The Telemachus Story Archive

Iron Fist, Velvet Glove
By Hooder

Iron Fist, Velvet Glove

Nicky was lying in the sling, being given an enthusiastic hand-job by the guy who was fucking him. When the man came, he gripped Nicky’s cock harder still, his hand flying up and down its length. As usual, the boy had to concentrate to make himself cum, but when he did, it was good.

An average sort of night.

On the way out, the notice board caught his eye. There was very rarely anything on it other than adverts for the special theme nights that the club ran – but this time there was a small white sheet of paper there too. He walked up to it and read:

Employment opportunity. Boy required by writer. Must have excellent edging skills and be willing to relocate to city apartment.

There was a phone number. He took the sheet off the board and put it in his pocket. Might be worth a look, he thought; edging was something he knew a great deal about – it was one of his biggest turn-ons, although he was a complete sub and he’d always been on the receiving end so far.

It was a couple of days later when he remembered the note. He dug it out and read it again, then sat down and rang the number.


“Hi. I’m ringing about the advert you put on the notice board in the Black Lion.”

“Ah, Right. Ok. What’s your name, and how old are you?”

“Name’s Nicky. I’m nineteen.”

“Ok, Nicky. Well, come round and let’s have a look at you and we’ll have a chat.”

The flat was on the 16th floor of a very expensive block in the Docklands area. The lift carried him up quickly and smoothly and he stepped out into a corridor with three widely-spaced doors in it. One of the doors opened and a guy in a loose and very shiny PVC tracksuit looked out. “Nicky? Come in.”

Damien was in his early thirties. He was slim, fit, and had intense blue eyes in a good-looking, masculine face. His hair and his stubble were as black as the wood of the living room furniture, which stood on a soft, cream-coloured carpet. One complete wall of the room was glass, and the view of the city from here was breathtaking.

“I’m Damien.” They shook hands. “Sit. Drink?”

Nicky shook his head. “No, I’m fine thanks.”

“Ok.” Damien sat down in the armchair opposite the boy and looked him up and down. “You, Nicky, are a very cute boy. That’s an excellent start. Now, I’ll explain what this is about, and then you can go away and have a think about it, and let me know tomorrow. Is that Ok?”

Nicky nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Right. Well, I’m a writer. I write porn.”

Nicky frowned for a moment, thinking. Damien… Damien… “Hang on, you’re not Damien Wright, are you?”

Damien grinned. “You’ve heard of me. Yes. That’s me.”

Nicky had indeed heard of Damien Wright. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d wanked himself silly reading this guy’s novels and short stories. They were amazing.

“What I’m looking for is, mainly, an… assistant. To help me when I’m writing. You’d be required to keep the place dusted, and make coffee - lots of coffee – but those duties won’t take up much of your time. Except making the coffee,” he laughed. “Your main work will be in the next room where I write. Come with me - I’ll show you.”

He stood up and led the way.

Nicky stared. This was a very strange room: all the furniture seemed to be in the middle. In the centre of the space there was a strange construction: a rectangular plinth a couple of feet high with three steps up to it. On the plinth stood an expensive office chair, a black desk with a keyboard and mouse, three monitors side by side, and a telephone. That in itself was odd, thought Nicky, but it got stranger still: the back of the plinth was cut away, and beneath the desk was a smaller but comfortable-looking chair.

Damien chuckled. “Looks a bit weird, doesn’t it?”

Nicky nodded.

“I sit on the top chair and write at the computer. My boy sits in the bottom chair, facing me. And he plays with me to keep me horny. I write my best stuff when I’m as horny as fuck, and his task is to keep me fairly close to cumming. All the time I’m writing. The bottom chair is in just the right position so that he can sit comfortably and reach me easily.”

Nicky shook his head slowly. “That’s brilliant. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“No,” Damien chuckled, “I shouldn’t think you have. I designed it a while ago. My last boy used to kneel under the desk between my knees and work on me, but that got tiring for him after a while so we came up with this. He had to leave last month – family commitments in Canada. So, I’m looking for a new boy.”

They went back into the lounge via the kitchen, where Damien made espressos for them. He turned to Nicky. “So, any questions?”

Nicky thought. “Well, your advert said that you wanted someone with good edging skills. Edging’s been an obsession of mine for a long time, but I have to be honest - I’ve always been sub. I know exactly how to do it, ‘cos I’ve had it done to me so much, but I’ve never done it to someone else, so I don’t know if I can.”

Damien put his cup on the glass table and held out his hand, palm down. “Stroke my hand. Very lightly.”

Puzzled, Nicky did so. He stroked the back of the guy’s hand as lightly as he could. His fingertips glided over the skin slowly, hardly touching.

Damien smiled. “Mmmm…. Oh fuck yes, I think you can do it. I think you can do it very well.”

Nicky Told Damien that he had always been sub. Occasionally he’d toyed with the idea of topping, but he didn’t think he was cut out for it.

Damien laughed and shook his head. “Oh, you most certainly would not be top, boy! Let me make a few things crystal clear. If you take this position, you will not only call me ‘Sir’, but as well as doing the duties I’ve already told you about, you will do everything I tell you to do. If I want to fuck you, I will do so. If I want to edge you and leave you desperate to cum, I will do so – and I will do so, often; I want to keep you every bit as horny as you keep me.”

Nicky frowned – he’d read a lot of this guy’s fiction and it was almost all written from the sub’s point of view. But here he was saying he was top – and to be fair he very much gave the impression of being one.

Damien looked straight into Nicky’s eyes. “And there are two rules which are more important than any others: the first is that you will never make me cum unless I give you explicit orders to do so; and the second is that you will never cum yourself unless I make you. Breaking either one of those two rules will result in extreme punishment.”

Nicky thought about that. “What would the punishment be?”

“No idea. I don’t know you yet. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, what you’d want to avoid at any cost. But I would make it my business to find out, and I would use that. Obviously I would never cause you any physical injury, but I would find something that you really, really don’t want to experience, and use that on you as punishment. And I’m talking real punishment here, not pretend punishment.”

For some reason the thought of that was getting Nicky horny. He searched his mind for possible weaknesses of his that the man might use, but he couldn’t think of any - except pain, of course – and he got the feeling that was not what the guy was looking for; he seemed more devious than that somehow.

“As for your working on me, I would expect you to be a fast learner. Everybody has his quirks; different techniques turn different people on. I would expect you to become intimately familiar with mine, to the point where you know exactly how to make me cum, and you could make me lose it with a single touch of just one finger if you wanted to – however hard I was trying not to.” He chuckled dangerously, “but you’d better fucking never do that. Understand so far?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Ok. What do you think? Are you still interested?”

Nicky nodded. “I am. Very. My only worry is that I won’t be very good at it.”

