George stared through the front window, then slammed down the teapot on the table, making his dinner dance on its china plates. He jumped up, grabbed his keys and his pushbike from the hall and rushed out of the house. Pedalling madly in first gear, he set off down the road in pursuit of the boy.
For the past week, the boy had jogged past George’s house late every evening, and George had had enough. He couldn’t imagine how any self-respecting male could wear shorts, jogging pants or anything else, so that the shape of his cock was so blindingly visible – and in such vivid detail. It was disgusting. Obscene. For heaven’s sake, you could see everything he’d got bobbing up and down and from side to side in the jogging pants, and as for the shorts, they were so eye-wateringly tight that you could count the hairs on his balls. It was outrageous, and he was determined to do something about it. The neighbourhood had to have standards, after all.
George pedalled hard in an effort to catch the boy up. He had no intention of making himself known to him – at least not today – he’d just keep a reasonable distance – but he wanted to find out where he went, where he lived.
When they entered the park, George dutifully dismounted (there was no cycling in the park, and George was a great respecter of rules) but now and again, when no-one was looking, he freewheeled standing on one pedal, to keep up.
Out the other end of the park, the pursuit continued as far as the beginning of a wood. There, the boy disappeared into the trees. George propped his bike against the wall in the fading daylight and walked in. It took him a while to find the boy, but there he was – lying under the trees, breathing hard. George settled down to watch, his mouth curling downwards at the sight of the youthful cock in the boy’s disgustingly tight shorts.
Soon the sound of snoring wafted gently towards him in the summer air. The boy was asleep.
Half an hour went by. The street lights came on and the darkness advanced. Then the boy’s phone woke him and George followed him home. The lad went inside his house. A few minutes later he went to bed. Of that, at least, George approved; it was past his own bedtime, too.
For the next three days George followed the boy, and the schedule was always exactly the same. On the fourth night, George took the car. He parked it close to the entrance to the wood, hunkered down, and waited.
Sure enough, the boy appeared exactly when he should. George let him get into the trees, then picked up the small bag and followed him into the wood. He left the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition.
There weren’t that many advantages to being a retired GP, but one of them was that George had a small stock of drugs in a locked cabinet in his bedroom. You never knew when such things may be useful, he’d thought. As he watched the boy – tonight he was in those obscene shorts again – he got the little bottle and the pad ready.
Although George was a pensioner, he was still remarkably fit, and he had little difficulty carrying the unconscious lad back to the car. He’d been very careful, and had made sure that the boy had had no opportunity to see him. There had been nobody else about – there never was, around here – and the abduction had gone without a hitch.
He parked quickly in the garage, closed the door, and carried the boy inside and up to his bedroom. He’d spent yesterday preparing it.
“Wh- what the- where the fuck am I?” The boy was spreadeagled vertically to the end of what appeared to be a heavy, dark-wood, four-poster bed.
A figure in a Halloween mask held a glass of water to his lips. “Drink this, it will help your head to clear.”
He took a couple of gulps. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I am he who is going to teach you the error of your ways.”
“What the fuck?”
“Language, please, or I shall have to gag you.”
“Fuck off you perverted cun– mmffkkkk…” A ball gag – of the type available at many fine online purveyors of specialist equipment – was unceremoniously rammed into his mouth and buckled behind his head.
“That’s a substantial improvement. Now, let’s have a look at you.” The figure walked slowly from one side to the other, studying the boy. “You are disgusting,” he pronounced at length.
Unintelligible noises came from around the ball gag.
“Just look at those shorts. You go out in public looking like that?” He traced a finger around the clearly-defined outline of the boy’s cock and balls. “Any passer-by can see intimate detail exactly what you’ve got there.” He took the cock between a finger and thumb and squeezed it. “Have you no shame? I mean, women and innocent children can see everything.” He pulled the waistband and looked down inside the shorts. He swallowed. “You’re not even wearing underwear! And tell me, what would happen if you saw something that excited you?” He ran his fingertips over the bulge in the shorts. “What would happen if you became erect?” The fingertips stroked, and now they started to tickle and to tease as well. “What would happen if your cock got stiff in those shorts? What would that look like to innocents? If your cock got hard? And horny?”
The cock was indeed getting harder. The fingers continued to work; now both hands were being employed, and they they had added firmer strokes to their repertoire. “Teenage boys get hard at the slightest provocation. Look - you are doing!”
Accompanied by a non-stop, threatening tirade of gibberish from the gag, the cock was growing harder by the second. Soon it was fully erect and tenting the shorts out as far as their extreme tightness would permit.
George reluctantly removed his hands and stood back. “Look at you! That is obscene!” He picked up a flogger. “You are about to learn that going round looking like that is -” He was fishing for how to end the sentence, “- is not proper. Or decent. It’s not decent.”
He took up position and brought the flogger (also obtained from the internet – with next-day, free delivery) down hard on the shiny white nylon-clad buttocks.
The boy screamed into the gag and jumped off the floor.
“You see? You see what looking like that brings you? Do you like it? Eh? Do you?”
