"Now you behave yourself, and obey the Inspector absolutely, do you understand?"
The Revernd Enoch Davis placed his hands on his son's shoulders and threw his head back as he addressed the heavens in ringing tones. "Oh Lord, assist the Holy Inspector in his work we beseech Thee, and drive out the Devil from my son. Ay-men." He lowered his gaze and looked at the Inspector who was standing impassively waiting for him to finish.
"We will take good care of him, Reverend ." The Inspector held his long cloak closed with one hand. Only the tips of his boots showed beneath the hem.
"I know you will, Sir - I know you will." He gave Peter a gentle push. "Go with the Inspector now."
Peter walked to the Inspector, who put his free arm protectively around the boy's shoulders and, after a final nod to the Reverend, guided Peter into the relative darkness of the building.
The Inspector closed the door, then slid the bolts home with a harsh, grating slam. He turned to Peter, looking him slowly up and down, a smile forming on his lips. A beautilful, sexy seventeen-year old boy, bursting with youthful hormones that made him perpetually horny, and he was all his - to do with as he wished. The Lord provided. Indeed, the good Lord provided. Slowly, He removed his cloak, and Peter's mouth went dry as he found himself looking at those incredibly sexy black leather breeches and studded jerkin as the Inspector stood before him squeezing his hard cock gently through the soft leather.
"Oh yes, we're going to take care of you, beautiful boy. We're going to take very good care of you." He nodded, and Peter jumped in surprise as he was grabbed from behind by unseen hands, and held while his wrists were tied behind his back.
The Inspector turned abruptly to a wizened old man who was mopping the floor in the shadows behind him. "Grieves, prepare the Black Room."
Since Peter had come in, Grieves had been staring at the boy with an expression on his toothless face which was a strange combination of lust and hatred. He touched his forelock. "Yessir, right away Sir," he said, and shuffled off down the corridor.
"I will see you later, boy," said the Inspector. A sack was dropped over Peter's head and pulled tight, and he could see nothing. Blind and defenceless, he was frogmarched along corridors, down stairs and around corners until finally he heard the clank of a metal door, and he was unceremoniously dumped onto what felt like a mattress. His wrists were untied while he was stripped naked, then they were re-fastened securely. Finally the hood was pulled off his head and he saw the retreating backs of two heavies in monk's robes. They locked the door, and left him on his own.
Peter looked around his room. It was actually half a room - and more like a prison cell than anything else: a wall of vertical iron bars with a door at one end divided the room, and his half consisted of three blank white walls, one of which featured a small window which afforded a view of a brick wall some ten feet away, but at least it let some daylight in. Above the window hung a crucifix. The only furniture was the bed - which, he noticed, was fitted with restraints - a small table, and a chair.
In the other half of the room - beyond the iron bars - stood another table and two chairs, which were presently unnocupied. A wooden door on the right led out into the rest of the building.
Peter was scared. Back at home, during the Inspector's interrogation, he'd been so horny that the thought of being kept here for an indefinite period, in the hands of the sexy Inspector, had been - for a brief time - irresistably attractive, but now it seemed nothing like such a good idea. He wanted out, and was determined to leave at the first opportunity.
It was over an hour before the Holy Inspector appeared again. He came into the room, walked up to the iron bars, and stood silently for a while watching the boy. Then, producing a large key, he let himself into the cell room, locked the door slowly behind him, and turned to face Peter.
Peter ran his eyes slowly upwards from the man's highly polished black boots, along the tight, smooth leather-clad thighs to the bulging crotch, up the flat stomach and muscular chest under the black leather studded jerkin, to the Inspector's face. He was a very handsome man indeed, thought the boy - and those leathers were unbelievably sexy.
"Welcome to my facility. It's official name is the 'House of the Holy Inspectorate for Excorcism' - although I think I prefer your term for it, 'dungeon', better. The purpose of this facility is to expose the Devil and to drive him out. To this end, I have designed devices and techniques which - believe me, boy, I will derive much pleasure from using on you. I am looking forward very much to working on you slowly and carefully. Whereas at your house I was constrained by tiresome rules and regulations, here I - along with my assistants - am free to use whatever techniques I decide appropriate."
The Inspector sat on the mattress at Peter's side, reached out and gently took the boy's naked cock in his hand. He smiled as it begin to harden in his grip, and he ran his fingers lightly up and down its growing length. "The Devil is insidious. He gets inside you and, once there, drives you to commit unholy acts. He builds a fire inside of you - a fire that only unspeakable acts can extinguish, and then only temporarily. He is cunning."
Peter was getting very horny. The Inspector's fingers were teasing his balls, and stroking lightly up and down his cock. He couldn't stop it jumping with each stroke. This inability to control himself infuriated the boy, and in an effort to stop the man from tickling his balls he closed his legs together tightly.
The Inspector got up, forced Peter's knees apart roughly, and stood between them so that he couldn't close them. Then he resumed teasing the boy's balls as if nothing had happened. The tickling caused Peter to try to close his legs again, but he couldn't - and his bare thighs squeezed against the cool black leather of the man's breeches. It felt wonderful. It felt even more wonderful when the man brought his free hand down and started to stroke the boy's cock at the same time. Peter couldn't tear his eyes away from the soft black leather of the man's crotch: it bulged out obscenely in a rounded pyramid, the clinging, thin leather stretched almost to bursting at the apex - and Peter knew that what was stretching it like that was the Holy Inspector's hard, horny cock. He wanted to bury his face in that crotch; to lick it, to suck it, and to make the man shoot his spunk in it. Peter's infuriation grew. He was angry with himself for being so ridiculously easy to control.
The Inspector smiled. He knew exactly what was going through Peter's mind. His voice became a whisper. "Yes, the Devil is cunning - but I am even more cunning. We are going to torture the Devil out of you. We are going to make you want and need to cum more than anything else in the world, boy - but we will make it quite impossible for you to do so." His fingers carressed the hard cock gently, tracing patterns lightly over the sensitive cock-head. "We will cause that need to blossom and grow until you are insane with lust." His fingers reached between Peter's thighs and tickled the back of his balls as lightly as a feather. "I am an expert in boys' needs, and I know exactly how to manipulate them." A sudden, unexpected, quick squeeze made Peter's cock jump violently in his hand. "Oh, you will cum from time to time - that is necessary to keep your appetite for it sharp - but when you do cum, it will be while you are struggling and fighting against it - because you will know what will happen to you if you do cum..."
Peter was so horny now that he could think of nothing that would make him try not to cum.
The Inspector had to adjust himself inside his breeches. "I can keep you here for as long as I wish, boy. Never forget that. You will be free only when I am satisfied that the Devil has been driven out." He was silent for a moment, and then his smile vanished. He extricated himself from between Peter's tightly-gripping thighs and stared vacantly out of the window at the brick wall. "We are going to get to know each other very well, Peter, you and I. You see, the Devil takes different forms in different people. He manifests different needs, different wants, in different individuals. The more precisely I know what He wants in you, boy, the more effectively I will be able to work on Him. I am expert at finding out what His weaknesses are, and then using those weaknesses against Him." He turned to face Peter again, grabbing his crotch and forcing the bulge out, inches from the boy's face. "And I already know one of those weaknesses: leather."
