Gay Erotic Stories

The Kid By Terry Boughner To say he was hot would be an understatement. He was beyond hot. As I saw him in the bar that late evening, he was gifted with a proud, almost arrogant, gut-wrenching, searing sensuality that set my loins on fire. He was nursing a beer, facing outward, standing with one arm resting on the bar. I could do nothing but stare at him from my place across the room. He was of Asian background and a head shorter than my 6 feet. The tight, white T-shirt and form-fitting black jeans that he wore outlined a solid, wiry physique. I prided myself on my muscular definition, but I'd always had to work to get it and keep it. This guy, I guessed, was one of those fortunate men; one who was naturally muscular without having to lift an ounce. There were other differences between us. His hair was thick, black and very straight. I am a curly-haired blond. His eyes were deep, as if someone had used a white-hot brand to burn holes in an eastern tapestry. My eyes were sea-blue like the water in a tropic lagoon. He looked to be no more than 21. I'm 38. People say I'm handsome, but would he go for an older man? From the way he was looking at me, the answer to that question seemed to be yes. I finished my scotch, pushed myself away from the wall and went over to the bar. I should say that ordinarily, men his age don't appeal to me. I like experience in bed. In his case, however, I'd make an exception. Even in the very unlikely event that he was a virgin, he was still a young man who was the personification of passion barely restrained. Like a volcano oozing lava, he seemed to exude pure sex. "I wondered how long it'd take you to come over," he said. His tone was low, almost a purr. "My name's Michael." "David," I replied. We shook hands, a firm grip. It was only then that I noticed the heavy duty handcuffs and thin, brown leather thongs hanging from the left side of his thick, black leather belt. I'm not into bondage or any kind of rough sex. Even in the kind of sex I like, the suck and fuck vari-ety, I'm always the top man. Michael was so damned hot. My cock was ballooning out my jeans. That's why I told myself that he was wearing the cuffs and thongs for decoration, nothing more. "I'll buy you a drink," he said. My shirt was open half way down the front. He ran the tip of an index finger slowly up and down the cleavage between my pecs. His touch sent hot tin-gles radiating out through my loins. He ordered me a scotch and himself another beer. "I like older guys who keep themselves up," he continued. "Guys who work out." He ran the tip of his finger across my lower lip. I sucked it in, but he pulled it back. "Later," he said with a seductive, knowing smile. Our drinks arrived. He asked me about myself. I told him I worked for a bank and that I had an apartment in the city where I lived alone. "What about you?” I asked. "I've got a place outside of town," he answered. "You'll see." He placed one hand on my crotch and squeezed. I almost came on the spot. "You're hung," he said with approval. "Oh yeah." I didn't want to sound vain, but I was proud of my cock, 8" long when soft and my heavy, low-hanging nuts. I looked down at his swollen crotch. "You're not small your-self." I reached out to grope him, but he gently pushed my hand away. "Later. You'll get your chance." He took a quick swallow of his beer. "C’mon, finish your drink. Let's get outta here," he said. His tone sounded more like an order than a suggestion. For some reason that note of authority only made him more attractive to me than he already was. We left the bar, walking out into the hot summer night. A full moon rode high, its pale, ominous light seeming to accent the heat. His car was parked less than a block away. We got in. As he got the car started and pulled out into traffic, I took off my shirt and tossed it in the back seat. The light from street lights and on-coming cars gave my sculpted torso a soft, sweaty glow. Using one hand to drive, Michael reached over to caress and squeeze my left pec, sort of in the manner of someone inspecting a horse he was thinking of buying. "You got any family?” he asked. "No. My mother died 10 years ago. My father went last year. The only other family is a kid brother, but I don't know what happened to him. After college, he got a job with a company that sent him to Bangkok. There, he disappeared, no trace, and no one's ever heard from him again." Michael squeezed my left bicep and gave me a playful punch in the side. "If he looked like you, maybe he was kidnaped and sold as a slave. I hear they keep slaves over there." "Yeah, I guess." The idea seemed pretty far-fetched to me and I shrugged it off. "What about you, your family?" He repositioned himself to get more comfortable. The handcuffs he had hanging from his belt clinked together. "I don't know who my old man was, practically nothing about him at all. My old lady was a whore." The statement was made in a matter of fact tone. He stopped for a red light and continued. "We lived near a university. She was Chinese, beautiful, had real big tits, an' she used to fuck a lotta a the guys." The light changed and we started up again. "Most of the time, she took precautions, but she wanted a kid so one of 'em got her pregnant. That's how I