tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59912031408352800442024-02-19T11:33:39.994-06:00Blogged Musings...Here find the musings of an ischaemic encephalon, the brain of Reddywhp.Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-1990312579487142092021-12-16T21:12:00.010-06:002021-12-18T09:01:25.809-06:00Story:Alone in a crowd<h1 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alone in a crowd</span></h1><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">
Bondage, public</span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2021 by John "Skip" Reddy, aka “Reddywhp”. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.</span><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">
Comments to skip@reddywhip.org</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br />
9PM is usually an early arrival for most leather bars, but I had instructions to follow. I dropped off my jacket at Abyss’ coat check. All I had on me now was my ID, coat check tag, and the equipment I was told to bring with me.<br />
<br />
I’ve been chatting with Jack online for months, and yet I’ve never seen his face. The idiot, me, doesn’t know why I even started talking to him. That said, he’s managed to get into my head and knows what makes me tick.<br />
<br />
Walking in towards the back room, I found the main lights were still on. That made it easier for me to find the place Jack described. It was a bench just inside the back room. Bar staff were tidying up after something, and they were about to kill the lights, so I had to work quickly. A quick inspection told me that Jack knew the place. The bench had rings embedded in the floor, and on the wall at varying heights. <br />
<br />
Out of my bag came the shiny black biothane ankle restraints to go over my bleachers and combat boots. They buckled into place and locked on with their small integrated locks. I then locked the rings of the restraints to the anchor rings embedded in the floor. My feet were now fixed about a meter wide apart on the floor.<span><a name='more'></a></span><br />
<br />
Continuing, I locked the matching biothane wrist restraints on. They were snug and the shiny black material stood out against my pale skin. Next, I unlocked five sturdy locks and placed them on the bench between my spread legs. The keys to my wrist and ankle restraints as well as the locks I just opened went on a chain around my neck that I neatly tucked under my plain white t-shirt.<br />
<br />
I pulled a long length of chain out of my bag which I locked around my waist with one lock, then used another to use the remaining chain to anchor myself to the bench. I was not standing up.<br />
<br />
Removing the last few items out of the bag, I tossed the bag under the bench. The disposable ear plugs went in, silencing the room for me. I buckled my open-ring gag in place, then pulled the open-mouth leather hood over my head. I fixed the hood in place with another of the locks between my legs. The hood is not coming off, and the gag is not coming out.<br />
<br />
I started getting nervous.<br />
<br />
Yes, I was only just now getting nervous. Everything up until now I could undo on my own. I picked up the open locks then reached up above my head. Just within comfortable reach above my head were the chains. I locked my right hand to one of the chains.<br />
<br />
“I can stop. I don’t have to follow through with this...” The erection that had been growing in my jeans since I started locking things put lie to that thought as I locked my left hand to the chains.<br />
<br />
I was in silence and darkness. Vulnerable. <br />
<br />
In the darkness of my hood, minutes felt like hours, and my mind wandered back to a few days earlier and the online chat with Jack…<br />
<br /></span><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier Prime;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Courier Prime;"><b>J</b><span><b>ackStar</b>: I told you what I wanted to do with you. You said you loved the idea, what’s the hold-up?<br />
<b>EMouse</b>: It’s just I’ve never actually done anything like it before.<br />
<b>JackStar</b>: You go to The Abyss, don’t get a drink before you go to the back room and chain yourself to a bench near the door like I told you. Get there early so nobody knows who you are. You can be a play toy for every guy who comes through there. You never know who they are, and only I know who you are.<br />
<b>EMouse</b>: I don’t know... Will I be safe?<br />
<b>JackStar</b>: I’m friends with Mr. Mort, owner of The Abyss. Nobody screws around with his bar. Nobody. Not rowdy customers. Not meth-heads. Not the police. Not the mob.<br />
<b>EMouse</b>: Maybe... I don’t know, how long will I stay that way?<br />
<b>JackStar</b>: As long as I want you there. No more dithering. If your next message is not “I’ll be there Friday”, and only that, I’m moving on. Make your choice. Now.</span></span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br />
... several minutes pass ...<br />
<br /></span><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier Prime;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Courier Prime;"><b>EMouse</b>: I’ll be there Friday</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br />
The pounding in my chest started to settle down. And I waited. I had no idea how much time passed. <br /><br />Someone grabbed my nipple roughly and tweaked it. I grunted at the pain, and then nothing for minutes.<br />
<br />
A pair of hands, maybe a different guy, started rubbing my chest. He lightly flicked my nipples through my shirt, before grabbing one firmly. His other hand stroked my hooded head and started probing my mouth. I couldn’t close my mouth, on account of the ring gag, and one, and then two of his fingers were running back along my tongue, tracing their way back into my throat. I felt the man lean his full body into me as he explored my throat, and could tell he was enjoying himself by the hard-on I felt against me through his pants.<br />
<br />
He let go of my nipple and continued to probe my mouth with his fingers. His hand shifted, and I felt a foot plant on the bench just outside my spread legs. Removing his hand, I felt another foot heavily on the bench on the other side.<br />
<br />
I knew what was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared for the guy’s cock being shoved down my throat. He put one hand behind my head and pulled me onto him. God damn, it was long. It was narrow enough to fit in the ring gag, and had a downward curve, which meant in this position he could throat fuck me without slamming the back of my mouth.<br />
<br />
This anonymous man had to be holding onto something above me because that position and the way he was fucking my throat, he was getting some leverage. My cock was fucking hard in, and wished I could see this view, because it had to be epic.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, the guy knew what he was doing; he was taking breaks to let me breathe… but just barely.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, someone else decided it was nipple time. Someone must’ve reached between my throat-fucker’s legs and got a good hold of my nipples. One of the great things about shirts and nipple play is that they add extra friction and traction. That’s also one of the worst things. This guy working my nipples had a firm grip and was using my shirt not just to hold on, but to abrade my nipples. They were getting raw really quickly.<br />
<br />
Now, don’t think I was sitting there as a sack of potatoes. There’s a reason I had the ring gag. I’m a cock hound and was working with my tongue to try getting off my throat-fucker. When nippleguy started tweaking my nips, though, I started grunting around the cock in my mouth, and wrenching myself around trying to get him to ease up. That earned me a slap on the side of the head from throat-fucker while nipple-guy continued working.<br />
<br />
I don’t know if they said anything, the hood and earplugs did a good job of isolating me. In short time, throat-fucker’s motions started getting more aggressive, and nipple-guy started working my nipples harder again - making me groan louder around the cock. That must’ve pushed him over the edge. The cock rammed home for two, no three good spurts, and then he pulled out, as a fourth and fifth spurt of come shot across my mouth and nose holes. I could feel the impacts, and smell the man on me.<br />
<br />
I’m guessing they were a pair, because the nipple-guy let go as I felt throat-fucker hop down, and I was left in silence and darkness again. I felt used. All I could notice was the drool now dribbling out of my mouth onto my t-shirt and the smell of the come on my face.<br />
<br />
I don’t know how much time passed. People passed by, and there was the occasional groping. The attention was nice. Somewhere along the lines, someone unbuttoned my fly, and pulled out my cock & balls and started sucking. Oh, did that feel good. I almost came… which is saying something about his skill because it’s really hard to get me off with a blowjob. But he stopped early. Either he didn’t want me to come, or he got bored trying to get me off.<br />
<br />
My cock sucker left me with my cock out and dripping with his spit.<br />
<br />
Soon, another cock sucker came by, and he also left me moaning and drooling, but not coming. I wanted to reach down and finish myself off, and the chains stopped me.<br />
<br />
Minutes passed. I don’t know long, honestly. When I felt another hand wrapping itself around by balls, I thought I’d had another cock sucker showing interest. I was wrong.<br />
<br />
When my new anonymous playmate grabbed me by the balls, he started to pull me forward. Yes, I was chained to the bench, but I still had some freedom of motion. So as he pulled harder, I scooted forward. I moved forward until my butt was on the edge on the bench, and the chains holding me to the bench were pulled taut.<br />
<br />
When I couldn’t move anymore, he started to squeeze. He wasn’t rough. My new playmate rolled my balls around in his hand. I could feel the pressure, and I could feel my hard-on coming back again. Even though this guy couldn’t see my face, he was hitting my nuts just right - pushing the intensity almost to pain, then easing back, making my dick drool almost as much as the ring gag was making my mouth drool.<br />
<br />
About the time I noticed that CBT man (as I started thinking of him) was only using one hand, I felt his other hand give my shaft a few light strokes. He wasn’t trying to get me off… I think he was just letting me know that I was rock hard as his ministration. Then I felt his free hand flitting around my balls and fabric brushing past.<br />
<br />
A moment later, I realized the fabric was some light cord, and he’d quickly wrapped my nuts nice and tight. They were stretched and squeezed in this position. He let go of my balls with his hands, but I definitely still felt stretched out. He must have wrapped that cord around my sack two dozen times.<br />
<br />
He wasn’t done, though. I felt my nuts being tugged down. He… he was tying my nuts to the anchor in the floor below me. I was stretched forward now… and then nothing. He walked away. Or at least, he stopped touching me.<br />
<br />
So now position had my legs spread, my arms up and behind my head, my butt just barely on the bench, and my nuts anchored to the floor. When I felt a little spittle land on my cock, I thought it was another cock sucker. Then I realized this position had me drooling on my own cock.<br />
<br />
Of course I loved the position. But damn, was it exhausting.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I was soon distracted by an athletic face-fucking. It felt like someone lept up onto the bench with their feet landing to either side of me, and in that same motion thrust their cock into my mouth. There was no art to this guy. His cock was thick, barely fitting in the ring gag. He filled my mouth and started pumping. Either he was prepared from prior play, was super-young, or had issues with premature ejaculation, because it took him maybe 30 second to choke me with his come.<br />
<br />
I mean, this guy dumped a bucket of come in my mouth, and held my head in place as he did so. Then he proceeded to fuck my face a little more, to make sure that he spread it around.<br />
<br />
I was surprised as he stood there after coming, letting himself go soft. I was thinking to myself, “is he planning to go again?” when I felt another liquid start to flow.<br />
<br />
With that, he unleashed a torrent of piss into my throat. Swallowing with a gag in is really hard,. With his cock in my mouth, I was able to make a valiant effort of it. Still, I ended up with his piss running down and soaking the front of my t-shirt and running down into my bleachers.<br />
<br />
Apparently, this guy broke the proverbial seal. After him, I took three more loads of come on and in my mouth, and swallowed two more guy’s piss. I’m not a fan of piss, though it’s not a hard limit. And kindly, these guys seem to have had a lot of beer, because it wasn’t too strong.<br />
<br />
Then for a while, things went quiet. My arms were starting to hurt in this position, and my nuts were really getting sore, stretched out like they were. I started moaning unintelligibly. I didn’t want to ask to be let out, but I was starting to get exhausted.<br />
<br />
By “went quiet”, I mean I would still get random gropes and strokes, but nobody was actively using me. And then, mid-moan, I felt someone fondling my balls… when suddenly I felt the tension give. Someone had removed the anchor from the floor. I immediately slid back to give my arms a break and let my ass sit firmly on the bench.<br />
<br />
This man’s hands seemed to linger… so I started paying attention. He was wearing what felt like thin leather gloves. He was dexterous as he stroked life back into my cock. And then as he fit one, then two, then three fingers into my mouth past the ring gag. I could taste the leather as he probed my mouth, and filled it near to full.<br />
<br />
It was when he had my mouth full with his glove that he pulled. You see, my balls were still wrapped in that cord. And as he pulled, my nuts windmilled around as the wrapping unraveled. After so much time and pressure, it was agony. I screamed into the gloved fingers in my mouth even as I was licking them. If not for the ring gag, I might’ve bit down on them.<br />
<br />
When it was over, I was panting, and sagging into my restraints. I was exhausted, and while I do enjoy cock and ball play, the night had worn me down, and I had gone limp.<br />
<br />
As I sat there panting and recovering, I felt this guy fiddling with the lock on my right wrist restraint. He even took the chain with the key to my locks off my neck for a minute, and when he was done, that wrist sagged slightly lower. I felt him put the chain back around my neck and gently pat my face through the hood. I assume that was him leaving.<br />
<br />
Feeling around with my hands, I felt a round, cold, cylindrical, metal object. Extremely cold. And then I felt a drop of water coming from it… an ice lock. He’d attached my restraint to an ice lock. That meant I was going to be here a while longer, but there was at least release in sight… so to speak.<br />
<br />
More minutes passed. The music was still barely audible through the hood and ear plugs and I had not developed x-ray vision while sitting there. So since I couldn’t see or hear, I was completely unprepared for the smacks that suddenly ran across my face. Right to left, and then left to right.<br />
<br />
The strikes weren’t dangerously strong, but they were jarring. I could feel the hits send the pooled drool in my mouth flying about. That’s when the train started.<br />
<br />
Someone stepped up onto the bench and thrust his uncut cock into my mouth, he was clearly already worked up and he had a short fuse. Within a minute, two at the most, he was unloading into my mouth and onto my hooded face.<br />
<br />
That’s when the next guy stepped up and started fucking my face. He was long, and thick, and with every thrust he smacked my head back into the wall behind me - which made me glad for the padding of the leather hood. While my mouth was being used, another guy decided to use my nipples.<br />
<br />
My moaning around the cock in my mouth increased with the nipple play, and then even more so, when a supremely talented mouth got on my cock again, while playing with my balls. Don’t get me wrong, they were sore, but I do love my nuts being played with.<br />
<br />
The sensory overload was too much. Bound, my mouth being used, my nipples and balls being worked over while a mouth like an accujack worked my cock. My orgasm built quickly, and I was gagging and screaming around the cock in my own mouth as I started to shoot. I could feel my pent up load emptying in one… two… five shots down that guy’s throat, and he just kept sucking.<br />
<br />
I think my thrashing and screaming must have set off the guy fucking my face, because in a moment, he pulled my head hard onto his cock, and he started to unload down my throat. He held me there longer than really necessary, which started me thrashing again… I needed air.<br />
<br />
I panted as he stepped away… and the guy working my nipples stepped up. Somehow he managed to hold onto my nipples while getting into position to fuck my face… but now I wasn’t horny. I’d shot my load. But this guy didn’t care. Nor did the guy hoovering my softening dick.<br />
<br />
Before the ice in that lock finally melted enough for me to get my hand free, I had another load milked out of my cock, this time with lube and a firm grip, and at least three more loads dumped in my mouth or on my hooded face. I honestly lost count.<br />
<br />
Once my hand came free, my playmates scattered. In my exhausted and drained state, it took me a long time to take off the hood, and undo the various locks. I’ll admit I might’ve started to do it in the wrong order. Hunting for the locks when I should’ve taken the hood off. That’s how tired I was.<br />
<br />
It was dark, and I was used, and a mess. As I stumbled to the coat check to grab my jacket, I thought to myself, “I don’t think I’ll ever do *that* again.”<br />
<br />
In my jacket was my cell phone. I had received some messages while I was gone. <br />
<br /></span><div style="margin-left: 40px;"><span style="font-family: Courier Prime;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Courier Prime;"><b>JackStar</b>: Good boy. Looks like you enjoyed yourself. Here, enjoy these pics.</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br />I looked over the grainy cell-phone pics of the debauchery… of course no faces were visible. The only body that I could identify was my own… and in my head I amended, “...well… at least not for a week or two.”<br />
<br />
</span>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-60254084674960033972019-03-18T17:00:00.000-05:002020-11-06T15:15:21.817-06:00Surprise Summer Camp Beating<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Contains: </span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">bondage, KO, beating, gun, cbt</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2005 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div>
<b>Western Michigan, September 2005</b><br />
<br />
Sitting at the top of dish hill, it was your standard Saturday morning at Inferno. I'd enjoyably overslept, and so missed the early continental breakfast, and brunch hadn't been put out yet, so I was hungry. Mike, had popped off for a bit. I don't quite remember what his excuse was, but he had absconded back to his room. His other half was still sitting around chatting with the group.<br />
<br />
Five minutes passed killing time, there were 5 or 6 of us sitting around killing time until brunch when finally, the exodus to brunch began. Still no sign of Mike. Of course, Mike & I had talked about maybe doing a take-down scene, and this was the bait. Knowing my track record with take-down scenes, I figured this would be another flop. When Mike's partner got up and suggested I come along with to get Mike for brunch, I followed along. I more than half-believed that nothing would happen.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
We strolled across the property to the old hotel and then down to the "bath house rooms". A bunch of rooms with a communal shower area. That's where they were staying. We got to the room, and he opened the door, with Mike digging around through his stuff. I never did find out what he was supposedly looking for, but when I looked, his hands seemed empty.<br />
<br />
It's dark down there, the bath house rooms are downstairs in the basement. So when we got into the room, I took off my sunglasses. Rather than hang them off the front or back of the collar of my shirt, I put them down on the table, or maybe on top of a suitcase. It was always possible that he might actually follow through, I thought. I had completed the thought and let go of the glasses when I was grabbed from behind.<br />
<br />
I had turned around to put the glasses down. I mean really, if I was going to be involved in a take down, or even a failed attempt at a take-down, I should at least give them a real opportunity to get started. I can't play "hard to get" all the time and have fun.<br />
<br />
It happened fast. An arm snaked in front of me from the right. Instinctively, I swung to my left, my face planting firmly in the hand that held the rag as the right arm hooked under my chin and pulled back. I was thrown slightly off balance and quickly inhaled, breathing in a strong lung full of chloroform laced air through the rag over my mouth and nose. I coughed hard, once, and then the rag was re-situated.<br />
<br />
I'm used to being able to toss most would-be assailants off, or at least get them off balance, but damn, did Mike have a good grip. I began to taste the fumes in my mouth. Chloroform always leaves a distinctive taste. I couldn't break his grip on my neck, and I did try... I held an idea of maybe turning this around on him . . . at least until the point when I fell forward onto his bed. The fumes were starting to weaken me. Of course, not nearly as much as Mike thought. He started to back off of me, when I stirred. He came back on and forced the rag back into my face, holding me down with his mass.<br />
<br />
The heavy thrumming and rushing had been filling my ears, and tunnel vision hampered my sight. My limbs were feeling like lead, and the thrumming was getting closer to being that white light filling my head. I was going out this time . . . but I didn't quite go all the way.<br />
<br />
Rather than being knocked out, I was rendered helpless. I felt like an observer from a distance, mentally watching my body be moved about. Handcuffed. Legs bound. I felt my senses and my control return to normal. I stirred. As I was coming to, Mike began tying my hands together, now that I was sufficiently restrained. After a couple of re-ties, he had my hands bound tightly enough to take off the cuffs.<br />
<br />
Lying face down on his bed, dazed, I began to lift my head, but let it fall back down. I was still weak. Mike added more rope around my thighs, around my calves. Now came belts, across my chest and upper arms, more on my legs. Then he folded my legs up, behind me, towards my ass. I finally started getting my fight back, and tried pushing back, but it was too late. Mike had wrapped a belt under my thighs and over my shins, keeping my legs bent. I was a tightly folded package, and not going anywhere.<br />
<br />
I tried struggling against the belts, but any time I relaxed from my struggles, the bastard pulled the belts another notch tighter. My knees felt like they were going to pop. The strain was incredible, but I was in a feisty mood...<br />
<br />
"There now, you're not going anywhere, are you?" said Mike.<br />
<br />
I surprised myself by spitting out, "Go fuck yourself!"<br />
<br />
A painful thud landed on my ass through my jeans as he punched, hard. "I'd thought about fucking you instead."<br />
<br />
"What, with the same cock you fuck your mother with?". A rain of punches landed on my ass, being somewhat exposed, and a bit of a large target.<br />
<br />
"Arrrr" I exhaled, clamping my teeth together. I rather enjoyed this... It's rare that I tell someone off like this, and I don't often tempt fate so blatantly. But I was on a roll. My adrenaline was pumping, I was smiling ear-to-ear. Consequences? I was getting off on playing with consequences. All of a sudden I spit out, "That all you got? My dead grandmother punches better than th..."<br />
<br />
My witty banter was cut short as after I felt Mike straddle my back, he put his hands around my neck, his thumbs along the back of my skull and his fingers wrapping around the front. The sudden pressure on my carotids caught me by surprise, and in an instant, I saw the world fade to tunnel-vision, and then blank.<br />
<br />
The 'problem' with choke-holds is that as fast as I go out, I generally rocket back to reality at the same speed. It's like a mental reboot. I came back and all my limbs spasmed as everything came back 'on-line'. My tongue felt large in my mouth, as it always does.<br />
<br />
Bucking to get him off me didn't work, but it was fun to try. I made another of my cracks either not caring about or really wanting to find out the consequences. "What, you can only abuse someone already tied up? Fucking wimp!"<br />
<br />
Mike still sat astride my back. His hands were still around my neck. Mike spoke with that wonderful voice of his, right behind my ear. "Little fucker," he accused as he slowly squeezed, "trying to goad me? It's working. I like a decent challenge." And he punctuated 'challenge' by jumping the pressure up just a notch on my throat. I could breathe, but the world began fading away. As the world faded, my resolve did as well.<br />
<br />
"Please, no, stop," I breathed out, but to no avail. In moments, I was out.<br />
<br />
I awoke with a start, still bound and blindfolded, but on my side now. I gasped, and jerked, doing the last vestiges of the "chicken dance". My tongue felt horribly fuzzy and large. I hate that part of waking up from KOs. I'm always afraid I'll bite it.<br />
<br />
"Are you going to behave now?" Mike asked, unbuttoning my fly and pulling out my cock & balls.<br />
<br />
"Yes," I replied wearily.<br />
<br />
Mike grabbed my balls in one hand, "What was that?"<br />
<br />
"I said 'yes'". Emphasizing the 'yes' so he could hear it.<br />
<br />
"Yes, what?" Mike asked, squeezing my balls fairly hard.<br />
<br />
Groaning, "Arrgh... Yes..." and through gritted teeth, "ma'am! ARRR". He squeezed even harder, then let go.<br />
<br />
A few seconds later, I heard a quick metallic chick, chick and suddenly felt a small piece of cold metal, maybe oval or rectangular in shape, press hard against the soft underside of my jaw.<br />
<br />
"Are you going to behave now?", he repeated, though sounded as if he was asking for the first time and started stroking my cock.<br />
<br />
I froze stiff for a moment, barely breathing. I thought I knew what was under my jaw, and was scared. Thoughts rattled through my brain, 'we're in a public venue... in his room... people would hear... it's probably unloaded even if it is real... what if it is loaded'.<br />
<br />
After a long moment, I said through unmoving jaws, "Yes... sir.".<br />
<br />
Spitting on his hand for a little lube, he stroked my cock more. As he pushed the gun harder against my jaw, I was astonished to find my cock getting harder! Mike obviously liked this reaction, because he wedged the gun under some ropes, keeping it propped against my chin.<br />
<br />
"Now don't move, and don't make a sound," Mike advised. He proceeded to alternate between beating on my balls and jerking me off. When I would get soft, or if I would start to jerk or moan from his beating of my balls, Mike would simple grasp the gun strapped to my chest. I could feel his finger where the trigger should be.<br />
<br />
Eventually the torment became more than I could take, and I shot. My body convulsed slightly as I struggled to stay still, with Mike having one hand on the gun at my jaw, and his other hand continuing to stroke my post-orgasm-sensitive cock head.<br />
<br />
As Mike pulled the "gun" away from my chin, I only had one word. "Wow."Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-68904184895518961922019-03-14T22:41:00.001-05:002019-03-19T16:41:04.537-05:00The Christmas KO<br />
<br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Contains: bondage, breath control, edge play, ko</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2003 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div>
I came home from Christmas dinner with some friends this past year and was particularly horny and feeling pretty aggressive. I decided that I would take my Christmas present by force this year. I got ho<span style="font-family: inherit;">m</span>e and went online where I luckily found Ron. We talked and I told him that I was in a mood to hurt someone, and to come over. It was a brief chat, and he quickly agreed. We switch off from time to time, and often wrestle for dominance. This time, I was going to alter the balance of power. I told him he should be wearing some old and worn clothing. He said he'd be over shortly.<br />
<br />
I changed my clothes quickly. Off came the sweater and slacks. On went the desert BDUs, black combat boots, and grey sleeveless t-shirt. I wanted to have all my supplies on hand and ready when he came in the door. I threw the Gebauer canister of ethyl in the right thigh pocket. The EMT shears went in my left thigh pocket, along with a rag. I took my grey Russian gas mask, and stuffed it into the back of my pants, hanging over the side. Finally, I stowed rolls of duct tape throughout the apartment. There's no such thing as too much duct tape. If I didn't know better, I would swear you could smell it throughout my place. God, I love that smell.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
He showed up about an hour later, buzzing in at the front door to my apartment building. Knowing about how long it takes to get up to the 12th floor by the elevator, I had to rush to get the last bits ready. By the time he got to my door, I was ready. All the lights were off, and the TV was on loud. The door to my apartment was unlocked, and ajar. The ethyl can was in my right hand and I had just finished spraying the rag in my left hand as the door creaked open.<br />
<br />
I was hiding behind the door in an alcove as he stuck his head in. The bright hall, and the loud and bright TV facing the door served to mask my presence. "John?" Ron looked in the door and stepped inside. I finished slowly putting the canister back in the pocket of my BDU's.<br />
<br />
I had the rag with ethyl ready as he came in. As he opened the door and came in, I quickly slammed the door shut and rammed him into the wall, face to face, I locked one arm around the back of his neck to hold my other arm in place around his mouth and nose.<br />
<br />
He didn't know it was coming so he fought pretty hard. He managed to get one fist into my gut one time, but I was too close for him to really manage any pain. We shortly toppled to the floor, with my legs wrapped around his arms and torso. Once we were down, it was pretty much over. He's got a little more strength than me and we're both about 5'10. However, I've got about 20 - 25 pounds on him. Combine that with the increasing effects of the ethyl chloride, and he was failing fast.<br />
<br />
There! He was sedated enough. I quickly threw the russian gasmask over his head. It would make it harder for him to avoid the ethyl. The additional benefit to this mask was that it was particularly loud on the exhales. Not only do I love the sound of breathing through a gas mask, but it would also help me keep track of his breathing.<br />
<br />
Ron started to stir again, so I grabbed the rag and the ethyl canister again. He grunted as I wrapped the rag around the intake of the mask. Pushing the plunger of the ethyl container, a thin stream of pure ethyl chloride hit the rag, soaking it quickly. The sudden surge of vapors hit him on his next breath. I watched as his eyes burst wide. He had been recovering quickly from the first hit, and the intensity of the smell made him react strongly. However, the wonderful thing about ethyl is as fast as it wears off, it takes effect just as quickly.<br />
<br />
As he settled down and his breathing calmed, I finally took a good look at him. He was wearing a pair of blue denim jeans, a pair of tan work boots and a faded plaid cotton shirt. I knew he was clean shaven under the mask. This good ex-navy boy kept himself clean cut. A real hottie.<br />
<br />
Re-administering the ethyl a third time, I got up off the boy and rolled him over onto his stomach. He was going to be a handful when I finally did let him wake up. I grabbed the nearest roll of duct tape. Pulling his arms back behind him, I proceeded to wrap his wrists together, palms facing each other. Turning around, I pulled his legs up into the air and started wrapping his feet together. No art or comfort involved here. No worries about circulation. He was going to fight, and I wanted him to regret every strain he made.<br />
<br />
I rolled him onto his side and pulled his shirt out of his pants. I decided to indulge myself and ripped the buttons out, spreading the shirt wide to show his flat, hairy torso. I have to say, that's never as easy as it looks in porn or movies.<br />
<br />
I pulled the rag off his intake to make sure he was getting clean air now. It was time for Ron to wake up, and feel what I was going to be doing to him. His breathing was still steady, no signs of waking up yet.<br />
<br />
Rolling him back on his stomach, I wrapped his hands and fingers quickly in tape. Then I lifted his legs, and wrapped several times around his knees. He wasn't going anywhere, except as a worm, squirming around.<br />
<br />
He started making noises. Sounded like he was speaking Japanese as some point, then talking to his former Navy shipmates at another. He was coming around, but not back yet. Rolling him back onto his side, I pulled the gasmask off to give him more air. I wanted to watch his eyes. Ron's eyes are so telling in showing his pain.<br />
