Academician Jarod glowered out of the window at the unpleasant landscape of Utopia Planitia. He hated Mars – everything was so damn red. Why 'Utopia', he could not imagine, unless the original cartographer had meant it as a joke. Everywhere one looked there were rocks. Not the decent, solid, respectable sort of rocks one might find in the Cotswolds, but nasty little ones, strewn about with a reckless abandon unbecoming of proper geology. And they were all red, red, red. It gave him a headache just looking at them.
Sighing in a manner that conveyed both deep injury and restless bowels from Chef's latest creation involving a bacterium which, though quite at home in a Petri dish, was not suitable as the principal ingredient of a soufflé, Jarod turned away from the scenery and lowered himself with a 'hmph' into his office chair.
Jarod had been Head of Science at the University of Mars for ten splendid years. The position paid well, he was respected, and his quarters in Dome 8 were more than comfortable. A week ago everything had been hunky-dory and he'd been happily set for an easy ride through the next 12 months to his retirement – and a substantial bonus.
Until, that is, the boy Galien had raised an authorship dispute. Claimed, dash his impudence, that the original idea of the latest research paper had been his. His! Jarod was astonished. Anyone of sound mind knew that ideas, like taxes, travelled only in one direction: upwards. The supervisor’s name went on the paper; the student provided the heavy lifting; and thus the great wheel of academia turned. It was practically Newton’s Fourth Law.
But Galien, young, good-looking, blond, athletic – in fact everything Jarod wasn't – had decided to upset the natural order. If he succeeded, Jarod’s position, his bonus, even his agreeable flat (not to mention the supply of excellent wines that went with it) would be in peril. Good God, he might even have to leave Mars!
Clearly, something would have to be done. The situation called for strategy, and perhaps a little judicious skulduggery.
Jarod had friends. Useful friends. Chaps who could be relied upon, when pressed, to engage in the sort of unofficial inquiries that rarely made it into the alumni newsletter. He dropped a discreet word into the right ears. “Keep an eye on the boy,” he murmured. “Get to know his little ways. See if he has any regrettable hobbies or unfortunate relatives. At the very least we discredit him, at best we pack him off to some laboratory on a deliciously remote asteroid."
The wheels of academic espionage began to turn.
The conversation had wandered erratically, as these things often do, from cafeteria pudding, through the usual litany of lab mishaps, and was now onto things sexual. Galien let out a low chuckle. “Y'know,” he said, "I heard the other day about someone trying out bondage. He was talking about exploring restraints and stuff. Got me thinking about it.”
One friend raised his eyebrows. “Restraints? How do you mean?”
Galien grinned, shrugging with mock innocence, his curly blond hair golden in the overhead light. “Oh, nothing dangerous. Just… imagining what it would feel like to be tied up, to hand over control for a bit, see how it plays out. Just in theory, of course. But… seems like it might be entertaining. I've heard it goes on.”
The friend nodded. Laughter and chatter resumed around him, and the conversation moved on to other topics, but a man sitting at the next table folded his napkin, stood up, and left the cafeteria.
Jarod beamed. "Really? Great heavens. That's perfect." He reached into a desk drawer and produced a bottle. "Enjoy."
The man looked at the label, and his eyes opened wide. "Wow! Thank you!" He said.
The Dean of Mars Uni, Dr. Thaddeus Wadsworth PhD, DPhil, MSc, MA, BEng, FAMS (Fellow of the Academy of Martian Studies), HonDNeb, RSH (Registered Sandstorm Hazard Analyst) tapped his pen several times against his water glass. The hum of conversation slowly died. "Good morning everyone. This investigation has been brought by Dr. Jarod Meecham, Head of Science, who accuses Galien Tyson of aberrance. We all know both of them, so I'll use first names here. The accusation is that Galien participates in," the Dean looked slightly embarrassed, "deviant sexual behaviour – to wit, bondage."
Gasps of righteous indignation were to be heard around the room. Galien could be seen frowning and shaking his head.
“As this is rather difficult to prove or disprove by conventional means, Jarod has chosen to exercise his right to use an eyescan,” the Dean announced, his voice a touch too clipped. “For those unacquainted with the procedure, it is rather like a lie detector, only instead of electrodes there are harmless beams of laser light trained on the eyes, measuring things like pupil dilation, blood flow, and so forth. In short, it can reveal how a subject reacts to assorted stimuli. Or at least, that is the idea, I think,” he added, lamely.
