Archive-name: Slaves/brent.txt
Archive-author: Brent Capps
Archive-title: Adventures of Boy Brent
A pleasant vibration at his groin instantly snapped boy brent's thoughts
back from the Friday morning engineering meeting. He glanced down at
the silently humming skypager.
991. Mr Benson again.
All thru this Boston business trip Mr. B had ensured that he would
never be far from boy brent's thoughts. Mr. Benson certainly knew
how to put a Skypager to creative new uses:
991 - smack your balls
992 - smack them _REALLY_ hard
993 - put on the butt plug
994 - put on the tit clamps
995 - jerk your cock, get close but don't you dare come
996 - put a finger in your mouth and swirl your tongue around it
997 - lick your lips, purr, and think of me
998 - call me
999 - [I'll never tell! -- bb]
Mr. Benson had certainly made active use of the codes. He'd kept his
boy busy every couple of hours for the past three days, putting him
through the paces. But now -- at last -- it was Friday. The boy
hurriedly transacted the last of his business and was soon soaring
away from Boston toward his long-anticipated encounter with Mr. Benson.
The plane touched down early in Philadelphia, and the boy had time to
change into something more comfortable: leather boots, faded blue jeans,
chaps, vest, black t-shirt, jacket, cap. Mr. Benson had never laid eyes
on the boy before this, and it wouldn't do for them to miss each other
in the busy airport. The youngster then took his appointed place in front
of the metal detectors, waited, and took secret glee in the stares of
the bypassers.
Mr. B loomed before him suddenly without warning. Smiling, he kissed his
boy hello as he fastened a collar around his neck. Mr Benson then slapped
on a pair of beautiful black handcuffs, concealing them with a scarf. They
then set out for the train to downtown, the boy skipping happily behind
his master and observing what a big, muscular, handsome man Mr. Benson was.
After leading him handcuffed for several blocks through downtown Philadelphia,
they arrived at Mr. Benson's comfortable home in the city's gay ghetto.
The boy was soon standing naked before his master, still handcuffed.
Mr. Benson explored his body, testing his responsiveness, probing for
sensitive areas. There seemed to be no shortage of them as boy brent
growled, groaned, purred, and moaned whereever Mr. Benson's fingers played.
Satisfied with his initial explorations, Mr. Benson grasped his boy's nuts,
gave them a hard yank, and clapped on a ball stretcher. They then kissed
for a long time until Mr. Benson ordered boy brent to dress for dinner,
omitting the underwear.
Strolling down the street after their meal, they turned into Afterwords,
a bookstore/card shop in Philadelphia's gay ghetto. There were quite a few
people in the store tonight, and as he browsed through cards Mr. Benson
ordered his boy to kneel at his feet and clean his boots. The boy gave
them the loving tonguebath they deserved, craving as he did the murmurs of
envy from the other patrons. Mr. B then bent down, opened the fly on brent's
501s to partially expose his excited boymeat, and publicly explored him.
boy brent's cheeks burned hot with humiliation as Mr. Benson paraded him
slowly around the shop, his crotch opened for all to behold. Mr. Benson
then ran into one of his friends who openly admired his handiwork. boy brent
had never felt so proud to be so humiliated.
After a brief visit to the Bike Stop and another yummy bootlicking, they
headed home. Upon arriving, master ordered the boy to strip, blindfolded
him and ordered him to lie on the mattress on the floor.
A stretching sound and the feel of plastic wrapping around his chest told
boy brent he was about to be treated to his first mummification scene.
"Remember to breathe," he heard his master advise, and brent inhaled and
held his breath as the saran wrap wound around and around his chest, binding
his arms to his sides, before Mr. Benson sealed it tight with a outer
covering of duct tape. He then repeated the procedure on the boy's legs.
