your hand around the sack and still have several inches to spare. We can't possibly start the punishment until we closely examine the magnificent _c_o_c_k_ and balls first. We both approach Marco. I heft his balls in my hand; they have to weigh at least 5 pounds and that gives me an idea. I can barely get my hand around one large 'AAA Grade' testicle!
Boris holds Marco's tool in both of this hands like he is cradling a baby. Just the mere touch of our hands on Marco's hugh equipment has started a reaction that both of us are thrilled to witness. The mighty _c_o_c_k_ begins to quiver and swell, and, before our very eyes, the uncut meat lengthens. The large arrow-shaped _c_o_c_k_head slowly begins to emerge from it's protective skin. Neither of us speak a word, nor does Marco other than our deep breathing. Finally, the _c_o_c_k_ rises majestically off Boris' hands and bobs in the air a full 11 inches of thick, smooth manmeat. The few veins coursing down the giant prick are surging with blood and potency. It is the most glorious sight I have ever dreamt of. My mouth begins to water with my anticipation of how much use I will be getting from pleasuring, NO!, torturing this immense python of power!
My eyes meet Marco's and we both know that this is what we are meant to be: MASTER AND SLAVE!
CHAPTER 5
Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!"
Marco is delirious as the pain totally engulfs him. His groans become cries, his screams turn into deep animal-like wails nearly drowning out the loud crash of the whips that bite his fully flexed body to teenage muscle. He is covered in sweat. His hair is matted to his skull as sweat flows like rivers down his thick, cabled neck and into the deep cleaved, smooth canal that separates his pectoral muscles. Sweat constantly drops from his prominent tits forming a growing puddle on the cement floor. It flows down the deep crevasse between the rows of straining abdominal muscles. My whip causes his still erect _c_o_c_k_ to violently slam into his thighs, sending sweat flying in all directions. I am being bathed inhis sweet shower of manly rain. Sweat also flows like the 'mighty Mississippi' down Marco's deeply etched back and onto his high, super defined buttocks, right into the ass crack; his anus hole opens and closes to the rhythm of the whips.
Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!"
Boris is in 'sadist heaven' as he lifts the heavy, thick strap in both hands and delievers a full force blow to Marco's inviting ass. Each blow produces a flexing of the butt muscles in a way that Boris never knew exists. The full, bubble butt is defined in muscle detail that you only see on medical school charts. It is pure, rock hard muscle from the upper ridges of the spine's tailbone rigth down to the flat, wide hamstrings. The ass is in constant motion as Marco involuntarily flexes and twists his compact melons of boy butt. Boris concentrates his hard blows on the ass, but occcasionally whips the strap down onto Marco's wide, V-tapered back, and watches with amazement as the boy tightens and flexez his back, a roadmap of writhing muscle and veins. Yes, even veins on the butt muscles. This kid is built like no bodybuilder ever seen in those magazines. These muscles are so visible it seems as if there's no skin. But, yes, there is skin. It is smooth, supple, flawlessly tanned. Wait, the skin used to be smooth, supple and flawlessly tanned. Now, from the boy's thick neck, where the spinal column is fully exposed, right down to the delicious ass and thighs, the skin is covered in long, wicked welts, especially concentrated on the butt. Bruises of varying colors ans stark red, angry welts cover Boris' welcoming target as Marco screams in an unintelligible voice.
Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!' Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!"
My arm is actually beginning to get sore, yet this 'Boy God' is still very much awake and fully conscioius of what I am doing to his gorgeous body. I thought he was about to pass out 15 minutes ago, but that's when I switched over to whipping his _c_o_c_k_ and balls again. It seems that this extra painful attention has revivied him and he hasn't stopped screaming since. He looks straight at me, but I don't think he is really seeing me; he seems to be focused somewhere else beyond me, this torture chamber, and this ertire plantation. His deep blue eyes get gazed over and seem about to fall back up into the eye sockets, then, with an especially hard lash of my belt, he opens his eyes wide and bellows. Boy, does he look handsome when he's screaming. The high cheekbones of his straining face are covered in sweat and tears; lots of tears. His perfect white teeth are easy to count since he constantly bares them while screaming out in his baritone, teen, masculine voice. I still can't believe that Marco is all mine; every inch of his 185 pound 'he-man' body is mine to use and abuse, and abuse it what me and Boris have been doing for over an hour. I've actually lost count of the lashes; probably between the two of us we've delivered well over 200 hand blows to Marco's constantly writhing body, and we aren't stopping.