<br />
Unbuttoning his fly, I grabbed him by the balls with my left hand. With him lying on his right side facing me, I smacked him across the face with my right hand and he started coming around more quickly. As he started getting coherent, I adjusted my grip of his balls and began to squeezed. Soon he was moaning. I don't know if he knew what or why he was hurting, but he knew he was in pain.<br />
<br />
As he returned to coherence, I ramped up the squeezing of his balls. In short time, he was moaning loudly. His eyes opened and I could see the anguish in them. The final realization that he was fucked, and there was nothing he could do or say about it.<br />
<br />
I leaned in close, feeling his breath as he tried to keep calm in the face of the pain, smelling the sweat that was starting to pour off of him. The bastard wasn't afraid though. I leaned in closer and braced his head with my right hand as I raped his mouth with my tongue.<br />
<br />
He was hesitant at first, but started to let his guard down quickly. That was when I moved. I sucked his tongue into my mouth. Using a lot of suction and a bit of biting, I had him bound, head to toe. His head was locked wherever I wanted it. He let out a whining yelp as he tried to pull away from me, tried to pull his tongue back. Every move caused him more pain. He soon realized his only hope was to surrender. It's amazing how much control you can get over someone by their tongue.<br />
<br />
The pressure on his balls mounted. I shifted my grip slightly and started to apply pressure on his balls from other angles as I pulled them away from his body. He rebelled, but with his body restrained down to his tongue even, he wasn't going anywhere.<br />
<br />
Finally, I let his mouth go. He pulled his head back with a massive sigh as I upped the pressure on his balls even more. Ron amazes me with the amount of torment his balls can take. He and I need to have a ball torture competition again some time to see who's more stubborn.<br />
<br />
"Ron, here's your only instructions, if my neighbors hear you, they'll complain about the noise. I would hate to think how annoyed I'd become with you disturbed my neighbors. Try to keep it quiet." He just glared back at me.<br />
<br />
Forming my thumb and forefinger into a very small hole at the top of his scrotum, I began the finishing maneuver. My other fingers increased the pressure on his balls to as much as I could deliver. After the steady build, I'd jumped from half strength to full bore ball crushing. The human male anatomy is amazing. Your balls are like mice, when caught between a rock and a hard place, they'll slip through the smallest hole you can imagine. First one, and then the other of his balls slipped through with a satisfying "pop".<br />
<br />
Ron threw his head back, gritting his teeth and grunting. If I still had his tongue in my mouth, he may have bit it off. He thrashed like a madman on the floor of my apartment, nearly bashing his head into a coffee table.<br />
<br />
It took Ron about a minute to recompose himself. "You are a sadistic bastard!"<br />
<br />
Smiling down at him, "Thanks Ron, you say the sweetest things."<br />
<br />
"You're welcome," he spit back at me. We kept eye contact for all of 5 seconds before the chuckling began.<br />
<br />
"Told you I was in a sadistic mood. Merry Christmas to both of us... and to both of us, a good night.". Cutting him free, I finished stripping him and dragged the drained boy into my bed for a good night's sleep.Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-54388748442488284912018-08-15T18:00:00.000-05:002018-08-15T18:00:02.925-05:00On call garage cocksucker<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Copyright © 2018 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.<br /><br />Tags: bdsm, real experience, chastity, cbt, oral<br /><br />Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I was chatting with GearedUpDude on Twitter that afternoon. He’d been responding to my chastity tweets, and we hadn’t been in touch in a while, so I said “hi”. I'd just hit 30 days locked in a device. It was my longest time locked in a chastity device ever. We chatted for a while before I dropped him an opening.</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Reddywhp</b>: <i>I’m turning into a cock hungry faggot. It’s … quite the head trip. Almost following orders from any drive by on Scruff.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Reddywhp</b>: <i>I’m surprised how suggestible I’m finding myself. And I signed up for the rest of the calendar year. *facepalm*</i><br />
<br />
<b>GearedUpDude</b>: <i>feel free to swing by and let me use a boot on your crotch. just open the backyard gate, enter the garage, strip down to a jock, send the text, bow your head and wait</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was at this point I sent him a picture of me in a bathroom stall, dressed in only my jockstrap, kneeling on the floor, that I had taken for someone else earlier in the day. We went back and forth a little more. And I was horny.</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Reddywhp</b>:<i> I don’t need to come for a long visit… but I like the idea of coming over, feeling your boots on me for a few minutes, maybe you holding my mouth to your crotch.</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Damn, I really am feeling desperate. </span><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>GearedUpDude</b>:<i> yea that's so hot, let's do tonight. Message when you leave the office with your ETA, and when you’ve stripped in the garage.</i><br />
<br />
<b>GearedUpDude</b>: <i>So where would the boy like me to cum?</i><br />
<br />
<b>Reddywhp</b>:<i> I … uhh, don’t know, Sir.</i><br />
<br />
<b>GearedUpDude</b>: <i>Really? Not a single suggestion? I’m surprised</i><br />
<br />
<b>Reddywhp</b>: <i>Suggestions?<br />
In my mouth and made to hold it there without swallowing or spitting.<br />
On my face and being sent home without being given the opportunity to wipe it off.<br />
On my chest.<br />
On my locked cock.</i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>GearedUpDude</b>: <i>that’s better, maybe you’re not yet to the point of being cum obsessed. If this is you at 30 days, I wonder what 60 days will be like</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We exchanged a few more horny ideas, but then I had to focus on work, and I worked a little late. Around 6:30PM, I finally left, texting him that I was leaving, and would be there in about 35 minutes.<br />
<br />
The drive was easy, and I pulled up alongside his house when I said I would. I fairly certain that I’d gotten the house right. I’d been there once before, but it had been over a year. So I was getting nervous. I opened the fence to the backyard and let myself in. Crossing over to the garage, I could feel my heart pounding.<br />
<br />
I went into the garage, and on the floor was some cardboard, about where he had suggested I might find some. I closed the door, and immediately stripped down to my jockstrap. I put on the steel toe boots and knee pads I’d brought from work for working in confined spaces, and then texted him. “<i>I’m here</i>.”<br />
<br />
I knelt on the cardboard, bowed my head down, and waited. It was more than a few nervous minutes there, waiting. Was I in the wrong garage? If I got it wrong and the owner came in, how fucked was I?<br />
<br />
I heard a door open outside. Then footsteps across the yard. Moment of truth. I kept my head down, eyes on the floor. The door to the garage opened, and I saw a pair of desert jump boots. I was maybe 6 feet from the open door and the light from outside fell right on me, there was no mistaking me being there.<br />
<br />
He closed the door behind him and came over to me. I was kneeling and looking down. So it might not have been him. But I figure, anyone else finding a mostly naked man kneeling in their garage would’ve said something by now. So I held my tongue.<br />
<br />
He closed the door and walked up to me. Holding my head against his stomach, he started rubbing my shaved, and very sweaty, head. This went on for a few minutes until he pulled down his shorts, and held his cock in front of my face. I stared at it, transfixed.<br />
<br />
I don’t know that I’d ever wanted cock like this before.<br />
<br />
He continued rubbing my head as I looked at his cock. This was a new level of frustration, until I asked, in a small voice, “Sir, may I please suck your cock?”<br />
<br />
“Go ahead boy.”<br />
<br />
And then I became a cock-hound. I licked and sucked. Hands held behind my back, I took his cock to the hilt, until he stopped me so he could reposition himself against the car in the garage. I turned to follow him, and watched him turn on a video camera to record my submission. At the same time, it seemed he pulled out his phone and started recording from another angle. He then had me get back to work.<br />
<br />
For maybe ten minutes, I got to sate my need for cock. He continued recording and occasionally played with my nipples as I worked. I got him so worked up that he started to come before he wanted, pushing my head off his cock.<br />
<br />
A little bit of cum dribbled out as he clamped down on his orgasm. Cum that he proceeded to rub into my chest.<br />
<br />
That was when he switched gears and started kicking my balls in the jockstrap. Not too hard, but he definitely gave them some good thumps before squatting down to get more hands on. He beat my nuts for a few minutes. Occasionally getting me close, occasionally making my nuts hurt so I whimpered and pulled away, all along, keeping my hands clasped behind my back.<br />
<br />
When it came time, he told me to get my mouth back on his cock. He’d had enough fun making me whimper, whine, and cringe by playing with my balls. I had been close to coming for a little while, but it would have taken another 5 minutes as a fairly fixed level of ball beating to get me there, and I wanted to focus on him getting off.<br />
<br />
When he came, he pushed my head back, and he finished himself off, shooting several times, coating my chest, and a little of my beard in his come. Having finished, he ordered me to get dressed and leave. I left shirtless, as I was overheating, and sweating. His come was not dried when got into my car and the air-conditioning cooled me down. I could smell his come on me all the way home.<br />
<br />
While I did not come myself, and I definitely still wanted to come, I felt like I’d had a need fulfilled.<br />
<br />
He was right. I am worried how I’ll be when it comes 60 days locked. Maybe not worried… maybe … eager.</span>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-76982377189742439572018-08-14T18:00:00.001-05:002021-09-15T09:38:31.928-05:00Skip's First Inferno, the closing<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<h2>
</h2>
</div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-39f21ee0-7fff-abe9-1c51-86f4d98ad4f6" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2018 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.<br /><br />Tags: bdsm, real experience, chicago hellfire club, Inferno<br /><br />Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></i></blockquote>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-39f21ee0-7fff-abe9-1c51-86f4d98ad4f6" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Towards the end of my first Inferno, the afternoon of Tuesday, September 12, 2000, I was 25 and having a blast. I was only supposed to be there for Session A, but in a Sunday morning moment of clarity, I got my work vacation extended and Inferno Registration found space for me to stay for Session B.<br /><br />That Tuesday afternoon, I was watching Jon beating on my friend Ryan. Jon had been introduced to me by Mike B as "one of my favorite monsters at Inferno", he was this enigma to me - so intense. He was punching Ryan's pecs with precision and focused attention; Ryan was taking it and smiling.<br /><br />When Jon decided to give Ryan a break, he saw me watching nearby and motioned as if preparing to punch me. I puffed my chest out in response, and he gave me a quick jab - which of course momentarily winded me because I'd never really taken a punch before - play or otherwise.</span></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b id="docs-internal-guid-39f21ee0-7fff-abe9-1c51-86f4d98ad4f6" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br />It didn't take but a moment of shock before I reset my stance to one that could take the punch, tightened up my pecs, smiled, and nodded for him to continue.<br /><br />Jon focused on one muscle group at a time. He pounded on my right chest until I dropped to my knee in response. The pounding was draining. I was holding my breath far too much. And it did hurt, so it was me pulling away and showing submission.<br /><br />I don't remember us talking all that much. Maybe a few quips and snarky comments in both directions during the jabs.<br /><br />After a moment to catch my breath, I stood up again and re-set my stance, leading him to pound on my left pec instead. The scene repeated itself... eventually, I dropped to one knee again to catch my breath.<br /><br />Ryan helped me stand back up, and I re-set my stance again: right leg slightly forward, left leg slightly back for bracing, so I could lean in. I thought Jon was going to beat my chest again. Nope.<br /><br />Jon threw a knuckle punch at my right thigh, just slightly outside. It did not take many hits like that before my leg gave out completely. This time I *dropped* to the ground at the top of dish hill.<br /><br />I was grinning stupidly as I tried - and failed to stand up - so Ryan and David T helped me stand again... and then continued to hold me up as Jon proceeded to turn my left leg just as useless as my right one.<br /><br />I grunted in pain - that thuddy wonderful pain of fist hitting muscle and flesh.<br /><br />- - - <br /><br />When a couple of minutes later, I was able to stand on my own, Jon looked me over - checking my eyes, trying to calm me down from the intensity we had just shared. My muscles were tightened up like a drum, and he started hitting pressure points - first in places that caused muscles to relax, then places that I later learned were to cause pain (but that don't work on me).<br /><br />Then he found a pressure point on me that *does* work, and it was the first time we heard what Matt D liked to refer to as "Skippy noises" (a cross between Woody Woodpecker and Roscoe P. Coltrane trying to speak Latin with a Klingon accent).<br /><br />People thought this was me being ticklish, so Jon, Dave, and Ryan took me over to the bondage tent and strapped me down to one of the leather-padded articulating metal tables. They thought it was laughter... but the pressure points had triggered sensory overload.<br /><br />So I'm strapped down to this table, and they try tickling me - and nothing. I'm just laying there waiting for them to do something. Then, the breakthrough. Someone dug their thumb into the right spot and I howled. When he tried again as I was trying to say something, I broke, and started speaking gibberish.<br /><br />The howling and sputtering that came out of my mouth was what some might call epic... I just call it Inferno.<br /><br />- - -<br /><br />The next morning before I left, and as I was feeling worn down and emotionally wrecked. Jon found me and talked to me about after-effects. We talked about bruising patterns that I might see. We talked about the emotional turmoil from endorphin crash I was experiencing - my first real endorphin high from BD/SM play. He helped me put things into context and understand what I was feeling. <br /><br />That was the closing of my first Inferno, and I was hooked.</span></b>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-18685852395194069322015-09-02T17:30:00.000-05:002018-08-13T23:05:12.827-05:00Story: Uninformed Consent<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Bondage, ambiguous consent, hypnosis</i></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i></i><br /><i>Copyright © 2014 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.</i><br /><br /><i>Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</i></span></span></blockquote>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Uninformed Consent</span></h2>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Chapter 1, Relaxing</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I answered the door the second time he rang the bell. He was patient, waiting a full five minutes before he rang the second time. The boy was standing there waiting quietly with his hands held behind his back.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />The boy was a full head shorter than me, with beautiful brown eyes, and looking up at me like a lost puppy.<br /><br />“I hope I’m not too early, Sir.” I could actually hear him capitalize the letter S in that statement.<br /><br />“None of that yet, we’ve not even played. I haven’t earned that from you yet. Now what did I say we were going to do when we spoke on the phone?”<br /><br />I beckoned for him to follow me in to the house and to close the door behind him. “You said that I was to dress in gym clothes and to be here at 5PM. That you were going to tie me up tightly and we would talk, to decide what we would do in future sessions.”<br /><br />“That’s right, Billy. You can call me Harlow, or Mr. Reynolds if you prefer. I don’t go in for titles.” I gestured to the single well-padded reclining chair in the living room. “Now have a seat.”<br /><br />“That’s okay, I can take another chair… or the floor.”<br /><br />“That wasn’t a suggestion Billy.”<br /><br />Billy settled back into the worn black leather upholstery. It was obvious from where he settled that he wasn’t the normal occupant of the chair. My sizable six foot frame had left a deep impression. I pulled up the ottoman and sat on it, facing him. His brown eyes were large under his short light brown hair. In the low light of the room, the only light was behind him, so he could see my eyes clearly but not harshly.<br /><br />Being sure to make and keep eye contact with him, I told him to give me his hands. I firmly grasped his wrists and pressed them slowly, confidently into the arm rests of the chair. As his arms pressed down, a curved and padded stiff leather strap protruded from small slits in the leather on outside of his wrists.<br /><br />As I made the motions, I began speaking softly to him, “You’re safe here. You told someone where you are. You checked with other people that I’m a safe person.”<br /><br />With a deft movement of my fingers and without letting go of his hands, I tucked the leather into slits on other side of the wrists until I heard a click. The restraints were a toy of mine. There was a timer built into the arms of the chair. In five hours without my intervention, or in some specific emergency situations, the restraint would release automatically. There was also a manual release to the restraint in the back of the chair. I didn’t tell Billy that.<br /><br />“Billy, I want you to relax. I’m going to talk for a while, Billy. Just relax and obey what I tell you.” I put just the slightest emphasis on the words relax and obey.<br /><br />As I spoke, I reached around to the sides of the back of the chair and pulled out a leather belt which I ran over his chest lightly, and buckled in to place.<br /><br />“Now you came over here to experience bondage, and you will experience it, but first I need to tell you some things.” I watched his breathing, matching mine to his. That’s a hard part, a little bit of finesse, trying to speak and breathe at a rate not natural to you.<br /><br />I moved the ottoman closer to the recliner, which was upright at the moment.<br /><br />“You like bondage because it relaxes you. You told me that it lets you drift off. So I want you to drift off and listen to my voice for a while.”<br /><br />In time with our exhalations, I slowly ran my hands lightly down his upper arms and down to his forearms with their faint layer of sun-bleached brown hair.<br /><br />“You like to be the focus of attention. You can relax when you’re bound because someone else is in charge. When you’re bound, it’s easy to obey. It’s easy to let go and let someone else decide when you’re restrained. When you let someone tie you up, you get to relax. ”<br /><br />I continued stroking his arms, his thighs, and his face. Everything was easily reachable through the micro-fiber gym shorts and sleeveless t-shirt. I punctuated every issuance of “obey” and “relax” with a slight downward pressure wherever I was stroking at the time. <br /><br />I spent several minutes repeating the statements, and keeping up the body contact and slowed the stroking and my breathing; his breathing slowed in response.<br /><br />“Now Billy, I know you want to relax more and experience a stronger bondage, isn’t that right? You don’t need to speak, just nod.” His now droopy head nodded, his glassy eyes heavily lidded.<br /><br />“If you want more, you need to obey me, can you do that? Just nod.” Another nod.<br /><br />“Good boy.” I smiled broadly and squeezed his thighs firmly. “Now relax and lay your head back and close your eyes. You’ve already seen the other restraints on the chair. We’re going to continue restraining your body so that you can relax more.”<br /><br />“You know what the leather straps feel like on your arms and chest. I’m going to restrain your legs next. I want you to imagine what that is going to feel like. You’ll feel the smooth and padded leather laying against your shins, just above your socks. It will start off loose, and then it will pull snug. You know what that feels like. You can feel the pressure of the straps just as you’re thinking of it.”<br /><br />I watched Billy’s breathing quicken slightly as he lazily smiled at the thought of the restraint. Then I saw his knees bend ever-so slightly, pulling his legs against the padded front of the chair.<br /><br />“Think how good it will feel when your legs are bound up. When your legs are restrained, you can obey me more easily. Do you like to obey, Billy? Just nod.” He nodded. “That’s right, Billy, and by being bound by me, you obey me. Remember, Billy, when you’re bound, you obey, and when you obey, you’re bound. It’s easy, Billy. When you’re bound, you obey. And when you obey, you’re happy and relaxed.”<br /><br />“You like having your legs bound, like your arms. You want them to be bound and immobile, don’t you Billy?” He nodded, “In your mind, you can just see the straps pulling back on your legs, keeping them tight and taught. You can feel the pressure around your ankles. It just feels so good to feel them pulled tightly together and against the chair, right Billy?” He nods.<br /><br />“Do you like the feeling of them bound this way, Billy?” More nods.<br /><br />Okay, time to see if I’ve gotten through to the boy. <br /><br />“You know the restraints around your legs are holding you, because you want to obey. The more you obey me, the stronger the restraints are. You want to obey, so the restraints will hold you in place, Billy.” <br /><br />Now, in a faster, near staccato rhythm I rattled off, “Test the restraints, Billy. When you test the restraints, you obey me, which will make the restraints stronger. The more you try, the more you obey, the stronger they’ll be and you’ll be held in place.” As I spoke, I saw the muscles of his quads pulsing; clearly he was trying to fight the non-existent restraints on his legs.<br /><br />I let him have just a second or two of testing. “Relax Billy, you can stop trying. You were a good boy.”<br /><br />I could see his body visibly relax as he stopped fighting the invisible restraints. This was better than I’d hoped; the boy was going to be an excellent subject. <br /><br />Perhaps I should’ve included hypnosis in my list of interests on my profile. I mean, I did list “subtle bondage”... It wasn’t a lie.</span>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-1439825207002899152015-08-24T17:30:00.000-05:002015-08-26T14:44:09.125-05:00Story: Shut Doors Open Again<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Bondage, nonconsensual, abduction, anal, mind control</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />Copyright © 2014 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />What follows is a piece of fiction. Any similarity to living persons is coincidental. The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself .</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</i></span></span></blockquote>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b>Shut Doors Open Again</b></span></h2>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The door slammed shut behind him. I sat down on the couch and curled into a ball. Hugging my knees to my chest, I barely succeeded in suppressing the tears as he left me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />The fucking bastard.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Ted had been the one who insisted that we have a closed relationship and after a year of loyalty, I’d walked in on him and my old master, Tory. It would have been a hot scene had it not ripped my heart out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />There was Ted, “the man who never bottoms” in our sling, getting ploughed. His fine but dense chest hair was matted from the sheets of sweat that poured off him. The striations of his hamstrings stood out as his pale legs pulled on the bungee cord stirrups. The v-shape of Tory’s Mediterranean skinned lats led down to his smooth ass, framed by the custom leather chaps I’d purchased for him five years earlier. My old master, who’d dumped me for a teenager the moment I turned 25, was fucking my boyfriend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I’ll admit I lost it. I can’t repeat the string of obscenities that spewed from my mouth after the stunned silence, not for any sense of decorum, but because I can’t remember it through the haze of anger that colored the rest of that day. I remember that things were said that couldn’t be taken back. And I remember the smirk Tory gave me as he continued to fuck Ted through my tirade.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />That was a week ago. Today, Ted moved out. He’d left me for Tory, and I felt like collapsing in on myself, the void of his absence had formed so quickly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Blinking back my not-quite-formed tears, I straightened my back and resolved to purge Ted from my life. I wasn’t going to let that two-timing deceitful bastard ruin my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />It took me a day to go through our . . . my apartment to box up the remnants of his belongings. I found ass toys, other accouterment, and even a latex catsuit that I knew weren’t mine. How the hell had he hidden all this from me? In my own home? It was my condo, after all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Ted’s turnabout hurt all the worse knowing that he’d been against any kink play in our relationship. Kink play I had asked him to try on a number of occasions. The recent sling purchase was a concession that seemed to make more sense now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />It was when I was cleaning his account off my office computer that my life turned around forever. Since he’d broken all faith with me, I felt no compunction about going through his chat logs. I felt it fair to learn what he’d been up to. The chat log that stood out most was with “ToryMast”. The chats started three months earlier. I couldn’t believe what I read.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />ToryMast: I see you’ve set up your account. Good boy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />SlvTed15821321: Thank you, Sir. i included the slave number like you instructed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />ToryMast: I know, boy. Are you training your ass like I taught you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />SlvTed15821321: Yes, Sir. i’m doing really well. It still hurts when i wear the plug to work, but it’s less now. i'm afraid that Mikey is going to notice though.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />ToryMast: Michael, yes. I know Michael very well. Whenever you think he’s going to find your ass toys, just tell him what I told you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />SlvTed15821321: Yes Sir, “Michael, are you feeling fuzzy headed?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />There was a jarring sensation, and when I looked up, it was a half hour later. I had the sense that I’d read through the whole chat, but I couldn’t remember anything. I figured I’d just zoned out while reading, since it was such a stressful experience. So, I tried to read it again… and lost another half hour.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“What the fuck?” I thought.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I tried one more time, and lost another half hour. And then, did something I thought I’d never do again. I called Bill. I was surprised I still remembered his number.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“Stafford here. This is pretty late, so whoever this is, it better be important.” Brusque as usual, it was one of the things I remembered liking about him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“Bill? It’s Mike. Mikey Walters, I…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He cut me off abruptly, “Mikey? You’ve got some balls calling me after the way you walked out on me. What, 7 years ago now?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“I know, Bill. Uhm, I kinda need…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He cut me off again, “You need? Really. You run off with that tool after I set you up with a good job, and a nice collection of gear?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“Bill, I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry! But I need your help. I’m in trouble, I think. And it’s because of that tool.” The pain in my voice must’ve gotten through to Bill, because he let me finish. He remained silent for long seconds, and I was worried the connection might be lost, or he had hung up the phone. “Bill?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“Talk to me Mikey. You have two minutes. The clock starts now.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />As quickly as I could, I rambled off about how I’d been dumped by Tory, hooked up with Ted, and then dumped by Ted for Tory, and then about the lost time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“What do you mean you’ve lost time?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“I don’t know, I’m reading the logs of Ted’s chat with Tory, and I just . . . can’t remember any of it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />“Really? Ted’s chat with Tory? Tell me about it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I tell Bill about cleaning up the apartment, finding all the kinky toys that Ted had always scoffed at, and then finding and reading the logs. Eventually, Bill tells me, "Okay, go back to the chat logs and read them to me one at a time."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />So I sit down at the computer and start reading again... I get as far as reading “Michael, are you feeling fuzzy headed?” and the next thing I know I'm blind... no, I'm hooded! And gagged! As I try reaching up to my head, I realize my arms are restrained as well. I'm otherwise naked, and in a sling. I'm confident it's my sling, even. I recognize the feel of the leather and the spring of the stirrups.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />"You stupid, stupid, boy. You never told me what you were doing with him." It's Bill's voice, muffled through the hood I'm wearing. "It makes sense now. But I'm surprised you're still so well conditioned."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I try saying, "But Bill!", but it comes up "Bhmph Bfill!" around the large gag built into this hood. Bill lives on the other side of town. I'm feeling scared and confused about how this has happened when I feel his hand, slick with lube, at my ass.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />"Shut up, Mikey. First, I'm going to take advantage of this situation, then we can talk about deprograming you." What does he mean? 'Deprogramming' me? "Or maybe re-programming."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I feel one finger, then two, quickly enter my ass, "Well, you're not too tight, that's good, boy." Angry at the uninvited invasion, I try forcing his fingers out. "So you have some life in you? That's good. It won't work, but you remember I don't like lifeless sacks. I prefer caged animals."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I thrash in the sling as he works a third finger in and starts stretching my hole. The bungie cords supporting the stirrups make it almost impossible for me to lift my ass out of the sling; he can continue to work my hole without my getting away. It's what he always did with me when we were together, and I remember loving it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />When he starts working a fourth finger in, I start moaning and stop thrashing. He can still work my prostate like no other. Despite my vocalized objections, I can feel my dick drooling pre-cum onto my belly. Under the hood, my eyes are rolling back into my head as he works my hole like he used to all those years ago. Some things just don't change.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />When he suddenly pulls his fingers out, the jarring sensation wakes me out of my blissful reverie to consider that this is still basically rape. I don't know how I wound up like this. I try remembering that I broke up with Bill for good reason, but then realize I can't remember what the reason was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I feel a baseball bat against my ass... no... that's Bill. That's his monstrous cock nudging my ass. "You remember this boy?" I weakly nod in response.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />"No, boy, you know what I want."