He paused to take a small, slightly desperate sip of water. “Accordingly, this investigation will resume tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock, when the apparatus has been set up. It will be in the theatre, in Dome 2, which is the only place suitable for the equipment. Thank you.” He tapped his gavel with unnecessary force, allowed himself a brief look of relief, and made a beeline for the door.
"Left a bit. Touch more. That's fine." Jarod was overseeing the placement of the eyescan equipment. It consisted of a low, rectangular unit with lenses at the front, and sat on a solid grey metal desk. Beyond it was a large chair, fitted with straps on the arms and legs, and ones that could be fastened across a seated person's chest and stomach. A leather gag dangled from one side of it.
Jarod surveyed the setup and smiled in satisfaction. "That will do fine," he said. He nodded to the workers and they went out, leaving the theatre dark and empty.
Dean Wadsworth sat on the front row. He looked around, clearly uncomfortable, to make sure everyone who was coming, was here. A few curious onlookers were inspecting the apparatus on the stage.
The doors closed. The Dean addressed the curious ones. "Please return to your seats, we are about to begin."
He waited until everyone was in their place, then cleared his throat. "This is the continuation of the investigation into the accusation of Galien's aberrance, directed by Jarod. I think we're ready, so please bring Galien in."
There was a pause, then the golden-haired boy appeared from the wings. He was wearing only a pair of grey trackie bottoms, as Jarod had specified, and his smoothly-muscled body looked good in them. Jarod indicated the chair. "Please sit down."
With some reluctance, the boy sat in the chair. "It's cold," he complained.
"It'll warm up. Now, you will have noticed that the chair is fitted with straps. While these are being applied – and afterwards – the eyescan will read your reactions. Also, you will be gagged. Do you understand this, and consent to this?"
Galien looked daggers at his supervisor. "It's not like I have a choice, is it?"
"Please answer the questions."
"Yes. I understand. And yes, I consent. You're going to be sorry, Jarod. I am not into bondage in the slightest, and I am not aberrant."
"Very well. Please look into the scanner at all times – though it matters little if you look elsewhere, the laser beams will still see. Look at the device please, so that it can get a reference."
Galien did a theatrical stare into the lenses.
"Good. We'll start with the gag, I think."
Marek, the assistant appointed by Jarod, placed the leather gag firmly over the boy's mouth and strapped it tightly behind his head. The blond boy sighed with resignation.
"Now, please fasten the straps tightly over Galien's ankles, wrists, and chest."
Marek pulled the straps and buckled them tightly. As the last restraint went on, something moved under the desk. The stage trapdoor slid open on silent runners and the lift raised a late-teenage lad up until he was halfway through the opening. This was unseen by the audience, being concealed by the closed desk, and both Jarod and Marek carefully ignored it, looking elsewhere. Galien was unaware of it at first too, as the top of the desk partly hid what was happening beneath it.
"Marek, if you would, please."
Marek, a psychology Grad student and a good friend of Jarod, leaned closer to Galien. His voice was quiet, but was still very audible in the silent theatre. "Feel those leather straps over your arms? They're to restrain you so that you can't move however much you want to – or need to. Someone could do anything they wanted to you and there's no way you could stop them, or get away from their hands…"
Galien became abruptly aware that there was someone under the desk when the elasticated waistband of his trackies was lowered and his cock and balls were pulled out. He jumped, and yelled into the gag.
But Marek had been ready. At that precise moment he'd suddenly shouted, "admit it! You're turned on by bondage! " It had worked – Galien's jump had looked like surprise at the sudden accusation.
The boy under the desk teased the soft cock for a moment, then leaned forward and took it between his lips. He had been chosen specifically for his talented mouth – despite its being absolutely illegal on Mars, Marek knew many gay guys, and this one, Kyro, had been recommended as the very best for the purposes at hand.
Kyro's fingers stroked over Galien's balls like gossamer, while his lips and tongue worked on the cock head.
Marek was still leaning close. Out of the corner of his eye he could see what Kyro was doing to the beautiful Galien under the desk, and he was in danger of getting an erection himself. Not that it would matter – he'd put on a compression jock just in case.