Mr. Benson left the boy's side, and brent heard a rustling sound. A bag
of somethings was being emptied onto his chest, bouncing off the plastic
and clattering across the mattress. Clothespins! One by one Mr. Benson
attached them to the boy's tender young scrotum, too many to count, then
all the way up his engorged boymeat right up to the glans. At first it
was painful, then intense, until the boy broke free at last through that
shimmering glowing doorway he'd only seen just briefly before. It was
heavenly; the boy's mind was flying high, floating on a cloud of endorphins.
Dreamily, he was aware that in some other reality Mr. Benson was fiddling
with something; . But the boy's mind couldn't be weighed
down with such mundane things, and drifted off again.
Too soon, it seemed, the clothespins began to come off, the last ones applied
coming off first so that each successive pin removed was more painful than
the last. brent was soaring higher and higher into the stratosphere with
each one. Finally after the last one was removed he gently glided back down
to earth. He felt his master kiss him deeply for a long time, before moving
away a little. "Kiss me," he ordered. When the boy could not comply
came Mr. Benson's hand hard against his balls. The boy strained against the
bonds of the plastic until his lips met Mr. Benson's. Then he again moved
a little farther away. "KISS ME BOY!" Too far to reach! "KISS ME!!"
Mr. Benson gave an evil chuckle.
Then a new sound. Metal against metal -- the sound of a knife being
sharpened. The boy felt the keen edge of the blade gently caress edge of
his chest, travelling slowly down his stomach, down to his testicles.
He could feel the edge press against his scrotum, then the weight of a
being placed on his legs and set flush against his perenium.
More knife sharpening sounds. The boy went wild with excitement and fear,
desperately struggling against the encasing saran wrap that held him fast.
A bead of sweat appeared on his forehead against the blindfold. He squirmed
for dear life now, but couldn't even manage to roll over. He heard
Mr. Benson cackle at his pathetic efforts to escape, then felt his hot breath
against his ear. "I'm gonna take 'em, boy, just like I warned you I would.
Your nuts are gonna be mine."
Something in the boy broke and the calmness of acceptance came over him.
"Take them, sir. I trust you to know what's best." He felt his master's
hand tenderly brush his cheek, his master's lips press up against his own,
his master's hand stroking him now, causing the cum to begin to rise in
his doomed balls, before they finally betrayed their owner and pumped
wad after wad of cum high into the air. The slaveboy screamed and
groaned in defeat, ecstasy and terror, knowing that the moment of truth had
arrived for him at last. He braced himself for the knife.
The knife whacked down against the cutting board and agonizing pain
exploded in his nuts. He'd been slapped very very hard. The boy
sighed in pain, pleasure and relief, even as his master moaned
and sprayed hot semen all over his blindfolded face. They kissed
for a very long time, and rested peacefully. Finally his master sliced
him loose from the saran wrap, each cut releasing more of his constricted
flesh, until his chest was unbound and the boy gulped sweet fresh air into
his starved lungs.
Weak, tired and defenseless, the boy curled up against his master in bed,
felt his warmth, ran his little hand through the beautiful carpet of auburn
hair covering his master's chest and back. They kissed sweetly and the boy
cradled his head against Mr. Benson's chest. What a magnificent man.
* * *
boy brent awoke the next morning and immediately cuddled in Mr. Benson's
protective arms. He ran his hand up and down his master's body and curled
his fingers luxuriantly through his chest and back hair. Mr. Benson leaned
over and gently kissed him. Good morning! The boy was instantly hard and
ready to go at it again. They made love in the early light of morning.
Later, after cleaning up, the boy dressed as instructed and accompanied his
master to breakfast, followed by a trip to the Reading Terminal public market.
All along the way Mr. B. kept running into his many friends and acquaintences,
and to each one he introduced the boy in the collar. boy brent began to
feel his master was friends with so many people he could be elected mayor.
The boy read the envy registering on their faces and felt very proud; they
would have traded places with him in a second, but Mr. Benson had placed
the collar on *him*. The boy reached up, stroked it and smiled dreamily.