Damien looked him up and down again. He really was a very sexy boy, he thought. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got the feeling that you’ll be perfect for this job. Tell you what, why don’t we have a trial run and see?” He glanced at the clock. “It’s a bit early for me to do any writing, but I can correct some typos on what I did yesterday.”

They went back into the writing room and Nicky entered the plinth from the back. He sat in the revolving chair and then turned it round to face forward. Damien got into the top chair and booted up the computer. Nicky found himself looking straight at Damien’s crotch; it was about eighteen inches away and right in front of him. He noticed two sturdy metal plates mounted on hinges under the top surface of the desk, about six inches apart, and asked about them.

“Those are fun – when they’re pulled down they stop me from closing my legs together. I can open them, but can’t quite close them. To me, that can feel very horny. Very horny. You can use them any time you feel like it whatever I’m writing. I said earlier that everybody has their personal quirks; well, one of mine is that often when I feel a hand or an arm going between my thighs my instinctive reaction is to close my legs. It’s a sort of ‘invasion’ feeling I get sometimes. If I do manage to squeeze them together and the hand stays there between them, I’m quite likely to cum – you’ve no idea how horny that feels to me – but if I can’t quite close them, it just makes me need to cum.”

Nicky realised that even just talking about this was giving Damien a hard-on: the loose, thin PVC tracksuit bottoms were beginning to tent out at the front. Experimentally, he reached forward and held the hard cock very gently between his fingers. Immediately there came a gasp from above him.

“Oh yeah…. Now, I don’t want to tell you what my other quirks are – I want you to find them for yourself so that you can exploit them. That is a lot sexier for me.”

Nicky was stroking his fingers up and down the shiny black bulge slowly. He could feel its warmth through the thin tracksuit. Bringing his other hand forward as well, he began to tease Damien’s balls through the PVC at the same time. He was rewarded with another, more urgent groan from above.

“Mmm… oh yeeahh…” He took a deep breath. “Now, I told you that you would not be top. And you most certainly would not be: you’d better never fucking forget that I am your Master. But – and this is not going to be so easy for you to understand straight away – when you’re working on me here, in this room – and only in this room - I want you to think of me as your victim. As if I’m in bondage up here - which I am, sort of: I can’t leave the computer if I want to get anything done, and I can lock the chair in its present position so that I can’t move much unless I unlock it. The chair’s close to the desk, and the desk is between us, so that means I can’t get to your hands, or to my cock, and there is no way I can control what you’re doing. I can’t use my hands to make myself cum, or to stop you from edging me, or even from making me cum. I can tell you if I’m getting too close, but eventually I don’t even want to do that – at all. I want to feel that I have no control over it. That helps me to write very good porn. You see what I mean?”

“I do.” Nicky was very familiar with the feeling of having no control – that was one of the things about edging that he most got off on.

“Ok. Now, when you stroked my hand earlier, it was amazingly light. Also what you’re doing now is. That is exactly what I’m looking for. A light, teasing – even tickling – touch, and very, very s-l-o-w. The idea is to keep me close, not to make me cum.

Nicky nodded to himself. Slow and teasing was exactly the way that edging was most effective on himself too. “This sort of thing…?” He ran his fingertips very leisurely over Damien’s thighs – first the tops, then underneath, and then the insides. He held the loose PVC between his fingers and made it move sensuously over the man’s balls. Then he went back to his cock bulge and tickled the head lightly.

“Oh FUCK YES!” Damien groaned in pleasure. “Exactly like that! Oh fuck, Nicky, you are going to be good at this. I might even have to acknowledge you in prefaces.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Nicky smiled.

“And there’s another thing – and this will probably be even harder for me to explain. When you’re working on me your attitude is going to be very important indeed. Can you be evil? Devilish? I said that I don’t want to have to tell you that I’m dangerously close – but work like you’re trying to make me do that. I don’t mean just go for it and get me so horny that I shout for you to stop – I mean play with my level of horniness. Tease me with it. That’s not easy to understand, but do you know what I mean?”

“Oh yes, I think so, Sir.”

Damien chuckled. “’Sir’? You’re not my assistant yet...”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Then, smiling, he added, “No, I’m not sorry...” He was feeling devilish already.

“Now, if you’ve read any of my stuff you know that I write a lot about gear. That’s because I’m into gear – I’m very into gear. Also, wearing the same kind of gear that my main character is wearing helps me get the feel for him, and what he’s feeling. So, I’ll be in different kit from one week, or day, to the next. Might be leather one time, tight jeans the next, shorts, combats, rubber – think you can handle that?”

“Oh fuck yes.” Those things Damien had named included some of the boy’s own most powerful fetishes, so he understood very well how they worked. Also, he couldn’t wait to see this sexy guy in horny gear like that. “And I’ll use the gear itself to get you horny…”

Damien couldn’t believe he’d found this boy. He was fucking perfect.

The computer had been up and running now for a few minutes. “Ok. I’m going to do a bit of work for half an hour. This story’s set in a gym and the main guy is wearing a trackie like this one. He’s about to get edged, then raped.”

Nicky settled himself comfortably in the chair and, as the occasional tapping of keys reached him from above, he grinned and reached forward towards the bulging PVC crotch in front of him.

* * *

Nicky moved in a week later, and he enjoyed his duties from the start – especially working on Damien. The more he got to know the guy the more he liked him. And the more he fancied him. Damien was not what the boy usually thought of as his ideal ‘type’, but not only was the guy good-looking, there was something compellingly sexy about him. And he looked unbelievably horny in gear.

Damien had talked about attitude, about being devilish and trying to keep him close to the edge, and Nicky found that not only was he developing an instinctive feel for how near the guy was to cumming at any given moment, but he was also becoming more and more into getting the most response from the least action on his part. The thought occurred to him that he was becoming a control freak. A bit toppy, even. He’d never felt that before with anyone. Over the weeks he got so good at this, in fact, that he could make the man gasp with the touch of a single fingertip. And his timing became expert too: the pauses between touches, he found, were as important as the touches themselves. Damien couldn’t see the boy’s hands because the desk was in the way, so he never knew when a touch was coming, or where; he couldn’t prepare for it, and so it was a lot more effective than if he’d been able to see its approach.

Nicky made use of the hinged metal plates too, and loved to see the effect they had on Damien. He would slowly move his hand up the inside of the guy’s thigh, or tickle his balls unexpectedly, and watch Damien’s knees try to slam together to keep the invading hand out. He loved the way the metal plates got in the way and stopped him from doing that. This worked particularly well with sports shorts – suddenly putting his hand up inside the leg caused a huge reaction.