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I shake my head in response. I broke up with him. I don't want this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He smacks me through the hood lightly. "Say it boy."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I mutter around the gag. I broke up with him, didn't I?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He smacks me harder. The hood is padded, so even though I feel it, it's softened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />His cock is sitting at my hole, and I miss... I shake my head. 'I'm Tory's good boy.' The phrase floats through my head, and I'm confused.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He smacks me harder again. The padding still softens the blow, but the shock knocks the thought loose. "Say it, Mikey." His voice is soft in comparison to the slap.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I scrunch my eyes up under the hood. I'm confused. I want to give him what he wants, but I'm not allowed to. 'Tory will be angry with me.' The thought rises to the top of my mind, and I shake my head again, trying to dislodge it. I feel Bill's cock, hard and wet with lube, rubbing across my ass hole and I want it. I need it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I inexplicably start struggling against the bonds, trying to get free. I don't know why I'm doing it but I'm also muttering something about Tory being angry with me. Every time I mention Tory, I get another slap across my hooded face; I see stars with each hit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Bill's cock is at my ass, demanding attention. This barrier in my mind, the thing stopping me from saying what Bill's been trying to pull out of me, breaks after one more smack across my face. "Fuck me, Sir! Please!" I shout around the gag, because I feel empty and I want him in me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Before I finish saying 'please' I feel him sliding in, stretching me wide. He doesn't slam it in. He's never been cruel to my ass, at least. Oh god, I feel it sliding slowly, wetly, into me. I feel the natural ridges of his cock sliding over the sensitive skin at my sphincter. I missed this so much. Missed him so much. I feel myself shaking as he slides in.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />"Is this what you wanted, boy?" He asks as I moan when his cock is all the way in.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />When I don't answer immediately, he quickly pulls back until just the massive mushroom head of his cock is still in me. "I said, 'Is this what you wanted', boy. I won't ask again."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Suddenly I start nodding manically. I'm sobbing as I repeat over and over again around the gag, "Yes! Please!" I continue repeating myself as feel him sliding all the way back in, and then he starts his slow, methodical pistoning of my ass. His hands, strong and rough, one still slick with lube, grab my torso and pull me onto him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I remember what he likes, and start clamping down, trying to milk his cock with my ass, which is both difficult and easy because it's been a long time since I've been stretched this much. I'm at the limit of what I can take because I'm out of practice with this much girth. I keep it up, twisting my ass around his cock, squeezing. I couldn't get away if I wanted to, but I can move around in place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I'm in heaven. It's as if the intervening years have faded away. I feel him pounding and rubbing my prostate constantly. I'm whimpering and moaning in between my mantra of "Yes! Please!". I even try to fuck the air while he pistons my ass. There's a desperation in my actions, in my voice, and he can feel it, he can hear it. He knows he controls me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Bill can go like this for a long time, with his slow, steady pounding of my hole. Gagged and hooded, I can only taste and smell leather. I can see nothing, hear less, but I can feel him. My world has become every sensation coming from my ass and cock.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />After minutes that feel like hours, he leans over me, grabbing my cock in one hand and the collar of my hood in the other. Using the hood and my cock as handles, he starts roughly pulling me onto his cock more aggressively.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />"Boy!" I focus my world on his voice. It's as if the way he says 'boy' cannot be ignored. "Come, boy!".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He's not stroking my cock at all. The twisting of my hips get me no direct stimulation to most of my shaft. But his firm grip on the base of my shaft, squeezing, the feeling of his cock in me, and the force of his voice push me over, and I'm coming.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I'm shooting, and the first load of hot wet come landing on my chest. I tense everywhere, as if this orgasm had been building for weeks, from my toes, calves, and thighs, up to my jaw which clamps down on the gag, and out to where my fingers bunching into fists. In between, my ass must be like a vice on Bill's cock, because within a second of the start of my orgasm, he's growling and I can feel his cock pulsing with orgasm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Splash after splash of wet, sticky jism lands on my chest, some of it running down my side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Even as I finish, Bill continues pumping in and out of my hole, riding my aftershocks, as I repeatedly mutter around the gag, "Thank you, sir" and start crying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />"I know, boy. I'll fix things, Mikey. I'll fix you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I don't know why I'm crying. I don't know why I ever left Bill in the first place. And thinking about it, I don't know why the memory of Tory's voice scared me so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />-o-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Haven't decided if I'm going to write a follow-on to this. I think I leave a somewhat reasonable ending, letting people let their imaginations run.</span>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-64980169542107065692014-02-04T16:30:00.000-06:002019-01-25T19:53:22.260-06:00Hypnosis: it can workThis is a re-telling of an experience I had with at and during Hypnocon 2008. Hypnocon is a gathering of gay men interested in erotic hypnosis in the United States. The conference moves around from year to year. In October 2008, it was in Washington DC.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<b>The conference started off Saturday</b> morning at the DC Center at 10AM. The two local friends of mine showed up. The event was structure such that Sunday was planned out, but Saturday was free-form. We discussed what the group wanted to discuss. Problem with that was that one of my friends is a mental health professional...<br />
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Problem may not be the right word. Because Saturday was unstructured, there was no clear place to explicitly discuss ethics and the dangers of hypnosis. So my friend kept on bringing it up over and over as we were trying to discuss the framework of the day.<br />
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If you're wondering "How can hypnosis be dangerous?", think about this: You're working with a former marine who spent a lot of time in Iraq or Afghanistan and you use an induction that describes a large stretch of sand. It has the makings of anything from an instant flash back to unearthing an underlying case of PTSD that hadn't really shown itself yet.<br />
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A lot of the morning and afternoon involved discussing, "If you find someone has described ____" (abuse, anxiety, family problems), "step back and politely recommend the person go to professional therapy. This is erotic hypnosis, not theraputic."<br />
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<b>Saturday night</b> I learned that yes, I am fairly easily put under. The 'tist I was working with tried associating my sexual energy with my aggression... and my werewolf came out. Initially, I rejected the suggestions because I was really not comfortable letting my aggressive top side out. But slowly with a few other nudges, it started working. You mave have seen the "evil" picture before (over on the right). That was me, but add snarling, gnawing, growling and ready to fuck anything that moved.<br />
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The 'tist was bigger than me and was able to control me and keep me in check, but it took some time to calm down. Some people into puppy play can relate to the difficulty coming out of a pup headspace, the inability to talk. This was very much like that. I couldn't speak. It was amazing.<br />
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<b>Sunday started with a discussion of making of audio files</b>, MP3s and such. Hypnotic induction/suggestion files. Then we spent the afternoon relaxing. The hypnotist from Saturday put me under again and re-triggered that mindset where sexuality was tied to aggression and woke me up. So he loaded the weapon, but didn't aim it.<br />
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As I was just sitting around, someone else hanging around in the hotel room (there were 5 of us) had taken off his shoes an was lying on the floor. Mmmm, clean white socks. So I went over and started giving him a foot rub, which is something I enjoy doing. And white socks. The footrub progressed over five to ten minutes to a leg rub, then on to a back rub.<br />
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At the end of the back rub, since he seemed to like the pressure, I lay on top of him on the floor. My whole body was aligned with his, arms over arms, legs over legs, torso over torso. He was holding my whole weight on top of him. I was fully dressed at the time, but the UA jockstrap made humping so much fun. I started grinding against my massage subject... and within a short while, I had him aggressively pinned, pulling his arms in against his body, gnawing on his shoulder and tying his legs up with mine. When I flipped him over, he got to see the feral look in my eyes... that's when the hypnotist came over and grabbed me by the neck, whispering in my ear to get me to calm down.<br />
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Cooling down after that, I took off my shirt, which showed everyone that I was wearing my "dogs singlet under my shirt and pants. After cooling down I got dressed again and we hunted around the Thomas Circle area for an iPhone charger, since my iPhone was running out of power and I didn't bring my wall charger with me. That's when we headed over to the <a href="http://www.greenlanterndc.com/" target="_blank">Green Lantern</a>, where I planned to meet up with <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bullneck/" target="_blank">Bullneck</a>.<br />
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<b>Walking into the Green Lantern</b>, Bullneck hadn't arrived yet, so we hung out a bit. As we approached the bar, the very hot bartender looked at us, pointed at me and said, "None of you get served until he takes his shirt off." I thought he was pointing the member of our now quartet standing behind me. No, it was me. Being in a compliant mood, I did, and shrugged out of my shirt to show the singlet. Apparently, that's what he'd wanted to see: my fur.<br />
<br />
After ordering drinks, I was standing around chatting with folks and thought, <i>"Y'know, I don't live here anymore, I don't need to worry about embarrassing myself, and well, I've already gotten compliments from the extremely cut bartender."</i> So I demonstrated what I absolutely loved about my cargo pants: the fact that I can take them off without having to remove my boots. Giving my pants to the bartender to hold, I hung around the bar in just my singlet and boots.<br />
<br />
When Bullneck showed up, that's how I looked. And after a little while, the hypnotist from Saturday and Sunday that I'd been working with demonstrated (after asking my permission) how well I respond to hypnosis. He induced a light trance using a rapid induction... basically I was primed from our previous work. And then woke me up.<br />
<br />
For further demonstration, he did something with me that he hadn't done with me before. He tied my hands together behind my back. Yes, Hypnotically.<br />
<br />
It was really amazing and kind of weird. Yes, I knew there was no rope. Being that my hands were behind my back, I couldn't see it. But the strange thing was that I could <b><i>feel</i></b> the rope binding my wrists to each other and to my body. <br />
<br />
I know what you're thinking, "He was just holding his hands behind his back."<br />
<br />
Bullneck played along, holding my drink for me since I couldn't reach it. That's when it got weird: A random bar patron that none of us knew walked up to me and started pulling the straps of the singlet off my shoulders. He was speaking in some Germanic accent commenting on, "You Americans are so repressed," while Bullneck and I stared in surprise until my hypnotist friend stepped in and moved the stranger away. The fucked up part was that entire time, I still couldn't my arms... That was . . . err . . . a bit of a "convincer".<br />
<br />
At the end of the night, we got the number of this really bartender - the hot, muscled, young, adorable former marine with really great ink... <br />
<br />
<b>Resources</b> to find out more about hypnosis, and in particular erotic hypnosis, are all over the internet. To find out about future Hypnocons in the US and elsewhere, check out [ updated January 2019 ]:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="https://hypnosisforguys.com/">https://hypnosisforguys.com/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://warpmymind.com/" target="_blank">http://warpmymind.com/</a> has a large number of hypnosis MP3s. However, they're not all the best quality, and you will have to pay for most downloads. I do, however, recommend "Blink's Good Boy" file if you do start downloading.</li>
<li><a href="http://www.gentlybitten.com/" target="_blank">http://www.gentlybitten.com/</a> (aka ChewToy) has a number of interesting audio files for free, as well as some paid files.</li>
<li>YouTube user <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/UltraHypnosis" target="_blank">UltraHypnosis</a> has a large selection of available files as well.</li>
<li><a href="https://hypno.nimja.com/">https://hypno.nimja.com/</a> had audio files, interactive text, and visuals </li>
</ul>
Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0Downtown, Washington, DC, USA38.904392685781133 -77.032098770141638.90130368578113 -77.0371412701416 38.907481685781136 -77.0270562701416tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-75674449303949428202012-12-19T12:00:00.000-06:002019-01-25T19:53:36.274-06:00For @atlloki: Switching it upIn my trolling for blog topics, <a href="http://twitter.com/atlloki">@atlloki</a> asked me "<a href="https://twitter.com/atlloki/status/270955864284884992">As a switch could you/would you sub in front of or to someone you've topped?</a>"<br />
<br />
My short answer is that I don't switch with individuals: Whether I top or bottom, I generally fall into a role with that man. When I submit, I tend to stay in that role with him, or at least want to. When I top, I enjoy that experience and fear that if I try subbing to him, I won't want to return to topping him.<br />
<br />
It's more than fear, it's also a comfort level. Defined roles mean knowing where you stand with someone and knowing what's expected of you. Call me conservative, but predictability, while it might not be sexy, is certainly comfortable.<br />
<br />
Other considerations that may affect switching with and around others - ongoing relationship like I have with my partner, negotiations about what will be going on (I have experience the type of scenes I dish out as a top, but I don't enjoy them myself). My husband and I don't have a power exchange relationship at all. We made a conscious decision to remain complete equals. As such, my machismo gets in the way when I bottom when he's around but not directly involved. I obsess about what he's thinking of the things I enjoy doing with others, worried that he'd get jealous of what someone else is doing with me, (or more likely that he'd be jealous that it's not being done to him).<br />
<br />
The answer to the question really depends on the men in question. I'm just an emotionally delicate man, I guess. Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-71123686131271641062012-12-12T13:00:00.000-06:002012-12-12T13:00:03.030-06:00For @johnnygear: Tops do make mistakes<br />
In my trolling for blog topics, <a href="https://twitter.com/johnnygear">@johnnygear</a> asked (by way of <a href="https://twitter.com/atlloki">@atllokie</a>) "<a href="https://twitter.com/atlloki/status/272837122279489536">How do you deal with pain the dom didn't intend?</a>" (ex: loss of circulation, strap pushing in wrong spot..)<br />
<br />
This is something that I'm not actually very good at. I'm a huge advocate of communication, I like <a href="http://reddywhp.blogspot.com/2012/11/words-are-never-safe.html">safe-words where the words mean what they say</a> (ie, no means no, stop means stop). However, when it comes to letting a top know I'm having trouble, I'm really bad.<br />
<br />
It's a bit passive or maybe even passive aggressive, but I'll start with shifting around. It's a combination of trying to adjust myself so that maybe I can cope with or correct whatever is not working right and letting the top know there's something wrong. I've bottomed for such an array of people, I never know if a given discomfort is intended or accidental. However, I'll have difficulty actually saying that there's something wrong; I'll hope that he'll see my shuffling and twitching and either ask or realize the problem and fix it.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I really have trouble saying I'm having a problem. I feel bad when I have to tell a top that something's wrong. It's like I've somehow failed him. It's worse when there's an audience in the room. I don't want the top to lose face by having a scene appear go bad and I don't want to seem like a whiny or pushy bottom. There's also the bit of machismo that I'm not gonna quit, not going to let a little problem ruin a scene (even for very large values of "little").<br />
<br />
So kids, do as I say, and not as I do. Talk to your top and tell him what's bothering you. It's part of the learning process for you as bottom, him as a top, and you as a pair of playmates. If he intends you to deal with it, he can tell you, or just gag you.<br />
Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-44476571599268133732012-12-04T13:00:00.000-06:002012-12-04T13:00:05.532-06:00For @skylos: Do it with the things on the Discovery ChannelOn twitter a couple of weeks ago, I asked for suggestions for blog topics. In response, <a href="https://twitter.com/skylos">@Skylos</a> asked "<a href="https://twitter.com/skylos/status/272421656654409728">ever done a blog about thoughts about bestiality</a>"? I don't think I ever have.<br />
<br />
For clarity, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/bestiality">bestiality</a><b> </b>is is the practice of sexual activity between humans and non-human animals (ie, dogs, cats, sheep, rhinoceros).<br />
<br />
When someone asks me what I'm into, I start by saying what I'm not into. "No women, children, <i>real </i>animals, scat. Nothing that involves a doctor, hospital, mortuary visit after the scene is done". The "real" qualification is because I am, and hang out with, a lot of furries - people who hang out in anthropomorphic costumes (that's the short-short-short description).<br />
<br />
So if I like furries, why not real animals? Humans use animals as pets, as transportation, as food, for therapy. What is the real reason I'm squicked by it? How does using an animal for sex differ?<br />
<br />
Straw-man arguments<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>A vegan could argue that using an animal for sex would be like using it for food. I'm not vegan.</li>
<li>An animal cannot given consent and so using one for sex would be rape. Then they also can't consent to being killed and eaten, and they sure are tasty at the churrascaria.</li>
<li>It's against the "word of god". Clearly, <a href="http://biblia.com/bible/esv/Leviticus%2020.15-16">Leviticus 20:15-16</a> cover this, saying "don't screw the sheep!". Yeah, but <a href="http://biblia.com/bible/esv/Leviticus%2020.13">Levitcus 20:13</a> says "don't be gay", and I clearly like the cock.</li>
<li>The Goldilocks dilemma: too big or too small. Yeah, but some really are the right size.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Okay, it's easy to come up with arguments to knock down. So what's the real reason?<br />
<br />
<b>Health</b> is the big one. There are enough known viruses, bacteria, parasites that can travel from human to animal, and back again, that this is an unreasonable risk. The potential unknown contagions to be transmitted are too large of a risk. An animal cannot be expected to tell you it's health history, can't tell you what it's been exposed to. No animal can put on a condom and even if you put it on the beast yourself, you can't expect it to stay on.<br />
<br />
So health is the main reason. It's the reason that bestiality is a non-negotiable limit.<br />
<br />
Why else, though? There's no intelligence. I need to know that the entity I'm engaging is a self-aware, reasoning thing (with a cock attached). So even if we could 100% eliminate the health concerns (and we can't), I wouldn't be interested. Hell, even if I'm playing with an anonymous other, there's still an intelligence there; a head-game of some sort is going on.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/7980951809/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8457/7980951809_34553d5f04_n.jpg" title="Cicero Chained" width="150" /></a><br />
Sex for me is more than just a physical act. It's a mental and emotion exchange as well as a physical one. If it's just the physical, I could use my hand for that. (If I weren't on a <a href="http://reddywhp.blogspot.com/2012/11/masturbatory-moratorium.html">masturbatory moratorium</a>, that is.)<br />
<br />
Now if you could eliminate the health concerns and provide the intelligence requirement, I'd be happy. Say you could provide me a 6'5" anthropomorphic rhinoceros in bleachers, boots, bondage mitts, chained to a wall? I might find a way to enjoy that. :)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-79470010494528788452012-11-28T11:30:00.000-06:002012-11-28T11:30:01.753-06:00Words are never safe<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So my friend and partner's boy, <a href="http://therubberfreak.blogspot.com/">the rubber freak</a>, recently wrote about <a href="http://therubberfreak.blogspot.com/2012/11/safewords.html">safe-words</a>. He and I have some of the same ideas about safe-words. I decided to comment on them as well, but first I want to establish a base reference.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>What's a safe-word?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In BDSM play, a safe-word is something you can say while playing that can tell the other person that you need to stop or slow down. It's usually a word or phrase that the participants would not use in normal conversation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But why would you want a safe-word? Well, playing in BDSM involves occasional ambiguous consent. There are times when a participant may want to say "no" in play and not actually mean it. Also, it's a method to give a participant a way to feel in control, able to end or alter how the scene is going.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Effectively, safe-words become an alternative to direct communication between the participants.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are alternatives to safe-words, frequently for people who are for one reason or another are unable to communicate verbally. Some examples are: a specific series of nonverbal noises such as three quick grunt in a row; holding a ball in the hand and dropping it to signify a concern; snapping fingers; or smacking the hand against the table, chair, or thigh. However, these alternatives to safe-words become more than safe-words because they're substituting as the primary method of communication.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Concerns about safe-words</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What I see as the first failing of the safe-word is that people get the impression that a safe-word will protect them from a bad scene. There's an unspoken assumption there that the safe-word will be honored. Pepole need to remember that safe-words are not magic-words. The important part of a safe-word working is that both people are trustworthy and respect each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The second failing I see in safe-words surrounds the idea of being able to say "no" and not mean it. It's essentially planning to deceive your partner(s) in play. By establishing that "no" doesn't actually mean "no", it teaches the perception that other words don't mean what's expected of them as well. </span>It creates a potential ambiguity in what the participants mean and the opportunity for miscommunication.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A further failing in the "no" no meaning "no" is when "no" actually does mean "no". When someone's engaged in heavy BD/SM, they may experience intense endorphin rushes and emotional stimulation. In such a high stress situation, the various participants may not remember to use their safeword and will resort to "no" and "stop", because they've spent 99.9% of their speaking life using words to mean what they actually mean.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Continuing the line of thought of words and their meaning: if my safe-word is "banana", then "banana" becomes the equivalent of "no". If I wanted to say "no", and now "banana" means "no", what's to keep me from saying "banana" instead, especially if I'm being trained that "banana" means "no"? I'll end up just as likely to say "banana" as "no". I might say "banana" without meaning it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>What does this mean to me?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, BDSM involves building trust and communication. To build up to more intense play requires establishing a strong understanding of one another's limits and abilities. To have that mutual trust built on a pretense of play-acting means that the base of the relationship is shaky.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I see safewords as a barrier to honest and open communication. When asked about safe-words, my response is "I don't use safe-words." What I mean by that is "no" means "no".</span>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-76061084055837096862012-11-24T11:00:00.000-06:002012-11-24T11:00:04.369-06:00Masturbatory Moratorium<br />
In the month (okay, 28 days) leading up to <a href="http://mirubber.com/" target="_blank">Mr. International Rubber</a> (MIR) this year, I was in chastity. Not lock & key, but just under orders from a friend on the west coast who'd be coming in to town for MIR. We were following my rules for <a href="http://reddywhp.blogspot.com/p/chastity-rules.html" target="_blank">device-free chastity</a>. They're a set of rules I've gathered from several sources discussing chastity over the past decade and change. They're designed around helping a guy who's not locked up keep from wanking.<br />
<br />
During this chastity run, I came to notice something. I already knew I jerked off a lot ( 2 to 3 times a day on average ). What I wasn't doing was externalizing my libido. I've got all this play I want to do, but I never had the interest because I was always satisfying myself. Well, in the month leading up to MIR I had a kind of sexual renaissance. No, I wasn't getting off, but I was playing more. More BDSM play, at least as a top, and I was really getting into it.<br />
<br />
So towards the end, I got the idea to continue with the rules I'd been following, with a slight modification. I'm not to get myself off alone. So long as I'm with someone else, and that other guy is intrinsically involved in my orgasm, I can get off as much as I like.<br />
<br />
Examples of "intrinsically involved", you ask for? I've got some ideas floating through my head<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>He's strapped down firmly to the fuck bench at the CHC and I'm fucking him at either fore or aft.</li>
<li>I'm strapped down to a bondage table, being edged with my gasmask's air intake being shut off and my balls being regularly thumped until I shoot a screaming load.</li>
<li>He's tied spread-eagle on the bed, I'm sitting on his cock, his nipples and mine connected by clamps, and I'm jerking while using him as a living dildo.</li>
<li>I'm tied into a sling, muzzled, occasionally fed poppers while my ass, is being stretched and probed by a fingers and toys while getting milked.</li>
<li>Tied down to the bed with an electro plug in my ass, ESD straps on cock & balls, and pads arrayed around my lower torso and legs and hooked up to be stimulated until the electro makes me fuck a load out of myself with the plug.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Just a few ideas.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Psssst. Can you tell I'm horny?</div>
Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-48165982331221764572012-07-17T15:00:00.001-05:002012-07-17T15:00:03.723-05:00Out in the woodsI went camping a few weeks ago, planning to get some sun. Instead, I found a hot boy to strap down, strap up, and generally enjoy. I had him swinging from a suspension harness in the tree, strapped down to a table, and stuck into a sleepsack.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://recon.com/rubberCondor">RubberCondor</a> gladly obliged by strapping me into a straightjacket and edged me for an hour or two on the cot. So I did more play with him, and got some pics. These pics and more are on my Flickr set, <a href="www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/sets/72157630296936768/">Camping, June 2012</a>.<br />
<br />
<div align=center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/7447379694/" title="Sleepsack at Buckwood-001 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8028/7447379694_dca7086d6c_m.jpg" width="240" height="192" alt="Sleepsack at Buckwood-001"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/7447379636/" title="Sleepsack at Buckwood-000 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8024/7447379636_8cfbd3273f_m.jpg" width="240" height="192" alt="Sleepsack at Buckwood-000"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/7447379920/" title="Mash cot at Buckwood-004 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7256/7447379920_d7d5de5408_m.jpg" width="240" height="160" alt="Mash cot at Buckwood-004"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/7447379990/" title="Mash cot at Buckwood-005 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8153/7447379990_283404400b_m.jpg" width="240" height="160" alt="Mash cot at Buckwood-005"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/7447380140/" title="Mash cot at Buckwood-008 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8013/7447380140_cb21d6ab3e_m.jpg" width="240" height="160" alt="Mash cot at Buckwood-008"></a></div>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-29242640758368057572012-07-05T17:00:00.000-05:002022-12-26T14:32:51.690-06:00A call to arms, maybe hands, or at least fingersI've been a member of the Chicago Hellfire Club now for over 10 years. I joined when I was 26 going on 27, and at the time, it was one of the defining pieces of my life.<br />
<br />
I was attending Chicago Hellfire Club events, including Inferno for a couple of years before I actually joined. In fact, I was at Inferno in 2001 during one of the defining moments of our time. I sat in a hotel room in Michigan, and watched the towers fall. The club came together, made sure that everyone got home safely. <br />
<br />
2002, shortly after I was voted into the club, the man who <b>told</b> me I was to join CHC (he didn't ask, just handed me my application pre-written with my sponsors) passed away. Then a few months later, my father passed. Less than 2 weeks after my father passed, I was at Inferno, and a good friend beat the snot out of me. I really needed it. That <a href="http://reddywhp.blogspot.com/2011/03/catharthis.html">cathartic release</a> helped jump-start the healing process.<br />
<br />
2003 was the year I met my mate. But it's also the year of one of my most memorable experiences of my life. I was <a href="http://reddywhp.blogspot.com/2012/07/poked-full-of-holes-inferno-story.html">poke full of holes</a> in a massive temporary piercing scene that left me floating on endorphins for a day after and relaxed for weeks after.<br />
<br />
Skip through a few years in between of family building, and we're at 2012. It's been 10 years, and now I'm a full member of the club, even an officer. I've been the VP since January.<br />
<br />
I want to make sure that other people get the opportunity to have experiences like these. We're working on reaching out. It's a tough line to walk, having invite-only parties. But a great way to meet us is to come to our next bar nights, which are both the night before our next play parties!<br />
<ul><li>Friday, July 13th, 11:00PM at <a href="http://www.touchechicago.com/">Touché</a></li>
<li>Friday, August 11th, 11:00PM at <a href="http://www.touchechicago.com/">Touché</a></li>
</ul>Look for me and our club members at the bar nights and feel free to ask anything about the club.Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-68637566014299801592012-07-03T22:24:00.002-05:002020-11-06T15:15:46.271-06:00Poked Full of Holes, an Inferno StoryThis is a repost of a post from my old blog. However, now I have pics of the scene - photographic evidence.<br />