Peter stared hypnotically at the bulging codpiece. His mouth was dry with desire. The hard cock inside was stretching the thin black leather out into a bulge Peter desperately wanted to feel. The rounded contours of it attracted him like a magnet; the shiny black leather was doing things to him he had never felt before. It was the most horny thing he'd ever seen in his life. He was just on the point of leaning forward to lick it when the Inspector laughed, and turned away. "You, boy, are going to be very easy - and very rewarding - to torment." With that he swept out of the cell, locking the door behind him.
Through gritted teeth, Peter swore. Somehow, he must learn how to stop himself from responding like that. His cock betrayed him every fucking time, and what was it with leather? Why did just the sight of it bypass his brain and turn him into a rutting animal? It had been a big mistake to let the Inspector find out that leather had such an effect on him. He would have do something about that. Self-control: it was all about self-control, and he'd better get his act together sharpish. He vowed that from now on, he'd resist both the Inspector and also leather.
They came for Peter a little later: the two heavies who had frogmarched him into the room. Still dressed in monks' robes, their faces shrouded in the dark interior of the hoods, they dropped the sack over his head again and took him to another room. He was not permitted to see the layout of the building.
When the sack was removed, Peter stared. He was in a torture chamber - but one the like of which he'd never dreamed of before. The walls were covered in black leather, the floor was painted black, and devices the purpose of which he couldn't even begin to guess at stood around menacingly. The heavies tied him spread-eagled to a table, his feet strapped wide apart into raised stirrups, and then they left.
The Inspector had talked of tormenting him, of torturing the devil inside of him. What were they going to do to him?
The door opened, and the boy's eyes opened at the sight of the figures who entered. He groaned. It was the two heavies - but whereas the monks' robes earlier had hidden what was beneath, the gear they were wearing now revealed in meticulous detail their muscular, sexy bodies. Knee-high, polished boots were laced over shiny black leather breeches that were skin-tight all the way up their thighs. They were carbon copies of the ones the Inspector had been wearing - but even tighter. Their cock-bulges were mouth-watering. Chain belts ran around their waists, and their plain, short-sleeved black leather shirts were open down to their navels to reveal two of the most beautiful pairs of pecs Peter had ever seen. But that wasn't all: their faces were concealed by black leather executioners' masks - and the sight of those made Peter's cock jump. He clamped his eyes shut, so that he couldn't see the two lads, and willed his cock to go soft. It didn't work.
Setting a bucket down on a table, they each took a brush and some soap, and began to lather the boy's body. The brushes tickled like mad as they foamed the soap onto his skin, reaching into every nook and cranny. The masked assistants paid special attention to his balls, inner thighs, arsehole, sides, and armpits, and chuckled evilly as the tickling brushes made Peter giggle and squirm uncontrollably. They spent much longer than was necessary on these ticklish areas.
When the lathering was complete, the two men produced razors and proceeded to shave the boy carefully and slowly. Peter was only seventeen years old, but already had a reasonable growth of pubic hair. He watched it disappearing as the bare blades were dragged expertly over his skin. He held his breath and froze in fear as the razor glided over his balls, but he didn't suffer a single nick. By the time they'd finished with him, he felt incredibly naked.
"Why have you shaved me?" He asked in a small voice.
One of the assistants looked at him through the holes in the leather executioner's mask and grinned. He touched a single fingertip, feather-lightly to Peters balls and stroked it over the freshly-shaved skin. Peter gasped at the sensation. "So that you will feel everything we do to you." They picked up their equipment, and left Peter, shivering slightly, on the table - his ragingly hard cock standing vertically in the air.
A few minutes later the door opened again and this time it was the Inspector. He was carrying something black and shiny, which he put down out of Peter's sight for the moment. "Now Peter, we can begin our quest to find out the things your particular Devil wants most of all. You will help me, although you may try not to. You see, your cock will tell me - and there is nothing you can do to stop that." He took something off the table behind him, and when he turned back, the boy saw that he was holding a pair of long black leather gauntlets. The leather was smooth and thin. Very slowly, in full sight of the boy, the Inspector pulled them on. They reached almost up to his elbows, the shiny black leather gleaming in the flickering light and giving the man the aspect of a medieval torturer. Peter's breath was fast and shallow; he just knew that the moment he felt the leather of those gauntlets between his bare thighs, on his balls or on his cock, he would cum instantly. This was so unfair! How did the man know that shiny black leather had this effect on him? Peter hadn't even known for long himself! But the Inspector seemed to know exactly what would be the most difficult thing for the boy to deal with.
Taking up a position at the side of the helpless youth, the Inspector reached under Peter's nearest raised leg with one hand, and began stroking his balls with his leather-clad fingertips. He allowed the rest of the gauntlet to brush against the insides of Peter's freshly-shaved thighs. With his other hand he gently held Peter's steel-hard cock, caressing the head lightly and slowly with just a thumb.
The touch of the cold black leather sent Peter's mind into overdrive, thoughts racing through his head on top of one another: the Inspector had had him shaved to make him more sensitive - and then, already wearing gear which he knew drove the boy insane with lust, the man had slowly and deliberately put on long black leather gauntlets which he knew Peter wouldn't be able to resist. He was strapped down helpless, and the sight of the gauntlets and the feel of the smooth black leather stroking against his skin as the man teased his cock and balls with them was something completely outside Peter's experience. It was pure, unadulterated horniness. With a speed and intensity which surprised Peter as much as the Inspector, the boy came. Great fountains of spunk shot into the air, or squirted sideways under the man's thumb, coating the gauntlets with gobs of white semen which ran down slowly over the shiny black leather. Peter yelled and bounced on the table in ecstasy.
"Damnation." It had not been the Inspector's intention to allow the boy to cum - he cursed under his breath at his underestimation of the effect that leather had on him. He removed his hands quickly, but it was far too late. Peter lay in the final throes of orgasm, spunk continuing to dribble out of his cock. From experience the Inspector knew very well that leather got many boys horny - that was the reason this room looked the way it did, and also why he and his assistants wore leathers - but never before had he come across a boy who was this susceptible to it. He mustn't let Peter know that his orgasm had been a mistake. "That," said the Inspector, slowly wiping the gauntlets clean of spunk on a towel, "was to impress upon you that you are helpless to fight me. I can make you cum whenever I choose, and there is nothing you can do about it." He turned away, and walked as nonchalently as possible out of the room.
A movement caught Peter's eye, and he noticed another door, in the far wall. It was ajar, and the face of old Grieves, a line of drool running down from one side of his mouth, leered knowingly at him for a moment before he closed the door silently, and Peter was alone again.
* * *
The Inspector and his two assistants - their names were Gilbert and Brian - were sat around the table drinking coffee. The Inspector sighed. "This is a damn nuisance. Strictly speaking we've broken the terms of the test already."
Gil looked at Brian. Both lads had picked up the 'we' in that sentence - it was the Inspector who had made the lad cum, not them - but they knew better than to mention the fact. "Well," said Gil, "all we have to do is to agree that the kid's stay begins tomorrow. Today was... oh I don't know - moving-in day." That was a way out for the Inspector.
The Inspector brightened. "That's it! Excellent. I'll adjust the paperwork accordingly." He took a sip of his coffee. "Ok. I have an outside visit this evening, I should be back in the morning, so I'll leave him in your capable hands. Play with him, get him as horny as possible again - he's only seventeen, so that shouldn't be difficult - then put him to bed restrained. And remember - leather turns him on a lot, so don't let him cum again. "
Brian frowned. This was too much. "We won't let him cum, Sir..."