He was always experimenting; he’d made it his mission to find things that got his Master increasingly desperate to cum. And one day the inevitable happened: Damien was wearing some skintight, ripped and faded Levis and Nicky had been scratching his fingernail over the bulge of the guy’s cock head. He loved it when Damien wore tight jeans – he looked unbelievably horny in them – and tight jeans, along with rubber and black leather, were Nicky’s own biggest fetishes. He’d been working on the bulge of Damien’s hard cock for a minute or so, but it was when he’d suddenly put his other arm between the guy’s thighs as well, and had started to play with the denim-covered balls, that the writer clamped his knees together, trapping the boy’s arm and hand between them. The plates were not in use just then. Nicky should have stopped immediately and pulled his hands out – but he didn’t think quickly enough. A second later, and without any warning, Damien came in his jeans. His cock bucked inside them and creamy white spunk oozed through the faded denim in bigger and bigger thick round blobs.

Nicky had the presence of mind to carry on working on the jerking cock until the orgasm was over. Then he sat back and swore at himself. Oh shit, he said. “I’m sorry Sir. I’m sorry.”

* * *

He was spread-eagled on the bed with leather cuffs and ropes. It was the first time since he’d met the writer that he’d been in restraints. Damien stood looking down at him.

“Well, now you’ve made me cum, I’m not going to get any more work done this afternoon, so I’ll have to amuse myself some other way.” He sighed. “Now then, what am I going to do with you? Eh?”

Nicky shook his head miserably. “I don’t know, Sir. I’m sorry Sir.” They had talked about possible punishments before, but the boy hadn’t been able to think of anything special that he would hate.

“Hmm. Ok. I can think of one thing to try. I’m going to make you cum, boy.”

Nicky frowned. That didn’t seem like much of a punishment, but still, if that was what he wanted to do...

Nicky was nineteen, and it had been several days since his last orgasm, so he was as horny as fuck. His cock was growing as the guy stood watching it.

Damien took a long black industrial rubber glove from a drawer and, not taking his eyes off Nicky’s, slowly pulled it onto his right hand. He covered it with lube, then knelt on the bed and took the boy’s cock in its cold and slippery grip, just holding it there.

Nicky closed his eyes and moaned. His hips thrust once. His cock was circumcised, and the glossy head poked out between the man’s fingers.

Damien began to milk him, the gloved hand sliding smoothly up and down the full length of the boy’s steel-hard cock. Every time his fingers stroked over the head, Nicky gasped.

Damien smiled to himself as he noticed this, and transferred his attention to just the purple head, holding the cock pointing towards him with his other hand and stroking the head slowly with the smooth, lube-slippery black rubber.

This time Nicky did not have to concentrate to make himself cum – and it took about five seconds. He arched his back and shot. A pool of spunk gathered between Damien’s thumb and his curled finger while more thick gobs pumped out into the air. The spunk also caused the rubber to slide even more irresistibly over his glans.

“FUUCK!” Nicky yelled.

Damien continued to milk the boy until his orgasm was finished. The moment Nicky had relaxed again he began to polish the sensitive cock head.


Grinning evilly, Damien continued to rub the naked cock head all over, fast and hard. The boy was writhing on the bed, doing everything he could to get away from the unbearable torture. It was awful; the head was usually his most powerful sexual trigger, but now it was now so hypersensitive that, although it wasn’t exactly pain, it was absolutely fucking unbearable. He couldn’t stand it. He struggled on the bed. It had to stop.

It did stop, but not until Damien had worked on the cock head for a good five minutes. “So, that’s one thing you’ll try to avoid in future, I think. Now, I wonder if there’s anything else...” He took the rubber glove off and knelt astride the boy’s hips. Then he suddenly rammed his hands into Nicky’s armpits and tickled him.

The only times in his life Nicky had been tickled had been in play fights - never when he was tied down helpless, and certainly never when the intention had been to use it as punishment. He was very ticklish at the best of times – but after his orgasm it was worse than he could have possibly imagined.

The boy’s struggling while his cock head was being polished had been as nothing compared to this. He screamed and tore at the restraints holding him down. Damien got off the bed and quickly found some duct tape, which he stuck tightly over Nicky’s mouth and around his head, then went back to tickling him. He explored every part of the helpless boy’s body and committed to memory all the spots that Nicky found the most unbearable.

Finally, and almost as out of breath as the boy, he got off, and then removed the gag. Nicky winced as the sticky tape was ripped off. “So. We know a couple of things that work on you, don’t we...”

Nicky nodded, his eyes closed. “Yes Sir.”

“Right. In future, break either of the two main rules and I will torture you like that, only worse. And if you get to like it, we’ll find something else. Ok?”

Nicky nodded again.

“And the first thing I want you to do is to write down a list of all the places where I tickled you, and to give each one a score between zero and ten on how unbearable each was. Next time, we will go through that list very slowly, one by one, while you’re strapped down and gagged, and see how accurate you were.”

Nicky looked very worried, but his cock was getting hard again.

Damien looked at it and shook his head in desperation. “You are impossible,” he laughed.

* * *

“Now listen verry carefully,” Damien said in a very bad French accent, “I shall say zis only vonce...”

Nicky laughed.

“I’m inviting friends over for the evening next Saturday. You will wear these.” He passed Nicky a brown paper parcel. “A present for you. I know how much you like them.”

Nicky took it and felt things sliding inside. He opened the package and his eyes widened as he held up a pair of slinky, and very shiny, black rubber jeans. They were medium-weight rubber, and they were codpiece ones, but there was no codpiece attached.

Damien handed him another, smaller parcel. It was the codpiece – but much, much thinner than the rubber of the jeans; it was a shaped triangle of very stretchy black latex. There were press-stud fasteners around the edges.

Nicky swallowed, then looked up. “Th – thank you, Sir.”

You will wear these with your studded belt, and your bike boots. Nothing else. For the first part of the evening you will serve drinks. Ok?”

Nicky nodded. “Yes Sir.”

“Good. Later in the evening I’ll want you out of the way ‘cos I’ve got to discuss some business, so I’m going to hogtie you on the bed, and hood you. That’ll keep you amused while the grown-ups talk. You will stay there quietly until everyone has gone. Do you understand?”

Nicky nodded again. “Oh yes, Sir!” At last: some prolonged bondage!

“You’ll likely be very horny, because you are not going to cum between now and then, and I’m going to be wearing tight Levis all this week - and I know how much you get off on them. I know how much rubber jeans turn you on as well, from the way you’ve worked on me when I’ve been wearing mine.

“But, this hogtie is a treat for you, so you’d better not fucking cum while you’re there on the bed. I’ll want you horny and ready to tease the hell out of me the next day as usual. I’ll probably be onto the edging scene by then, so it’s important, right? So read my lips: you will not cum. On pain of the worst and most prolonged punishment yet. I will make you cum at least three times, and work on your bare cock head with an electric toothbrush and tickle torture you insane after each of them. Do I make myself clear, boy?”

Nicky shuddered; that did not bear thinking about. “Yes Sir. I understand”.