<br />
In 2003, I had an interesting year, I engaged in a learning experience that affected me greatly, and provided me with a tremendous learning experience. Yes, it involved more than a little bit of S&M. I wrote this narrative in September/October of 2003, a couple of weeks after the event. It was fresh in my memory then. I've decided it's time to bring it back out to share.<br />
<br />
<hr />
It didn't end up like I had planned. That's the nature of what I was asking for, though. If I got what I had planned on, I wouldn't have gotten what I had asked for. That's certainly ambiguous enough for a lead in. If I were to start at the beginning, with all the back-story, it would take too long to explain. So let me pick a time and place, and I'll tell you a little story about Inferno 32.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<hr />
<b>Place</b>: Chicago<br />
<b>Time</b>: May 2003<br />
<b>Event</b>: IML<br />
<br />
Scott was on his way to the hotel lobby from the Hellfire Club cocktail party when I caught up with him. Scott's a big man... I tend to think "lumberjack" when I see him. Maybe about 6'2", and in the area of 250 pounds, the man is big, and proportional. His legs are like tree trunks. The scary thing about Scott (as if there is only one thing about him that scares me) is that despite his size, the man is fast, and can turn on a dime. I know, because I've spent several times running from him... and one time I actually got away.<br />
<br />
At the corridor leading to the escalators down to the lobby, I caught up with him. Looking up, I opened up a conversation, "Scott? I have a bit of, uhm, I have a favor / question to ask." Yes, I actually do say 'favor slash question'. "I was thinking about a scene at Inferno."<br />
<br />
Scott smiled below his bushy mustache, in that way that a cheetah might smile if it were to play with its dinner before eating it. "Well John, what did you have in mind?"<br />
<br />
Fighting a little bout of nervousness, I replied. "If you felt you had the skill, and if you thought it was safe to do in a scene, I'd really like to try something involving an intubation at Inferno. I'm asking you because I know you know your limits as a top, and because I know you've got the medical training to do it."<br />
<br />
I fit about an hour's worth of fidgeting into the 3 or 4 seconds that Scott took to think about that. "Well, provided I had the right supplies, I certainly *could* do it. But why do you want to?"<br />
<br />
"Well, it's an extreme form of breath control, it's the general control aspect, and it's something that scares me. For all my bondage interests, I'm claustrophobic when it comes to my breathing. I know you'd have the ability to keep me under control."<br />
<br />
"We should talk more about it, but it's certainly something that I can do."<br />
<br />
I sighed a bit of relief. I'd been trying to work up the nerve to bring this up to Scott all afternoon. I don't normally ask for a specific scene when I bottom, since I don't like to do scripted scenes... that and the whole fear of rejection thing. So that he responded favorably was heartening.<br />
<br />
"I may not have the balls to bring this up with you again at the run, so you may need to be a little assertive in reminding me, if you don't mind."<br />
<br />
"You know *that's* not a problem for me. You will probably need to be immobilized, to prevent you from hurting yourself. I might need to have some guys holding you down. Then there's the gag reflex to work around... we'd need to be able to roll you on your side in case you puked. Wouldn't want you aspirating, now would we? "<br />
<br />
We had continued walking and gone down the escalators to the lobby of the Palmer House where I bumped into a few friends who invited me to dinner. As they went ahead, I asked Scott if he wanted to join us, and he said sure.<br />
<br />
Scott promptly picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and walked across the lobby to the next set of down escalators. Mind you, I'm not exactly small here. At 5'10" and 205lbs I'm no lightweight, but I felt like a rag-doll to Scott. At the escalators, he put me down, and we went off to dinner.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<b>Place</b>: A Hotel in the Midwest<br />
<b>Time</b>: Monday - Thursday, September 1 - 4, 2003<br />
<b>Event</b>: Inferno (an annual BD/SM "retreat"), number 32, Setup<br />
<br />
After IML, Scott and I went home to our respective cities, and didn't speak again until arriving on site for setup for Inferno on Monday, September 1. I arrived early and was waiting in the hotel's bar when people started arriving. David came in and we started chatting, soon Brent and Scott showed up.<br />
<br />
David's a hottie, maybe an inch or two taller than me, usually more tanned than my sun-deprived Irish/British skin. His hair is usually short, no longer than a 1 clip on a set of clippers, and this time he had a couple days' growth on his face. We were sitting by a large window at the front of the bar when Scott came over and sat down on a stool next to me.<br />
<br />
"Hey Scott, was just talking with David here about planning something with you for Inferno this year. You realize you scare me... a lot, right?" Scott got that wonderful glint in his eye. I still don't know if it weirds me out that Scott finds fear such an aphrodisiac... Nah!<br />
<br />
"No, John", David quipped, "Scott's not a monster. He's a pussycat." I looked back to David who was sitting on the opposite side of the barstool I was straddling from Scott. "Scott's a pussycat with really big claws." He made a cat-like gesture with his hand as he looks back to Scott, smiling.<br />
<br />
Looking back to Scott, I noticed an odd 'cat that ate the canary' smile on his face. It was only a second or two before I noticed the tugging pressure on the front of my shorts. Looking down I saw a knife resting comfortably in Scott's hand, poking gently at my shorts.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I was sitting about half a foot back from where I was. No longer on the stool, I was sitting on the ledge of the window, looking very . . . surprised. Scott daintily folded up his knife and put it away.<br />
<br />
I looked back at David and the three of us started laughing. Them at my sudden reaction of jumping up and back off the stool, and me out of nervousness. It was then than I went into my folder and got the letter. The infamous letter. Well, it's not infamous yet until you read it... <br />
<blockquote>
August 30, 2003<br />
Scott (& accomplice(s))<br />
To Whom It May Concern:<br />
<br />
This note is explicit permission for Scott to continue with the scene described below, should I be screaming bloody murder for him to stop. This scene may include, but not be limited to: intubation, bondage, breath control, temporary piercing and Scott’s use of assistants to immobilize. The scene is not open ended. A mutually agreed upon time limit will be discussed and set prior to the scene starting.<br />
<br />
After discussion of limits and interests, I have given Scott permission to perform a scene that may seem non-consensual to the outside observer. We have not discussed specifics of what will happen within the scene. We have discussed certain aspects that I would like to explore.<br />
<br />
There are some explicit limits in addition to my standard list of limits. I normally state no scat, no women, no children, no real animals, nothing that will interfere with work and no activities that will require the attention of a doctor or hospital after the scene is done. For this scene specifically, there will be no piercing of the skin at/above the neck, no piercing of or near the skin of the penis and/or scrotum.<br />
<br />
I have stated to Scott that he “may need to be assertive” with respect to this scene. That is not intended as an invitation for a “take-down”. I would prefer the option of cooperating with the scene early on.<br />
<br />
I have several hopes for this scene. Stated in no particular order: to confront the fear of lack of control, to push the bounds of my experience, to see how far I can be pushed and maintain my cool, to be pushed further should I lose my cool.<br />
<br />
Respectfully,<br />
John Reddy<br />
Ps. I must be insane to request and do this.</blockquote>
<br />
I signed it in front of him, and then handed it to him. Mind you, this would be the first time he had read it. I had been thinking about the scene for the previous several months, and put some thought into what it was I wanted from the scene, and what limits I would be putting on Scott. As you can see from reading the letter, I didn't put many limits on him at all.<br />
<br />
Scott and I discussed the scene several times over the next few days. It was mostly logistics. The main problem being that we couldn't find the proper equipment to do an intubation. If Scott were to do an oral intubation, that would require the use of a paralytic drug so that I wouldn't vomit or fight the tube. We both immediately scratched that one off, because Inferno was not the proper place to be doing that. He had been thinking about the scene prior to arriving on site for Inferno, as well. He had not been able to find the proper equipment to do a nasal intubation, which was deemed to be much 'safer' for the environment.<br />
<br />
Much of our discussions happened during a supply run into a nearby town prior to the start of Inferno. I was and am still surprised and honored by the statement that Scott doesn't normally spend so much time negotiating a scene. He hadn't yet nailed down a time limit for the scene, and he was still trying to figure out what I was looking for from the scene. In all fairness, since I didn't know or couldn't express what I wanted from him, that made it much harder. But I am flattered that he was willing to take the time.<br />
<br />
We did end up settling on duration for the scene, though. I eventually went up and asked him, "Scott, I don't like to hamstring a top, so what would you think a fair time duration to be?" We haggled for a bit and came up with Scott saying, "Okay, I'll check in at 3 hours." I said that sounds fine, and he smiled and walked off. It took me a while to realize that I had agreed to 3 hours until the first check in, and depending on the way Scott interpreted it, could be read several ways (several days?). Let the mind fucks begin.<br />
<br />
As session A started, Scott and I agreed that we would hold off until the second session of Inferno, in the hopes that we might be able to acquire the desired supplies. Otherwise, Scott would come up with something at least equally as intense to compensate. Other than a couple of random jokes and some minor head-trips, we were on hold until the following Sunday.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<b>Place</b>: A Hotel in the Midwest<br />
<b>Time</b>: Monday, September 8, 2003<br />
<b>Event</b>: Inferno (an annual BD/SM "retreat"), number 32, session B<br />
<br />
Session B started off quiet for me. I was dealing with a slight bug, probably just allergies. I decided that since I had a scene coming up with Scott, I would hold off on play and save energy. So Sunday night was quiet, and Monday provided some entertainment. Scott did some pretty intense needle play with Mike. Mike and Scott play every year, and in fact, Mike's the one who originally introduced me to Jon Krause and Scott as two of his "favorite monsters at Inferno".<br />
<br />
It was shortly before this scene that Scott did with Mike that I realized something. Scott was doing his scene with Mike early. Since I started attending inferno, they always did their scenes as their "last scene of Inferno". Well, it wasn't so much that I realized this; so much as David, Mike, and Joe pointed this out to me. Let the mind-fuck commence. If Mike and Scott weren't going to do their scene as the last scene of Inferno that would suggest that Scott's "big finish" would involve me. *gulp*<br />
<br />
Monday was otherwise uneventful... that is until dinner time.<br />
<br />
At dinner, I sat with the Chicago family. Dan, Joe, Eric, Dave, and others, as well as Scott. I was enjoying dinner, deciding that I would probably go to bed at a reasonable hour Monday, because Scott had told me to get plenty of rest for our scene. I still didn't know what Scott had planned, to be honest, and I wasn't exactly eager to find out. Call me chicken, I guess.<br />
<br />
"So John, 3 hours, hrm?" I looked across the table at Scott and smiled, nodding... that way you smile when you wish the professor would call on someone who actually did last night's homework. "Have I told you lately, Scott, that you scare me?" "Yes, but please continue."<br />
<br />
Scott took the opportunity to make a suggestion about our scene, "How about doing a fund raiser? We could take donations, maybe a dollar a needle?" I had thought about doing a fund-raiser type event in the past, and liked the idea of having an external goal or focus for the scene. Half-thinking he was joking about it, I threw Scott a bemused look, saying "Sure, why not."<br />
<br />
Scott's face lit up like a kid's in a candy store. He promptly went down the table to David K, and I thought I heard them discussing supplies of needles. I quickly dismissed this whole idea. It wasn't like Scott needed any more consent from me to do the scene... Surely this was just all more mind fuck. It's amazing how wrong I can be at times. The mind fuck hadn't even begun. Within a minute or two, Scott ran off out of the dining hall.<br />
<br />
For the next five or ten minutes, dinner was quiet. Conversation went on as usual, and nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Then John E. gets up on the microphone. John does the announcements at all the Inferno meals, as the MC.<br />
<br />
"Gentlemen, here at Inferno, we have many traditions. One of them is pushing limits." There's really no fair way to describe John's voice, suffice to say he's got a memorable one. "Well, some of us push limits by means of consentual non-consentuality."<br />
<br />
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</div>
I'm sitting at my table nodding in agreement, thinking "Yup, just like my scene with Scott." (God, how naive can I be?)<br />
<br />
"Some of us even go so far as to write up fantasies to request this sort of aberrant behavior. Tonight, we have one such fantasy request. The subject in question has written up a letter requesting just such a scene."<br />
<br />
I believe this is the time I stopped nodding and started staring blankly. I whispered to myself, "No. This is not my scene with Scott. That's tomorrow. It couldn't be my scene with Scott. I didn't submit it to the fantasy committee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a private negotiation. This can't be my scene with Scott." It's a shame Scott wasn't there to smell the initial fear coming off my body.<br />
<br />
"The letter starts, 'To whom it may concern'." The blood drained from my face... something to do with a fight or flight response, I believe. John continued reading the . . . MY letter, "This note is explicit permission for Scott to continue with the scene described below, should I be screaming bloody murder for him to stop." My head dropped to the table at this point and I started rocking it left and right in disbelief.<br />
<br />
"This scene may include, but not be limited to: intubation, bondage, breath control, temporary piercing and Scott's use of assistants to immobilize." I found myself pulling my leather vest over my head, trying to hide as John continued reading the letter. It seems that no matter how hard you wish, you cannot turn non-corporeal and sink through the floor. As the reading continued, I looked over to David, who smiled wide and gave me a thumbs-up. I was screwed.<br />
<br />
Somewhere towards the end, John stops reading my letter. "And now folks, here's the kicker. For every dollar that you donate to the Leather Archives and Museum (LA&M) in Chicago, the bottom for this scene will take another temporary piercing." I sat bolt upright. I mouthed, but did not say, "NO!" The look upon my face was priceless, I'm told. "Donations will be accepted at Satan's Station, there will be a receptacle there."<br />
<br />
There were over 150, if not 200 men in that dining hall, and so far, at least the people at my table knew exactly who wrote that letter. But to make matters <i>easier</i> for the rest of the men, <i>someone</i> (I <b>will</b> thank you, Eric) turned on the spotlight under which I was conveniently located.<br />
<br />
As John wrapped up the reading of my hopes for the scene, I was amazed that he didn't actually read off my name. With everything else that had just happened, I was sure it would be. Even without that, I was in hysterical nervous laughter. My hands were shaking, and I was not standing up any time in the immediate future. That's when I saw Scott coming down the isle.<br />
<br />
Running away screaming was a brief thought, but I was boxed in, and Scott would probably be able to catch me anyway. Turns out that was not necessary, as Scott tells me, "John, we got our first donation, wanna see?" I swallowed blinked, and nodded, thinking, 'what, is this a hundred-dollar bill?’ Scott smiled and showed me a hundred-dollar bill. I blinked. I blinked again. I shuddered a bit. That's around when my sense of time gets fuzzy. I had various people coming up to me for the rest of the night. Some people sharing their condolences, some people thanking me for putting my body on the line for the LA&M. Others offering to help the cause, such as the boy from Session A whom I had bruised in a wrestling match (he donated $60).<br />
<br />
Within 15 minutes, the tally of donations had reached at least $200. I had done temp piercing 4 times at this point over the preceding 2 years. My previous maximum number of needles has been 26. And that was the first time I ever did needle, with Master JK.<br />
<br />
I was scared. Every other step I took, I was plotting in my head the fastest course to my car out in the parking lot. I was truly scared. In truth, I wasn't feeling terribly great, and had been holding off on play through Session B so that I could build up strength for my scene with Scott the following day. I wasn't prepared mentally or physically. According to John's reading of my letter, that was to happen tonight.<br />
<br />
I walked around for a while, feeling like a condemned man. Eventually, I snuck around behind Satan's Station, into the dark patch between the tent and the pool. I sat down in the dirt, and cleared my mind. JK had taught me a few meditative techniques, and I was not going to disappoint him by forgetting them. I wasn't going to disappoint Scott by freaking and canceling the scene. I wasn't going to disappoint myself by wimping out of something I knew I could handle.<br />
<br />
I sat, cross my legs, rested my hands on my knees. I closed my eyes, and did nothing. The hard part was thinking nothing. It had been 30, maybe 40 minutes since the bomb was dropped on me at dinner, and I was still nervous as hell. I needed to ground myself, and the best way I knew how was to do and think about nothing. I may have been there 10 or 15 minutes, but that was what I needed. In that time, I may have had 5 seconds, cumulative of successfully blanking my mind, but the effort was enough.<br />
<br />
I stood up, and was no longer nervous, no longer shaking. Rather, I accepted the mind-fuck that Scott had just dealt me. I asked to be pushed, and by George, that he did.<br />
<br />
Walking into Satan's Station, I walked up to the jug with all the money in it and chuckled. It looked to be about $300 or so. The people working the Station knew I was the victim in question and got antsy when I got near the bottle. I surprised them, and myself, by going into my pocket and grabbing $15 of my own and putting it in. When asked why in the hell I was doing that, my response was, "Dude, it was already potentially 300 needles, at that rate, what's another 15? Besides, it's for a good cause."<br />
<br />
I went to bed early, around midnight, and slept surprisingly well that night.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<b>Place</b>: A Hotel in the Midwest<br />
<b>Time</b>: Tuesday, September 9, 2003<br />
<b>Event</b>: Inferno (an annual BD/SM "retreat"), number 32, session B<br />
<br />
Seven o'clock AM came, and I was awake already. Not that I needed to be awake, mind you. I didn't have any plans until after brunch. I had been advised not to eat much this morning, and I took it to heart. The morning progressed rather lazily. A brief continental breakfast around 8AM was shared with David, and we got to actually chat a little bit. I checked in on some people I had invited for their first Inferno, that he had played with, and was glad to hear that all parties enjoyed themselves.<br />
<br />
The morning progressed slowly, more of a leisurely pace than the pace of dreading something. I was going to follow through on the scene with Scott. That was not a question, so I enjoyed the day. Checked in on Satan's Station, since I was co-chairing the committee this year. Then around 11AM, I went to brunch.<br />
<br />
The usual table magically assembled, with me sitting across from Scott again. I had a few pieces of fruit and some juice. The banter was light, and we really didn't discuss much of what was coming after brunch. There wasn't a need. I was going to lie down, and Scott was going to poke holes in me. Simple, eh?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure how he phrased it, but Joe asked if I wanted support. I told him that he could hang around during the scene, but I wasn't going to be focusing on him much. He said he understood that, and he was there if I needed him<br />
<br />
After brunch, Scott and I proceeded to count out the money, with Joe's help. Despite previous exaggerated reports, there was only one $100 bill. In the end, we counted $409. I rolled my eyes. No shaking or fear. I would take as many as I took, and I would hope to make it to the planned total. But damn, 409?<br />
<br />
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</div>
Scott had me procure a table in the bondage tent, at the end near Satan's Station. It was in the corner, so people could watch, but not walk around it easily so as to interfere with the scene. We settled down, and I stripped down to my jockstrap. Actually, during the scene, I kept my socks and my jockstrap on. Not because I thought it provided any protection from Scott should he decide to poke me there. He had agreed to not doing that. It did serve to keep my bits and my feet from getting cold.<br />
<br />
When we were ready, Scott had me lay down on my back, and he proceeded to wash my chest and legs with an antiseptic soap. The wash/rinse process was repeated several times, with a couple of extra rinses at the end. I imagine the soap would've stung like hell if not rinsed away.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
After replacing the pads I was laying on, I put my hands behind my head, lay back, and the poking began. It was easy at first. I could tell Scott was going really easily with me, using thin needles, and not doing any funky tricks with them. Matthias was around to take some pictures, as it was the beginning of the picture taking period in the Bondage tent for Session B.<br />
<br />
The first needle went about an inch away from my left nipple. Just outside the areolas, almost at a tangent. He pinched the skin lightly, to make it easier to poke through the other side. He proceeded along with this sort of pattern until he had completely circled my left nipple.<br />
<br />
During this time, I became aware of the audience. I noticed that Joe was there, sitting on a table nearby, watching the scene. He had a set of flip-cards and was using them to keep track of how many needles I had taken at that point. "Joe, do me a favor?"<br />
<br />
"Sure, John, what is it?"<br />
<br />
"Don't let me know what number we're at... no matter how much I may beg."<br />
<br />
He smiled, "No problem." I didn't want to focus on the number of needles; it was really irrelevant to the scene, at least at that point. I was starting a small flow of endorphins, but I was still well grounded. The number wasn't so important as coping with what came next.<br />
<br />
I looked back to Scott, he seemed happy with the arrangement. We proceeded to put more needles in. I vaguely remember Scott making a similar, but slightly different pattern around my right nipple, then going back and adding more to my left nipple. Somewhere along the line, Scott started changing gauges on the needle... 25 gauge to start, then 22 later on. He switched back and forth, with no pattern that I could discern.<br />
<br />
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</div>
Now and again, I would start to lose focus, and Scott would be there to talk me back. Mostly, though, it was his eyes that kept me planted on the table. I stayed on the table by willpower. The only restraint being my will, and the force of Scott's presence (which it rather impressive, if I hadn't mentioned earlier).<br />
<br />
As we progressed, the pain got more and more intense. I questioned what I was doing there. I had the first real thoughts of "I don't want to do this". That's when things finally became difficult. As Scott inserted more and more needles, I began to tense up. My muscles were obeying my desire to try to fight, rather than the desire to submit. My back spasmed once, and Scott helped me relax it. Then we went back to poking me with sharp objects.<br />
<br />
We were still early on, and my physical responses to the pain and stress kept increasing, though I was managing to keep them in check with Scott's help.<br />
<br />
Finally, I began to break. In retrospect, I suspect it was around the 80's or 90's. I could feel the tears welling up inside me. Another needle. I squinted my eyes and contorted my mouth in a silent plea for release. Another needle. Then another. The sobbing came like an avalanche. I couldn't hold it back, and I didn't want to. My body went tense for a while, and I just lost myself in the sobbing.<br />
<br />
Somewhere along the lines, I began to remember in full, Technicolor, Dolby digital, surround sound quality, my first temporary piercing scene. In my mind's eye, I could see myself in a basement/garage in Baldwin Park, California. <br />
<blockquote>
<i>Jon standing over me to my right, Brent standing over me to my left. It was my first temporary piercing scene and Brent's first time doing it as a top. Jon was teaching both of us. I had been in conflict with what I wanted then, too. It was an intense pain, and I was locking up my body in response.<br />
<br />
"John, you need to relax. Feel your legs go limp. Imagine them stretching out towards the far wall. Feel them getting longer. Your arms are stretching out."</i></blockquote>
In my mind, and back in the real world, both were happening. I was relaxing, and ready to continue on with the scene. I sniffed a little bit to clear my nose, squinted a bit to clear my eyes before opening them. I looked back up to Scott, and nodded. That was all we needed for him to know I was grounded again.<br />
<br />
My memories begin to jumble together, but so I can't be entirely certain about the sequence of events.<br />
<br />
After that first break, I gained a new friend. A fly began to land on me from time to time, or buzz near my head. It was truly annoying. I find this particularly ironic, don't you? I've got over a hundred needles poking into my chest and abdomen, and here I was, whining about a fly.<br />
<br />
If you couldn't tell by now, this is what some people refer to as a pain scene. I was in quite a lot of it. Somewhere along the line, I came to the blindingly obvious realization that Scott was rather enjoying it. "Scott? Has anyone ever told you that you're a sadistic bastard?" He looked at me and smiled, with a little chuckle, "Yes, but they usually put 'Sir' at the end." He prepped another patch of skin for a needle, and inserted as I finished the statement. "Gotcha, you're a sadistic bastard sIIIIRRRRRGH!!!!" (In case you missed it, that was a "sir" blended with the generic statement of pain "ARGH". -Editor)<br />
<br />
Along the way, I heard someone mention it was time for afternoon snacks. So I asked someone, either Joe or Dan, to grab me a cookie before snacks ended. I hadn't had much to eat that day, and I would want a snack with some sugar when we were done.<br />
<br />
I am known for making ... distinct noises when doing certain pain scenes. I bring out Klingon, Latin, and some twisted cross between Woody Woodpecker and Roscoe P. Coltrane from the Dukes of Hazard. Well, along the way, someone (Joe?) made a comment, asking when I was going to start speaking Klingon. Here I am: Scott standing over me, with me screaming with each needle he's putting in now, making eye contact with Scott, and still I take the time to give the audience the finger . . . Well, ya just had to be there. :)<br />
<br />
Somewhere further along the line, I started weeping again, just lightly. Not so much that it stopped or slowed the scene. Heck, I can't even remember a reason for the crying, my body just wanted some sort of release, and that worked. I suspect we were around needle 150.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I was a constant noisemaker at this point. I've seen scenes like that in the past, and thought, "man, that's gotta be annoying someone." Well, apparently, it occurred to me during one particularly painful poke. Out of my mouth, instead of a scream, yelp, or growl, came "I APOLOGIZE TO ANYONE'S SCENES THAT I'M INTERRUPTING!" I promptly started chuckling... that is until the next needle, which prompted inexplicable giggling. Again, it's amazing how the body reacts to intense pain.<br />
<br />
Scott had been sticking needles in me for a long while at this point... over two and a half hours. It was starting to take its toll. I wanted it to stop. I sincerely wanted it to stop. He was putting in one, after another. They were in patterns around my nipples. They were up and down my sternum and across my chest. They lined my rib cage at the bottom, went down the middle of my stomach, surrounded my navel and across my abdomen. I couldn't take any more... Well, that's not true. I didn't want to take any more. I had my fun, and "wanted to go home".<br />
<br />
That's when the whimpering started. "Please stop, I don't want anymore. Please stop." It was quiet. I don't know if anyone other than Scott heard, but I know he did. And that's when I realized he wasn't going to stop. "Don't let them win John." Scott began to verbally coach me through each needle. "Don't let them win. You're stronger than they are." That managed to help me through for a while.<br />
<br />
Scott's coaching helped me through a lot of the pain. I was overloaded, and broke again. The sobbing came in torrents. I didn't want the scene to continue. I wanted to be done, but I knew I had signed up for more than I could handle, intentionally. I was getting what I asked for. What's more, I knew that Scott would totally be able to force the issue if I tried to get up and end it. Forget any thoughts of trying to remove the needles.<br />
<br />
My sobbing abated after the initial torrent. I was still trying to deny my circumstances, eyes squeezed shut, hoping for it to end. I felt Scott grab hold of another piece of skin. I heard myself yelp in pain as he inserted another needle. My eyes shot open, and looked to him, pleading with my eyes for him to stop. Another piece of skin, and I was pierced again.<br />
<br />
My brow furrowed, I let out another yelp of pain. Then another needle, and I barked complete gibberish at Scott. Another needle, and I was free of the confusion. Replacing the doubt was new resolve. There was pain, but it was no longer wearing me down. With each needle, I found new emotional strength. I was spewing a near constant stream of what should've been obscenities, if I had the mental power to construct coherent sentences. "Good, now we're getting to it." I think Scott saw something in my reactions he liked. I wasn't whimpering anymore, I was full on energized.<br />
<br />
The pain from this new barrage of pain and needles carried me for several minutes. Finally, Scott made the dread comment. Looking to a clock he had set up at the beginning of the scene, "Oh look, I've got 4 minutes left. Let's see how many we can get in!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Thus began the marathon. Scott looked at my skin long enough to get the needle lined up, then switched back to eye contact with me while inserting it. We made eye contact through my screams until he went to get the next needle, which he promptly lined up before looking back to me and inserting that needle. There were no breaks. It was one needle, and then the next. I was a continuing torrent of pain and screams. Finally, when I thought I could scream no more, I was right. My voice gave out and I could scream no more as he continued the needles.<br />
<br />
And then he was done. "Okay, John, it's 3 hours. Here's your check in." I wasted no time, "I'm done, we're done, that's enough, no more no more no more no more." I was semi-hysterical at the time, but conscious.<br />
<br />
Finally, Joe let me see the numbers. I knew we had long since gotten into triple-digits, but I didn't know the number. I honestly thought we had done more, but 234 needles was more than enough for me that day.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Joe added, "And FYI, you did about 30 to 40 needles in the last 10 minutes."<br />
<br />
My mind was reeling. I think it had shut down at that point. Not in a bad way, mind you. I just wasn't thinking. I was flying high on a massive flow of endorphins.<br />
<br />
All that was left was to remove the needles now. Two hundred thirty four needles. First Scott pulled them out one at a time. Then three or four at a time. That's when I learned a valuable lesson: Shave, or at least <b>trim</b> my chest/body hair when doing needle scenes. I'm a hairball, and somehow, which each needle or handful of needles that Scott pulled out, there managed to be a tuft of hair included.<br />