The Inspector looked up sharply at the emphasis, but let it pass. "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow."
The two lads stood up as the Inspector left.
When he'd gone, Brian did a caricature of the Inspector's clipped speech, "we 've broken the terms of the test already..." He shook his head. "Stupid prick."
Gil finished his coffee and put the mug down on the table. "Come on then, let's go play with our cute new boy."
Peter's spunk was still wet on his thigh but he was horny again already. This room smelled of the leather he saw everywhere he looked, and he caught himself smiling as he breathed in the wonderful, sexy aroma. 'Stop that,' he told himself. 'the only way you're going to get out of here is by not responding the way they wantr you to.' But his cock was hard when the two masked assistants returned. God, they were hunky, he thought.
They stood one on either side of him, looking down at him on the table. "So," said Gil, "you like leather, eh?"
For some reason Peter felt a sudden rush of embarrassment as he lay there helpless, looking up at these two muscular lads in their unbelievably sexy leathers. He just knew that underneath those masks they were both gorgeous. His face went red.
Brian laughed. They unfastened the straps holding him to the table and stood him up. "Now, what shall we do to him, eh?"
Gil took a leather hood off a shelf and opened it, then he unfastened his leather codpiece. His cock, big and hard, sprang out and waved in the air. He let Peter have a good look at it, and the big round balls hanging beneath. The head of his cock was engorged, and the veins running up the underside showed clearly. A drop of precum oozed out of the tip as he watched. After giving it a few strokes with his hand (which produced more precum), he slowly and deliberately placed the opened hood over his cock and balls, and stroked it slowly through the black leather. "Oh fuck, that leather feels so good...," he groaned in a low voice, his eyes - although almost closed - never leaving the cute boy's face. He continued wanking himself slowly, turning the hood around a little every few seconds, the inside surface becoming suffused with precum and the smell of him. When he was finished, he handed the hood to Brian, who did the same with it while Gil fastened his codpiece back up again. It was a struggle to get his hard cock back inside the tight, confining leather. Then, while Brian held the boy, Gil pulled the hood down over Peter's head and fastened it onto him. There were no holes at all in the hood - the only air entering from around the neck - and a small strap there could be adjusted to make breathing as easy or as difficult as required. Gil buckled this strap quite tightly.
For a moment Peter panicked - he couldn't breathe! Every time he inhaled, the smooth, shiny inner surface collapsed inwards, clinging to his face and sliding slightly on the film of precum. But then he found that if he breathed slowly, it was ok. The moment his worries on that score abated, he realized that it felt amazing. He'd never been hooded with leather before, and it was a revelation. He could feel the sexy black leather all around his head, but especially over his face - it was like being held by these two muscular lads, their spunky leather gauntlets clamped tightly over his mouth and eyes, blindfolding him, gagging him... He felt so helpless: he couldn't see; wherever he moved his head the leather was there clinging to his face, blindfolding him.. the shiny smooth blackness enclosing him, making him defenceless, horny... The smell was incredible: leather and man scent filled his nostrils. He put out his tongue and licked at the precum-sticky leather. It was pure sex.
At that moment, with a monumental error of judgement, Brian clamped his hand over the boy's hooded mouth, gagging him. Without anything touching his cock, Peter came again. His legs buckled and his spunk started shooting out all over Gil's breeches. The two lads held the convulsing boy between them, Gil allowing his cock to rub over his bulging codpiece (it was too late to stop it, so the boy may as well have a good orgasm).
"Hmm," Gil whispered to Brian when it was over, and as he looked at the gobs of white spunk sliding slowly down his leather-clad thigh, "well I won't say anything if you dont..."
They put him back onto the table spreadeagled and still hooded, and left him to recover. It looked like they would be having a late night.
* * *
Inside the hood, Peter was cursing. He'd only been here a few hours and already he'd had two totally uncontrollable orgasms. He suspected that both had been mistakes, and that he had been intended not to cum at all, but that only made it worse. He was putty in their hands. He was also getting to like very much being restrained. He loved the feel of the straps around his wrists and ankles, the way they held him down however hard he tried to move. The feeling of being helpless was still very new to him - it was only since he'd first met the Inspector, at home in his bedroom during the first series of sessions last week, that he'd experienced being restrained - and it was the most horny feeling imaginable. Being unable to touch his cock, being helpless to get away from hands that were touching his cock, being hooded so that he couldn't see anything - all these things got him hard and horny. Even thinking about them got him hard and horny. And leather! He'd never in his wildest moments dreamt that leather was such a weakness. These guys seemed to be experts at using a boy's weaknesses against him...
He jumped in surprise as fingers touched his cock. He'd thought he was still alone in the room. The touch was light, tentative, exploratory.
Old Grieves looked down at the boy restrained and hooded on the table. His wrinkled old face with its hawklike nose, thin lips and toothless mouth was set in an unpleasant sneer. "So you're the Reverend Enoch's son, eh?" He whispered far too quietly for the boy to hear through the hood. "The Reverend Enoch Bloody Davis." He spat quietly but with feeling onto the floor - but his fingers stroked the hard cock sticking straight up into the air tenderly. He began to explore it slowly and carefully, noting the boy's response to different techniques.
There had been a time when Grieves had been a fit young man, with money and position - but the Reverend Enoch Davis had ruined his life. Caught in flagrante delicto with a boy, Grieves had become the target of an obsessive crusade by the good Reverend - and whereas in other circumstances he'd have got off with a fine and a telling off by the local magistrate, the holy Enoch had made it his business to see that Grieves was made an example of. He'd been stripped of his position, had all his wordly goods confiscated, and had been sent to prison for five years during which he'd been flogged almost every day. Unfortunately he had found no way - yet - of paying the good Reverend back for what he had done to him, but this boy was a gift from the gods. Young Peter didn't know about the test. The Inspector never told his victims. They thought the processing had started, and there was no way out. But that wasn't true. The regulations of the Holy Inspectorate called for a further test, to confirm that the subject was indeed possesed by the Devil. The trouble was that the test was not hard to pass, and a fair number of them (a distressingly large number of them, as far as the Inspector was concerned) did pass the test - and found themselves free after three days. If they were to be told the details of the test, the number gaining freedom would be a lot higher - and that would never do.
Having worked in various ways on the shaft of Peter's cock, Grieves now turned his attention to the head...
What the Inspector hadn't told Peter was that a subject could not be locked away under the Inspector's hands indefinitely unless this test were failed. The test was a very simple thing: for three days the subject was to be tormented, but not permitted to ejaculate. Then, each night, he was to be restrained on his bed, locked in the cell on his own and out of reach of anyone else and if, during any one of those three nights he had a nocturnal emission - with no-one touching his cock - that was proof positive that the devil resided in his body. Then, and only then, would he be committed to the Inspector's tender mercies.
Perverted as the Inspector was, Grieves knew that he took his position very seriously indeed, and that he insisted that the proper protocol be followed to the letter. Consequently, although he might want very badly to get a boy into his clutches, he could only do so if that boy failed the test. To ensure the test protocol was complied with, the Inspector kept the only key to the cell himself.