“Ok. Now, make some coffee while I put those Levis on, then get under the desk. I have work to do.”

* * *

By the time the day of the party arrived Nicky was bursting. He’d teased Damien’s legs, thighs, cock and balls through those sexy tight Levis with increasing testosterone-driven enthusiasm as the days has passed. It had been pure torture for him: several times he’d had to stop suddenly when he’d felt himself getting dangerously close, and once he’d almost made Damien cum – the guy had had to shout out for him to stop. Nicky had sworn at himself – he should be better than that by now. But he was so damn horny. He hadn’t cum for days. It wasn’t fair.

He’d been working in the kitchen opening bottles of wine, polishing glasses and getting everything else ready, and he’d had a permanent erection since he’d slid these sexy jeans up his legs earlier – tonight was the first time he’d been allowed to wear them, though he’d been thinking about them all week. They were skintight on his legs and thighs - his bike boots looked great over them - and his hard cock stretched the thin rubber codpiece out into an unmissable and obscene bulge between his thighs – no doubt it was to show him off to the guests that Damien had kept him so fucking horny all week and had specifically told him to wear these jeans. Not only was Nicky getting to know what turned Damien on, but Damien, (the bastard, he thought with a smile) was learning exactly what his weaknesses were too.

The guests arrived and the evening progressed pleasantly. Nicky was courteous, deferential, and – as he was very well aware - looked unbelievably sexy as he went round smiling and recharging glasses. This fact did not go unremarked by several of the guests who were, as Nicky had thought they would be, all male. There were several good-looking guys there – and one in particular caught his attention: a cute boy in tight jeans and a leather jacket - but Nicky carefully showed no sign. A couple of times he felt a hand stroke over his shiny black rubber arse as he moved between the people.

A little later Damien separated himself from the crowd and took the boy into the bedroom. “You’ve done a superb job so far, Nicky. I’m very pleased. Now, turn round and let me get this hood on you.”

The hood was heavy-duty, thick and tight black leather. Nicky hadn’t worn a hood for ages and he’d forgotten how horny they felt. As the cool leather tightened over his eyes and around his head, his cock jerked inside the rubber codpiece of his jeans.

Next, Damien lay the boy on his side on the bed, pulled his arms behind his back and his booted feet up behind him, and fastened them there with leather cuffs – having first put thick leather fist mitts over the teenager’s hands so that he couldn’t undo the clips. It wasn’t a tight hogtie, but he couldn’t get out of it and the boy certainly wasn’t going anywhere.

Damien leaned over and spoke close to his ear so that he could hear him through the thick leather: “Ok. You have a rest. I’ll come and get you when everyone’s gone. Don’t go away.” He patted the boy on his shiny round arse and left the room.

Nicky moved on the bed. It felt so good to be restrained again, and these rubber jeans felt so fucking horny. They squeezed his legs and thighs gently, keeping him constantly aware of being in tight black rubber, but the very thin latex codpiece was so stretchy that his cock could do what it wanted. And that made things worse: it allowed – even encouraged – it to move and slide against the shiny underside.

He loved being helpless, and just about the only complaint he had about this job was that there wasn’t enough bondage involved. He opened and closed his knees, and thrust his hips - but soon stopped that as the feel of the rubber gripping his legs, and of his cock sliding under the stretchy codpiece, made him want to cum.

And then he almost jumped out of his skin as something touched his head. The thick hood cut out most sound and so he hadn’t heard the bedroom door open. Hands turned his head gently from one side to the other and stroked the leather over his eyes as if inspecting the hood carefully. Then the hands went away.

Just as he started to relax and resume breathing, he jumped again as a hand was placed lightly on the inside of his knee. It began to slide upwards very, very slowly. Reflexively he closed his legs together, trapping the hand between them – and realised that he was doing exactly the same thing Damien had said he did. And the man was right: it was unbelievably horny, feeling it there clamped between his legs and not being able to get it out. Even though the hand had difficulty moving, squeezed as it was between his legs, it continued to force its way slowly upwards, the rubber jeans causing it to slide a tiny way and then abruptly stop, in small jerks. Every time it moved, an electric shock of lust coursed through the boy’s body. Finally the fingertips made contact with his balls which formed their own round bulge in the codpiece below the rigid shaft of his cock. The fingers began to tickle them.

Then he felt something else: another hand on his arse. It teased over his shiny round bubble-but and seemed to be exploring the centre seam of the rubber. The finger ran slowly down between the cheeks to his perineum.

He was so fucking horny he could taste it. His cock was a steel rod pushing the codpiece out between his legs and it was sliding deliciously on the film of precum inside it. He desperately needed to cum, but he knew that was the one thing he must not do.

The finger on his arse went away – but then something touched his cock. Starting at the base, a finger and thumb were making their way slowly up the rigid shaft, gripping it gently and then releasing, quickly. Nicky struggled in his restraints to get away from that hand – he knew that if it got to the head he might well not be able to stop himself from cumming. By suddenly parting his knees wide while pressing down against the bed with the right one, he was able to flip onto his back and then fall over onto his left side.

The hands had gone. There was a pause of perhaps thirty seconds, and then he felt something – a belt or a strap! It was put around knees, and tightened. Now, he realised, he couldn’t even turn over because he was unable to lever himself up by parting his knees. This suggested that the guy, whoever it was, had further plans for him and wanted him really helpless for it.

Who was this fucking bastard? Nicky wondered. Did Damien know that someone was doing this to him? He could tell by the guy’s touch that it wasn’t Damien himself.

He was so fucking horny. Fingers were exploring his arse again. He felt a slight tearing, like velcro parting, and then there was coolness around his hole. These jeans had an opening at the back! It must have been well-concealed because he hadn’t noticed it when he’d put them on. Perhaps Damien intended to fuck him in them at some point. That would be brilliant.

A cool, slippery finger teased his hole for a moment, then inserted itself slowly, and pushed in. There was nothing he could do to stop it – his leather-mitted fists couldn’t reach - and it continued to enter him smoothly until he felt the rest of the hand pressing against his perineum. The finger curled slightly, touching his prostate. His level of horniness spiked alarmingly.

The other hand closed around his cock incredibly gently through the stretchy rubber codpiece, just holding it lightly. He yelled into the hood. “FUCK OFF! NO!” He curled up into a tight ball – the hogtie only just allowing him to do that. God, he’d almost cum then! Whatever he did he must keep those fingers off his cock.

The hand had been forced to let go when he’d curled up but the finger up his arse was still there. Thankfully it wasn’t moving, but it still made him need to cum.

Then it was slowly withdrawn and, moments later, replaced by what felt like a thin, flexible butt plug of some kind. It slipped in easily and stayed there. Like the finger, it also reached his prostate. Oh fuck, that felt so sexy.