<br />
The needle removal lasted about a half hour. It wasn't nearly as painful as the rest of the scene. It was painful, but could have been so much more painful. I must find a way to properly thank Scott for being so kind at the end. I know there's many ways to make the removal as, if not more, painful than the insertion.<br />
<br />
Finishing the removal, Scott sprayed me down with alcohol. Not that it did much in the way of sterilization or cleaning... but did get me to make more fun faces.<br />
<br />
When we were done, and I was cleaned off, someone handed me a napkin-wrapped bundle with two cookies and an apple... the bundle I had asked for earlier from afternoon snacks. I offered one cookie to Scott, and kept the other for myself. Finishing that, I took the bottle of antiseptic soap that Scott handed to me. I was instructed to go wash off with the soap, lather rinse, repeat a few times, then come back and find him.<br />
<br />
The shower felt pretty good, actually, relaxing after the high-stress level of the past few hours. I was bouncy... flying high. I came back to find Scott, and followed him back to his room. He pulled me into bed where we lay down for a short while before the cocktail party.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<b>Place</b>: Between there and here<br />
<b>Time</b>: Between then and now<br />
<b>Subject</b>: Reflections<br />
<br />
I processed the scene for days... In the first day, the only thing I could say about it was "Wow". Even weeks later, I'm getting new insights about what happened. Truthfully, it was a life-altering experience, for the positive.<br />
<br />
I stayed through the beginning of teardown for Inferno 32. Working with Chuck, Satan Station broke down fairly quickly. Much faster than he had anticipated, so by mid-afternoon, we were done. For a while, I helped with the rest of teardown.<br />
<br />
I had been buzzing all morning, still riding the high from the previous day. As we broke for lunch in mid-afternoon, I finally felt myself falling. My energy level dropped off, and I started to close up emotionally. I decided that it was time to leave. I had 12 hours of driving ahead of me on my way home, and I wanted to be home. I had no more energy to give to teardown, and didn't want to be in the way.<br />
<br />
I kind of stalled on my way out. I didn't want to leave, but I knew I had to go home at some point. Scott and Brent had work to do, and I was turning more emotional. After saying goodbyes, and giving out some cigars, I made my way to my car, and headed out.<br />
<br />
It's amazing the sorts of things that can trigger emotional reactions. For example, when I stopped by Cabin 9 to say g'bye to Eric & others, Eric was just putting on his Les Miserables CD. Les Mis sticks with me. So when I finally got in the car and started driving, I was singing ... I don't remember which song, but it didn't matter. I broke out into tears, sobbing. I suddenly felt so empty and alone... and I got to thinking... <br />
<br />
After the scene was over, several people who I would consider family came up to me and told me that they were proud of me. That was confusing to me at first. "What did I do that could have earned such a compliment?" I would minimize that and other compliments by saying "Oh, I just lay there, Scott did all the work." It wasn't until I was driving home and falling apart emotionally that I realized that yes, I did have something to be proud of.<br />
<br />
I had asked to be pushed to the breaking point and then some, and we did, twice. Yes, I couldn't have done it if Scott hadn't been there to help me through it, but I was an equal partner in the endeavor. I had asked for it. I had weathered the pain and the emotional conflict. I hadn't been restrained. In theory, I could have gotten up and walked away. I could've called it off before it even started.<br />
<br />
We didn't go further because I had stopped the scene when I was given the chance. Knowing what I know now, I am confident we could've made 409 needles. At the time, I didn't believe I could take any more, now I know better. I learned what I needed and wanted to know about my limits... My so far are merely the realm of my experience. As my experience increases, so do the limits. With the right man, I can fly.<br />
<br />
I realized that I had experienced submission as I had only a few other times.That loss of control, where I know what's coming will be something I don't like, or don't necessarily want, but what I'll endure for him... because I know in doing so, he receives pleasure. The feeling of safety, knowing that however much I hurt, I will not be harmed.<br />
<br />
In my first break during the needles, where I flashed back to JK, I experienced a fond memory. Normally when I remember good things about loved ones who have passed, it is always tinged with a sense of loss. There was no loss weighing down this memory. Only the realization that what I learned from him will continue with me.<br />
<br />
I do have concerns that people will think this "raises the bar" for me in terms of the kind or quality of scenes I will participate in. Some people may think that I'm a pain pig in that I get off on pain. What I've learned is that pain of this magnitude will never be erotic for me. It's emotionally cathartic, and an expression of submission. I may prefer to bottom, but I'm still picky about who I'll be submissive to.<br />
<br />
The high lasted for weeks after I got home. A co-worker who always accused me of being a grouch even noticed. I was, and still, am a much more pleasant person around the office. After this experience, even the bureaucratic insanity of my office and our client seem like nothing. A little perspective on stress and pain does wonders.<br />
<br />
It also brought a little levity to the office that I somehow managed to hit redial on my cell phone while driving home. In doing so, I left my boss a voice-mail of me singing Les Miserables.<br />
<br />
To those who watched the scene and did not interrupt no matter how 'urgent' they felt it was, I thank you.<br />
<br />
To the family that kept an eye on me and supported me before and after, my love.<br />
<br />
To Scott, who made this exploration possible. Thank you, you Sadistic Bastard, Sir.Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-85513019342269625382011-09-22T09:00:00.002-05:002024-02-06T20:21:49.774-06:00Story:An Unexpected Shipment, Part 1<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="color: #365f91; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: large;">An Unexpected Shipment</span></h1>
<h2 style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: medium;">Part 1</span></h2>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Bondage, nonconsensual, abduction, anal, latex, chastity</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2009 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">What follows is a piece of fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any similarity to living persons is coincidental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself .</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 78%;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin was heading back to his console in the datacenter after lunch when he caught sight of “him” again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new rigger was hauling a large crate around on a dolly, heading to the freight elevator. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He wasn’t just big; he was Big, with a capital B.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rigger was a few inches taller than his’s own 6’2”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rigger’s arms were thick cables of muscle extending out from a red plaid, short-sleeved and buttoned shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thin fabric of the shirt seemed painted on by the sweat caused by the Texas summer heat.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Try as he might, he could not see an ounce of fat on the rigger’s body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin made an in-depth study every time the rigger walked by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the soles of his tan Timberland work boots up through the snug Levi 501’s; past the nametag on his chest which read “Brock” to the dark brown - almost black - eyes and the severe high-and-tight hair cut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man was a solid wall of muscle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Today, Brock stopped right in front of Kevin on his way to the freight elevator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Kevin, isn’t it?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin was shocked out of his erotic reverie by the unexpected address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hesitantly, he responded to the mountain of a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He let the affirmative answer trail off as a question.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Yeah, buddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The secretary down the hall said you’re a weight lifter outside of work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re obviously a big built guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could get in trouble asking, but I could really use a hand here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got a big load to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could you come down to the truck and help me just get a box into position for moving?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin blushed a little bit at the apparent compliment from the object of his latest masturbatory fantasies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afraid to look up and meet Brock’s eyes, he just stared at the mountain of muscle that was the rigger’s chest, and the key dangling on a chain that sat in the cleft of his massive pectorals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Sure!” he blurted out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“A little monosyllabic today, aren’t ya?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin couldn’t place the man’s accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a little Texas, a little New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of risking embarrassment in front of his fantasy man, he just shrugged, smiled and nodded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“That’s okay; you’re not needed for your conversation skills today.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Casually patting Kevin on the back with the force of a jackhammer, “Come on, let’s go.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The freight elevator opened onto the empty truck dock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only truck in the massive room today was an eighteen wheel monstrosity labeled “CHASM Freight Company, A Wholly Owned Subsidiary”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin looked at it and said, “Wholly owned?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By who?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Brock smiled down at him, “He speaks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, by the parent company, I would imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>C’mon let’s go in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, you head on in around those other large crates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one we’re looking for will look like these others, but on its side.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Wandered deep into the truck, Kevin noticed the walls were well-lined with padding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’re all labeled fragile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you sure it’s supposed to come here?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Yeah,” Brock called over the boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve gotta close this door to turn on the lights back there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a sec.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that the rear door of the truck slammed shut and the lights came on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin had been slowly navigating through the maze of crates, noticing that they were increasing in size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he reached the far end of the trailer, he was surrounded by crates seven feet or more tall, four feet wide and fairly deep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He rounded a corner around some of the larger crates when the light from outside was cut off and a dozen powerful overhead lights flickered into life, brightly illuminating the open crate lying horizontally on the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin stood looking in the box for a minute, not quite knowing what he was seeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It looked like rubber lined padding cut out in the shape of a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a depression of a man about Kevin’s own size, perhaps a little smaller, with his arms and legs spread slightly away from his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Near the “top” of the crate were two corrugated tubes sticking out from the padding and ending at something that looked like a gas mask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It looked like the panoramic plate of a firefighter’s gas mask, attached to a black latex hood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wide lens of the mask seemed to be an opaque black.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin was just noticing a thick layer of what looked like slime coating the latex when he was roughly body-checked from behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force of the impact spun him around, toppling him roughly into the crate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As he landed on the cold and slick rubber, he naturally slid into place, matching the man-shaped depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lying face up in the crate, Kevin was blinded by the bright lights aimed down into the box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he started to gather his bearings, he felt his arms grabbed and a dark shape loomed over him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hands started to slowly pull him up by his arms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin heard Brock’s voice asking, “Are you okay?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The voice came from the figure standing over him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bright lights behind the man made it difficult to see him clearly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Uh, yeah…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin had barely responded before a mischievous smile crept into Brock’s countenance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Brock slammed the boy’s arms back down into the crate, throwing him off-balance again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As his arms were thrust into the slots, he felt and heard clicking and ratcheting noises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rubber covering at several points had wrapped around his arms, trapping them in place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Hey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s the big idea?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Help!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin shouted as fear gripped him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shock of being slammed from behind hadn’t completely worn off, but it had dawned on him that the door to the large truck had been closed, and they were alone in the loading dock, with everyone being off to lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin continued shouting while pulling at his arms trying to free them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the blinding lights pointed in his face from above, he didn’t notice Brock reaching above the boy’s head to grab the gas mask, nor did he notice Brock position his knee for what happened next.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Colors exploded in Kevin’s head as Brock drove his knee into his groin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sudden shock of pain made Kevin try to curl into a ball to protect himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Brock’s weight now on top of his lower body, the only motion possible was to lift his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that moment, Brock moved with practiced precision and pulled the gas mask down over Kevin’s head, setting it snugly in place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">With the mask in place, Brock grabbed the trapped boy’s head with a single hand and slammed him back into the crate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the padding softened the impact and prevented injury, Kevin was again stunned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same clicking and ratcheting happened around his neck on impact, holding him down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">While recovering from the double stun of the knee to his groin and having his head slammed back into the soft pillow-like crate, Kevin was in no mental setting to fight back as Brock slid Kevin’s booted feet into the depressions left for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They met with the same ratcheting noise as the rubber closed around his ankles, calves and thighs, anchoring them tight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin finally realized that his body was restrained at his head, hands and legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was in the dark, unable to move, and could barely hear through the hooded gasmask and padding around his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For moments, or minutes, he sat in darkness and silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only sound was his pounding heart, still beating rapidly from the flood of adrenaline.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Time slipped by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The boy caught control of his breathing just in time to feel the very tip something sharp sitting on his throat, at the meeting of his collarbones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He desperately suppressed a swallow as the pressure increased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With no warning, point lifted and deftly sliced down through his t-shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Subsequent cuts down each sleeve released the shirt completely from his torso.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">By now, the lubricant coating the inside of the box had soaked through Kevin’s clothes, making them horribly slick and giving no resistance as they were out from under the boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin inhaled as the cold air hit his nipples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was being abducted, but still his body reacted to stimuli.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Moving further down, he pulled off Kevin’s belt and repeated the procedure with Kevin’s pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly, Kevin’s legs were released from their fabric enclosure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The large boy’s tight white boxer-briefs were left in place for the moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Out of sight from his subject, Brock opened a side panel on the crate to access some switches that allowed him to move the restraints on the boy’s ankles, allowing enough room to maneuver the boots and socks off both of his feet before letting the crate lock them back into position.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">While Brock worked methodically on his legs, Kevin had stopped shouting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew that the mask was muffling any noise he would make.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Brock slid the mask into place he had forced a large wedge of rubber into his mouth: a cross between a SCUBA mouthpiece and a sports bite-guard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was large and prevented intelligible speech.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The skin-tight, lubricated latex hood settled easily over the boy’s head, enclosing him down to the base of his skull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it stopped moving, buds on the inside of the hood slipped into Kevin’s ears, quickly filling the canal and cutting off almost all outside noise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As the trapped boy tested the limits of how much he could (or could not) open or close his mouth, he felt his tongue brush against a small raised nub between the guards that held his teeth apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly Kevin felt the switch quickly depress and heard a small click.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The boy yelped at what felt like a pair of wide hemostats closed on his tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try as he did, there was no pulling his tongue from its new trap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any hope of saying anything intelligible quickly vanished.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Unheard by Kevin, the rigger let out a throaty chuckle as the boy yelped and began to squirm slightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From watching the mouth piece of the mask it was easy to tell that the boy was trying to free his tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smirking ever so slightly the big man clapped his hand on the well lubed thigh a few times, before going back to his work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Brock finished removing Kevin’s pants and looked down at the prone, restrained and almost naked boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through his struggling, his skin had been covered in the slick and stringy lubricant which covered the inside of the box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Under the bright florescent lighting, Kevin’s pale skin was a stark contrast against the black latex of his confines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kevin’s white boxer-briefs, the only clothing he still wore, were soaked through and transparent with the lubricant, showing off a large set of balls and a flaccid dick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brock enjoyed sliding his long blade under the waist band of the briefs near Kevin’s shaft, barely scratching the skin of his abdomen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Brock wished he himself could get hard as he watched large boy’s body both flinch away from the blade though his dick hardened at the attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The blade ran so that the spine rested on the boy’s dick for a moment before finishing the cut and making a second slice through the cotton fabric of the boxer-briefs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Appreciating the big slab of meat he was about to pack away, Brock cupped the boy’s balls and stroked his chest a few times before getting up to finish the project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He scooped up pooled bit of the lubricating slime and rubbed it over the thickly built boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The massive hands smeared the slime around the boy’s neck and chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He enjoyed the feeling of the boy’s hard dick in his hand, not having felt his own in a long time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He continued until the boy whimpered and thrust his hips upward as best he could when the rigger dropped the boy’s precum-dripping shaft. let go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As satisfied as he was allowed to be himself, the rigger wiped his hands off on his handkerchief and left the boy humping the air then picked up the large cover to the crate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than seven feet long and four feet wide, the cover had its own thick padding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Brock lined up six inch long tabs with corresponding slots in the open crate and pressed a button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment, he seemed to motion to adjust his cock but paused before reaching it, as if remembering something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, a process had begun within the crate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The cover of the crate began descending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it dropped, padding on the underside of the lid began to press down, and as it did Kevin simultaneously felt a pressure from below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At his ass, a silicone phallus began pushing against his sphincter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now well lubed from the slime all over the inside of the crate, he was easily spread open just enough for the plug to slide in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The initial surprise of the pressure in his ass made Kevin thrust his pelvis up, pushing his hard dick into the lubricated, rubber lined, and padded cover which was descending toward him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He found his cock and balls forcing their way through a hole in the covering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the thick padding of the box cover was cavity with an air-tight seal that closed around his cock and balls as they were sucked through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Due to negative air pressure in that cavity, it felt to Kevin as if his cock and balls were sucked through into the cavity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once through the hole, though he could feel the suction, he felt no stimulation to his dick; it wasn’t touching anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Unable to pull out of the enclosure, the continually lowering box cover pushed down on Kevin’s hips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The top of the crate latched into place and his ass was completely forced down onto the invader, pushing past a large bulb at its base.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The pressure at his ass and the suction on his dick made Kevin horny, especially after the teasing he’d received from his fantasy made reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite knowing better, the boy continued trying to get stimulation on his dick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time he tried thrusting in or out of the hole, he ended up fucking himself on that plug up his arse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After the box latched home, Kevin faintly heard through the padded and sealed confines of his enclosure the sound of screws being drilled into place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when he remembered seeing a waybill posted on the side of the box, though he didn't remember the specifics of the destination.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Slowly, Kevin felt himself being lifted upright and shuffled to the side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The change in position also changed the positioning of the plug in his arse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">At first, he thought he was feeling the throb of his ass around the plug, his blood pressure, pulse, or the twitching of his sphincter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after a minute or two of silence while upright and immobile in the dark, the throbbing became a pulsing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then the pulsing became a thrusting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He was inhaling to release a moan when he heard a whimpering wail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounded close, but deadened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The memory hit like a truck: there were other boxes in this trailer with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">At that moment, he began to feel mechanical fingers all along his body's erogenous zones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stimulating him, but giving no direct pleasure to his cock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like someone was pinching, pulling and gently twisting his nipples; his ass was getting an amazing workout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “magic fingers” seemed to know every erotic hot spot on his body.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He felt the pressure of the slick latex all over his body keeping him immobile, comfortable, but otherwise in sensory deprivation but for the active stimulation at all the point that would make him horny and drip pre-cum.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Outside the crate, Brock was holding up a cell phone, its camera pointed towards the crate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brock heard the wail emitted from the crate before the noise cancellers kicked in and he brought the phone up to his ear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“There you go, Mr. Mortson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last package is ready to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All ten are in excellent shape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes Sir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Destination is Clan Halloran, Abyss Storage Movers, Inc in NYC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That will add another six days, are you sure?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they’ll keep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, Sir.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Looking down at his own crotch before hanging up, he asked, “Sir?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any chance I’ll be let out of this infernal chastity device soon?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Haven’t I earned it yet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes sir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good bye.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brock stared at the phone for a minute, pondering what his employer meant when he said “You’ve always had the key to your freedom with you, boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe someday someone will show it to you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Heading back to cab, he mused over his own experiences that told him the multi-function crates would handle everything their inhabitants would need, short of orgasms, for weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When he was a few blocks away and the truck was stopped at a red light, Brock pulled out Kevin’s smart-phone and typed out a quick email to Kevin’s work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He detailed an out of state family emergency and that he didn’t know when he’d be able to return to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having sent the message, Brock turned off the phone and pulled out the battery before heading north out of town on I-35.</span></div>