happened." "She never told you anything about him?” I was mildly curious. "Nah. He was just some guy, that's all she said. Course, I asked her about him, but she told me a kid doesn't need to know who the father was. I never heard from him, never saw him. As far as he was concerned, my old lady was just some whore he fucked. He wouldn't even know I existed, you know?” He paused. "I often wondered about him, though." By this time, we had gotten on the Interstate, leaving the city behind. It was cooler now. The air rushing through the open windows felt good on my bare chest. Wisps of fog hovering over the fields that we passed, seemed like specters in the moonlight, like restless spirits chained to the earth. The numbers of the clock on the dash glowed green. It was a quarter after twelve. "How far we got to go?” I asked. I was horny and getting more so all the time. "Not too far," he answered vaguely enough. "You'll get yours soon enough." "Meaning?" "Meaning I'm gonna give you the hottest goddamn time you've ever had in your life." "I'm waiting." I reached over and squeezed his right thigh. I could feel my cock begin to press urgently against my briefs. He was right about what he'd said, I thought. He was going to give me one hell of a hot time. As soon as I got the chance, I decided, I'd strip him and fuck his tight little ass so hard he'd howl; so hard he'd think I was splitting him in two. As he drove on, we continued to talk, nothing of much importance, my job, how I liked it, did I like living in the city, things like that. Finally, about a quarter to one he exited the In-terstate to drive down a narrow country road. Ten miles or so farther on, he slowed the car and turned left, heading up a rutted drive. He drove up beside a barn looming darkly in the moonlight. He cut the engine. A mercury vapor lamp went on over the barn door casting an eerie glow. All was hushed and very still. "This is it," Michael said. "200 acres of it, all mine. We won't be disturbed here. There's no one around for miles." We got out of the car. He took off his shirt and came around the car to where I was stand-ing. I could hear the clinking of his handcuffs as he walked. He put his hands on my chest, splaying his fingers out over my pecs and dug his nails into my flesh. "I've waited for this," he said. His voice was barley above a whisper. "Me, too," I replied. I reached down to undo his belt. Suddenly, before I could react, he grabbed me by one wrist. With amazing strength, he twisted me around and shoved me to my knees. He pushed my arm up against my shoulder blades. I cried out in pain and anger. "Shut the fuck up!" he snarled and pushed one knee hard into my back. Before I knew what was happening, he'd slapped the handcuffs on me. Only then did he get up. I cursed and struggled, but he paid no attention as he pulled off my shoes, socks and then yanked my pants down and off. I was left with nothing on but my briefs. "What th' hell do you think you're doing?” I yelled. I twisted over on my back and sat up. "Get these fuckin' cuffs off me. I'm not into…." He backhanded be hard across the mouth, hitting me again and again. I could taste my blood. "You're into whatever I say you're into," he told me and hit me across the face again. He turned and went off into the barn. I clambered to my feet, now as scared as I was angry. What was he? Some kind of nut case? Christ, this place was like he said, lonely, isolated. He could do anything he wanted to me and there'd be no one around to hear or know. I tugged at the cuffs that held my arms behind my back. It was useless. There was no way in hell I was going to break them open. My face stung, my head hurt from the blows I'd received, sweat was trickling down my sides. I thought about running, but running where? Off into the dark? Anywhere. Oh Jesus, what had I gotten myself into? Shortly, Michael returned bringing with him a rod and a strip of leather to which was linked a chain. I stood, legs spread, ready to fight him as best I could. "Down on your knees, fucker," he ordered. "Go to Hell!" "You heard me, fuck face," he shouted. "I said 'Down!'" He touched the tip of the rod to my left thigh. I yelled out in pain as a bolt of electricity shot through me. He used the rod on me again, this time touching my side. Again I yelled out and fell to my knees. He was on me in a split second, pushing me over on my back. I strug-gled as best I could, but it was useless. He was strong and very agile. In less time than it takes to tell about it, he had taken the leather strip, wrapped it as a collar around my neck and buckled it in place. He jumped off me. "Up, dog!" He chuckled and yanked on the chain that he was using as my leash. I clambered to my feet. "You do what you're told or your nuts 'll get a dose of this prod. You hear me ?" I nodded once. "Don't you nod, dog!" he shouted. You speak when I talk to you. You hear?" he demanded in a drill sergeant's tone. He put the tip of the prod against my belly sending a powerful, terrible pain flashing all through me. I twisted away and cried out, going down hard on one knee. "Yes, yes, I hear you. I hear you, okay?" There was nothing I could do. He had the upper hand over me and I had to make up my mind to that. I would obey him, at least for now, until