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Zac – The Unlucky One
Part Three
“Awww…feels so tight.”
This was becoming a Zac habit – emoting his discomfort with these little asides addressed to nobody in particular. Not complaining, you understand, for marines don’t complain, but merely verbalising his pain.
If you were working, involuntarily, with a sadist, would you give them the pleasure of a little running commentary on the centres of pain gripping your torso? Well, I wouldn’t, but Zac had much to learn.
Marine Zac’s penis is now a vision in stainless steel. He is wearing The Enforcer.
The Enforcer is a truly bespoke instrument of chastity. Five rings of medical grade steel form the cage, into which the kid’s long, slender, uncut dick is stuffed. Then the handcuff-style ring is secured ever so tightly – as Zac attests - around the base of his balls.
However, The Enforcer is so much more than that. Each ring of the cage has three internal spikes. That’s one big incentive not to get hard. Finally, at the end of the cage is a through-hole penis plug, to provide an element of urethral stretching whilst still allowing the kid to piss without adjusting the device.
Zac stands in the formal pose. Master worked behind him whilst attaching the chastity, so his face, his body, is still a mystery. His big, meaty hands are now quite familiar, however. These are hands which are expert in hurting a boy; working a boy; applying devices as though it were second nature. This is a confident man, with a scared young marine.
“Tell me what your chastity does, Zachary.”
The kid knew, of course. He hated being asked to spell it out.
“It stops me from getting hard and cumming, Master.”
There is a pause.
“It leaves that power with the holder of the padlock key, Zachary.”
“Yes, Master.” The kid blushed, fearful always of getting a ‘wrong’ answer to a question.
“The device came with three keys, marine. Two are now at the bottom of the river, probably floating down towards the Persian Gulf. I hold the third. Much like I hold a key for my car. Maybe you’d like to think about that parallel for a moment, Zachary?”
Master’s boots paced at the back of the room.
“Of course, I have changed my car on a number of occasions. It’s a relatively easy process. Sell it to someone who is content with a used model, well broken in. Someone who knows they are taking on something unreliable, and who will treat it with little sympathy. Have I said all I need to on ownership, Zachary?”
“Yes, Master.”
Unsure where the bravado came from, Zac carried on.
“Master, they said never to speak unless asked a question, but I don’t really understand what’s going on and I really want to know.”
From behind, a long finger reached around and pushed Zac’s lips shut.
“Ssshhh. You need to trust your Master to tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.” The deep voice said.
“Meanwhile, you asked what’s going on. Well, what’s going on straight away is a little toy for your tit nubs, called the Wall Climber.”
As he spoke, Master commenced rubbing the marine’s nubs, one in each hand between two fingers, in pursuit of the perfect tittie erection. Perhaps because the kid was frightened, or more likely because Master’s skill at pulling, twisting, squashing and squeezing young male tit nubs was unrivalled, Zac rapidly sported two pronounced, erect little gems, each rising 75 millimetres from their compact, perfectly circular bases.
“This is a good quality tit toy, Zachary, because I wish for nothing but the best for you. Good quality means a strong spring, and sharp teeth. You understand, marine?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Take a nice deep breath, Zachary, and hold it for me. I want to see those pec plates rise.”
The kid inhaled audibly, and as he did so, the hand reached around him again from the rear, and gave his left nub a further squeeze. As the fingers released, they were immediately replaced with the biting teeth of the clamp, the Wall Climber.
“Another deep breath, Zachary.”
Zac was still adjusting to, and reeling from, the pain in his left nub.
“Now, Zachary, or I will punish.”
The young marine puffed up again, and a matching clamp, joined to the first with a length of steel chain, was applied to his right nub.
“Ahhh…feels so sharp!”
The tiny, pointed metallic teeth of the clamp bit into tender boy nub flesh, and equally tiny rivulets of crimson blood began to run lazily over Zac’s defined pec meat.
Master’s hands were back again, searching, inevitably, for the chain joining the clamps. The short length gave only a modest amount of slack as it drooped towards the top of Zac’s abdomen.
The kid stole an illicit glance down, only to see one hand gripping the chain tightly, veins prominent. He felt the slack disappear, and suddenly the clamps themselves were at right angles to his body.
“What did I tell you these were called, Marine Zachary?”
“Wall Climber, Master.”
“Because, Zachary, the natural physical response of a young man, when this chain is pulled, is to do exactly that. I, however, would prefer you to stay rooted to the spot. And I would like you to stay at attention, legs nicely apart as you have them now, biceps locked behind your neck as you have them now. Eyes to remain fixed firmly ahead, at that nice blank wall that you won’t be climbing today. Is that understood, Zachary?”
“Yes Mast………AWWWwwwww NO, please!”
The strong hand pulled the unforgiving metal chain, which in turn yanked the clamps that wrenched Zac’s youthful boy tits brutally forward, away from his body.
The soles of Zac’s heavy black boots crunched on the floor as his body shifted and rose, before the kid remembered his instructions and he endeavoured to return to a flat footed pose. Master, still behind Zac, assisted his return to a formal ‘attention’ position by grabbing a handful of butt flesh and pulling down.