Returning home from the shopping trip, Mr. Benson immediately ordered the
boy to strip, blindfolded him, and tied him securely to the floor of the
apartment. After a little while the door buzzer sounded. "Well, boy, it
looks like we've got some company. Heh heh heh." boy brent heard footsteps
and the sound of the door opening, hushed conversation at the door, then
felt four sets of hands caressing his body. Mr Benson's voice: "Make him
feel good. He likes his balls hit." brent tensed as the first blows
pummeled his exposed boynuts, each sending electric bolts of pain shooting up
his spine. The boy was stimulated seemingly everywhere at once -- kissed,
punched, prodded, whipped, licked, caressed, fingered, slapped. He felt the
other bottom cover the top of him in a protective position, absorbing the
brunt of the punishment Mr. Benson doled out with his whip. The boy brushed
the other bottom tenderly with his cheek, wishing he could absorb the pain
for his friend. The mystery bottom then sat up on the boy's chest, placed
his cock in the boy's mouth, and Mr. Benson began to whip the other bottom's
ass and the boy's nipples in a figure 8 pattern. Mr. B then grasped the boy's
cock and coaxed his cum out in thick gobs, followed shortly by the other
bottom shooting all over boy brent's face and hair, followed in rapid
succession by Mr. Benson blasting his own semen all over both of them.
boy brent never saw mystery bottom's face, learned his name, or even heard
the sound of his voice. But the memory of what they shared would never be
forgotten.
The boy fell into a deep slumber.
* * *
He awoke to a toothsome smell -- it was almost time for dinner. Mr. Benson
told him to expect guests for dinner, Jim and John. boy brent paused and
thought those names sounded very familiar, until he remembered the scene
Mr. Benson had posted earlier to the gl-asb list at a meeting of the PBC.
Jim and John turned out to be quite intellegent, charming, and extremely
hot men. The evening passed quickly, the guests showering Mr. Benson
with compliments on the delicious vegetarian dinner he'd prepared, before
time for the dessert rolled around and the boy was ordered to disrobe for
the guests. Jim and John took turns torturing his tits as they shed
their clothes; both of them turned out to have truly enormous endowments.
Jim, John and Mr. Benson then went to work on boy brent for a while,
playing with his tits, slapping his nuts, and using him as a convenient hole.
The lovers then slowly fucked as the boy cuddled against his master and
watched the show. They built to a frenzied climax assisted by the boy
and his master.
Afterwards, Mr. Benson was feeling in an expansive and generous mood and
asked his boy if there was any scene he particularly wanted to do.
The boy's face beamed in response. Oh yes, sir, there was. Hot wax.
* * *
As Jim and John pinned the blindfolded boy down, Mr Benson dripped hot
wax over his chest, nipples, underarms, stomach, cock, balls and ass.
brent began once more to moan and growl and purr as little bits of fire
needled his body. The growls gradually faded into giggles becoming howls
of laughter as the endorphins kicked in, making the hot little droplets
of wax tickle intensely. boy brent was soon uncontrollably gasping and
quaking in laughter with tears coursing down his cheeks, causing Mr. Benson
and his friends to begin to laugh in delight as they pinned him down.
Jim and John asked Mr. Benson if he would consider loaning out his boy
to his friends sometime. It was a bouyant end to a wonderful evening.
Jim and John took their leave of Mr. Benson, leaving behind one exhausted
but very happy slave boy.
* * *
Sunday morning shortly before boy brent was to depart for the return trip
to Portland, Mr. Benson shared with him what the clicking sound had been.
The Polaroids revealed the clothespins arranged in a beautiful fanned
pattern. Such an consummate artist!
--
boy brent
Feburary 25, 1993
Portland, OR
dedicated to the one and only Mr. Benson, with many thanks
for the wildest and most wonderful ride of my life
--
>Subject: The continuing adventures of boy brent
>Date: Fri, 9 Apr 1993 04:13:38 GMT
Mr. Benson stood leaning against the open foyer door as
boy brent emerged from the gathering dusk. The collared boy
broke out in a broad grin as he dropped his bags and threw
his arms about his host's neck. They kissed in the open doorway
before Mr. Benson hoisted his boy's bags and ushered him
inside. The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Play would come later. Now it was time to reunite and rediscover.