I can't seem to choose where to strike the next blow and in my excitement I keep changing places on his body. Marco is kept off-guard by my whims. I must admit that I love the way my heavy strap careens down deep into his breathtaking armpits. Remember where I pulled out some armpit hairs? Now they're plastered to his paper thin, totally drenched skin as I aim up into the deep pit or out along the super wide lats. His ribs seem to be bursting through his transparent tan skin every time he takes another huge gulp of air or screams in agony. That's when I slash the belt right down on those writhing, twisting ribs. I can't get enough of his smooth as alabaster, highly defined pecs either. When I hit that inviting target all his chest muscles flex into patterns of deeply etched striations. Of-course, I take special aim for his 'silver dollar' nipples. I like to stand back just a bit and then cut loose; the strap whistles through the humid aire at over 100 miles an hour crashing down on those tender teats. The deafening sound reverberates off the walls as Boris and I let out hoots of excitement. Marco, on-the-other-hand, squeezes his eyes tight, throws back his head, and howls in torment.
Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!" Thwackkk! "Aaaaiiieeeaaahhh!"
As I said before, I've never been able to see my own abdominal muscles, no matter how many sit-ups I've done. But, Marco has abs that start just under the twin mounts of his pecs and trail down all the way to his _c_o_c_k_. I can count 12 rows of muscle. When they say "6-pac" they're not talking about Marco. Every detail is clearly exposed and they wind down into such a narrow waist. His _c_o_c_k_ seems to be an extension of his abs, sort of like a thick, long arrow. I had to stop for a minute and measure his waist (we included a cloth tape measure inour preparations for Marco, in order to get all the details of this hunk's body). I still can't quite believe my eyes when the tape around Marco's waist measured 27 inches! This on a body that stands 6 ft. tall! I really like it when Marco pulls his waist into a vacuum which he does quite often when I'm whipping his stomach. There's this hallow sound to the crash of the whip as I take aim like a 'batter at the plate' and, with both hands on the whip handle, slam the strap full force into his writhing, undulating stomach muscles. It knocks the wind right out of his lungs.
The most fun, naturally, is what's under those rows of abdominals. It's hard to believe that through all this torture that Marco's huge _c_o_c_k_ is fully erect like a sword stabbing the air. I figure I've delivered direct hits on that monster at least 25 times. When I do connect, and it's too big a target not to miss, Marco's _c_o_c_k_ slams down hard against his thigh only to wildly pound into the other leg and repeat the motion twice. Sometimes I swing the belt upwards and watch that thick, pulsating tube of _c_o_c_k_meat slam hard into Marco's stomach well beyond his cute belly button. All the while, sweat is pouring off of the giant prick like when Marco was peeing before.
The all time greatest thrill for both me and Boris is what we are doing right now to Marco's balls. You remember when I was hefting those hen eggs in my hand and thinking that they must weigh 5 pounds. Well, now they weigh 15 pounds! That's courtesy of a heavy 3 inch width, tight steel ball collar that Boris and I permanently welded in place. It's got hooks so we attached a short chain around a 10 pound barbell plate. Now Marco's ball hang down around 8 inches and with his legs pulled way apart, it's the 'bull-eye' target. You know, bulls balls make a 'bulls-eye' target. The real fun is happening right now since Boris and I are in sync with each other. First, my belt crashes down into Marco's balls with such force that it causes the barbell plate to swing wildly back behind Marco just in time for Boris to slam his whip into the huge sack. It's like ringing a huge bell with Marco screaming like 'Big Ben'>Needless to say, that Marco's ball are swollen to twice their normal size. Can you imagine that?
To be continued . . .