There was a long pause, and Nicky wondered if the guy had gone - but then the mattress rocked slightly as if someone were getting onto the bed and kneeling over him, positioning himself. A moment later a flat hand began to force its way slowly and gently between the tops of his thighs from behind him, the thumb stroking and teasing his perineum as it went. And the guy had obviously now coated his hand with lots of lube, because this one moved smoothly and there was no way he could stop it.

He yelled into the hood and pressed his legs together as hard as he could to keep it out but although the muscles of his thighs were squeezed together tightly, that damned slippery lube on the hand made it impossible to stop. He tried to cross one knee over the other to increase the pressure of his thighs and to halt the hand’s advance, but the strap limited his ability to do that and anyway the only difference it made was to cause the invading fingers to feel even more fucking horny as they inched forward between the very tops of his legs. It paused, and then, flexing its fingers slightly, continued to work its way smoothly and very, very slowly further in, between his thighs. He struggled to use his leather-mitted fists to bat the hand away but he still couldn’t reach. He thrust his hips forward trying to get away from it.

In his curled-up position the fronts of his thighs were pressed tightly against his chest, his rock-hard cock under the stretchy rubber codpiece hidden in the dark, boy-warm depths between them – but now he felt the other hand as well. This one started between the tops of his knees, coming at him from the front. It was forcing its way very slowly between his flat stomach and his thighs, and heading towards his desperately horny cock. It, too, had been well-lubed so that he wouldn’t be able to stop it: he could feel it gliding smoothly and slowly over the rubber.

He felt so fucking helpless. He yelled into the hood and struggled in his restraints but there was no way he could get the hands out, or get away from them. And the feeling of those two hands – one from the front and one from the back – slowly invading the area he was desperately fighting to protect, to keep them away from, was the most fiendishly horny thing he’d experienced for a very long time. And it was so fucking unfair: he was tied up, he couldn’t see, and he was helpless to stop the bastard.

The guy - whoever it was - made it take a long time for the hand behind his victim to get through to the wrist – during every second of which the boy struggled and fought to stop it. When it got there Nicky felt it turn ninety degrees, and then the fingers curl round. In slow motion the thumb went to one side of his balls, a finger to the other. They probed deep into the creases of his groin, the latex codpiece stretching with them, and then they closed slightly together, so that they held the root of his cock in a very gentle, very sexy grip. There was nothing he could do to get them out.

The other hand, slippery with lube and gliding every bit as slowly, and every bit as gently, had almost got to his cock. He screwed up his face under the hood and, with a superhuman effort he curled up even more and squeezed his thighs together even harder. It did no good. He felt the hand slide in another millimetre or two, and then he yelled into the leather and shook his head violently as a fingertip came into contact with the tip of his cock head.

The finger paused for a few moments as if inviting him to imagine what it would feel like if it started to move, and then it began to stroke backwards and forwards slowly – and shocks of pure pleasure coursed through the boy. It was barely touching his cock but through the thin latex codpiece he could feel every tiny movement in meticulous detail – and the tissue-thin rubber stretched tightly over his cock head seemed to be making it super-sensitive. He was tied up helpless, and hooded; there was a butt-plug up his arse, rubbing his prostate whenever he struggled – and he couldn’t stop himself struggling; a hand forced between his thighs from behind, gripping his balls and the base of his cock; and another one slowly and very gently violating him from the front, barely able to reach his cock but the fingertip touching it just enough to stroke lightly across the head.

However he struggled, wherever he moved, he could not get away from those hands. He knew he mustn’t cum – but this felt more sexy than anything he could ever remember. He could feel his spunk getting ready to blow - and he knew that he was being gently pushed closer and closer to the point where he’d be helpless to stop it.

Normally he wanked his cock hard and fast, holding the whole thing and rubbing over the frenulum with each stroke - but the finger could only reach the end of his cock-head. This wasn’t quite the most sensitive spot on his cock – on him, as with most boys, that was the frenulum – but he realised that this teasingly slow stroking of just the very tip of the head was forcing him to concentrate on that tiny spot. And not only was it causing his orgasm to approach as irresistibly as if his whole cock were being worked on; it was also, unlike faster, firmer rubbing, making it build up unusually slowly - and he struggled and fought against it every bit of the way. But it was an unstoppable force; he knew that if he didn’t do something quickly, it would soon get to the point where, however hard he fought against it, there would be fuck-all he could do to stop himself from cumming. But the restraints, along with the position the guy had got him in and how he was working on him, were ensuring that there was absolutely nothing he could do.

He found himself imagining what it would look like from outside: a guy kneeling over a vulnerable, screamingly horny, hogtied teenage boy in shiny rubber jeans who couldn’t get away from him, and couldn’t call for help; his hands getting to him from both the front and the back at the same time so that he couldn’t escape them. The guy would have known how badly Nicky needed to be able to identify him, so that he could tell Damien afterwards - and so, before he’d started, he’d checked carefully that the thick black leather blindfolding him made it impossible for him to see who was doing this to him, so that he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone at all.

The guy also knew that he was going to make Nicky cum in his rubber jeans, and that there was no way that the boy would be able to fight it, so he was purposely taking his time to work on him slowly, letting it really sink in that he was helpless to do anything about it. It was clearly intended to be as frustrating as possible – and he struggled and swore impotently under the hood.

The thought of all that made him feel so fucking powerless – and that made Nicky even more horny.

He knew that he was engaged in a battle of wills. The slow, gentle way the guy was working on him told him that he was being given at least the illusion of a chance to resist. But the restraints, the hood, and the rubber jeans felt so sexy. They were all working against him, eroding his willpower in the most unfair fucking ways; the hand was constantly moving between his thighs from behind, gripping and squeezing the base of his cock through the thin latex and tickling his balls; and that damned finger continued to stroke lightly and infuriatingly slowly across his sensitive cock head – right on the piss-slit. He was not being allowed a single moment to regroup, to be able to organise any kind of resistance. The hands, working together, were making damn sure that, although it may take some time, sooner or later the teenager wouldn’t be able to stop himself from shooting his spunk into the black rubber codpiece however hard he fought against it.

And Nicky knew full well that even the butt-plug, which was stroking his prostate gently every time he moved, had purposely been inserted to make it even more difficult for him to control himself.

Although it was his cock that was the target and not his arse, and although the guy was working on him so very gently, Nicky knew that he was just as surely being raped as if he were being fucked. In fact even the possibility that a cock could be raped had never even occurred to him. It was unbelievably frustrating, and a hell of a lot more sexy than he’d have thought. Oh fuck yes. Cumming was the very last thing he wanted, and being controlled like this, having his need and his fetishes used against him in such a humiliating way, was embarrassing and frustrating and infuriating – and it was turning him on like fucking crazy.