* * *
boy brent stirred in his sleep. Dim objects in the room gave off a
soft pale glow, illuminated by the moonlight shimmering through the
bedroom window. The boy heard Mr. Benson's quiet steady breathing
as he slumbered beside him, felt his reassuring body heat warming
his skin. The slaveboy rolled over on his side to gently spoon him
as much as the ropes would allow.
* * *
The slaveboy walked down the streets of Philadelphia, basking in the bright
warm sunshine. He carried before him a large pile of laundry, the first
of his assigned chores on this Friday morning. Mr. Benson had been generous
today; after the laundry and the dishes he'd given his boy leave to enjoy
the rest of the day off. boy brent whistled happily as he continued on
his way to the laundrymat, sensuously rubbing his neck against the shiny
black leather of his slave's collar.
* * *
Mr. Benson returned home from work shortly after 5 PM that evening.
He reminded the boy there would be other guests that weekend, and that as
part of his duties he would be expected to provide sexual entertainment for
the guests whenever and in whatever form Mr. Benson wished. After dressing,
Mr. Benson handcuffed and leashed his slaveboy and led him to the Bike Stop
for the preliminaries were being held for the Ms. and Mr. Philadelphia
Leather contests. While waiting for the contestants to be introduced,
Mr. Benson showed off his puppy's obedience training to the patrons of the
bar, ordering him to kneel, bark, and lick the boots of several dominant
women of Female Trouble, including Father Amelia's (who received a
particulary affectionate and lavish boot cleaning!) In return the women
of the Philly leather community welcomed him warmly, evidently having a soft
spot in their hearts for puppies wandering far from home.
While this was taking place Mr. Benson had rounded up his other weekend
guests, JF and Stephen, two very hot men.
* * *
Midnight. Four tired leathermen slouch in an all-night diner, fried eggs
staring up at them like jaundiced eyes as O Solo Mio buzzes from a tinny
tableside speaker.
* * *
Heading home, they reached the JF's rental car. After throwing JF's
bags into the trunk, Mr. Benson told boy brent to hop in; he climbed into
the trunk with the rest of the baggage. The trunk shut with a whump, the
car started up, and inside the trunk the little light went out as the last
passenger door shut.
The boy could feel the car begin to drive away. Inside the trunk it was
pitch dark, stuffy and extremely confining with the luggage taking up
most of the room.
It was kind of like being buried alive. Suddenly the air seemed to
disappear. He labored for breath. He had forgotten something,
something important.
He was claustrophobic.
At that instant the car came to a stop. The boy began to pound on the trunk.
The lid of his coffin opened and the boy rolled out of his grave, heaving
and gasping for air. After a moment he regained his senses enough
to recognize Mr. Benson's concerned face hovering over him; the car had
stopped at the gate of the garage, and were right now they being stared at
by the parking attendant, his mouth a capital O of astonishment.
* * *
Home again. His wrists and ankles bound, the boy knelt before JF.
"You are never to touch your dick without my permission. If I do
catch you touching yourself, you're going to find out what true
pain is. Not enjoyable pain, but punishment pain. The kind that
will make you wish you'd never been born."
The boy gave his assent.
The entertainment began.
* * *
The boy stiffly stretched on the hard floor, his wrists still padlocked
together from the night before, his ankles still chained to the eyebolt
set into the floor, his eyes still blindfolded. He gathered it was
morning from the stirring and shuffling he heard around him; Mr. Benson was
leaving to go running. No sooner was the boy's blindfold removed and his
ankles unshackled than his face was thrust onto someone's cock; . It was
a beautiful cock, perfectly formed. The boy began to worship it with his
mouth when he suddenly felt Stephen's hands on the back of his head, pushing
him down, the cock pressing insistantly onto to the back of his throat,
gagging him. He was choking now, tears streaming out his eyes and snot
cascading down his nose, but still the hand refused to relent or take pity.