The flogger came down again. And again. “You like that, boy?” He inspected the front of the boy’s shorts. The cock had gone semi-soft. “Oh, we can’t have that.” He applied his fingers to the boy’s crotch again, and the cock started to rise. Even when it was fully erect, George didn’t stop. Only when a spot of precum appeared in the nylon at the tip of the bulge did he do anything different – and then he just used the fingers of one hand, right on the head. Slowly. Very, very slowly.
The boy was still yelling into the gag – yelling that did not stop when George lubed a finger of his other hand, worked it up under the back of a shorts leg and inserted it into his arsehole. The other fingers resumed their slow, slow work on the cock head.
“Teenage boys don’t know what it feels like to need to cum very badly but not be able to. It’s not part of their everyday experience. But it can be very intense. As you will see.”
As he teased and tickled the ridge and glans of the boy’s cock, and the finger worked inside his arsehole, the threats and yells turned into something different. At first low moans, then more urgent ones, and then what might, or might not have been, pleas.
“I have no idea what you’re saying, but if you’re asking me to finish you off, the answer is no.” The fingers teased and tickled the cock, and worked on the arsehole, encouraging the boy to want to cum.
But every time George thought there was the slightest danger of his actually managing that, he stopped everything. This brought forth the very loudest wails. The flogging had only taken a couple of minutes, but this went on for much, much longer.
George smiled under the mask when he saw the state of the front of the shorts: they were soaked in precum. The wet patch extended all the way from above the cock to halfway down the left leg. Not that that was a long way – the shorts were, in George’s opinion, scandalously short.
He crouched down in front of the boy. “And what would happen if, perhaps, when you were jogging past a group of ladies, your cock slipped out of the leg? What would they think?” As he said that, he worked his hand up the shorts and pulled the hard cock out. It vibrated in the air, held pointing slightly downwards by the tight nylon, and with precum dripping in strings from the end. “Look at this.” He gently wiped precum from the tip – making the boy gasp – and held it up. “That is disgusting!” George smeared it onto the boy’s cheek.
His fingers went back to the now-naked cock. He teased the shaft for a while, then cupped his fingers around the head, on the ridge. He moved them up and down slowly, being sure that his palm touched the tip with each stroke.
The boy was thrusting his hips – he could not keep still. Small wailing noises came from him and he was desperately trying to push his cock into the teasing fingers.
George used his free hand to tickle the boy’s balls through his shorts – and then he pushed it up inside the leg and tickled them directly. The wails increased in volume.
“You will learn that wearing shorts like this incurs punishment.” Abruptly, George stood up, took the flogger, and administered another half-dozen slaps. Then he returned to the cock and continued to tease it.
After a further ten minutes, he looked up. “Do you want to cum yet?”
The boy was almost incoherent, but he managed to nod violently.
“But I’m not wanking you – I’m only just touching you. Just teasing the head. Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Under the mask he raised his eyebrows at the sounds of pleading. “Oh, do you want me to grip it and stroke it harder?”
The nodding became even more violent.
“But that would be a shame. You’d shoot your nasty, disgusting boy-spunk all over my nice clean floor. No. And anyway I don’t think you’re ready yet. Boys like you enjoy having their cocks played with.”
George felt that the lad was on the edge of cumming, so he stopped and stood up. He searched around, found a long, soft, white feather, and settled down to tickle the boy’s cock with it for the next fifteen minutes.
Another round with the flogger, then another quarter of an hour with fingers, and the feather – this time tickling his balls with his other hand at the same time.
“You must be getting bored.” George said. The boy lolled his head and drooled by way of reply.
He stood up, put a couple of things on the bed, and, with lube in hand, knelt and moved the shorts to expose the boy’s hole again. His middle finger went in, this time much more deeply than before. During his years as a GP, his finger had been up many arses, and so now it landed straight on the prostate. He must be careful here, he thought. Gentle stroking, that was the way to go. George smiled to himself behind the mask at the startled noises the boy was making. Prostates were something else teenagers didn’t usually know about, he thought, happily.
He picked up the feather from the bed, and tickled the lad’s cockhead and frenulum at the same time as he was massaging his prostate.
The boy was in a delirium of need. He’d never felt anything like this before. He’d had no idea that it was possible to need to cum so badly. And what the fuck was the guy doing up his arse? It felt amazing – and it made his need a hundred times worse. And the guy would not let him cum. He kept getting so fucking close, but every time the bastard stopped just before he could. It was unbearable. But fuck did it feel horny.
This went on for some time.
George looked at his watch. It was getting late. He was standing in front of the boy again. “So, young man. I hope you’ve learned something here today. If you go around wearing things like those,” he pointed to the shorts, “you will suffer consequences. Have I made my point here tonight?”
The boy was hardly capable of any kind of reply, but his head nodded once.
“Good. I put you to sleep to bring you here. I think I’ll do that again now, then I’ll make you cum, and then I’ll take you back.”
The boy’s head rose, and he shook it hard. “fknoooooo. Shpeease mmmaak me cuuum mnflnow, mflawake!”