But what was really getting to him was that it was all being done so damned gently and so damned slowly. Although the guy had made very sure that he couldn’t stop the progress of his lubed hands, they had slid up between his thighs so slowly, so teasingly, so carefully. He could picture the guy above him – kneeling, bent forward with his hands disappearing between the fronts and the backs of Nicky’s rubber thighs, and all the bastard was doing was moving his fingers – leisurely and slowly. He was expending almost no effort at all – and yet it was taking every bit of the boy’s willpower not to shoot his spunk right there and then. And it was becoming even more difficult by the second.

In a way it wouldn’t have been so bad if the guy had just grabbed his cock and milked it – he would have had absolutely no choice then - he would have cum and that would have been it. But this – this was unbearable, and infuriating: he couldn’t stop himself from feeling that he should be able to control himself, should be able to stop himself from cumming if he really fought against it. Clearly, whoever it was knew that he could make the boy lose it whenever he wanted – after all, it would only take a firm thrust of his hand and he could grip the terminally horny cock properly and make him shoot instantly – but instead he was playing with him, stretching it out, making it last, as if he knew perfectly well that Nicky mustn’t let himself cum under any circumstances, that he would do anything rather than cum, and got off on watching the boy desperately trying to fight against it. He knew that Nicky was blindfolded so he couldn’t see who this bastard was, and he fully intended to make him lose that fight slowly, helplessly and utterly. It wasn’t a question of if, but when.

It suddenly felt to the boy like everything was working for this guy, helping him - that everything had a mind of its own and was intentionally making it impossible for Nicky: The hood was pressing tight across Nicky’s face like a leather hand being held across his eyes specifically to blindfold him so that he couldn’t see who it was who was doing this to him – he couldn’t get it off and he couldn’t get away from it; the restraints were holding him in position, making it impossible for him to escape, to get away from the hands, or to protect himself; the butt-plug was teasing his prostate to make him need to cum even more, and to make it a lot harder for him to control that need; the hand between his thighs from behind was gripping his balls, the fingers deep in the creases at their sides, holding the root of his cock gently through the thin, shiny rubber, moving constantly, to assist in overcoming his willpower; and the finger between his thighs from the front was stroking slowly and teasingly across the very tip of his cock head – the one single, tiny area which at this moment, seemed to have become the most sensitive and unbearably horny spot on his entire body. And it was as if every single one of these things was calculated to make him lose control.

He did. He felt orgasm approaching and he knew that it was too late, that he could no longer stop it. He felt the spunk gathering, preparing itself for sudden and violent release. He felt a warm, tingling glow begin to spread from his toes up through his entire body and then centre on his cock – right on the very tip of the head where the finger, barely touching the thin, sensitive latex stretched tightly over the glans, was stroking across his piss-slit just as slowly, just as gently as it had from the start.

With a long, drawn-out animal howl into the black leather of the hood, the teenager began to cum. As the first of his spunk jetted out helplessly into the thin rubber codpiece under the gentle fingertip he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting his hips forward and pushing his cock into the full grip of the fingers. As if they’d known this would happen and had been waiting for just this moment, they instantly closed around the head and began to milk it. Nicky had expected them to start working on it fast and hard – but they didn’t: instead they gently slid up from the ridge of his cock head to the very tip, released, and then repeated, moving the shiny, precum-lubricated latex with them. This intensified his orgasm and made it last a lot, lot longer. It was as if each milking stroke of the guy’s fingers was irresistibly sucking a separate, exquisite gob of sticky, hot boy-spunk out of him; causing each individual spurt to explode out through his piss-slit so violently and acutely that he convulsed on the bed, craving for the ecstasy of the next one. Nicky’s whole body was having an prolonged orgasm - he almost went cross-eyed with the intensity of the pleasure. His thighs squeezed even tighter, the muscles quivering, and a sharp breath was forced out of him with each throb of his cock; it was one of the most powerful - and certainly the longest - orgasms he’d ever had.

As it gradually faded, the fingers slowed even more, keeping time with his contractions, until they were hardly moving, just caressing his spent cock head leisurely. The other hand was very lightly massaging his balls.

And they continued to move, lightly, gently. To Nicky, it was as if a nurse, after holding him down while forcibly administering an unpleasant but necessary medicine, was softly stroking his cheek and whispering ‘There there. There’s a good boy. Nurse knows best...’ Nicky found the continuing movements of those fingers intensely patronising and excruciatingly embarrassing – as no doubt, they were fully intended to be.

The feeling of frustration and the humiliation of having been controlled so easily was intense. He’d been very, very gently - maddeningly gently - milked of every last drop of his spunk with a single fucking fingertip, for god’s sake, and there had been fuck-all he’d been able to do about it. Every single bit of resistance he’d been capable of summoning had been so easily, so gently, and so totally, overcome. Nicky was livid – both with the guy he couldn’t see, and with himself.

With a final little squeeze, the hands carefully withdrew. His body relaxed and he uncurled slightly. The butt-plug was taken out, the strap around his knees removed, and the back of his rubber jeans re-fastened. Then he felt a hand at his eyes as if checking again that he really hadn’t been able to see anything through the blindfolding leather.

One hand came to rest on his cock. It moved the codpiece around, causing the lake of spunk underneath to squelch – he couldn’t hear it but he could feel it. The other hand pressed the shiny black leather of the hood even more tightly over his eyes.

Although not a word was spoken, Nicky knew exactly what the guy was telling him: ‘I’ve just raped your cock, boy. I’ve extracted your spunk with a single finger and you were helpless to do a fucking thing about it. You desperately want to know who I am, don’t you? But you can’t see a fucking thing, boy. You’ll never know who did this to you, and all because of that sexy black leather over your eyes...’

* * *

Nicky didn’t know whether or not Damien believed him; after all, the only evidence had been the pool of spunk inside the rubber codpiece. But the writer decided that on this occasion he’d take Nicky’s word. He had no idea who might have done it – it could have been any one of the guests that night. So he escaped punishment this time.

One afternoon several weeks later the intercom sounded. Damien was in full black rubber and writing at the desk; Nicky, wearing his own rubber jeans, was making coffee in the kitchen. The boy padded to the wall and pressed the button.

“Hi Damien”, said a tinny voice. “It’s Simon. I’ve got the proof of ‘Combats’ for you to have a look at.”

“Hi. This is Damien’s assistant. Hold on a moment and I’ll let him know.” Nicky looked into the writing room to tell Damien.

Unusually, Damien had his headphones on. He looked round and slipped them down to his neck. Nicky told him that Simon had brought the proof. “Ah. Ok. Look – can you take it off him please? I don’t want to stop right now. Invite him in. Make him a coffee. Have a chat. I’ll be an hour or so if he wants to wait. Apologise for me.” Without taking his eyes off the monitor he waved a hand. “Oh, you know what to do.” He fitted the headphones back over his ears and went back to typing.