A brief respite, as Master let go of the chain. He whispered, millimetres from the kids left ear.
“And again, Zachary. But this time, how about obeying orders?”
“Yes Mast…Awwwww huuuuurtssssss!”
Perhaps you wouldn’t have guessed how elastic, in extremis, boy titties can be. As Master pulled at the chain, Zac’s nubs extended a full six centimetres from his chest.
Zac’s tear ducts again became wet. Do you think that worries a sadist?
The kid shook his head in despair, but this time he internalised his wall climbing. His feet remained firmly on the floor, although the strain to hold this position was clearly evident from the prominent veins in his calves. Likewise, his sweaty palms remained locked behind his head, almost glued to it in fear.
This tit pull went on for ninety seconds, accompanied by lots of little ‘ahs’ and ‘oh fucks’ from the marine. That was all fine for Master. Emoting pain is not a cause for punishment. He let go of the chain.
The kid sobbed.
“Cry if you must, but keep your chin up whilst you do so, Zachary. I haven’t told you to stand at ease.”
“Yes, Master.” Zac mumbled, through tears.
Boots paced the back of the room, behind Zac, again.
“Marines have a reputation for adventure, of course, and low inhibitions. I’m just wondering, have you and Vanessa ever made out in public, perhaps, or at any kind of group session?”
“No, Master!” Zac was emphatic.
“Okay, I understand. Maybe not that adventurous. But have you ever wondered what it might be like to have a group of people watch, seeing it all? Watching pink holes open up and take dick; seeing the sweat and the effort of the man; hearing the panting and moans of whoever is underneath?”
“Not really, Master.”
He was quiet again for a moment, but continued to pace.
“Just a conservative, small town upbringing was it, Zachary?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Okay. Well, some curiosity might have helped, but it doesn’t matter. You’re going to march outside in a moment, marine, back into the sunshine of the yard. Then, I will have anal sex with you.”
*******
Marine Zachary is at the Land Cruiser, which has been parked centrally in the yard. One leg is on the ground. The other is raised, spread a little and is resting on the ledge that is the high fender of the 4x4. That’s where Master wanted him. The Arabs arranged it.
They gave him his tube of personal lubricant, issued as part of his kit.
“This is the only lubricant you will receive here, Zachary. When it runs out, there is no more. Use as much as you wish, whenever you wish, but a careful marine will use it sparingly.” The lead Arab observed with a sickly grin.
“I’ve never…….I mean, this is my first time.” Zac said, weakly.
The Arab smiled.
“You will enjoy more with a slick hole, then. There isn’t much time Zachary, Master is impatient. Use your fingers.”
The marine grabbed the toothpaste-like tube and squeezed some of the contents onto one finger. And there, spread over the hood of the Land Cruiser, he deflowered his anus for the first time, by his own hand.
“Push it deep in, marine. Master will go deep, so you must lube deep!”
I am sorry if this upsets you, or you are eating, but I must tell you – because it is the reality – that the 21 year-olds tanned digits emerged from his oiled-up sphincter a streaky brown. That is the reality of boy sex without a full preparatory enema. It’s not something that straight boys generally know. Why would they even think about it? Zac looked disgusted with himself, but there was nowhere to wash, and no permission to do so in any event. He looked at the tube – already perhaps 15% used.
“Finished?” The Arab asked, as he retrieved the tube.
*******
Since his capture, Marine Zachary had adopted a mature, realistic approach to his predicament. There was one of him, now unarmed, and up to a dozen gun-toting Arabs guarding him. Plus this freaky sadist who insisted on being called Master. This was not a routine POW scenario, and he knew enough about the politics and lawlessness of the region to exercise care. He would look for any opportunity to escape, or overpower a guard, but until then, there was little point kicking up a fuss, trying to cite the Geneva Convention or attempting a lecture on his rights. Even the Americans had Guantanamo. Captivity was always a hellish experience.
There is always a point, however, when a boy cracks; rebels; fights back. Often, that tipping point occurs when the boy is told he is to be fucked. Anally raped. And so it was to be.
“What the FUCK is happening here…….what the FUCK do you want from me?”
Zac shouted from the hood of the Land Cruiser. He had reacted to the sound of boots moving, at the double, over the yard. He could not see, but he knew it was Master. The boots stopped behind him.
“Are we going to do this the easy way, Zachary, or the punishment way?” Whispered the deep voice in his ear. The diction was clear, deliberate. This man could be frightening and demanding, without appearing aggressive.
“Please….tell me what’s going on and when I might get out. Even if you won’t do that, please don’t fuck me. I’ve got my girl back home, I’m not into all of this stuff!”
“You fail to understand, Zachary. The only chance you have of seeing your girl again is to adopt that big ‘s’ word. Submission. That involves another ‘s’ word. Surrender. Surrendering your torso, your holes, your pain, over to us. I need to tell you that – again – because that is the reality, marine.”
Tears fell onto the hood of the Land Cruiser and steamed in the heat of the Arabian afternoon sun.
“If you instead adopt the ‘r’ words – revolt and rebellion – that will bring you to the big ‘p’ word, punishment.”
Master clicked his fingers.
“Abdul – the cane.”