Grieves smiled to himself. The boy's cock-head was supremely sensitive. Lightly rubbing the tip or the edges of the glans produced the biggest reaction by far - perfect for what he had in mind. And he already knew of the boy's overwhelming weakness for leather... Gently he gripped the cock-head with two fingers and a thumb, and began sliding them up and down over the ridge. After just sixteen of these up-down strokes, the boy's body stiffened, his balls contracted, and he came again - his spunk shooting out into the man's hand.
Milking the last drops out of Peter's cock slowly, Grieves leaned close to the boy's hooded head and, in a voice oozing with affected sympathy, he told him about the test that would begin tomorrow. He also described in graphic detail the kind of things that the Inspector and his assistants would do to him if he failed the test and was committed to the facilty. The things he described were ninety percent fiction, but intended to make him desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible. Use of the rack, of hot pincers, of slow foot-crushing... these were just some of the more picturesque images Grieves' oleaginous voice whispered into the terrified boy's ear. Peter's cock began to soften with fear, but Grieves didn't care - he already had the information he needed. And he had planted in the boy's mind the urgent need to pass this test, and to escape. His work was done - for the time being. Carefully he collected the few drops of spunk that he'd failed to catch when Peter had been cumming, and, wiping spittle from the side of his mouth, he quietly slipped out of the room.
Peter lay in leather blackness, thinking about what the unknown voice had told him. The thought of physical torture terrified him, but he couldn't imagine the Inspector or those two hunky assistants doing that sort of thing. Or would they? Was he willing to take the chance? No way. Well, they couldn't make him cum during the test, and no matter how horny they got him during the days, there would be nothing touching his cock at night, and all he had to do was think about those possible tortures - that, plus his own determination to get out of this place, would stop him having wet dreams! He decided there was no problem. He could do this easily.
The two assistants arrived a little later. They removed his hood, let him walk about for a few minutes, then strapped him to a post and spent the rest of the evening stroking his body gently and very carefully - there must be no recurrence of what happened earlier. They teased him, brushed their leathers against his bare skin, even kissed him gently (the feel of their leather masks against his face was wonderful). They carressed his body with their hands, but they didn't touch his cock once. By the time they put him to bed Peter had been unbearably horny again for hours. After accompanying him to the toilet, they strapped him in a loose spreadeagle to his bed, removed the sack from his head, and left him. As the test didn't begin officially until tomorrow, they reasoned that there was no need to post a watch all night tonight.
Peter slept surprisingly soundly, and it was morning before he knew it. This reinforced his belief that he could pass the test easily. By the end of that day, however, he wouldn't be so sure.
After being given breakfast by one of the masked assistants and hooded with the sack, he was escorted to the toilet, then taken once more to the Black Room he'd been in yesterday. When the hood was removed, he saw that the Inspector was already there. Mornings had always been an especially horny time of day for Peter - when he was at home he could very rarely resist having a couple of wanks before school - and as soon as he saw the man standing there in those leather breeches and studded jerkin, flanked on either side by his two masked assistants in equally sexy leathers, knowing that their single intention was to make him insanely horny, his cock sprang up to full erection in seconds flat.
The Inspector smiled slowly as he watched the boy's cock rising. "Today, my boy, you are not going to cum. But you will want to. You will want to very much indeed."
At a nod from the Inspector, Gil knelt before Peter and attached a device to him. It was a leather cockstrap, going around the base of his cock and the back of his balls, but there was another piece which tied very tighly indeed around the bottom of the shaft, a little way up from the cockstrap itself. That done, Gil returned to his position at the side of the Inspector.
"That will make it much more difficult for you to cum, boy. As long as we're careful, I don't think there will be a repeat of yesterday."
'Which one?' Thought Peter, but he said nothing. The strap felt sexy around his cock and balls.
"String him up." The Inspector stood to one side while Gil and Brian buckled leather cuffs around Peter's wrists and clipped them to a block-and-tackle in the ceiling. Gil pulled the boy's arms up until he was at full stretch. Peter felt incredibly vulnerable.
"Now," continued the Inspector, "I'm a great believer in exploiting a boy's weaknesses," a cunning smile was on his face, "and leather really gets to you, doesn't it... That's something you can't control, and therefore it's something that's very useful to me." He and the two assistants all picked up pairs of the black leather gauntlets like the ones which had been used on Peter yesterday.
Peter couldn't take his eyes off those gauntlets as the three men slowly and deliberately pulled them on in front of him, the shiny black leather glinting in the light. Thinking about what the unseen voice had told him yesterday, and also his resolve not to respond, he was determined not to get too horny, so that he wouldn't have an accident during the night, but he knew that at the first touch of those gauntlets - at the moment he felt that smooth, sexy black leather - his determination not to get horny would be evaporate: those leather gauntlets bypassed his brain totally and worked devilishly and directly on his cock. The fact that the Inspector not only knew this, but was using them precisely because Peter was helpless to resist them, turned the boy on just as much itself. 'I will not let them get to me,' he whispered to himself through clenched teeth.
They placed themselves around him - one of the hunky, masked assistants behind him, the other to his side, and the Inspector, pulling up a stool, sitting directly in front of him. Then they began. Gil, the one behind him, put his strong arms around the boy, his leatherclad hands over his eyes and mouth, holding him tightly and gripping his body with his elbows. Peter could feel the guy's leathers all down his back, and the gauntlets over his face were heaven. Brian began carressing Peter's arms and upper body, squeezing his nipples gently occasionally, and tickling his armpits and sides now and again (Brian loved to tickle boys, and it had been him who'd had the most fun with the shaving brush yesterday).
The Inspector took Peter's balls in one hand, holding them gently, and the shaft of his cock in the other. Holding it very still, he leaned forward and began licking the tip of the boy's cock very lightly indeed.
Peter's body responded on its own, with no request for permission from his head. He was already in ecstasy. He licked the leather over his mouth, kept his eyes open the better to know that he was being blindfolded by that hunky assistant, and thrust his head from side to side so that he could really feel the leather-covered hands and arms holding him helpless. Within seconds he felt orgasm approaching - but the Inspector was ready for him this time. To Peter's unbearable frustration, at an unseen signal all the stimulation stopped instantly. The hands were removed from his face, and he hung from the cuffs on the edge of cumming, but unable to do so. A snarl of unfulfilled animal lust was on his face, and sweat was running down his cheeks.
After a while they started on him again. Peter lost count of the number of times he was left close to orgasm. Each time, he vowed that next time he wouldn't let them get him. He wouldn't respond. He would will himself not to get that horny. But as soon as the black leather covered his face, the gauntleted hands and the tongue started to work on him, his willpower vanished in an instant: he just could not control himself. And the quiet laughter from the two muscular lads each time he began to moan and thrust his hips with the need to cum made him feel intensely humiliated, and also intrensely controlled. They kept this up for a long time, lowering his arms for a while now and again to let him rest, before hoisting him up again and continuing with the torment.
Some time later, they moved him onto a strangely-shaped, leather-covered table. He was strapped face down to the surface, which was curved slightly so that his pelvis was thrust forward and down. His head rested comfortably in a depression. The surface of the table was made of thin plywood, and there was a small leather-edged hole through which the assistants pushed his cock and balls, so that they were hanging down underneath. Straps over his thighs, calves, back, arms and head held him down, and a thick, wide one was pulled very tightly indeed over his lower back so that he couldn't move his pelvis at all.