“Make you cum while you’re awake? Ha. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you. No, because if I knock you out first, you won’t remember it.” Even through the plastic Halloween mask, the sadism was clearly audible.
“MmnNOOOO! SHLEEEEEASE!”
“Well,” George was considering. “I suppose I could make you cum, and then a little P.O.T.”
“Kee oh tee?”
“Never mind. Not your concern for the moment. All right then.” He crouched down, pulled the boy’s balls out to join his cock in the air, and set about edging him again. He wanted this boy to be as horny as fuck before he made him cum.
He was thrusting his hips, wailing into the gag, and precum was flooding out. He was ready.
“Ok.” George gripped the boy’s cock. He was careful to ensure that with each stroke, a fingertip would rub the frenulum. His other hand enclosed the balls, stroking and pulling them gently. Then he began to milk the boy with firm, very slow strokes. He watched carefully for the first sign of orgasm and, when he saw it, he quickly pushed everything back inside the shorts. Then he gripped the cock through the tight nylon and milked it hard and fast.
The boy screamed into the gag, his entire body shook, his back arched as he thrust his cock into the milking hand, and he came. Spunk shot out and began to soak his shorts. There was so much of it that the nylon couldn’t absorb it fast enough but George had one hand gripping the shaft tightly while he worked on the head with the other, so there was nowhere for it to go. It ballooned the white shorts out around the head.
George continued to milk the boy until he was sure that he’d extracted the very last drop, then he released his grip, allowing the collected spunk to spread slowly enough that the shorts could absorb it. By the time everything was finished, they were soaking wet in a huge, elongated circular patch all down the left leg. Even then, some spunk was running down the naked thigh.
“I’m going to drop you off -” he’d nearly said ‘just outside’, but caught himself in time, “on a street somewhere so you have to walk all the way home in those disgusting, squelchy shorts. I hope that every step will remind you what happens to boys who wear shorts like that in public.”
The boy had collapsed in his restraints, and George smiled to himself: he knew that the lad thought it was over. But it wasn’t.
He got the still-hard cock out again, made an ‘O’ with his thumb and first finger, and stroked it up and down the spunk-slippery cockhead from the ridge to the tip, making the ‘O’ smaller each time to follow the curve of the glans. He alternated this with rubbing his palm over the end of it. He did it over and over again. “P.O.T.” He said, with slightly manic relish. “Post Orgasm Torture. There you are, you see, you’re learning something else new.”
The boy was screaming, jerking and dancing madly in the restraints. “MMMGHFFUK! MMNOOOOOOOOO SHTOK! SHFOR GOD’S SAKE SHHTOK.”
George ignored him and continued to stimulate the hypersensitive glans mercilessly and with extremely satisfying sadism. In fact he was enjoying it so much that he didn’t stop until the cock had gone too soft to work on properly.
*
It had only taken a few minutes to get the unconscious boy out and on the street – he’d have no idea who had taken him, and no way of knowing that he was only a couple of houses up from where he’d been punished. George spent the rest of the evening watching the video taken by the camera hidden by the side of the mirror. And wanking.
*
The following day the doorbell rang just as he was pouring his morning tea. Grumbling, he went to open the door.
The boy stood there, in his jogging pants.
The bottom went out of George’s stomach and his face went white.
“Hello,” said the boy. Strangely, he was smiling. “Can I come in?”
“What? Why?”
“Something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“I’m just having breakfast.” But the look in the boy’s eyes told him that he wasn’t going to go away. “Well… yes all right, then.”
They sat at the breakfast table. “First of all, I know it was you. I knew it was you all along. Nobody else round here wears tweed trousers and I saw you following me on the bike. You’re not very good at that sort of thing.”
“I don’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The boy laughed. “Ok. Anyway, what I wanted to say was – actually it’s a bit difficult – what you did to me last night, well, some of what you did to me – I’d never experienced anything like that. Fuck, I didn’t even know that sort of thing was even possible. It was totally amazing. Well, some of it. I want to learn how to do that. Could you teach me?”
George’s mouth fell open. There was clearly no longer any use in protesting innocence. “Well, I don’t know. I – I wanted to teach you a lesson…”
“Yeah yeah, I know you did. But what you did, and how you did it. Like how the fuck did you keep me so close to cumming and not let me cum? I want to learn how to do that to somebody. And that thing with my arse. What the fuck was that? That was awesome.”
George flinched at the word.
“And what you did with that fucking feather. Jeez.”
“Well, like I said, you weren’t supposed to enjoy it. Well, not that much.” He looked at the boy. He was very cute. “But if you really…” It went against all his upbringing – but perhaps he was old-fashioned. And perhaps this was just what he needed to give him a new lease of life. A teenage boy asking him to edge him, play with his prostate, tease the bejesus out of him… “Well, if you really want me to…”
“Oh yes. And I have the feeling it could take many, many sessions.”
George thought about it. Many sessions.
Hmm. He could think of worse ways of spending his retirement.