I could find a way to escape. "What are you?” I asked. "Some sort of goddamn sadist?" "Among other things," he answered and yanked on my leash. The inside of the barn was well-lit. There were stalls along one side. On the other side, were various tools and pieces of farm equipment. A logging chain with a hook on the end of it hung from a pulley. Embedded in the concrete floor beneath was another ring with chains attached to it. Once Michael had chained my feet to the ring in the floor, he unlocked the handcuffs and took them off. He took off my watch and looked at it. "Nice. A Rolex." He held it up to the light. That watch had cost me plenty. "Give me that!" Forgetting the chain that hobbled me, I made a grab for the watch, lost my balance and fell heavily to the concrete floor. He got down on his haunches, grabbed a hunk of my hair and yanked my head back. "The watch is mine now," he said. "But then what you gotta learn, what you will learn is that eve-rything you have is mine and that includes your body." He stuffed the watch in a pocket of his pants, spit in my face and stood up. I was so goddamn helpless and I wasn't use to it. At work I had people under me. I told them what to do and they did it. Now, here, I was totally at the mercy of this kid, this 21 year-old arrogant boy. Christ almighty, if he wanted to mug me and rape me, why not just do it and get it over with, let me go. Why this? Why prolong things? "Somehow, some way," I snarled at him, "I'm gonna get outa this, gonna escape. You'll see." He chuckled as he got me to my feet. He chained my wrists in front of me and put the hook through the chains. He pulled me up, stretching me, so that my toes just touched the floor. It was hot in that barn. My sweat made streaks in the dust on my skin. Michael came to stand in front of me. "Christ, you look good that way," he said. He ran his hands down my sweaty sides. I looked at him from between my upraised arms. "Fuckin' bastard," I shouted. "Lemme go! I'm not into shit like this. Lemme go!" My angry shouts were more bravado than any-thing else. I was scared. He raised a hand. I braced myself for the blow, but it never came. Instead, he took the chain that was attached to my collar and let it hang down my front. "Let you go? No way." He patted the chain into place along the cleavage between my pecs and abs. "I'm never gonna let you go. You'll never be free again." He ripped away my briefs. "Make up your mind to that." He dug the fingers of one hand into my pubic hair before taking my nuts and giving them a painful twist. "I've got you right where I want you and I'm gonna keep you that way." He took off his shoes and socks and stripped out of his pants. All that was left was a black thong. "Take a good look at yourself. It's the last time you're gonna see that pretty body of yours unmarked." His words sent a shiver of fear down my spine. What'd he mean 'unmarked? ' Whip me? Brand me? Worse? What? The problem was that for all my fear, there was one overriding thing I could not deny. That was how good he looked. His marble smooth legs were perfectly shaped. His ass was small and tight looking with deep indentations of the sides. And there was no doubt about it; he was hung like a bull. Despite my predicament, my cock began to grow and throb. He took my dick, the fingers of one hand curled around the thick, vein-twisted shaft. My foreskin had already slicked back showing the bulbous crown gleaming in the light. "When I was in New York," he said, "I found this little device. It's kinda like a male chas-tity belt, only smaller." He dug a thumb nail into the head of my cock. The sensation was so great, I thought I'd come on the spot. "It's a cap," he continued. "It fits really snug over your cock crown and is locked on the shaft. There're little holes all over the cap so when you piss, the water sprays out in all directions. The only way you'll ever be able to piss again is to sit down on the toilet or go outside." He took some of my pre-cum on the tip of an index fin-ger and licked it off. "The cap's got these spines all over it, metal, very sharp. They're so you'll never be able to fuck anybody ever again. That's why they call it a male chastity belt." He turned and with his back toward me, struck a pose much as a body builder would. He didn't have the bulk, but he didn't need it. God, he was gorgeous. "You ever suck on a guy's asshole?” he asked me. "No." "Well, you're gonna. You're gonna kiss my ass a lot," he said. "You're gonna learn to eat out my hole, get your tongue way up inside me, suck out all my juice." He bent over and grabbed his ass cheeks, pulling them apart. His little brown bud of an asshole seemed to wink at me. He stood up and turned around. "Lemme tell you what's gonna happen to you," he said. He paused and went and got a riding crop from a table nearby. The crop was long, flexible, an evil looking thing. Depending on how hard he struck me with it, he could really mark me up. I had no doubt in the world that when he hit me, it would be full force. Michael ran the tip of the crop across my pecs. "Starting tonight, I'm gonna tame you." "Tame me!? What th' hell are you talkin' about? I'm no animal. I'm a…? ” He backhanded me hard across the face. "Shut th' fuck up!" He struck me again. "You