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-14571757380917096772011-09-08T09:00:00.002-05:002011-09-08T09:00:01.498-05:00Story:Boys Should Be Seen, part 6<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #365f91; font-family: Cambria; font-size: large;">Boys Should Be Seen</span></h1><h2 style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: Cambria; font-size: medium;">Part 6</span></h2><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Contains: Rubber, bondage, non-consent, mind control, SciFi</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2007 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">What follows is a piece of fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any similarity to living persons is coincidental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You've probably been wondering where I've been for a while, leaving my story incomplete. The last chapter in my memoir here was actually an excerpt from the diary of Mr. Francis Blackstone, my former employer. Some may call him my owner, but that was far from the truth. A fact that Mr. Blackstone never realized at the time. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I believe when Mr. Blackstone had just left me and...</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-----</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was coiling on floor in pain. It was dark here and my eyes blurred to uselessness with tears. My world shrunk down feeling peals of burning like fire rip across my skin in all directions. Where the skin didn't feel like burning, it was tearing open in small little holes across my entire body. Small little holes which were being stretched open and then snapping shut. Stars burst in my eyes as I writhed on the floor, shaking.</span></div><a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But not a noise. I made no sound other than that of my body's pain-induced motions. I lay like that on the floor of my then-cell for some length of time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don't know when it happened, but the pain across my skin began to lessen. On the edge of my perceptions, all across my body, I felt a sensation of pins and needles as in a limb which had fallen asleep and was now waking up. Drawing myself together, I rolled onto my stomach and pushed up, drawing my knees underneath. Sitting up and back on my haunches, I blearily rubbed my eyes free of the tears and surveyed the room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In rubbing my eyes, I noticed that they were mostly clean of the sludge. Quickly glancing around, I found that the sludge my captor's devices had sprayed on me was almost entirely gone. With my waking from this pain-induced stupor, I was thinking clearer than I had in... in weeks. The background music in the room was still playing, as always. But now, I could hear the harmonics... the subtle tweaks which had previously induced a soporific and suggestive state were obvious to me now. I could hear them. Not only could I hear the harmonics, but I could hear the words.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"My god" I mouthed, still being careful not to say a word. He's been programming me. Subliminal messages? How did I know all this? I could hear it now, understand it now. But I don't quite remember everything he'd exposed me to during my training. I decided to play along for the time being and see what this maniac had done to me, or had planned for me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking across the hall, I showered quickly and dried. Then I padded quietly through the home until I found the study and knelt behind the chair where I saw him sitting and waited. The large mirror over the fireplace angled down so he could see the room, though he was engrossed in a novel. War and Peace. I realized that I could actually read the text upside down, in a mirror, from almost thirty feet away. After a few minutes, without looking up from his book, he reached over to the table next to his recliner and touched one of many buttons on a small device sitting there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I partially felt, partially heard a tone emanate from the device just before my body went rigid. My body locked up, and I remained kneeling in place. It wasn't as if my body was in restraints, or that my muscles weren't responding either. It was as if there was something was occupying the same space as my muscles and overriding them. I noticed in the mirror above that while I was actually breathing (I could feel air passing through my nose and mouth), I could see no movement at all. The man, for I did not yet know his name, finished a few more chapters with me kneeling there immobile. Eventually, I noticed that even my breathing had slowed to near imperceptibility.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He put down his book, and memory started flooding back of his voice, droning on and on through the drugs and subliminals. My eyes, the only thing I could control at the moment, shot forward. On a hunch, I pulled up the memory of that tone which emanated from the small device and mentally reproduced it. My eyes locked in place.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">'Amazing,' I thought, 'Whatever he's done to me, I have some degree of control over it!'</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Standing, the man picked up the device and walked around me. "You truly are quite the specimen, I must say." Though I could not turn to see him standing behind me and my eyes were safely locked forward now, my peripheral vision allowed me to watch him in the mirror. I was being astonished over and over by how much sharper all my senses had become.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"My Associate at the Abyss told me you would serve my needs, and he seems to have been correct. You remember the Abyss, don't you? It's that bar in midtown where you told my Associate that your father told you that boys should be seen, and never heard. That's why he chose you for me, you know. Then he hired Glen to abduct you for me. Oh, you knew Glen as Jason. He's the kind chap that bought you your drinks, and then dropped you off at my doorstep."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seeing him pace around me, I finally got a good look at my captor. Looking to be in his late 50s, he was in excellent shape. He was wearing a tailored black silk shirt with charcoal gray pants, both of which showed off his physique. Roughly six feet tall and muscular. His hair was white, thin and cropped short, but his skin, though showing his age with its wrinkles, still had a healthy look to it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"You see, I have particular tastes. I like silent, obedient boys. I don't want affection, I want a tool to use as I want, when I want. And I want something that looks excellent in whatever gear I choose to put him in, when I want him in it." Holding aloft the remote, "My favorite gear is rubber." And then he pushed the button.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As with the command sequence to activate my lock-down sequence, I felt. more than heard, a complicated series of signals fractionally before it started. I watched in horror and amazement as pure black liquid began to pour from my pores. It seeped and spread downwards for a moment. Then the seepage stopped. For a pregnant moment, I thought, 'Maybe his grand experiment didn't work.' Then the liquid began to stream sideways, perpendicular to gravity. Almost alive, it began to spread itself across my body. The substance was initially wet looking and globular, but as it spread it took on a smooth, polished shine. Soon, my entire body from neck to wrists to ankles became smooth, black and shiny.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Ahh, most of your body has responded to your programming. But the one part that has been excluded from programming seems to agree with me." Reaching down, he stroked my rapidly stiffening cock. That's good to know.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My self-awareness continued to grow the more I was exposed to new sensations. I was certain that given the chance, I could learn to control and potentially override his commands. He wanted an automaton under his control, but I wanted to be autonomous.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He punched in another code, and to my amazement, the rubber began to surround my head. Whereas around the rest of my body, the rubber seemed to be an extension of my skin, here it seemed to be forming a shell. Climbing up my neck, the viscous substance flowed over my ears, my almost non-existent hair, sealing over my mouth, and around my nose, and past my eyes. I was cut off from the world for a moment before nose holes opened for me and the rubber membrane that flowed over my eyes turned translucent, allowing me to see out. The rubber simultaneously flowed over my hands and feet, pulling my hands into fists and filling all the gaps with quickly solidifying rubber.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Beautiful, my boy. Beautiful." He walked around me once more, stopping in front of me and looking me up and down. "My rubber droid." He lazily unbuttoned his silk shirt as he looked me up and down. "It's time you learned who your new master is. I am Francis Blackstone. No, you've probably not heard of me. But I feel it's important for a servant to know his master's name."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Blackstone removed his shirt and dropped his pants to reveal a tight-fitting, well shined black latex catsuit with a buttoned-on cod piece. The man really did keep himself in excellent shape. And from the way his codpiece was bulging, he was well hung, and was enjoying what he saw.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He pressed another button on his remote control, and my joints seemed to sag some. I didn't yet have control over them, but I cataloged this new signal, building my own library of control codes. I don't know if Blackstone realized, but his nanotechnology had interfaced not only with my central nervous system, but had also breached the blood-brain barrier. The flood of artificially introduced chemicals, mixed with my own endorphin flooded bloodstream and his nanotechnology caused an unplanned synergy. I was rapidly building an mental interface to my new 'appendage'. However, my body was still mostly under Blackstone's control.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Blackstone tilted me forward, and my body gave him some token resistance. However, when he stopped pushing, I remained in the position he placed me. My joints acted like they were under some kind og friction lock. Left along, they would support, but if an outside force acted on them, they would move. I was one large articulate doll, and Blackstone was moving me onto all fours.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His last command had released the lock I'd placed on my eyes, so looked around. In the mirror, I could see myself, this strange faceless rubber beast, on hands and knees, head up, covered literally head to toe in black rubber. The only highlighting was the silver collar, wristbands and ankle bands which were the superdermal extrusions of the nanotechnology.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Blackstone began to stroke my head and neck, dragging his fingers across my face where my eyes and mouth were hidden in rubber. My senses were going wild. The smooth cool silky sensation was driving me mad. I could feel the pre-cum flowing from my cock. He stroked and rubbed down my back and around my ass. I'd enjoyed ass work in the past, but the feelings he was eliciting just by stroking around the outside made me think I had never experienced anything before!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Ahh, you're a good boy. I will definitely be keeping you, and using you. I've even got a job and cover story for you. You'll like it."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He knelt down behind me and popped off his cod piece, which didn't take too much work. Then he lined up his dick with my ass, and slowly slid it in. The sensations were indescribable. For the next fifteen minutes he fucked me nonstop until he came. Those were the longest and shortest fifteen minutes of my life. I could feel each ridge on his dick, feel his pulse in his veins. My enhanced senses were going wild. I could smell his sweat mixing with polish and lubricant in his catsuit while the pounding of his thrusts hammered my prostate.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Three times. In the fifteen minutes he was fucking me, I came three times. My mind was reeling. Even with the new augmentations, my mind was blown by the sheer ecstasy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted more. In that moment, the cost of what he had done to me seemed worth it. I resolved to stay with him as he wanted me. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-----</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Epilogue</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over the years, I learned about the technology that Mr. Blackstone had embedded in me. I also learned how to control it and override Blackstone's control. However, I never let on to him that I was a free man. When several years later he was dying of cancer, Blackstone 'set me free' and revealed he had sold his assets, but left me a trust to live on, I said nothing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It wasn't long before I'd learned to augment and regenerate my supply of nanotechnological robots. I learned I could subtly 'infect' his acquaintances with the robots. Through the bots’ telemetry and thanks to my education on subliminal programming, I was able to influence business. The insider trading alone net me billions of dollars, all without Blackstone's knowledge. He never knew that I was the one who bought the company from him when he died.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While in Mr. Blackstone's employ, one of his "mute boy's" responsibilities was entertaining Blackstone's business acquaintances. One day, finally I met the man Blackstone had always referred to as his "Associate". I could even hear Blackstone pronounce the capital letter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Entertaining Blackstone's Associate was a mind-blow. He was insatiable, truly. We fucked for hours and hours. He had me in positions that I didn't think were possible, and the sensual pleasures he put me through taught me new levels of joy. Hour after hour of ecstasy finally took its toll on me. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Enough!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was the first word I'd spoken in months when I'd said it. Lying on my back, my eyes went wide and I stared up into this rubber-covered gods face and held my breath. The black rubber covered muscle god loomed over me, with his dick in my ass. He had one hand behind my head and the other on my dick. Through his anonymizing latex hood, I could see him smile.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"I can keep a secret," he smiled, "if you can." He grunted as his slowly switched to a slow grind from a fast pounding of my ass. "You see, some time ago, a young man, you could call him a boy, came into my bar. He said to me in some off-hand remark that his daddy had taught him, that 'boys should be seen, and not heard'. The boy went and got himself into a whole mess of pain after that. What I figure is, a boy go through a mess of pain and learns, that there is a rite of passage. He's no longer a boy."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"The boy's become a man."</span></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-74335015578899260622011-08-25T09:00:00.001-05:002015-08-26T14:47:21.570-05:00Story:Cicero, chapter 4<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #365f91;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Cicero<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #4f81bd;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Chapter 4 – On Duty<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></span></span></h2>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Contains: Rubber, scifi, bondage, mind control, nonconsensual, </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2010 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span> </div>
<sdt docpart="CEE53C3836EB45858EF4FDBE3FC9EDDA" id="480059915"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The red panda exploded out of the door into the alley, the steel portal slamming with a resounding thud and swinging back to closed as Cicero burst through behind him, in full charge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, no one told Tozier that trying to run from a charging rhinoceros was a bad idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for Tozier, Cicero's mother had taught Cicero to turn his head to the side when chasing someone down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No kid wants to get gored while playing tag.<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero was right on the panda's tail coming out the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Tozier's moment of indecision of which direction to run, he was caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The full weight of the charging rhino slammed into him, throwing them both into brick wall opposite the door and then rebounding onto the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force of the impact winded them both.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Irritated and angry, Cicero quickly gathered his wits, grabbed his cuffs and handcuffed the prone panda behind his back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero stood, one booted hoof planted on the small of Tozier's back while he pulled up on the cuffs, awkwardly and almost painfully stretching the Panda's arms back behind him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero had hardly noticed in the fray leading up to the chase that the symbiote had woken up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Cicero looked down at the pinned and restrained panda, he felt the creature writhing around his cock, stimulating him. It was also probing at his ass...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Not now" growled Cicero silently, panting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The panda was stunned, but recovering when he shouted, "Hey! What the hell are you doing back there?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This time, the symbiote was doing something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero looked down at his booted hoof when he noticed it . . . </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One Hour Earlier</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero sat in the back of the SWAT van making its way to the interspecies brothel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being an election year, there was a crack-down on prostitution, and the “dirty breeding” always ended up as a target in these sweeps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, the brass didn’t think much about their speeches when they made such proclamations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero was one of those “dirty half-breeds”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A huge chunk of the planet was, and it was only going to continue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The local wildlife is up front, catching the lower class johns.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sergeant Winters was fully human, and was an equal opportunity bigot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held everyone of every race in disdain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They more exotic stuff is in back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Officer Harden, you’re taking point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want you to barrel through to the back and drive the clientele and whores forward, Cicero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can’t sneak up from behind, but we will be blocking off the alleys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should have the neighborhood locked down.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Barrel through, secure the rear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can do that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He grinned at the Sergeant with a wink, and then almost winced as the symbiote, still wrapped around his loins and securing his own rear, decided to throb briefly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the rubber thing picked up on the sexual tension between Cicero and Winters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Winters glowered, “Right.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turning to the other officers, Winters continued handing out assignments as Cicero wondered how he’d have sex with Winters with the creature still attached to him.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Five Minutes Earlier</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero crouched across the street from the upscale Capitol Hill row-house-turned-brothel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was still pondering sex with his Sergeant when he realized that he was thinking about sex as a given, not as a fantasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His plans for getting Winters alone were realistic, and what’s more, he knew he would follow through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would have to seriously think about…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“*bzzzt*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harden, street’s cleared you have a go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*bzzzt*”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero’s com unit squawked in his ear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Right,” he muttered to himself, “here I go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Switching on the voice amplifier on his neck piece, he stepped out from behind the conveniently placed delivery truck on the opposite side of the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bouncing once on his booted hooves once before moving, he broke into a sprint, gathering momentum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half-way across the street, he started bellowing, his already resonant voice amplified by the comms unit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“This is the Metro PD!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are serving a warrant!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All occupants of this residence are under arrest!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero’d done this a dozen times before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d timed his speech to be punctuated by his hundreds of pounds of muscle and bone smashing through the door frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His feet thundered as he climbed the stairs and entered the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew his fellow officers followed him in, but no one could hear any foot falls except his weight barreling through the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Officers clambered up the stairs behind him as he continued through to the back, breaking through another door to a shock.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Tozier?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero winced at his own voice, and turned off the voice amplifier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tozier’s eyes shot wide, “Mister… Mister Harden?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero found the young red panda leaning up against a wall, his hands behind his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the floor in front of Tozier, a mature asian man knelt, his mouth wrapped around the young panda’s sizeable member.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man looked up at Cicero, not taking Tozier’s cock out of his mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero walked over and pushed the man off of Tozier’s tool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Goddamnit boy, your grandmother’s gonna have…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero didn’t finish, as Tozier laid a quick right across Cicero’s jaw and bolted out the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Glancing up at the door, Cicero muttered, “your granny’s gonna owe me big time.”</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The red panda exploded out of the door into the alley, the steel portal slamming with a resounding thud and swinging back to closed as Cicero burst through behind him, in full charge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, no one told Tozier that trying to run from a charging rhinoceros was a bad idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for Tozier, Cicero's mother had taught Cicero to turn his head to the side when chasing someone down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No kid wants to get gored while playing tag.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero was right on the panda's tail coming out the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Tozier's moment of indecision of which direction to run, he was caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The full weight of the charging rhino slammed into him, throwing them both into brick wall opposite the door and then rebounding onto the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force of the impact winded them both.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Irritated and angry, Cicero quickly gathered his wits, grabbed his cuffs and handcuffed the prone panda behind his back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero stood, one booted hoof planted on the small of Tozier's back while he pulled up on the cuffs, awkwardly and almost painfully stretching the Panda's arms back behind him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero had hardly noticed in the fray leading up to the chase that the symbiote had woken up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Cicero looked down at the pinned and restrained panda, he felt the creature writhing around his cock, stimulating him. It was also probing at his ass...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Not now" growled Cicero silently, panting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The panda was stunned, but recovering when he shouted, "Hey! What the hell are you doing back there?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This time, the symbiote was doing something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero looked down at his booted hoof when he noticed tendrils of the entity were snaking out from his pants, around his boot and latching around Tozier's tail, slithering around his waist and through the many ripped holes in the panda's denim pants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Cicero sees the entity's progress, he is momentarily confused before being overcome by a sudden wave of aroused orgasm. Still holding onto the chain between the cuffs with one hand, Cicero arched his back and bellowed aloud as he came in his uniform pants, only to have his come greedily absorbed by the symbiote which responded by spreading further to engulf the strained and restrained panda, probing his ass and dick & balls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While Cicero writhed in orgasm, he was dimly aware that the symbiote seemed to explode around Tozier, as it did when he first encountered it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within seconds, Tozier was wrapped head to toe in strands of living latex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His muzzle was stuffed full, silencing him completely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than the worm-like state Cicero had been forced into, Tozier was being pulled into a tight rubberized ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His knees were pulled up to his chest by strands of rubber with the strength of steel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tozier’s arms, still chained behind him by the cuffs, were useless to try to fight it off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In moments, all that remained of Tozier was a ball of rubber with a vaguely Tozier-shaped head sticking out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was silent and immobile except for a visible breathing motion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero felt, more than heard, a sharp snap and looked down to see tendrils of latex receding below his pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instinctively, Cicero knew he had to hide this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking around, he saw an open dumpster and quickly heaved the mass of latex into the container and slammed the lid shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just then, Winters burst out the back, weapon drawn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Harden!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where’d he go?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Sorry, Sarge, he got away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can go through, I don’t do as good going over,” Cicero pointed at the alleyway wall behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But no one else got out.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Winters nodded then indicated Cicero’s split lip, “Looks like he got a good shot in.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Looking down at the well built human, Cicero smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Winters was large for a human, 6 feet tall, almost two hundred pounds of muscle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A little guy like him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got in a lucky shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wasn’t that big, about your size actually, and I could take you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero walked up to Sergeant Zachary Winters, deliberately invading his personal space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Staring down at him and meeting his eyes he commented, “Any time I wanted.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Winters wouldn’t blink, but he could smell the sweat and musk pouring off Cicero in waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, though, he did turn and start back into the brothel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Stay here and guard the back, make sure no one else gets out.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero smiled when he caught sight of Winters adjusting his crotch before reentering the house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Commenting to himself, Cicero thought aloud, “When did I get that aggressive?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shaking his head, he went back to the dumpster to check on Tozier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kid was still there, still in that lump of whatever, still apparently breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What have I gotten into?”</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hours later</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After finishing paperwork at the station, Cicero made his way back to the house, to the dumpster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, he knew instinctually that Tozier would still be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the activity died down, Cicero was able to retrieve the warm mass and haul it away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since he knew no one would be coming home, he decided to bring Tozier into the brothel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hauling the latex lump to the basement, he set it on the concrete floor and stepped back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Great, now what do I do with you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero sat there a few minutes until he realized he was idling rubbing the bulge in his pants, though he couldn’t feel a damned thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The symbiote must be blocking sensation again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Damnit, alright already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know you own me, but what are we going to do with him?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He waved indicating Tozier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero felt stupid talking to his crotch, but weirder things had already happened today – multiple times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Cicero waved, however, there was a raspy gasp and Tozier’s limbs all shot outward, as if released from tremendous tension.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tozier’s mouth had been released and he was breathing deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was apparently unconscious but waking up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex still covered most of Tozier’s body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was effectively a suit which had crawled underneath his clothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hands and feet ended in useless nubs of latex, even his tail was coated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex had only retreated from Tozier’s head and face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In short time, Tozier was awake in the sparsely furnished, unfinished basement, sitting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the fuck?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tozier shouted, “What the hell was that?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even being in the basement of an abandoned house, Tozier’s voice was sure to be heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raising his hand in a gesture of silence, Cicero hissed, “Quiet!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if in response to Cicero’s command, Tozier’s suit instantly slithered up and muzzled the panda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a muffled, yelp, Tozier pawed at his mouth with useless hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero thought a moment as he noticed that his suit was stimulating him again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So is that how it’s going to be?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero addressed his crotch, drawing a confused look from the already scared Tozier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I belong to you, but I can have some that belong to me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The flood of pleasure and stimulation that swelled around Cicero’s loins gave him the clear answer he needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeling his new mate, his owner swirling about him, Cicero caught his reflection in a mirror on the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From under his uniform, latex sheeting flowed to cover his arms and neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was already flowing down his legs and coating his hooves under his boots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking over to Tozier, he picked the young panda up and set him standing between two metal support beams set into the concrete floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero met Tozier’s gaze and they locked eyes for a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero was able to get out “You, boy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re mine” before his own latex muzzled and gagged him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Working in concert with his latex, Cicero commanded the latex surrounding Tozier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like forcing a daydream into reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed only to think clearly what he wanted and then mentally shove that image at Tozier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His latex symbiote would take over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Contented, Cicero watched as strands of latex shot out from Tozier’s body, forming a web between the pillars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a minute, Tozier’s body was lifted off the ground, his legs splayed wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero stepped up to the exposed ass of this muscular panda and leaned in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His shaft, long left without sensation, was allowed to hang free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero reveled in the sensation as he rubbed his cock up and down Tozier’s hole.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With Tozier hanging face up in the air, almost spread eagle, Cicero stared into the scared but now aroused eyes of his neighbor’s grandson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew Tozier was aroused because he was instructing the symbiote to do many of the same things to Tozier that had happened to himself, and the sensation had Tozier trying to fuck the air in frustration.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leaning against him, Cicero could feel the panda’s muscles try to clench and pull against his bonds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could also feel the latex stretching Tozier’s ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pushing an image to the symbiotes, Cicero added “Mine”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The latex thinned around Tozier’s ass, and Cicero lined his cock up with where the boy’s hole should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With gentle pressure, he forced his way in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than open or ripe, the latex membrane stretched and molded to Cicero’s shaft as well as providing lubricant.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero slid in with one pump, causing Tozier’s eyes to bulge as Cicero hit full depth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, Cicero built up speed, giving full strokes all the way in and out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even through the complete gag, and full hoods both men now wore, Cicero could make out Tozier’s whimpering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The suit had been keeping him stimulated and horny in a semi-conscious state for hours.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tozier wasn’t alone in having his ass plowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On every stroke into Tozier’s tight ass, Cicero would feel the same thing happen to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was intense and he felt like he would come at any moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Cicero plunged deep into Tozier, Cicero’s suit drove a Cicero-shaped phallus into his own ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sensation continually threatened to bring Cicero to orgasm, but the symbiote worked to prevent it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero had no idea how long he bang away at the boy hanging in the air between pillars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But soon, he felt himself building to a crescendo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His balls felt heavy, as if lead weights were hanging from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he came, he noticed that Tozier was also coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The suits had synchronized the orgasms.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grabbing Tozier’s legs, Cicero pulled Tozier hard onto his dick, ramming himself deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their mutual screams of ecstasy would have drawn the attention of neighbors had they not been gagged.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Both dropped, or were dropped to the floor instantly after the massive orgasms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, the symbiotes withdrew for both of them, back to the basic briefs that Cicero was growing familiar with.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Exhausted from their exertions, both men passed out on the floor of the brothel’s basement.</span></div>