They attached chains to the corners of the table and, to Peter's surprise, hoisted the table top up until it was a few feet off the ground. He lay there, the table swinging slightly, pressed tightly against the leather surface, wondering what was going to happen.
The two assistants left, and the Inspector seated himself comfortably under the hanging table top, the fully-erect cock and the freshly-shaved, sensitive balls accessible and vulnerable. He removed his gauntlets and picked up a feather...
For three hours the Inspector worked on Peter: Mostly, he tickled his balls with the feather, while milking him gently with slow vertical movements of his hand - but every few minutes he'd change technique, working on the cock-head with tender, loving sadism: sliding his fingers lightly over the precum-lubricated glans, teasing the ridge, tickling the piss-slit, before returning to the slow milking. Whenever he felt that Peter was close to cumming - which was about once a minute - he'd stop, and just use the feather on the boy's desperate cock. It was these moments, when the helpless teenager was insane with the need to cum, and so close that a single firm rub on his cock-head would have been enough to make send him over the edge, that the Inspector loved best of all. While one hand tickled the jerking, desperate cock mercilessly, the other would be massaging his own cock - which he'd released from its tight leather codpiece prison. During those three hours of tormenting Peter, the Inspector came four times. He hadn't intended to, but the screams of insane frustration and intense need coming from the beautiful, helpless boy strapped down above him were too much for him. A feather in the Inspector's hands was an instrument of pure torture, and he knew exactly how to use it most unbearably. And this kind of suffering was something he lived to inflict.
Eventually the Inspector stood up, looked at Peter's face - his blond hair was matted with sweat and his eyes were pleading - and smiled cruelly. "I told you that we have better facilities here for torturing the Devil out of boys..." Then he left.
The assistants returned and took Peter down. They were now dressed like some kind of Roman gladiators: black leather upper body harnesses, short kilts made out of seperate strips of leather pointed at their lower ends, and cross-strapped boots. Their executioner's masks had been replaced with full-face leather ones, having openings for the eyes and mouth. For some reason Peter didn't find this gear as sexy as the tight breeches and shirts they'd been wearing earlier, but they still looked very hunky. And they were wearing skintight black leather gloves.
They handcuffed Peter's wrists behind his back and, after moving the table out of the way, spent the next few hours playing a cat-and-mouse game with him. They passed him from one to the other, pawing him, grabbing his cock or his balls, slapping his arse, tweaking his nipples, or occasionally tickling him. Sometimes one of them would get behind Peter and hold him helpless for a time while the other played with the boy. Peter's extreme ticklishness turned them on - especially Brian - and the game developed into a wrestling/tickling match. With his hands cuffed behind him, Peter didn't stand a chance, of course - and when they hooded him to make it even more difficult for him, the volume of his hysterical laughter and screams increased markedly. The two lads would spin him around, then silently step away from him, wait, stifling their laughter as he staggered around blindly trying to decide where they were, then - suddenly and unexpectedly they'd attack him, tickling his sides or ribs or knees or balls, or giving his cock a couple of wanking strokes, before leaving him again, hooded and helpless, not knowing where or when they'd get him again. Peter found this humiliating and horny, and the unanticipated, sudden tickling was far worse than if he'd been able to see, and worse even that if he'd been strapped down immobile. He spent a lot of time curled up in a ball on the floor, where the two lads would kneel with his kicking form between them, tickling him insanely before dragging him to his feet and starting again. Both Gil and Brian were enjoying this hugely.
By the time they put him to bed he was physically and mentally exhausted, and his cock ached from having been hard for so long. He would have sold his soul to be able to wank himself off just once, but they were very careful never to give him the opportunity even to touch his cock while they supervised his ablutions and then restrained him in the loose spreadeagle on his bed. He could move his feet a little, but not turn over or onto his side. His arms were on chains which allowed him to move to comfortable positions, but which were intentionally just too short to let him get to his cock. A heavy strap over his stomach prevented him from moving up or down the bed. It was a system of restraints which the Inspector had designed to be, as always, frustrating.
One of the assistants - back in his monk's robes - was sitting on one of the chairs outside the bars, his feet up on the other chair, reading a book. He would be there all night, ready to report immediately to the Inspector if Peter came in his sleep.
In spite of his tiredness Peter couldn't get to sleep. His mind was going over the things that had been done to him today, and his cock was still ragingly hard. Gradually his thoughts turned to what the unseen voice had told him would be in store for him if he failed this test, and that softened his cock considerably. As he lay there in the half-light looking up at the white featureless ceiling, he wondered just how likely it was that he would cum in his sleep, and what possible strategies he could use to make sure he didn't.
Peter was a stubborn boy, and being controlled and manipulated like this severely injured his pride. He knew very well that - all pretence of demonic posession aside - the Inspector and the two assistants fancied him gutless, and were determined to keep him here. That meant that they wanted him to fail the test. But the Inspector kept the key to the cell, and Peter remembered the voice saying that he was a stickler for following rules and regulations - so it looked like the test would be fair. If that were the case, then Peter was not going to cum. "I'm buggered if I'm going to let them play me like that," he said to himself. "I'll show them." By the time his eyelids drooped and he eventually fell asleep, he'd decided that he would be out of here after the three days were up, come what may. All he had to do was to get through another two nights without cumming.
* * *
The second day began bright and early with a full-body massage carried out by the two assistants - who were now dressed again in the tight leather breeches and shirts that it was obvious turned the boy on so much. By the time they'd finished with him he was tingling all over and his cock was dripping precum onto the table between his thighs. The Inspector seemed a little grumpy this morning - no doubt, thought Peter, because there had been no report that the Devil had made himself known during the night. In fact, Peter's sleep had been dreamless as far as he recalled.
There followed another day of cunning, devious sexual torments, but having got things straight in his mind, Peter was a little more able to resist them. What had actually got him closest had been when he'd been hooded (the inside of the leather hood still smelled of the two hunky assistants) and allowed to feel their leathers against his skin. They'd been simply lying on the floor with the boy between them, gently fondling him during one of the Inspector's breaks. His helplessness - hooded and held down by the two lads - his nakedness against their black leather breeches and boots and shirts and masks, and the fact that these two muscular, strong lads were being unbelievably intimate with him, kissing him through the hood and holding him between them inescapably but very gently, was a combination he found almost irresistable.
But by bedtime, horny as he was, Peter knew there would be no problem during the night. Brian was on duty this evening, keeping watch, but like Peter, he too was soon fast asleep, snoring quietly.
* * *
"How's the new boy doing?" Grieves offered Brian an apple but Brian declined with a shake of his head.
"Oh fuck he's a cute one. Best we've had here for a long time. He's ticklish, and sensitive, and so responsive. And you would not believe what a weakness he's got for leather."
Grieves chewed thoughtfully. The boy was cute all right. "You'd like to keep him here, I take it."
"Oh fuck yes. But like most of the others, I suppose he'll pass."
"Only one more night to go."
"I know." Brian sighed. "He is a lot of fun to play with."
Grieves took another bite from the apple, and then, to Brian's distaste, ate the core as well. "You don't think he'll cum tonight?"
"Nah. He seems to have decided not to. He still gets as horny as fuck, but you can see the determination there. He's fighting."
"Who's on watch tonight?"
Grieves nodded thoughtfully.