hear?” I nodded once. My mouth was full of the taste of my own blood. "You're anything I fuckin' want you to be." He poked the tip of the into my sweaty left armpit, one of the few places on my body that I have hair. "When you're tamed, I'm gonna train you." He pushed the tip of the crop against my low-hanging balls. "Train you as a slave, my slave." "My permanent slave." He slashed the crop down against the shaft of my cock. I stiffened and gritted my teeth. Finally, the pain subsided. "You can't do that," I protested feebly. "You can't keep me here." He smiled confidently. "Sure, I can." "That's kidnapping." "So?” He ran the crop down the left side of my face. "See, I've got it all planned out. I'm gonna ruin you so there'll be nothing you'll have to go back to. Like, I'm gonna max out your credit cards, ruin your credit completely. At the same time, I'm gonna fix it so every-one you know 'll think you're here of your own free will-either that or they won't care. It'll be easy, just you see." "You bastard! You fuckin' goddamn bastard!" With full force, he swung the crop, hitting me on my right hip. I stiffened, making my mus-cles bulge and twisted in my bonds. He hit me again in about the same place and with equal strength. From the resulting cuts, thin trickles of blood oozed out. I hadn't cried out either time or made a sound other than sucking air through clenched teeth. I was proud of that. "What's your blood taste like?” Without waiting for any response from me, he came and licked my cuts. The roughness of his tongue on my lacerated flesh felt so good. Michael continued. "It's gonna be like you're my daddy and I'm your son and your son 'll keep you in line, tell his daddy exactly what to do-and he'll do it." He struck me again across the hip. Again, I did not cry out. "Daddy's got spirit," Michael said. He took my chin in the tips of the fingers of one hand. "But I'll break your spirit, daddy. I'll break you. Daddy's gonna be his son's slave, work this farm for him." His tone of voice and the look in his eyes were soft, almost tender, as if he were my son and I was his father. He pulled my mouth open and spat into it and forced me to swallow the large gob of his warm, thick spit. After that, he beat me slowly, methodically, until my sculpted torso and bulging thighs were covered with a cris-cross of bleeding cuts. In the midst of the beating, something strange began to happen. The first five or six blows to my chest and abs were terrible, a aw-ful stinging pain. But then, warm waves of sensuality began to sweep over me. The pain was still brutal, but mixed as it was with the mounting passion in me, the agony was almost bear-able. He went and stood behind me. I could feel him slowly running a hand over my back. "Really great shape, daddy." His voice was low, almost a purr, but menacing, like the sound I imagined a jungle cat would make as it toyed with its prey. "I'm gonna strip you of everything, daddy, your ability to take care of yourself, finally, even the memory of your own name. All you'll know is that you're a slave. That'll be your identity, my slave. You'll follow my orders, you'll worship me like a god because that's what you'll want to do, the only thing you'll know how to do. That'll make you happy, the only happiness you'll have in life." "No." I pleaded "No drugs, daddy, nothing like that. There's techniques to break you psychologically and I know them. I'm gonna use them on you so that beautiful, hard muscled body will be mine, all mine and there's not one fuckin', goddamn thing you can do about it." His arms encircled me. His long, slender fingers played with my nipples. He kissed my right shoulder and then sank his strong, white teeth sank deep into my flesh. I cried out at the pain. He quit, but my blood coursed down my right pec. "You taste good," he said. He groped my ass, whacking my ass cheeks hard a couple of times before pushing three fingers deep into my vulnerable, helpless asshole. "Great ass, nice an' tight. You get fucked a lot?" "No," I answered, shaking my head. "That's gonna change. I'm gonna fuck you so much you'll have trouble walking." He jammed his fingers hard into my hole, thrusting my body forward in my chains. From a nearby stall, he got a piece of black, rubber hose. As had happened. As had hap-pened when he'd used the crop on me, he beat me slowly. Each time he hit me, he would pause. As he would tell me, he took great pleasure in seeing my muscles flinch and clench; in watching as with each blow, my head lurched back and my mouth opened in a silent scream. Being beaten with a rubber hose is a terrible thing. The pain is brutal, as if every nerve is on fire. As the first blows struck me, I thought I was going to die. But as it happened when he was beating me with the crop, the sensations of sex returned, a boiling heat, and I was filled with the wild abandonment that comes with sex. Michael tossed the hose away and came around to look at me. "That's about it for tonight, daddy, except I'm gonna fuck your face. Before that, I've got something else to do." From somewhere to my side, he produced what looked like an electric soldering iron. It had a wooden handle to which was attached a long cord at one end. At the other end was a six inch rod. At the end of