</sdt>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-28431357006203859002011-08-11T09:00:00.001-05:002011-08-11T09:00:06.143-05:00Story:Boys Should Be Seen, part 5<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #365f91; font-family: Cambria; font-size: large;">Boys Should Be Seen</span></h1><h2 style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: Cambria; font-size: medium;">Part 5</span></h2><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Contains: Rubber, bondage, non-consent, mind control, SciFi</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2007 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">What follows is a piece of fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any similarity to living persons is coincidental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I watched the lad through the monitors. He was definitely as promising as my Associate at the Abyss Bar has told me. One day, I hope to find out where his insight into the minds of these boys comes from. The deliveryman was equally interesting. I may ask my Associate if he could arrange that as well some time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘My Associate’, that’s how I thought of him. I’d heard him give a half-dozen different names over the past several years when we’d come in contact with each other. Each of them was a legitimate legal entity. Over the years, I’d run investigations into one identity or the other. My inquiries never turned up anything out of the ordinary. In one case, my investigator disappeared. I got the message, “Okay, mate. You’ve had your fun, now stop digging.” None of them, I was certain, was the real man. Who was I, though, to question the man’s preference for privacy? He has never questioned my desire for silence in my home. So I let it drop.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Silence is golden, and my home is quiet. The door hinges are oiled, the floors carpeted. There is not but one squeaking floor board in the place… in the palace. In a city of millions of people, I certainly own a mansion: The top three floors in one of the older building in the city. I’ve earned it. Over the years, I’ve made fortunes and lost them, only to make a larger fortune the next time. Coming close to a half-century in age, though, I decided it was time to stop amassing fortunes and enjoy this one.</span></div><a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The boy. Yes. He was my newest acquisition. I’d had boys before. Flighty things I’d picked up in bars. This one was different, though. For one, he was innocent and naïve. Most of the ones I could get to talk to me when I went out were obviously game players. This one was in the scene long enough to start finding out what he wanted, but not long enough to become jaded or understand what could happen to him if the wrong person found him. Of course, if he failed to learn what I intended to teach him, I would *be* the wrong person.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He’d quit his job, sublet his apartment and his family had received his email about going hiking across Southeast Asia. Not that he’d actually done these things himself. But if the boy didn’t behave himself and learn his lessons, his body would turn up somewhere in… I think Nepal would be nice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I shouldn’t linger on the negative. The boy was turning out to be a wonderful training subject. The mild hypnotic sedatives in his food and the sleep deprivation were working well with the subliminal messages to carve a nook inside his head. He’d been in the isolation and cleaning room now for a week.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the advantages of making fortunes is making contacts. While brokering deals between medical firms, again tipped off by my Associate, I came across some rather interesting technologies. Decades ahead of their time, I purchased the R&D group and have kept them under my personal supervision.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d truly enjoyed watching the colon-snake doing its work. The fibrous metal mesh lining of the proboscis was so fine as to nearly be a living skin. Five sessions with the colon-snake had been effective in cleaning him out, performing rather in-depth medical tests and seeding the nanoscopic technological devices throughout his body.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I looked back at the screen, at the boy, sweating and straining on the rubber mat near the door to his chamber. He learned quickly, and I now only needed to tell him once what to do. As I’d hoped, he learned visual cues. Even in his sleep, he no longer made those actions I deemed out of bounds. His metal-encased hand stopped straying towards his crotch or neck. Some negative reinforcement had been necessary and would continue as needed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I raised my hand to my right ear and pressed imperceptibly just below. My link to the chamber and to him was established. I heard the slightly sub-vocal moans the boy was straining to suppress as the Escher-like device probed his rectum. I made some motions over the table, and a 3d image of the boy and the device appeared, in real time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was time I spoke to him again. He responded well to the sound of my voice. Yesterday, I had the containment loin piece begin mild ministrations of his cock and balls matching the timbre of my voice and patterns of my speech. It's made him even more attentive to my instructions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Relax boy, let the equipment complete its work."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I watched the 3d display, seeing the colon snake bulging and retracting from the boy's rectum, stretching it out for use later when he was finished. The nanotechnological devices began to register on the floating display, showing that they had not only seeded the entirety of his large intestine, but had progressed further up his colon. They serve many purposes, but for now, they are primarily acting to repair any microfissures and tears in the lining of his colon from the harsh work of the colon snake.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The nanotech also provides me with constant feedback on boy's physical state: hormone levels, blood sugar, endorphins. The array of information I was getting on this boy was astounding.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'm sure many people would be horrified at how I'm putting this technology to use, when it could be put to to humanitarian purposes. I may do that eventually, but it's my toy, and I'll decide when and how to share it with humanity. I've already got ideas on that front.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But my mind wanders, back to the boy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"You're doing well, boy." I praised him as the colon snake finished its exit. "You're showing promise. Your obedience is pleasing to me." I flexed my hand over the instrument panel, and a soft click sounded in the isolation room as the boy's metal-mitted hands detached from the magnetic restraints, though the boy did not move. He knelt there, waiting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Excellent, boy. Now stand, walk back to the wall, and wait for further instructions." The boy followed my orders with a fluid, noiseless motion. No hesitancy showed in his actions. I was definitely pleased.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many days passed like this, as I monitored the progress of the nanotech incorporation into the boy's digestive track. In addition to monitoring and augmenting they boy's health, the microscopic devices served other purposes. For one, they gave him an unparalleled digestive system. Zero solid waste was produced because everything that went into his colon was processed. One hundred percent efficiency.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within two weeks, the slow treatment of his intestines along with the nanotech replication had resulted in a complete lining from his sphincter all the way to the duodenum. The boy's augmented intestines were ready for the next stage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His obedience was already startling. Some days I spent four or five hours with direct control over the process, fine tuning the boy's mental conditioning. Most days, though, I spent at most an hour, letting the computers manage the process. Even accepting the boy was being brainwashed, drugged and manipulated, his natural desire for subservience shone through. I was pleased.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The nanotech devices didn't stop at the intestinal track, mind you. A small percentage traversed the boy's blood stream, setting up small colonies at vital organs, reinforcing them, monitoring blood content, and linking into the nervous system at key points. My little devices are already at point in the product development where we can completely control the body if I wanted. If I'd wanted, I could have made a slave who was a prisoner in his own body.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My goal was to make the boy happy to serve. I may be twisting the boy's brain to suit my needs, but it's not shattered. He really does want to serve someone, I simply will give him direction.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday, I released his hands from the metal mitts and neck from the heavy collar as well as his crotch from the loin containment device. There remained foil thin metal bands skin tight around his neck and wrists. These were actually dermal extrusions of the nanotech, forcing themselves to the surface.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew it was there, though I could not see it except on the console display or under black light. A web of the nanotech covered the boy's body. with varying thicknesses, various focal nodes. In some places it followed obvious vascular structures and in other places it seemed like a haphazard scattering of netting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I watch him through the monitors today, I am rewarded to see him assume the position as the colon snake once again probes him. Though this time, he takes the procedure completely unfettered. Today is a change, though, as the proboscis deposits a thick black substance in the boy's intestine on its way out. The material has a tar-like quality which seeps out the boy's ass. He obviously noticed, but made no move to respond. And when the proboscis full retracted from his ass and began to spray the pitch black viscous substance over the rest of him, his face showed only a look of relaxed acceptance.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Standing and walking away from the display, my console automatically disabled itself. Out of my office, and down a dark corridor I walked, sidestepping the robotic cart ferrying the colon snake back to its storage room. The door remained open and the boy remained on the floor in his bowed kneeling position, his ass up in the air.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I reached out with one hand and stroked the boy's ass. The black slime coating the boy was adhering to itself and the boy with terrific tenacity, and yet not a drop stuck to my hand. Probing with one finger, I reached inside and mercilessly massage the boy's prostate, causing an obvious stirring in the boy's tar-covered genitals. The only part of the boy's body not completely covered by the substance was his head.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pulling my finger out of his ass, I marveled at how the tar continued to fail to adhere to my skin. Of course, I knew this would happen. I walked around to the boy's head and squated in front of him. His head was still hanging face down, as he always did during the rectal treatments.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In all this time, he'd not seen my face, only heard my voice. Sometimes definitive and in the foreground, but always whispering to him in his sleep. I hooked a finger under his chin and slowly and gently nudged his face up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Look at me boy." My boy's bright blue eyes looked up to mine with fear, awe and wonder. "You've almost completed your training. Now comes your final piece. In a short while, you'll begin to feel cramps throughout your body and your skin will feel like it's burning. These sensations will last several hours." A look of fear stole across the boy's face as I stroked it gently with my other hand.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Your training to this point has prepared you. Remember that training and you'll make me proud." The fear in his eyes melted, but was suddenly replaced with pained surprise accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. "Remember your breathing boy."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Small convulsions wracked the boy's body destroying his balance and he collapsed to the floor, curling and convulsing in silent agony. "When the pain stops, this door will be open. Cross the hall and clean yourself up. You will find me in my study." With that, I stood and left the room. I was fairly certain that the boy would survive the process I had started within him. However, there was always a chance I had made an error.</span></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-2539841954733782852011-07-28T09:00:00.006-05:002024-02-06T20:21:08.998-06:00Story:Cicero, chapter 3<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #365f91;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Cicero</span></span></span></h1><h2 style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #4f81bd;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Chapter 3 – A wake up call<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></span></span></h2><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Contains: Rubber, scifi, bondage, mind control, Furry/Anthropomorphics</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2010 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><sdt docpart="CCD7ECC8A7DB472D9DE9FC03CD1C68F6" id="480059915"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was the rapid sharp knocking that woke Cicero from his deep slumber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat bolt upright, laying on the couch in the living room, dazed and confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wha?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero lifted one hand to his face and rubbed his eyes and absently rubbed his lone horn.<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The knocking repeated itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interspersed between the sharp taps was a harsh woman’s voice with a thick Mandarin accent.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I hear you in there you big bully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You open this door right now!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sharp tones of Mrs. Wah, Cicero’s downstairs neighbor, assaulted his ears.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ugh</i>” he thought, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m going to have to answer that door or she’ll never give up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what I get for living in a ghetto.</i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out loud, he bellowed, “Alright, alright, I’m coming Mrs. Wah!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Climbing off the couch, he wrapped the bath towel which was still laying over his waist from the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That was one hell of a dream</i>,” Cicero mused on his way to the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The digital clock on the wall read 09:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I must have really passed out on the couch when I got in last night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope I’m not going to surprised Mrs. Wah with my morning horn.</i>”</span></div><a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unbolting the door, he pulled it partly open, bracing it with one hoof, holding the door with one hand and his towel with the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked down at the ancient, short, asian, red panda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 104 years old, Ping Liu Wah was among the oldest of the first generation of Anthros still alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first generation, the ones who changed during the Event, had unpredictable health issues after the change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not all survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But others, like Cicero’s own father, Mrs. Wah and her son Harry, seemed to have particularly resilient bodies.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ping and her son had been at the Washington DC Zoo when the change occurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>America’s capital was just on the edge of a blast zone, and so they were affected, their DNA mixing with that of a family of red pandas on loan to the zoo.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“As always, a pleasure, Mrs. Wah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What can I do for you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Don’t sweet talk me, oaf!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know your type.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hear you rolling around, having sex, making noises all night!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is my grandson here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She stuck her nose just inside the door and took a large whiff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t smell him.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sniffed again, “And you don’t smell like sex, smells like, I don’t know what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it smells.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She prodded him with the cane she’d been smacking his front door with.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You see my grandson, you tell him stop going out at night at all hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell him you arrest him if you catch him out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then you stay away from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear you all night!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what you doing, but you loud all night!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Of course, Mrs. Wah, I’ll keep an eye out for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sorry if I kept you up, I worked a double shift yesterday and must have left the TV on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It won’t happen again.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You see that it doesn’t.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Wah’s accent had been getting stronger and her American grammar getting worse the more agitated she was, but she seemed to be calming down now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Have a good morning.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Closing the door, he leaned back on it and let out a sigh.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I heard that!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Good day, Mrs. Wah.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero chuckled then started towards the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was suddenly having the feeling of being full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dropping the towel into the hamper in the bedroom before hitting the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of his whole waist in the mirror.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When did I get a pair of latex briefs?</i>” he wondered to himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he moved his hands to his waist to pull them off, he was hit in the nuts by a team of oxen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At least, it felt like a team of oxen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a rapidly repeating impactful pain, and it continued as he reflexively grabbed his crotch with the pain, trying to get at his balls to free them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stumbled back onto his bed and fell onto his back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The stumbling made him throw his arms wide to brace against the fall, and doing so, the pain instantly vanished, to be replaced by an erotic pleasure he’d only ever dreamt of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took him a few moments of bliss to regain his composure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The dream…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it was real.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Memories of tactile sensations flooded Cicero’s mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the hell is this?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero started to move towards his crotch, and quickly learned that the closer he moved his hand towards this strange covering, the pain started again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Fine, if I can’t touch myself, I’ll try calling work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Special Investigations can hanOOF.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before his hand was half way to the phone on the bed side table, his balls were again under assault.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Okay okay okay!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He moved back to the middle of bed and relaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Cicero resigned himself to his situation, he found himself again being aroused.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He looked down at himself and saw latex briefs, black and glistening as if polished and slick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex practically adhered to his skin, making every vein on his shaft visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His dick was still flattened against his body, and as he got hard, the latex seemed to spread to make sure that the only thing his dick touched was more rubber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could see the latex rippling with his pleasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed to pulsate as he was stimulated.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When he felt the fullness in his ass start to thrust, he knew what that feeling had been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This thing had somehow lodged a plug or dildo in and passed his sphincter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite himself, Cicero sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than the incident the night before with this . . . whatever it was, he’s not been on the receiving end of a fuck in months, maybe a year.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As it thrust into his ass, it expanded as well, forming knots and ridges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The combination of thrusting and stroking had him on the verge of coming within moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then it stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, all sensation stopped, very abruptly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having a thought, he stopped himself in mid-attempt to grab his cock & balls to finish the job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was about to shout in frustration when he had that feeling of being kicked in the balls again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I got it now”, he said quietly, looking down as if talking to his crotch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Anything I do to call attention to you, I get punished?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero was not a stupid cop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if in reply, he was given a brief, but pleasant stroke of his still hard shaft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nothing near enough to get him off, but it certainly a clear response.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Okay, I get the message.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stay put.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero felt absurd looking down at his crotch, talking to a pair of sentient latex briefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But if I don’t show up for work in five hours, someone will come looking for mmmmph!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Cicero voiced the concern, the latex exploded in streamers from his briefs all over him and his bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first streamer to hit impacted his muzzle, instantly filling it and silencing him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wrapped itself tight around his snout, keeping it shut, but leaving his nostrils clear for breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex wrapped around his whole head, forming a tight slick seal except for his nostrils and his horn, which was uncovered and visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could tell this because the latex covering his eyes faded to a smoky transparency.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Streamers of this living latex snaked out to the corners and edges of the rhino’s sturdy bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They latched onto the corners and wrapped around his limbs in the process, pulling him taut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In moments, the rhino was again covered horn to hoof in this slick rubber prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, instead of being wrapped upon himself like a worm, he was spread eagle on a web, woven of rubber strips.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s more, the web wasn’t a 2-dimensional object.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the muscled rhino was bound and stretched out, the latex strips shot upwards to the hanging frame of his heavy steel four-post bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a big animal, he wanted something that could survive anything he could throw at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He never expected that he would find himself suspended a few feet over the mattress in a web of living latex.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The latex creature wasn’t idle during this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With every tug pulling Cicero up into the air, the living suit began plunging the probe in his ass slowly in and out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Slowly, as Cicero settled into position in the middle of the bed, the latex began probing more of his body.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For long minutes on end, Cicero felt his nipples played with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were rubbed, pinched, and somehow even licked while he was hovering over the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He moaned into his gag at this, as the latex somehow managed to deaden sensation in his dick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much as he was enjoying the sensation in his nipples, he had no idea how his dick was reacting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon, the latex probed Cicero’s feet, playing over his hoof and in between his three toes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex was already there, but the sensation felt new, as if it was paying particular attention to one location at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was a tickling sensation near his scrotum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right behind it, the “taint” between ass and ball sack was being probed now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sensations were infuriating, especially divorced from genital stimulation.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Frustrated, Cicero began pulling and tugging at his bondage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thrashing in mid air, he could gain no purchase, and only served to cause his body to bounce in mid air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he bounced up and down in rhythm to his gyrations, the plug in his ass became active again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever he moved, it would move in and out of his ass in time to his oscillations in the web of latex.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Logically, once Cicero realized this, he screamed in frustration, still muffled by his muzzle-gag, and thrashed even harder in the web.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still in tune with his movement, the phallus in his ass plunged harder and deeper as Cicero struggled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon, the sensation became too much, and the large rhino went limp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes rolled back in his head, absorbing the sensation of being fucked mid-air.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Slowly, over many minutes, the tension in the web absorbed the swaying and bouncing of Cicero’s body and the probing of his ass stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once he stopped, though, the earlier probes of his erogenous zones resumed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex probed his responses to having his armpits licked, his neck stroked, his tail tugged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It even found that spot on the back of his ear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once Cicero thought the latex creature had probed every part of his body and found every hot-spot on-button, it stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero sighed in relief, knowing that he was sweating up a storm in the full latex coverage and hoping he might be let free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few moments of rest, the creature started over again from the beginning by tweaking his nipples.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For hours, Cicero’s body was the sexual play thing of the entity, suspended in the air, unable to make a noise louder than an exasperated exhalation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His mind numb from the pleasure and sensory overload, it didn’t quite register when the feelings stopped and Cicero was slowly lowered back down to the bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero just started to notice he was once again lying on the mattress when the latex entity retracted back to its form of latex briefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It snapped back into shape slightly slower than a rubber band.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sudden exposure of his sweat-drenched body to air shocked Cicero back to wakefulness, as did the sensation of being kicked in the butt by the latex creature.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He looked at the clock and his training took over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He jumped and ran to the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Damnit,” he growled under his breath as he quickly washed the sweat off his body, “tonight’s the raid on Dosenko’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s full of druggies and prostitutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And here I am, horny as fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can’t do anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can’t tell anyone about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Must go to work, or this damned thing’ll bloody castrate me if I do anything to tip anyone off.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero dressed in his swat uniform with the smooth precision that comes from years on the force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latex briefs had quickly changed shape as he reached for his usual protective cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It became solid and firm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tapping at the briefs with the edge of the cup, he found the area over his cock and balls to be rock solid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Guess, this’ll have to do.” Cicero mumbled as he finished dressing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grabbing his baton, he slid it into his utility belt as he bolted out the door and set the lock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stampeding down the stairs, he hurtled passed Mrs. Wah who was shaking her cane at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, Mrs. Wah, I’ll keep an eye out for your grandson.”</span></div></sdt>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-27642552171992161642011-07-25T18:00:00.000-05:002011-07-25T18:00:05.939-05:00Photos: PaulC and ScottMy friend Paul asked me a few weeks ago to take some pictures of him and his boy Scott (of <a href="http://squarepegtoys.com">SquarePeg Toys</a> fame). I like having the opportunity to take pictures of guys in their gear in public settings. Yeah, I want to do portraiture, but I also want to do public type stuff. <br />