* * *
The Inspector was annoyed. This was the third and last day: if Peter didn't cum tonight there was no way he'd be able to keep the boy here any longer. He sat and schemed, drinking his coffee and glaring at Gil and Brian. "Leather," he said.
"What?" Gil looked up sharply.
"Leather. The boy is clearly fixated on it. The gladiator uniforms didn't work with him, but the breeches and shirts do. Why?"
Gil shook his head slowly, his eyes wide. "I don't know."
"The gladiator uniforms didn't work because there wasnn't enough leather."
"What we need to do is to get as much shiny black leather onto you two as possible. Come with me to the stores..."
They dutifully followed the Inspector out of the room.
* * *
Peter was lying on the table again, shivering slightly after the massage. The two assistants had gone and left him alone some time ago and there had been no sign of the Inspector so far this morning. Then the door opened and things beyond Peter's deepest and darkest fantasies came in.
At first Peter didn't comprehend what he was seeing, but his cock was way ahead of him. The two assistants were visions of perversion: long, soft black leather hoods with pointed tops came down to their shoulders, small holes for the eyes being the only openings in them. Black leather shirts, open to reveal skintight black leather vests beneath were tucked into shiny black leather breeches. These were as extremely loose as the previous ones had been skintight - folds and creases of leather were everywhere. In turn, these disappeared into knee-high black leather boots with many buckles down each side. Chunky steel chain belts were around their waists, and over everything they wore long black leather coats that were the shiniest leather Peter had ever seen. Black leather gauntlets - thicker and even longer than the ones they'd used on him already covered their arms. The Inspector, dressed as usual in his tight codpiece breeches and studded jerkin, was holding what looked like a sheet of very thin, and unbelievably shiny material which Peter didn't recognise. The whole effect of the group was one of sinister medieval monks bent on torturing souls. Peter's cock was stabbing the air at the sight.
Without a word, the assistants fitted the leather cockstrap / ejaculation controller to Peter, then unfastened his restraints and got him on the floor so that he was lying on his side, sandwiched tightly between them, and could feel their leathers all over his body. All three were facing the same way, lying on their left sides. Gil, behind Peter, grabbed Peter's right wrist and passed it to Brian, who took it and placed it onto his bulging cock which, inside the very loose breeches, could be felt, gripped, and moved about easily. Gil then bent Peter's left arm so that that hand could reach his own hard cock through his breeches. Having positioned Peter, Gil clamped his hands over Peter's face, gagging and blindfolding the boy with the thick leather gauntlets in the way they knew turned the lad on so much.
Peter was almost cumming already. This was orders of magnitude more sexy than anything they'd done to him before. The leather was cold, and its folds and creases caressing his bare skin felt unbelievable. He was drowning in black leather. The fact that the leather was being worn by two big strong lads intent on holding him helpless and making him need to cum - but with no intention of letting him do so - only made it worse.
Peter's cock was gripped between the tops of Brian's thighs - its engorged, precum-shiny head protruding just enough for the Inspector to work on it. Kneeling on the floor, he took it gently between finger and thumb, and began teasing the end slowly and very, very carefully. Within seconds the boy was on the verge of cumming, but the Inspector stopped, and Peter found out just how effective the tight ring around the base of his cock was at preventing orgasm. He yelled in frustration.
It started again - slow, careful teasing, the Inspector's leather-gloved fingertips sliding sadistically slowly over the sensitive, achingly horny tip of Peter's desperate cock. He smiled to himself cruelly - this was really getting to the boy. To make it even more unbearable, he pushed his free hand between Brian's and Peter's thighs so that he could tickle Peter's balls lightly at the same time.
For a terminally horny seventeen-year old boy with a newly discovered, extremely intense fetish for black leather, this was torture in the most pure form. Everything he could feel, hear, smell and taste (he was licking the leather gauntlet again) was working on his weakness for leather, to make him cum - but he couldn't cum! He couldn't stop himself from wanting to cum more and more and more, and he couldn't cum. He was convinced that he would go totally and absolutely mad.
They didn't use restraints on him at all until much later that morning - one or both of the assistants would just hold him in different positions while the Inspector worked on him with devilish cunning. After a break to let him recover, Gil sat on a stool, and Peter was hooded, then forced - face down - over his lap. His wrists and ankles were tied together to keep him there, and his cock once again pushed between Gil's parted leather-clad thighs. While the Inspector milked him slowly from underneath, using long, slow strokes from the very base of his cock to the tip and back, Brian inserted an oiled finger gently into Peter's arsehole - despite his yells of protestation - and found the boy's prostate.
Peter had never even guessed that there was something inside of his body that could produce sensations like this. He wriggled and squirmed against Gil's black leathers as Brian teasingly prodded and massaged the gland with a skill born of years of practise. Peter was going out of his mind. If he'd thought that he needed to cum before, he'd been wrong. This was a new kind of need: this was urgent, compelling, and absolutely irresistable. He felt like he was on the very edge of cumming all the time - but no matter what he did, how hard he tried to make himself shoot, he could not do it. The leather hood clung to his face with every breath (they'd buckled the neck strap very tightly this time) and he felt more defenceless, more horny, and more used than he'd ever felt before in his life.
Eventually they released him, taking care to keep his hands away from his cock, and strapped him down to the restraint table again, face up. They left him to recover for a few minutes. When they returned, the Inspector picked up the very shiny thing he'd brought in earlier, and showed it to Peter. He held it up, and released the end, the bottom dropping to the floor. It was a sheet of some very thin, very shiny, smooth, black material Peter had never seen before. But it looked fascinating.
"This," said the Inspector quietly, "is called 'Rubber'. It's something I've been experimenting with, because some boys find it quite irresistable."
He lowered the sheet of rubber slowly onto Peter's naked body. Peter gasped at the coldness of it, but as it sank between his thighs, molded itself around his cock and balls, covered his feet and legs, chest, and face, he almost came there and then. It was incredible - he'd never felt anything like it before. The Inspector began by just moving it around over his skin, gradually working it into all the boy's nooks and crannies: at the sides of his balls, under his armpits, even between his toes. Peter's cock always stood up perfectly vertically when he was lying down and had a hard-on, and now it tented the rubber so that the Inspector could tease it easily. Pushing the sheet up between Peter's thighs so that he could hold the boy's balls, he gripped the hard cock gently through the rubber, and slid his hand up and down slowly. Each time he felt that Peter was close to cumming, he stopped, of course, and waited before continuing.
The smell of the rubber was new to Peter, and he found it heady and intoxicating; and the coldness of the sheet was amazing. Once it warmed up to body temperature it lost some of its sexiness for him. It seemed the inspector knew this, however, as he kept on moving it around so that new, cold bits of it kept coming into contact with the boy's cock and balls.
Although Peter wouldn't have known the word, this was pure fetish to him. He gave himself up to shiny black rubber heaven. His need to cum had diminished very slightly as the rubber had warmed up generally, and he was at that stage where he could just let himself love every minute of it. He smiled - he was back in control of himself.
It was time for the evening meal, so Peter was hooded with the sack and taken back to his cell, where Brian brought him lamb chops and coffee. There was only the evening to go now, the the final night to get through. Tomorrow he would be free.