the rod was a circle about the size of a fifty cent piece. Inside the circle was the letter M. "No, no, please, no." Exhaustion and pain had dissipated not only my anger, but my ability to do anything more than plead with him. Everything in me was screaming for some relief, some rest. There was to be no rest. He held up the iron. It was beginning to get hot. "Oh yeah, daddy. I'm gonna mark you, brand my initial into your body, deep into your flesh, daddy. You're gonna wear your son's initial burned into your flesh, into your meat, for the rest of your life." "I'm not your daddy." He ignored me. "Where do you think I ought to brand you, daddy? Your ass? ” He paused. "No, I'll save that 'till later. One of your thighs 'r maybe your belly? Brand those six pack abs, daddy?" "Please, lemme go." All the fight was gone out of me. "No, I'm gonna brand your chest, your right pec." He reached out and dug the fingers of one hand into my pec. "That solid, flat mound of muscle's waiting to be burned." "No, please." I twisted in my bonds. My shoulders burned. The chains binding my wrists chafed my skin. Bright trickles of blood flowed down my arms. Michael held the brand up, getting it close to my face so that I could feel its terrible and growing heat. I turned my head away. "Look at it, daddy," he demanded. "Look at it or I'll brand your face." What choice did I have? I still thought I'd get loose somehow, still figured that I was going to escape. It was going to be hard enough to explain the marks on my body that I already had. I didn't want my face marked up. I turned my head to see it beginning to glow red. "Why 're you doing this? Why me?" "Because I read this story once about a guy who had a hunk for a father. The guy took his old man, tamed him, made a slave out of him and used him the way he wanted. Me? I never had a father that I knew about, but I figured I could get one and when I saw you weeks ago, I knew I'd found my daddy." "I never saw you before in my life, not before tonight." "But I saw you. I watched you, found out where you live, where you work, everything. I stalked you, you might say. I knew I'd get you-and I did." By the time he'd finished talking, the iron was white hot and smoking. He held the iron's handle in both hands, raised it up over his head and then brought it down, pushing the glowing circle hard against my skin. I thought the pain would be terrible, enough to make me faint. Don't get me wrong, it was bad, very bad, but not as bad as I'd thought. He stepped back. I looked down. Through sweat-filled eyes I saw the mark, at least a quar-ter inch deep burned into my flesh. I could smell it, a sweetish odor filling my nostrils, the smell of my own meat cooking. After he unplugged the iron, he took me down. That night, he fucked me, first my face to get his hot cock all sloppy wet. Afterwards, he rammed that thick dick of his right up my asshole, raving it as he said he would do. When he was done with me, he chained me in one of the stalls, turned out the light and left me there. A year has passed since that night. Things have happened pretty much as he said they would. He's made me his slave and that's what I am, a slave. There's no question at all in my mind about that. Believe it or not, I've come to accept my condition. Fully and completely, mentally and physically, I am a slave. Everything I once owned is gone now. The stocks and bonds I once owned are in his name now. He emptied my apartment and sold my clothes and everything he didn't want to a sec-ond hand store. I have no job. He showed me the letter from my boss telling me I'd been fired. All I have left is my body which he uses whenever he wants, however he wants. I can still remember my name, but it's a distant memory and getting fainter all the time. It's been a long time since I've heard it. As he says, a slave like me doesn't need a name. He is not only my son, but my God. Every morning, he washes me. Afterwards, he sits na-ked on a low bench, legs spread wide. On my hands and knees, I kiss his feet before crawling between his thighs to adore his balls. I am allowed to kiss those big, hot nuts of his, but not before I pray to him. When I've finished, I kiss each of his balls and then suck that big, juicy cock of his into my mouth. His cum tastes so good. Sometimes, when he brings my food, he won't let me eat until he's jacked off all over whatever I'm supposed to eat. That bothered me at first, but not now. I'm punished regularly, both to keep me in line and because he enjoys giving me pain. Every once in awhile, he'll have friends over to share in the fun of torturing me. One of their favorite things to do is to drive me. They take a pitchfork with the middle two tines missing. The fork is put between my thighs and my balls are tied, one to each of the two end tines. One of the takes the handle and pushes forward on it forcing me to walk. In this way, I'm driven along, over the fields, through the brambles. These latter really scratch up my legs. When they tire of this, they stake me out, spread eagle on the ground in the sun. They go and sit under a tree, drink beer and watch me twitch and squirm in a vain effort to keep the bugs and ants off me. It's a good life being my son's slave. Maybe that's what I've wanted all along.