His balls were being crushed in someone's vicelike grip. The boy tried to
make the best of it, tried to practice his art, but the rough hands would
permit no subtlety now; he was just a convenient hole. All he could do
was endure.
A reminder that enjoyment is a luxury for a slaveboy.
* * *
The contest title JF held carried with it certain obligations which
required his ongoing presence this weekend. After a light breakfast
at the Reading Terminal, he parted company with the others, who spent the
rest of the afternoon shopping and browsing. The boy's burden of packages
growing heavier as the day wore on.
Finally they arrived home again. Mr. Benson pulled out a leather
straightjacket, confined and blindfolded Stephen; he then gave his
boy permission to play with Stephen's cock. Mr. Benson then went off
to prepare dinner.
boy brent got an evil smile. He began to give Stephen head, the way
it ought to be done. Slowly. Lovingly. With exquisite attention to
detail and with no hurry at all. boy brent was using all his cocksucking
skills to make Stephen groan with pleasure and need.
The boy's tongue then licked down the shaft onto the balls and over the
thighs, to a spot just above the thighs, below and to the side of the
stomach -- one of the most ticklish spots on the body. boy brent now
began to work his pleasant revenge on this spot. Stephen's groans of
pleasure became giggles, then laughter, then hysterical gasps of pain
as the boy continued to relentlessly lick and lick and lick on this most
sensitive spot.
Stephen was squirming desparately in the straightjacket, helpless
to escape from the slaveboy's seeking tongue causing his abdomenal
muscles to spasm and twitch and buck and cramp. Just as it seemed
he could stand no more, the boy returned to his cock again,
worshiping this beautifully formed phallus as Stephen's chest heaved
and drank in sweet oxygen. This was the way the boy preferred to
work his art. Soon Stephen was moaning with pleasure again.
boy brent continued in this way, alternating between tonguepleasure
and tonguetorture, for a couple of hours. Finally it was time to
release Stephen. Mr. Benson sent him out to the store to retrieve
some butter. He came back with several items, but no butter, stammering
that there was this cute boy in the dairy aisle, and he forgot...
Over the next 24 hours Stephen would be made to pay for that oversight
again and again.
* * *
The evening passed uneventfully. The three had arrived too late to
see the Ms. Philadelphia Leather contest, and the rest of the evening
was a routine night at the bars.
They reunited with JF, and at midnight returned home. Carrying out
Mr. Benson's orders, boy brent went to the bedroom and stripped.
Mr. Benson produced the black leather straightjacket -- the same one
Stephen had been wearing -- and fastened it on the boy, then blindfolded
him and laid him out on the bed.
The boy lay breathing quietly. No upper body movement was possible and
the jacket was very heavy. In the darkness boy brent overheard JF
giving instruction to Stephen in the next room:
"You are never to touch your dick without my permission. If I do
catch you touching yourself, you're going to find out what true
pain is. Not enjoyable pain, but punishment pain. The kind that
will make you wish you'd never been born."
The boy smiled to himself and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
boy brent awoke with a start.
The apartment was quiet now. The jacket was oppressively hot and stuffy.
Breathing was an effort. He still couldn't move. His throat was parched
and he longed for a drink of water.
He had no idea what time it was or how much longer he'd been in this jacket.
He could hear Mr. Benson slumbering beside him. All he had to do was
reach out with his foot and tap him awake and he could be free...
His breaths were more difficult now, each requiring a conscious effort.
He was having another claustrophobia attack and he was beginning to panic.
Gradually the boy faded into unconsciousness again.
* * *
He awoke again, drenched with sweat. His mouth was dry and
his breaths were coming in heaving gulps. It was time to end this.
He reached out and tapped Mr. Benson. He heard the topman stir and
ask what he needed. "Water please Sir." Mr. Benson squirted a stream
of water into the boy's parched mouth from a squeeze bottle, then
on the boy's request he unfastened the straps and released him.
He sat up and stretched his arms, which felt wonderfully alive and
tingly. The sudden rush of cool air felt wonderful against his damp
hot skin.