“I’m not going to make a big thing of this, if we can both agree to put it behind us, wipe our tears and move on. But it is right that you experience a little taster of the ‘p’ word, Zachary.”
*******
“Six Master, please may I have another?!”
“Louder, Zachary, I wish to hear your cry echo around the yard.”
It was the same on almost every application of the long, rattan cane. Once, twice, even three times, Master made Zac repeat his riposte. The real echo, however, was of the cane itself, expertly targeted by Master, lashing the almost alabaster white firmness of the kid’s impressive butt mounds. Perfectly horizontal, angry red welts formed on his cheeks.
This was a punishment, not some lame CP play. The thwacks were delivered efficiently, swiftly, brutally.
“Seven Master, please may I have another?!”
The cane was whistling through the air again almost as soon as the marine had finished his instructed sentence of thanks.
Just ten strikes were delivered. Ten red tram lines on Zac’s mounds. Ten little statements of intent. Ten little reminders of what it means for an attractive young man to spend time in the company of a sadist.
“You are lubed, Zachary?” Of course, he knew the answer.
“Yes, Master.”
“Are you now ready, mentally, to open your trap door for me?”
“Yes, Master.” And Zac did, in fact, now sound resigned to it.
“Enjoy the ride then, Zachary.”
*******
“Mmmm….Mmmmmm….Mmmmmm.”
The sounds of a boy taking hard anal sex can be quite delicious. Initially, Zac had been reluctant – physically – to open up. Master had whispered to him to push out, as though about to shit, and that was enough to let four or five inches in – the young sphincter suddenly greedy to be fed.
Master was not ‘verbal’ whilst he fucked. That was a waste of energy that could be better spent pumping, nailing, skewering the young man on the end of his dick. But Zac knew his cherry had been well and truly taken.
“Mmmm…..Mmmmmm….tight……hurts….Mmmmmm.”
Master grabbed the kid’s hips, and used the additional leverage to throw another three inches into the marine.
“Awwww…..hurts!”
It was not just the length and girth of the invading dick, but also the speed of the pistoning, and the meagre quantities of lubricant applied to Zac’s anal walls.
The kid’s booted leg, on the ground, scrabbles for grip as he is pumped. The veins in his neck, on his biceps and calves are prominent as he struggles to maintain composure in his skewered position, one leg on the fender.
Zac looks, for a moment, onto the hood. There is a reflection. It is a blond man, and tall with it - perhaps 6’5”. His hair is buzz cut. His age? Difficult to tell in the reflection, but perhaps early to mid 30s. His frame is large and athletically well built.
Who is it? For some reason, Zac does not immediately make the connection. He is too busy worrying about his punished sphincter.
It is Master.
He looks again. Why does he feel so brutalised, yet Master’s face shows little sign of exertion?
Yet again, a hand reaches round.
“No….pleeeeeeeasssee!”
Master pushes his last inch in, and simultaneously gives a vigorous tug on Zac’s tit chain.
“Awwwww…..nooooooo!”
As he rams in and out, Master is sufficiently composed to make an observation.
“Zachary, I can feel hair around your hole, against the root of my dick.”
Pump, pump.
“I don’t want to see or feel hair around boy cunt. It will come off tomorrow, is that understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I didn’t hear that, Zachary.” He said, giving a sharp tug on the reins that were Zac’s tit ornament.
“YES, MASTER!”
Pump, pump, pump.
Then, the unexpected for Zac, although perhaps it shouldn’t have been, as boys in distress have all sorts of strange biological reactions.
“Awww…..my fucking dick….mmmm…mmmmm….spikes are hurting!”
Sure enough, Zac’s elegant penis, with the prominent vein running full distance along it, was swelling in it’s tight little cage, and slowly being pinched and pierced by the internal spikes.
“Pleeeease Master……cage key……awwwwww..hurts.”
At that, the watching Arabs laughed amidst their own hard-ons. The idea that Master was going to unlock Zac’s chastity now, just when it was serving its purpose, was ludicrous. But they knew him, and Zac did not – or certainly insufficiently.
With regard to ejaculation, Master generally bred boys. Cum was deposited in mouths and anuses. Zac felt, first, the rumbling and tremors deep inside him, and then – the weirdest feeling for a straight boy – a gushing torrent of sticky goo that seemed to fill internal cavities Zac never knew existed. He made balls of his fists on the hood of the Toyota as the exploding weapon left him flooded.
Thirty seconds of recovery, then Master withdrew with a pop which gave the Arabs a second laugh in quick succession, their own loads now also generally spent.
“Kneel, and clean.”
Master pointed his semi-hard at Zac, slick with lube, brown and red from the boy’s own innards.
Master could read the kids reluctance, his disgust.
“Zachary, do we need the ‘p’ word again? Clean your Master, now. Taste your own insides, marine.”
Bravely this time, and without further tears, Zac lowered himself on his tired, fucked-out legs, and took his Master in his mouth. He struggled not to gag at the odour and taste of his passage, his standards of personal hygiene impeccable for ‘straight’ purposes, but too low for passive anal.
“To the root, Zachary. To the root.”
*******
To be continued.
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