Nicky waited by the lift as it rose to the 16th floor. The doors opened to reveal a very sexy biker in a tight black leather Dainese one-piece bike suit, with a Simpson crash helmet in one hand and a parcel in the other. He was tall and muscular, with spiky blond hair and deep blue eyes. Nicky blinked. “Oh hi. You’re Simon, right?”

The biker nodded and smiled. “Yep.”

Nicky sat him down in one of the armchairs and went to make coffee. He’d just finished grinding the beans when he realised that Simon was stood behind him. He looked around and smiled. “Won’t be a minute.”

“Oh that’s Ok. Just thought I’d come with you.”

Nicky watched Simon’s reflection in the chrome espresso machine as he made the coffees. The sexy biker’s eyes were riveted to Nicky’s codpiece, which had been growing substantially since Simon had arrived.

“So, you’re Damien’s assistant?”

“I am.”

“What kind of assisting do you do?”

“I make coffee, clean up after him.” Suddenly Nicky felt devilish, “...and I keep him close to cumming while he’s writing.”

“Huh?” After that word, the biker lapsed into silence.

Nicky took Damien one of the three coffees he’d just made and, having followed him, Simon peeked around the door of the writing room. Damien was hard at work, tapping his foot to the music in his headphones. He didn’t even look up when Nicky put the cup on his desk.

Back in the kitchen, the boy carried the other two coffees into the lounge. “Sit down.” Nicky put the cups on the table and sat on the settee.

Simon stood looking out at the view for a moment then turned, walked past the armchair and sat down next to him.

They chatted about the strange-looking setup in the writing room, and Nicky explained how it worked. It seemed that Simon didn’t know the writer personally, although they’d talked on the phone a couple of times when he’d called the publishing house.

Then Simon stretched, displaying the fact that he had a stonking hard-on under his leather bike suit. “Those,” he said, touching Nicky’s rubber thigh briefly, “are the horniest fucking jeans I’ve seen for ages. How do you get any work done while you’re wearing them?”

A flash of excitement had shot through Nicky’s body at the touch of Simon’s finger. “Well, the more horny I am, the better I can work on Damien.”

“Right. And so you’re horny now?”

Nicky thought that his hard cock stretching the latex codpiece out obscenely made the question a bit rhetorical. “Ha. I haven’t cum for five days. I’m likely to rape anything that moves.”

“I’d have thought you’re more likely to get raped looking like that.”

Nicky chuckled. “Chance would be a fine thing.”

Simon smiled. He rested his hand on Nicky’s thigh, at the side of the boy’s crotch, then extended a finger and stroked the shiny black shaft of the hard cock slowly. “That could be arranged,” he said.

Oh fuck! Anything that touched his cock through that thin codpiece felt wonderful, but that felt fucking amazing. It jerked at the touch. Gently, Nicky moved the hand off his crotch. “Careful – I could get very close. Blond bikers in black leather have that effect on me. And I mustn’t cum. You have no idea what a world of misery I would be in if I let myself cum.”

“Is that a fact?” Simon’s hand was between them and the finger was now stroking the outside of the boy’s thigh, slowly up and down.

Nicky was very conscious of that finger. Very conscious indeed.

“And how good are you at controlling yourself?”

“I’m good. Usually. Unless leather’s involved. Then,” he extended his hand flat, palm down, and rocked it, “not so good.”

“Leathers like these?” He ran his fingers teasingly over his cock bulge.

“Oh yes.”

Nicky was having difficulty keeping his eyes off that bulge and, when the biker stretched again, and squeezed his erection leisurely through the black leather, he swallowed hard.

Suddenly Simon’s leathers creaked as he pulled Nicky towards him and kissed the boy passionately. Nicky started to push him away, but then the biker’s blue eyes and the feel of his muscles under the Dainese made him melt. He returned the kiss. They hugged and stroked each other, Nicky running his hands over the thick leather, and they ended up with Simon lying full-length on the settee, with Nicky on top of him, his cock pressing against the biker’s bulge. “Turn over,” Simon said, smiling innocently.

Nicky turned over so that he was face-up on top if the biker. Simon threaded his left arm under both of Nicky’s and pulled them together so that he could hold them immobile behind Nicky’s naked back with one arm. He trapped the boy’s legs between his own, and locked his booted feet together. The net result of all this was that Nicky was held helpless and Simon’s right hand was still free. He walked it very slowly and very teasingly down the boy’s side, over his thigh, and towards his crotch.

“No! For fuck’s sake don’t make me cum,” Nicky said, struggling impotently. Oh shit, being held helpless by this hunky biker, and the feel of his leathers against his bare back and arms, was heaven.

“Nah. I won’t. You have good self-control.” He took Nicky’s cock between a finger and thumb and began stroking it, the thin latex codpiece alternately stretching and crinkling with his fingers.

“No! Don’t! I’ll cum!” Nicky started to struggle again, but Simon tightened his grip on the boy, holding him even more firmly.

“No you won’t. Fight it...”

“No! Stop!” If it’s possible to shout while whispering, Nicky was doing that.

Simon’s hand stopped moving, and for a moment Nicky relaxed.

“I love the feeling of a boy struggling in my arms.” His fingers started again, but much more gently this time, just lightly stroking over the head.

“Fuck! Stop it!”

“Noooo...” Simon was grinning behind him. He was holding the cock through the latex codpiece incredibly gently and his fingers were hardly moving – but one of them was right on the frenulum. He was enjoying this a lot and he wanted it to last, so in order to make it take longer for the the boy to lose it he worked on the latex-covered cock even more lightly and even more slowly.

Nicky suddenly knew he was very dangerously close indeed. He mustn’t cum. He did everything he could to escape: he turned and bucked in the biker’s leather grip, but Simon was a lot stronger and more muscular than he was, and he couldn’t get free. And wherever he moved, the fingers followed, stroking his cock gently. There was no way he could get away from them.

He opened his mouth to shout for Damien but before he could, the hand holding his arms behind his back immediately pulled out and clamped hard over his mouth, gagging him. The fingers continued to stroke every bit as infuriatingly slowly over the boy’s cock head.

He struggled to free his arms. Simon was no longer holding them, but they were still trapped between his back and the biker’s leather chest and it took him a moment to get them out. They shot to his crotch to get the fingers off – but it was too late: Nicky’s hands had only made it halfway there when a single stroke right across the end of his cock head through the thin rubber codpiece got him. With muffled screams under Simon’s gagging hand, Nicky came. He convulsed on top of the biker as his spunk pumped out into the rubber. The biker milked him slowly and gently until he’d extracted every drop out of the boy.

“You bastard,” panted Nicky when Simon released him. “You fucking bastard.” He was both furious and smiling at the same time.