The evening session was a long one. It consisted mainly of things that they'd done to him already, but started with the two assistants stroking his naked body lightly with feathers to sensitise him. Brian, who loved tickling boys, paid particular attention to Peter's armpits, the backs of his knees, and the soles of his feet - but the two lads had obviously had instructions to touch him with nothing other than the feathers. Peter could tell that Brian was itching to dig his fingers into his sides and ribs...
The two lads were wearing the loose black leathers again, and took every opportunity to smother the boy with them. Every time they did this Peter's cock would jerk madly and precum would run down the shaft. They and the Inspector teased him every way they knew how, and the boy was very soon a seething mass of frustrated lust. But, through it all, at the back of his mind was the determination that he was not going to fail this test and cum tonight. Even so, by the end of the session, if he had been able to reach his cock, nothing on the Earth could have prevented him from grabbing it and wanking himself off fast and furiously to a mind-shattering orgasm. Or three.
Back in his cell, when they removed the sack from his head, there was something strange lying on the bed. He didn't know exactly what it was, but it was clearly some kind of restraint device. It was a body-length bag made of thick black leather, which opened all the way down the front, and had straps across it every few inches down its length. Two cut-outs in the edges of the front flaps made a hole through which, Peter guessed, his cock and balls would stick out. He couldn't see the details of the inside, but there must be some way of restraining his arms, he thought. The whole thing was anchored securely to the bed. His cock was as hard as a rock at the sight of the device. He felt his willpower weakening. Well, if all else failed, he would stay awake all night to make sure he didn't cum. After all, nobody could atually touch him.
Peter groaned when one of the assistants produced the leather hood. As before, they rubbed their cocks around the inside of it before fastening it over his head. The shiny leather inside surface slid against his face on the film of precum, and the smell only made his cock harder.
Together the two lads got Peter into the leather bag. There were sleeve-like arrangements inside, into which they pushed Peter's arms. These ended in stiff leather mitts which would prevent any use of his fingers. Like the hood, the bag was lined with soft, shiny leather on the inside. Carefully positioning his cock and balls through the hole, the assistants strapped him tightly into the bag. There was no possibility of his getting his hands anywhere near his cock - they were on the inside, it was outside, and he had no way to get through the thick leather. In any case, he couldn't move his arms an inch, and his hands were inside the stiff mitts. He was, he realized, well and truly helpless again.
A hand momentarily clamped over his hooded mouth, cutting off his air. "Sleep well, cute boy - and pleasant dreams..." said a voice close to his ear. Then he heard the cell door close and he was alone, apart from whichever one of the lads was on watch tonight beyond the bars.
It was Brian. With a smile he said goonight to Gil as he went to return the cell key the the Inspector, and settled down to read.
* * *
In his small, windowless room in the depths of the building's cellar, Grieves was humming to himself as he worked at the table by the light of a single candle. His hawklike nose, with tufts of hair growing out of its nostrils, made a grotesque shadow flickering on the far wall. In one grarled hand he held a piece of thin, soft leather and in the other a pair of scissors. Carefully he cut out a perfect circle, about eight inches in diameter. When it was done, he balanced it on the point of one of the scissor blades to find the exact centre, which he marked, and then threaded a piece of fishing line through and back, to form a loop. Experimentally he lifted the circle of leather up by the loop - the edges of the circle flopped down into a cone shape with folds. "Hmm hmm," he sang to himself, pleased with his work.
* * *
Brian's head slowly sank down towards his chest, then jerked up abruptly again. He sniffed, yawned, and put the book down. Blinking, he looked at the leather-confined and hooded form on the bed beyond the bars. The boy's cock was still pointing at the ceiling, but he wasn't moving. He was probably asleep. Personally, Brian didn't think that Peter would cum - not many of them actually did. Gil would have delivered the cell door key back to the Inspector - he was the only one with a key - so much as Brian would have liked to see the beautiful boy remain here for much longer, there was nothing he could do about it. Yawning again, he pulled the second chair into position, put his feet up, shuffled to get comfortable, and settled down to sleep. Soon he was snoring.
* * *
Inside his black leather prison, Peter was furiously trying to think unsexy thoughts. He tried to imagine screaming with agony as he was stretched on the rack, or of having his feet slowly crushed between planks of wood while a grinning Inspector hammered wedges in to increase the pressure - but the only images that came to his mind were of the Inspector's codpiece with his hard cock stretching the leather out to bursting, or the two assistants holding him helpless and kissing him gently, enveloping him in shiny, sexy leather. His cock was as hard as steel outside the leather bag, he couldn't get to it, his hands were encased in thick, stiff leather to make them useless, his arms were immobilised, and the hood was gagging him, blindfolding him with black leather slippery with the two gorgeous lads' precum and smelling of them. He was helpless, encased tightly from head to foot in his greatest weakness - shiny black leather. And he was desperately horny. But he must not cum. He must not cum.
Grieves padded silently along the corridor. In his hands he held several items. He stopped outside the cell room door, listening intently. The sound of snoring greeted his hairy ears. Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door millimeter by millimeter. Brian seemed to be fast asleep on the chairs. Excellent - Brian was a heavy sleeper and nothing short of a firework in his ear would wake him up. But even if he did wake up, it would be ok. His bare feet making no sound at all, he walked towards the bars of the cell. The boy was in the leather bag - and he was hooded. Wasting no time, he took the towel he was carrying and spread it on the floor. Then he produced a small bowl and a bottle of water from his pocket, poured some water into the bowl, and pushed the circle of leather into it, soaking it thoroughly. When it was wet, he wrang it out to remove the excess water, and tied the loop in its centre to the line on the end of the fishing rod. After pulling the wet leather into shape - a tall folded cone - he inserted the fishing rod between the bars and guided it towards the hooded boy.
Grieves hit the target perfectly first time: the leather cone descended slowly onto Peter's vertical cock, enveloping it in its cold, wet, shiny folds.
Peter almost jumped out of his skin. What the hell was that???? Something cold and wet was on his cock! But there was no-one else in the room! Was there? The wet thing slid slowly down his cock. It felt delicious. Was this further torment by the sadistic Inspector? But that would be cheating, and Peter didn't think he'd do that - after all, he could have made him cum at any time and said that it had happened at night. And the lads had said that the Inspector was hot on the rules and regs. So was it one of them? But the door was locked - and anyway he doubted if they would dare mess with the Inspector's test.
Grieves had originally thought of bringing a second pole with a feather on the end to tickle the boy's balls with at the same time, but had decided that trying to control two poles at once would not be a good idea. With an expression of infinite sadism oh his face, Grieves worked the leather slowly up and down, up and down. His exploration of the boy's cock in the Black Room the other day had given him the idea. It was so sensitive on the head and, especially, on the ridge of the glans. As the circle of leather came down, Peter's jerking cock pushed it open slightly, allowing the head to get well up towards its centre, while the extra weight which the water lent the leather made the lower edges close up again slightly - just enough to stroke and carress the shaft of the boy's cock. But it was the ridge and the cock-head that got most of the effect. The cold, wet leather slid up and down, milking the desperately horny boy gently, slowly, relentlessly, and irresistably.
Peter struggled to get away from the fiendish device, whatever it was, but the leather bag was strapped tightly down to the table and he couldn't move an inch. He commanded himself to concentrate, to fight it. He imagined the most horrible, unsexy thing he could think of - his schoolmistress, Miss Langley. He got the image of her for a moment, but the gentle, insidious up and down stroking of his cock-head by... And then he suddenly realized what it was: wet leather. The bastards! The unfair, evil, cunning bastards! Using cold, wet leather on his cock-head when he was helpless, encased in leather, hooded...