<br />
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/5971416068/" title="2011-07-07 Scott & Paul-30a by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6020/5971416068_2f1be07378.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="2011-07-07 Scott & Paul-30a"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/5970859787/" title="2011-07-07 Paul-13 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6024/5970859787_5d5ea7751f_m.jpg" width="240" height="168" alt="2011-07-07 Paul-13"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/5971415208/" title="2011-07-07 Scott-07 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6002/5971415208_ab235ec0c7_m.jpg" width="240" height="160" alt="2011-07-07 Scott-07"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/5971414266/" title="2011-07-07 Paul-07 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6122/5971414266_cfa15c2bf2_m.jpg" width="160" height="240" alt="2011-07-07 Paul-07"></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/5970857283/" title="2011-07-07 Scott & Paul-05 by reddywhp, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6135/5970857283_32cd41743b_m.jpg" width="168" height="240" alt="2011-07-07 Scott & Paul-05"></a><br />
</div><br />
The whole set of the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/reddywhp/sets/72157627270940628/">PaulC and Scott, 2011/07/07</a> is available on my flickr account.Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-4793741765826793742011-07-14T09:00:00.005-05:002011-07-14T09:00:06.385-05:00Story:Boys Should Be Seen, part 4<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #365f91; font-family: Cambria; font-size: large;">Boys Should Be Seen</span></h1><h2 style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; font-family: Cambria; font-size: medium;">Part 4</span></h2><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Contains: Rubber, bondage, non-consent, mind control, SciFi</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2006 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">What follows is a piece of fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any similarity to living persons is coincidental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My wandering mind lost track of time until I heard the voice again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Boy." As the voice spoke, the panel at the bottom of the door opened, and a rubber mat was slid through, just inside the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Go over to rubber pad and kneel down, facing away from the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mat is the boy's reward for being good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Continued good behavior will provide more rewards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the boy's rewards increase, punishments for misbehavior will also increase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now move."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I quickly got up and walked the few feet to the mat, which was well within reach of my wall-leash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see there was a metal support frame around the rubber pad, with little sockets along the frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Voice, as I began to think of my keeper, spoke again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"See the holes in the frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A smart boy would match up the holes with the pegs on the boy's restraints."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lining up the pegs on the metal pods around my hands with the holes, my hands felt pulled down, and then locked into place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Magnets must have guided them down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hands weren't moving, no matter how I tried to move them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they were right under my neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew if I tried to lean down too far, the collar touching my restraints would be painful.</span></div><a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Preoccupied with the predicament in front of me, I was unprepared for the sudden 'thump' and 'click' behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt something hit, and then seem to latch onto the rear portion of my, well, chastity jock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever had latched onto my metal loin-piece was rigid, and did not let me move my hips at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked back behind me as best I could, and saw a large metal beam and a series of tubes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This metal pole, now attached to my metal shorts, did not budge an inch as I tried lurching forward or side-to-side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Careful not to touch my metal mitts to the collar, I rested my forehead on my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few tears welled up as the weight of what was happening to me again settled into my conscious mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fearful of the pain that would come at the slightest noise, I let the tears flow and the nose run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew speech would bring the pain, but was not sure if sniffles would as well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knelt there for some time, my eyes watery and nose running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing happened, save for my distracting myself with the roar of the ocean still being played over the speakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They'd added the occasional sound of seagulls to the mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to relax again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Boy, you're doing well." The voice was soft this time, gently overlaid with the crashing waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Continue to behave properly, and your life will continue to be easy." After watching that video, he didn't need to say more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a deep breath and waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued, "You need to be properly cleaned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Relax, and the discomfort will be less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obedience will keep you free of real pain."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I suddenly noticed a tickle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was something teasing the opening of my ass followed by an increasing pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel a cool slickness press against and then enter my hole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt it slither inside and I gasped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I could swear it was a slithering sensation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever was entering me was maneuvering around...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn't quite hurt, but there was an incredible level of sensory stimulation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was biting my lip to keep from grunting or vocalizing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The blood almost flowed when suddenly it stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, my invader hadn't retreated, but the sensation itself had stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it had stopped moving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was this thing? It was too long, thin and dexterous for it to be a finger.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A feeling of pressure dawned upon me, sneaking up on me while I waited for the almost painful stimulation to begin again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this pressure was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing in me was expanding! As it grew, I felt the need to shit, to force it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No such luck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It grew to what was first an almost comfortable pressure, and then I could feel it stretching my hole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it had expanded just beyond the point when I would normally have whimpered, the invader stopped growing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knelt there, tears filling my eyes as I wished for some way out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shortly, a new pressure grew in my gut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Different from the probe that had slid up my ass, this was different, gurgling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was being given an enema.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was slow and warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That must've been why it took so long for me to notice it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But once I felt it, I felt a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My stomach started cramping, but the pressure didn't lessen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn't full but the cramps were intense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few minutes of the mounting pain, there was a sudden release and I felt the pressure drop rapidly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cramps were forcing the contents of my colon out the tube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, the tube still connected to my ass must've been pulling the waste away, because I didn't hear any splatter, or smell any shit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the pressure began to build again, a new feeling began to stir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pain I was ready for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the midst of this automaton's invasion of my rectum, I felt a new prodding, and a vibration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A warm, comfortable buzzing feeling grew near my prostate, on the inside.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite the pressures of the forced enema, the sudden stimulation was incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes rolls as whatever was vibrating settled firmly on my prostate and began firmly but gently rubbing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pleasure was incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an effort to not make any moans or groans, my mouth contorted itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mix of pleasure and discomfort was both enjoyable and distracting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My attention so totally engrossed, drool began to drip from my mouth in long stringy strands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let out a long exhalation that was just shy of a moan, enjoying the sensations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enjoying, that is, until the pressure in my gut began to climb to uncomfortable levels again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The combination of pleasure and cramped pain woke me from my pleasurable reverie as the vibrations ended and the enema continued.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The process repeated again and again, and I felt the cramps further in, deeper in, each time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time through, it felt like the pressure and vibrations on my prostate were a little harder, lasted longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time, it felt like whatever was inside me grew just a hair more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Six times?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eight times?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lost track fairly quickly, and focused all my attention on quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These enemas were pain and the vibrations and stimulation a pleasure that begged me to moan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in horrible fear of more pain from making noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had to have been there for at least an hour, slumped over on my hands and knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I learned after the third or fourth enema that I could use the support of the beam connected to my metal briefs to relieve some pressure on my knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weight on my elbows, though, was building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a feeling of thankfulness for the gift... the rubber mat I was on was keeping my knees and elbows from being a bruised mess.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the last of many flushings, the enemas stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That uncomfortable snaking feeling came back, but this time, it was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was withdrawing incredibly slowly, and a small vibration had started again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea how deep it went, but I felt this invading technological snake pulling out of my ass, slick and buzzing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I barely suppressed a gasp as a bulge hit my sphincter on the way out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was bigger than the rest of the tube so far, like a large ball in the tube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tube's egress slowed, almost stopped as my ass was stretched and the bulge passed through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sighed silently, being happy for the release and wanting this new torment to be complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it happened again...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the feeling of this second large bulge trying to pull/push its way out of my ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pressure built until this next bulge made its way through my stretched and tired ass.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Five more times was my ass stretched as the invader pulled out, though these five were subsequently smaller each time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a final slurping sound, the final bit of the proboscis pulled out, leaving me with a horrid empty feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could feel my ass dripping, having been violated for so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, there was another prodding at my ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something thick was pushing against my hole, and between my exhaustion and the lube, there was no fighting it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The insertion seemed to last forever, the feeling of slowly being opened and pressure against my prostate led me back to drooling and rolling my eyes in pleasure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then it was in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Far away, I heard a click and suddenly, my ass was no longer connected to the device.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exhausted as I was, as I collapsed down, I managed to catch myself and keep from letting my collar touch the metal mitts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to lift myself back up, and noticed my hands were free...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>at least the mitts were disconnected from the platform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hesitantly, I reached backwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The large plug was still in my ass, and felt like it was locked to my metal briefs somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There would be no way to force it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I stopped myself before the mitts touched the briefs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Slowly, exhausted, I crawled back to my normal place under where the chain was attached to the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I curled up and dozed off, but not before noticing the slight lubrication inside the briefs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I'd been precuming for most of the last hour or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sleep claimed me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I woke some time later to the pleasant sensation of vibrations in my ass and on my crotch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not enough to bring me to orgasm, but enough to make me extremely happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blearily looked about the room, and saw a shadow standing in the door, and heard His voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not from the speakers, but from the silhouette in the doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You're doing well, boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behave, and you'll get more rewards."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he closed the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The buzzing about my ass and crotch stopped, and the tiredness, which had dragged me to sleep previously, was not done with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed that I was lying on a rubber matt now, and not the cold concrete floor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the world faded, I smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been good and been rewarded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my dreams, I could hear his voice whispering to me, mixed with the sounds of seagulls and softly crashing waves.</span></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-4339743885030274732011-07-04T09:00:00.000-05:002011-07-04T09:00:00.691-05:00Blogs: RowdyMike's TumblrMy "little bro", <a href="http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/">RowdyMike</a>, has been doing meta-blogs for years. His latest is a Tumblr blog under the same name, <a href="http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/">http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/</a> <br />
<br />
Every few days, and sometimes many on the same day, <a href="http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/">RowdyMike</a> will post pics of hot men, and link to where he found the pictures. He's provided me with quite a bit of masturbatory material over the years. (Okay, so I can't jerk off at the moment, it's still friggin horny!)<br />
<br />
You can also find some older pics <a href="http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/">RowdyMike</a> found hot at his older WordPress site, <a href="http://hotjocks.wordpress.com/">Hot Jock of the Day</a>, which hasn't been updated in a few years.<br />
<br />
But here's some samples of his latest finds:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/post/5475405115/i-think-i-can-i-think-i-can-marine-pulls" title="I think I can, I think I can! - Marine pulls humvee by United States Marine Corps Official Page, on Flickr"><img alt="I think I can, I think I can! - Marine pulls humvee" height="333px" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3547/5715804611_97db8c6b70.jpg" width="500px" /></a></div><br />
<a href="httphttp://rowdymike.tumblr.com/post/5416097320" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196px" j8="true" src="http://rowdymike.tumblr.com/photo/1280/5416097320/1/tumblr_ll2l52dFBB1qh8fw9" width="320px" /></a>Reddywhphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10805921743646379341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5991203140835280044.post-50608976194975720592011-06-30T09:00:00.010-05:002011-06-30T09:00:09.361-05:00Story:Cicero, chapter 2<h1 style="margin: 24pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #365f91;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Cicero<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></span></span></h1><sdt docpart="7CDF4742493D4710AC2BF73E96B1B05A" id="480059914"><br />
<h2 style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #4f81bd;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Chapter 2 – The unexpected mating<sdtpr></sdtpr></span></span></span></h2></sdt><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Contains: Rubber, scifi, bondage, mind control, nonconsensual, Furry/Anthropomorphics</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Copyright © 2009 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 78%;">Comments to skip (at) reddywhip.org</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero stood in the doorway to his balcony after his shower, taking in the night air and staring up into the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was late spring and coming up on his birthday in a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In preparation, he’d scheduled some time off from work for this long weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking to himself, Cicero pondered his birthday plans, “Maybe I’ll do a road trip out into…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><sdtpr></sdtpr></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero’s thoughts were cut short by a strange sound from above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked up at the clear night and saw only stars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got a nice view of several constellations, even the faint ones like . . . “It was there just a moment ago.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A star just above the horizon was blotted out, as if something a blind were pulled over it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He heard the strange sound grow stronger, like a whistling sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe some kids are setting off fireworks.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He started to turn to go dig out his telescope and get a better look at the sky, one of his few relaxing and tame hobbies when a glimmer caught his eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something shiny in the sky in the direction of the star, reflecting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was looking back over his shoulder when it happened all in an instant.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">*SLAM*</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Something small and wet hit him hard in the middle of his back as he was walking away from the balcony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero’s first thought was “My god, I’ve been shot!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force of the impact felt like the time he’d taken a bullet in the back, protected by his bulletproof vest.</span></div><a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He stumbled forward with the impact and in that moment of impact, so tendrils of something black whip out in front of him and across his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The black ooze which seemed to have fallen from the sky smacked into his body and splashed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But rather than splatter all over his living room, it held firm and used that force of impact to throw itself around the stunned rhino.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instantly, Cicero’s back was coated as the ooze seemed to run down his back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sticky substance clung to his arms and some even landed on his muzzle, innocuously running down each side of his mouth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This impact and splash took fractions of a second and Cicero was instantly winded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He leaned up against the wall for a moment to catch that breath just knocked out of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small trickle of the ooze ran into his mouth as he voiced “What in the hell was that?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ineptly tried spitting the black stuff out of his mouth as he stared wonderingly at his arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ooze, the substance which had coated his arms in long strips was now running down and coating more of his limb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching its progress, Cicero couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t just running down, with gravity, but also spreading up and over his forearms, reaching towards his hands.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s when he noticed other strange movements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stuff running down his back had pooled just below his tail and what had been a pool was now trying to force its way in!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The strand that had wrapped around his left hip was now wrapped equally firmly around his ball sack, and it was squeezing!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within seconds of impact by whatever this was, it was getting way too intimate for Cicero’s taste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made to move towards the phone to quickly dial 911 while he could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Almost in the moment of crystallizing that thought, Cicero felt the black substance react.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The small flow in his mouth bulged into a solid rubbery mass forcing his jaw slightly open as more of it wrapped around his muzzle and nose, blocking the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A the same time, the mass at his ass suddenly pushed its way into his hole, forcing it open despite all the clenching that Cicero could manage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero didn’t know what to make of it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Less than a minute ago, the rhino-human half breed was standing in the night air, and now he was struggling for air as some<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">thing</b> probed his ass, stroked his balls, cut off his air and gagged him, and was shortly manipulating his nipples as the substance roamed across his chest.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t panicking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cicero was responding to the sexual stimulation because it was just the things he enjoyed experiencing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was being over stimulated in rapid succession leading to…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leading to what?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Already short of breath as this manipulation started and without a fresh intake of air, Cicero began to see stars just as the unexpected climax hit him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He roared silently into his gag, devoid of air as the probe at his ass plunged in and out, stretching and teasing his sphincter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His balls, his erogenous zone, were being fondled and pulled and squeeze gently but firmly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His nipples pinched and pulled and stroked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The single horned rhinoceros started to see stars, and he came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came violently and fully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shockingly drained, he collapsed to his knees and began clawing at his mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed air!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed to breathe and hopefully to get help.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was none to be had, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he lay there, he felt the substance crawl over his hands and legs, more rapidly now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was slowly being absorbed into this black ooze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His mighty fingers were turned into a massive and useless fist as he strained to stretch out his hand, now covered in blackness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the darkness within him threatened to consume him, as the pounding in his head from need of air became hammering agony, the ooze had completely engulfed his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As his eyes were being blotted out by the spreading black shine, Cicero saw small tendrils of blackness reaching across the floor and somehow lapping up his jism as it had landed on the floor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In that final moment, where Cicero expected death as his eyes were covered, a miracle happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Cicero was now completely engulfed, cocooned in this black ooze, three holes appeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two small holes and one large hole emerged: two for his nostrils and one down the center of his flowing rubber gag.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sweet air flooded Cicero’s lungs as he sucked down lungful after lungful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was still immobilized, blind, gagged, but he was still alive.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cicero had time to just finish catching his breath when he felt something starting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his delirious yearning for air, Cicero missed that the stimulation had stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, in addition to everything else, it had a full grip on his dick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His ass was again the focus of stimulation, his balls were groped and his body became a plaything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In moments, Cicero felt his air flow being constricted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cycle was starting again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only this time, the massive rhino was completely immobilized on the flood, a mound of horned, and now horny flesh being the play thing of Maker knew what, or for how long it might last.</span></div></sdt>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0