The biker stood up and took his crash helmet off the table. “Ask Damien to let us know about the proof.” A corner of his mouth curved upwards. He gave his still-hard cock a squeeze. “Oh, and by the way - your self-control is crap, sexy boy.” He winked at Nicky and let himself out.

* * *

WHAT?” Damien’s eyes were wide open; he was not pleased. “Again? No, Nicky. I believed you last time, but not twice. People do not come into flats, make boys cum in their jeans and then leave without even saying hello. I have fucking writing to do today and you’ve fucking cum. Again. ” He shook his head. “No. You know the rules, Nicky. Go into the bedroom, strip and lie down. I’ll be in shortly.”

Trembling, Nicky did as he’d been told.

Damien was taking his time, he thought; probably psychological warfare, to give me more time to worry. But he was worried anyway – he knew exactly what was coming: post-orgasm torture. Strange – he hated it and, given the choice, would have gone to great lengths to avoid it – but at the same time there was something seductively horny about the idea.

When the door opened and Damien finally appeared, Nicky gasped. He was wearing full leather – bike boots; tight, lace-up leather jeans; a studded leather jacket with the collar turned up; and long, sinister-looking black rubber gloves. Nicky had a good idea what he was going to do with those…

Damien stood there looking at him. Fuck, the man was sexy, thought Nicky for the hundredth time. But this was the first time he’d worn full leather specifically to work on the boy, and the thought of that was cock-hardeningly horny.

“Well, it seems that everybody and his dog is raping your cock these days. Except me. We’re going to put that right, right now. The rules are simple: if you cum in the next half hour you are going to get punished like you would not believe. And not just once – every fucking day for the next week.”

Nicky swallowed. Every day? For a week? He wouldn’t do that to me. Would he?

It was as if the man had read his mind. “You’d better fucking believe it, boy. So – do not let yourself fucking cum! THAT IS AN ORDER!” With that he landed on top of Nicky and grabbed for the boy’s cock. A wrestling match ensued.

But Nicky was naked and Damien was covered from head to toe in tight, bulging, sexy, creaking, black leather – and not only did he fancy the man like fuck, but the boy also had an overpowering fetish for black leather. Everywhere he moved, Nicky could feel the horny touch of that cool leather and the spiky studs against his skin. He struggled and fought as hard as he could, but after a few minutes Damien had him pressed under the weight of his body, and the boy’s cock in his rubber-gloved grip. He kissed him hard – and at the same time he milked him mercilessly.

Every muscle in Nicky’s body tensed, and shot his load into the slippery rubber fingers.

* * *

Things went on almost as they had before, but with a few minor changes. Damien still wrote; Nicky still worked on him while he was writing – but the chair had gone from under the desk. In its place was a narrow restraint table that, to Damien’s design, Nicky had been made to construct for himself (that had been especially humiliating). Now, apart from his arms, the boy was strapped to that table when he was working on Damien. He was tightly hooded, and so had to do everything by feel. And Damien made him wear either the codpiece rubber jeans or a pair of looser, thicker ones that were, if anything, even more difficult to deal with than the thinner ones were – they stayed cooler, so he could really feel the folds of the sexy jeans crinkling and gliding over his legs, and his hard cock slipped and slid under the thick, smooth rubber with every movement – and the sadistic bastard always made sure they were very well lubed inside.

There was also a new cupboard in the bedroom which contained, amongst other things: feathers; small brushes; black rubber gloves; leather restraints, bottles of lube; and a large collection of leather hoods of various designs - without eyeholes. These were all for use on the boy.

Damien had decided that Nicky was in dire need of training in self-control. So every night he’d get him on the bed naked and helplessly restrained, while he himself purposely wore gear that he knew turned the boy on like fuck. He’d spend half an hour getting him screamingly horny by working on his cock with the feathers, the soft brushes, and cool, shiny black leather jeans. Then, when the boy was beside himself with the need to cum, he’d force a leather hood over Nicky’s head, strapping it tightly, pull on the long rubber glove, and lube it up. When that was done he’d take the desperately horny cock between a single finger and thumb, start a timer, and begin stroking his fingers lightly and slowly up and down over the boy’s cock head. Nicky had to hold out for fifteen minutes of this slow, gentle work without cumming, to avoid a week of quick and efficient milkings, each followed by pure punishment.

The boy fumed in rage in the blackness of the leather hood at the unfairness of it: after having been kept unbearably close to the edge for thirty minutes, now he had to stop himself from cumming for another quarter of an hour while Damien worked on his cock head in the way that had lately – since the hogtied cock-rape and the episode with the hunky biker Simon - become more and more damned impossible for him to resist: very slowly and very, very gently.

Damien found that making the little bastard cum while he was fighting to stop himself was turning him on more every time he did it to the boy. The moment when the increasingly tiny and soft movements of his fingers on the boy’s desperate cock head overpowered the struggling teenager’s will and forced him to shoot his spunk helplessly into the slippery, shiny black rubber glove, gave him intense satisfaction.

Nicky never managed to hold out once (Damien made very sure of that).

And the punishments were even more horrendous than they had been. Damien knew his boy’s body intimately by now. He knew exactly how to work on his cock head in the most unbearable ways possible immediately after he’d cum, and he knew precisely how to tickle the boy insane. The gags that he’d bought specially for these sessions had to be used every time – in addition to the leather hoods - to muffle the screams so that the neighbours didn’t call the police.

When he was feeling really mean, and when he knew that the boy was particularly horny, Damien would strap Nicky down, hood him, and tease his cock for a long time while sliding his leather- or lubed rubber-clad body over the boy’s naked skin. This was not intended to make Nicky cum – but it was intended to drive him mad with the need to. Then he’d put a chastity device on him and set him free. He did that for no other reason than he loved doing it. And it was fun watching Nicky fucking the furniture afterwards, trying to get off.

He didn’t ask Nicky if he loved it too, but he didn’t have to: he already knew the answer.

* * *

Then one day the doorbell rang. Damien shut Nicky in the bedroom while he went to let the visitor in himself, then came back and hooded and hogtied the boy on the bed again so that he couldn’t hear him and his visitor while they talked in the lounge.

The next day Damien introduced Nicky to a new boy – his name was Bobby.

“Bobby will be doing exactly what you do, Nicky.” Damien said.

Nicky almost burst into tears. Was Damien tired of him?

Damien smiled and ruffled Nick’s hair affectionately. “Oh don’t worry, I could never get rid of you, Nicky boy. No – Bobby is going to be part-time, and when he’s here he’ll be working on you.

It looked very strange: Damien typing at his desk, while under him Nicky – hooded and restrained to the narrow table, worked on him - and while Bobby, seated comfortably by the side of Nicky’s hips, teased, tickled and edged the boy insane. The more horny Nicky got because of Bobby’s teasing, the more effectively he worked on Damien.

And the stories Damien wrote now were the hottest ever.