Grieves was enjoying this immensely. Peering secretly through the Black Room doorway (and wanking himself senseless) he had seen hundreds of boys being milked by the Inspector and the two lads, and he knew the signs. This boy was on the edge. So close. He raised, then slowed the movement of the fishing rod, to give the helpless boy plenty of time to realize what was going to happen.
Inside the hood, the spunky black leather ballooned out then clung to Peter's face as he hyperventilated. Yet again he was on the very edge of cumming - and no matter how hard he fought, there was nothing he could do to control it. His willpower had no effect: his body was responding on its own to the exquisite feelings at the tip of his cock. The leather was no longer sliding up and down, but just tickling right at the very tip of the cockhead. His whole body was tingling, like it was on fire. His nervous system was a spring that was slowly but relentlessly being wound tighter and tighter and tighter... His spunk was boiling in his balls, being forced with greater and greater pressure against a locked door - to which that tickling piece of cold, wet leather had the key. Not only did it have the key, but it was waving it tauntingly in front of his face. "I'm going to make you lose control," it said, "and there is nothing you can do to stop me..."
Grieves made the leather dance over the tip of the boy's cock. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he need do nothing more than this to make the boy cum - and the less stimulation there was, the longer it would take - and the more shattering and uncontrollable would his orgasm be. Brian was snoring like a trooper, there was no-one else awake in the building, so Grieves could take his time, make it last, knowing the boy was trying to fight it...
Peter had almost stopped breathing now, so close was he to cumming. Every so often he took a huge gulp of air, and the hood clung to his face, smothering him with sexy black leather, spunky from those two muscular, gorgeous lads who had tied him up, held him down, kissed him through their masks, used their leathers to get him horny...
Grieves lifted the rod a little higher still. Now just the edges of the leather circle were touching the tip of the boy's cock. Peter was a furnace on the point of exploding. The pressure gague was at maximum, and it was shaking like a demon. He could almost see the steam escaping from Peter's ears. Grieves smiled with contentment.
The spring was wound as far as it would go. Peter's body was vibrating, his muscles no longer under his control. He was no longer capable of rational thought - he couldn't escape, couldn't fight, and the leather was holding him helpless like a sacrifice at an altar. He was totally under the control of that little piece of cold, wet leather spinning, tickling, stroking the very tip of his desperately horny cock...
His orgasm started slowly at the soles of his feet and the back of his head, and ran with liquid fire through his body to his cock. His entire body was orgasming. He seemed to feel, as if in slow motion, his spunk pump out of his balls, make its way along the tubes, pause at the tip of his cock, gathering strength, and then fire out of the tip like a volcano erupting. It was so exquisitely intense it was almost pain. Even his fingers were tingling with pleasure. He wanted it to go on forever and ever.
The boy was cumming. Grieves lowered the leather back over his cock and milked it.
He screamed in ecstasy, and at the sound of his voice he realized what was happening. He struggled and fought the leather encasing his body - but it held him down in a grip of iron; he tried to get the hood off, but wherever he moved his head it followed, immovable; he tried to get away from the wet leather as it carressed and stroked his cock - but he was helpless: strapped down, hooded and helpless. This feeling intensified his orgasm even more - and the leather continued to slide up and down over his cock, milking him, milking him, milking him...
Grieves continued milking the boy's cock. Even through the fishing line and the rod, he could feel in his hands each gob of spunk as it shot out of Peter's cock and into the leather, where it ran down the inside and dripped in fat sticky pools onto Peter's balls. Good grief - how much spunk has this boy got in him, he wondered - the flow showed no sign of stopping yet. His arms were getting tired, but he continued to milk the cock until the leather had extracted every last drop. Then, he carefully shook as much spunk as he could off the leather and onto the body bag around the boy's crotch and thighs before withdrawing the fishing rod and its now much heavier circle of leather.
Brian had woken at the sound of the scream, and was watching him as he picked up the towel and the bowl, and checked that there were no traces left. With a smile and a silent wink, the assistant opened the door for Grieves as he padded silently out of the room.
* * *
"So." The Inspector was trying for a look that comprised disappointment, sympathy and grim determination - but was failing completely. Instead, his expression was one of satisfaction, victory, and evil anticipation. "The Devil has shown Himself, my boy. I am so sorry. This means, I fear, that you will have to undergo the full treatment to be rid of Him. I do not know how long this will take - but believe me, we will work together to drive him from your body."
Peter fumed. "This isn't fair! Someone made me cum last night!"
The Inspector raised his eyebrows. "How can that be, my boy? The cell was locked, you were on your own, and I am the only one who holds a key."
"I don't know how. But I felt cold, wet leather moving up and down on my cock. It made me cum."
The Inspector glanced at Brian, who shook his head gently. "I think we know who made you cum, Peter. He who made you cum is the one whom it is our mission to drive out: the Devil himself."
"What will you do to me? I've heard stories of the rack, hot pliers, foot-crushing..."
"Oh dear Lord we will do nothing like that! This isn't the Holy Inquisition!" He sat down at Peter's side and took the boy's soft cock gently in his leather-gloved hand. It responded instantly. "No - have no fear of that; we will not hurt you. But we will make you suffer greatly, I'm afraid - in similar, but more intense, ways to that in which you already have. You see, Peter, these last three days have been a test. Our hands have been tied - if you'll forgive the pun - in many ways until now. But now we are free to use more intense means to drive out He who is inside you. Each of us - myself, Gil, and Brian," he introduced the two assistants, who were still masked - "has his own techniques and specialities in dealing with boys such as yourself. Together, we are an irresistable team, as you will find out soon enough."
He stood up. "Enough for now. Get some rest, Peter - you are going to need your strength. You may fight us, but you cannot win."
Peter glared at them in fury. How the hell had they done that to him with the cell door locked? They had got him to the point where he was unable to resist, they had restrained him in a way they knew would make it impossible for him, and then - when he was incapable of fighting against it - they'd cheated, and used leather to make him lose control. He felt intense, impotent rage against them for being so unfair. But then he suddenly realised that he'd got a hard-on thinking about the unfairness of it all.
So - no rack, no hot pincers. Just unending, unendurable sexual tortures at the cunning, unfair, sadistic hands of three unbelievably sexy guys in shiny black leather. He blinked. Things could be worse. He could deal with that. And he would have plenty of time to learn how to control his reactions.
The Inspector shook his head sadly. "You are such a beautiful boy on the outside," he said, "who would have thought that you have the Devil within?"
Peter gazed up at the Inspector defiantly. He would find ways to fight against the things they did to him. He would learn to control his fetish for leather. He would thwart them. The Inspector and the two lads - still masked - stood there looking down at him, all three with stonking erections in their leather breeches. He knew perfectly well that they fancied him like fuck. A slow smile began to spread across his face. He would beat them. He would not only beat them, but he would make himself so irresistably sexy for them that they would have a lot more trouble controlling themselves than he'd have controlling him self.
The Inspector and the two lads left - Gil looking back over his shoulder and winking at him on the way out.
His eyes twinkled. 'Oh yes', he said to the empty room, 'I've got the devil within me all right. You have no idea...'
But the only one who heard was Grieves, weeding the small garden outside the window.