Galien was struggling to get away from the mouth and fingers, but the restraints on the chair held him helpless.
"That's it," whispered Marek, "struggle. Feel those straps holding you helpless."
Beneath the table, Galien's cock showed the first signs of stirring.
"You can't shout for help, you can't get away…"
The boy's tongue was stroking wetly over the rapidly-engorging cock head.
"You can't tell anyone what's being done to you…"
That really got to Galien. His eyes were staring and his muscles were tense. He yelled into the gag, desperately trying to let everyone know what was being done to him under the desk.
"Can't communicate. If it weren't for the fact that the scanner needs to see your eyes, we'd have blindfolded you as well – or even better, hooded you. Can you imagine that? Strapped down, gagged, a hood pressing tight over your face. Can't see anything. Don't know what's going to happen. Totally helpless…"
Kyro was as good as they'd said he was. Galien's cock was now fully hard and the boy was gently and expertly sucking the bare glans.
Galien had been doing everything he could to ignore it, but things had got to the point where he was no longer able to keep still however hard he tried. His hips began to hump and he was going very slightly cross-eyed.
"Ah yes, it's getting to you, isn't it, Galien?" Marek's voice was soft, coaxing. "You love being restrained. Those straps and that tight leather gag are working on you."
Under the desk, Kyro had slowed down, stroking just the very tip of the rock-hard cock with the end of his tongue. He smiled to himself; knew Galien was close.
"Bondage, Galien. Restraint. Perhaps even leather. It all gets to you, doesn't it? Yes. You're strapped to the chair. Gagged. You can't do a thing…"
Kyro gave the cock head one more suck, then quickly put everything back into Galien's trackies and pulled them back up. He gripped the cock through the thin material with one hand, and milked the whole thing fast and hard. His other hand, gripped desperately between Galien's thighs, tickled his balls.
Galien shuddered in the chair. He squeezed his eyes shut, fought the restraints, yelled into the gag and shook his head violently as Kyro's milking hand pushed him over the edge and made him cum. His spunk shot out in thick, powerful gobs into his trackies. Kyro made sure that every bit of it soaked the fabric.
With his job done, he descended on the lift and the trapdoor closed silently over him. It was as if he had never been there.
Jarod stepped forward. "Let us release the boy."
When the straps were unfastened, Marek and Jarod both pulled Galien to his feet. Gasps of surprised disgust ran through the assembled crowd as the large, wet spunk-stain came into view over the still-hard cock that was tenting the trackies out between the boy's thighs. It was almost as if the colour of the trackies had been chosen to show the spunk off as obviously as possible.
Jarod looked at the Dean. "So, Dean Wadsworth, I offer this demonstration as evidence that Galien is, in fact aberrant. I'm quite sure that when the eyescan record is examined, it will support my claim."
The Dean cleared his throat again. "Yes. Erm, well, this investigation is closed for today. There will be a further hearing when the eyescan record has been inspected. Thank you all." In the absence of a gavel, he clapped his hands once, and then ducked his head as if that had been a mistake.
Jarod's stock of fine liquors was depleting rapidly. Both Marek and the boy under the desk had received their due, and the less-exalted vintages had been dispatched to the friends enlisted in the delicate art of espionage – even the ones who hadn't actually been needed. Nevertheless, Jarod sat in his chair, beaming. He and Marek raised a glass. "I never thought that the scan record would be quite so damning."
Marek chuckled. "It was off the scale, wasn't it."
"Indeed." Jarod stared pensively at the ceiling. “One wonders whether it was entirely the handiwork of the boy under the desk, or whether young Galien truly harbours… let us say… perverse inclinations. Perhaps we shall never know. But it matters not. I understand, in any case, that Galien is presently en route to some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere – a place where, I hear, the crucially important research into lichens is undertaken.”
Marek grinned. "And thus you're all safe again."
Jarod took a sip. "Indeed, a pleasant retirement is once again on the horizon." He fixed Marek with a sidelong glance. “That young fellow – Kyro, wasn't that his name? - who executed the business certainly knows his way around a cock. One might, I think, invite him to visit at some point.”
Marek raised his eyebrows.
"Well now, it would be impolite not to thank him personally, don't you think?"
He looked out of the window and sighed contentedly. For some reason, the rocks were a particularly nice shade of red today, he decided.