It was 5 AM. He had made it thru the night. Mr. Benson kissed him on
the forehead. "I'm proud of you boy." They were still spooning as the
boy drifted off to sleep again.
* * *
By the time the boy awoke preparations were already underway for the
brunch. Mr. Benson had already been up for hours making a cake for
his guests. Stephen had been ordered to write the shopping list of
last minute items onto an Etcha-Sketch and take it to the store with
him lest he forget again. He was mercilessly teased with butter jokes
all morning.
The brunch guests -- Mr. Benson's handsome friends Jim and John, and
SH -- a hot young man -- began arriving at 11. After demolishing the
delicious brunch, it was time for the piercing scene.
boy brent was tied down nude, spreadeagled, blindfolded as JF got out
his needles and got to work. Before JF pierced the hafadas, boy brent
said a few words.
"My nipple piercings were for my journey. i now dedicate this new piercing
to the vessel of my journey, my body. i'm not going to listen to anyone
trying to convince me that it's dirty or that i should be afraid of my
body ever again."
boy brent took three deep breaths and JF thrust the needle in. There
was a sudden sharp pain, then it was over; in total it lasted perhaps
half a second. The ring was fitted and that piercing was done.
The boy was flying at this point, his body swaying gently to the Indian
music Mr. Benson had chosen for this scene. The same process was repeated
for the second hafada and the two frenums. By the last piercing the
boy gasped in pain; the needle was worn out.
It was over. His bonds were unfastened and he shakily got to his feet,
his blindfold was removed and they admired his new rings and barbells.
JF had done a very nice job. The boy's erection swelled proudly to
show off its new adornment.
boy brent then got on his knees and thanked Mr. Benson's guests properly.
* * *
It was time to go. boy brent and Mr. Benson embraced outside the entrance
of the Bike Stop.
"Am i still your boy?"
"You're my boy."
They parted and the boy walked away in the drizzle. Halfway down the
alley he turned and looked back over his shoulder.
Mr. Benson was gone.
--
>Subject: The continuing adventures of boy brent.
>Date: Sun, 16 May 1993 19:19:37 GMT
Tuesday night.
Kneeling before him, boy brent gently hefted Barry's testicles
in the palm of one hand as he examined the underside of his
erect penis, searching for the proper placement. Satisfied,
he marked the entry and exit points with a fine-point pen,
carefully cleaning any stray marks with alcohol applied with
a Kleenex folded into a point. He measured the width of the
dots to be sure the barbell would fit.
The boy's heart raced as he donned latex gloves, swabbed Barry's
skin with Betadine, carefully applied the forceps, then picked up
the hollow needle and cork. His hands were steady, which was good:
marksmanship is crucial in piercing.
The room grew quiet. Dan stood by the boy, holding the forceps,
as boy brent's entire being now focused on a tiny black dot just
below the underside of Barry's glans. He positioned the needle
in his right hand, holding it with a bit of paper towel, with the
cork at the ready in his right.
"Barry, take a deep breath." Both of them breathed in tandem.
"Let it out. Another one. Another one..."
The blood was roaring in his ears as the slaveboy drove the hollow
needle thru with a quick, firm push. He felt the resistance of the
cork as Barry let out a little yelp, as much in surprise as in pain.
In his excitement the boy had thrust the needle in a little too hard
and firmly embedded it into the cork; it took a few seconds to get it
out.
Everyone plateaued for a moment, relaxing a bit off the intensity of the
moment. The jewelry inserted, they all gathered round to admire Barry's
new frenum.
The boy's spirit soared and danced.
* * *
Saturday night.
The boy leaned against the rail of the PDX Eagle, his collar tethered
to a post by the leash. His back bared, he braced himself and prepared
to receive the first blow.
Whap whap whap, Barry started out the flogging by working on his
shoulderblades, crisscrossing in a figure-8 pattern as the boy settled
into the whipping. All eyes in the packed bar were on them; this was
an unusual event for this leather bar, where S&M usually meant stand
and model.
A quarter hour passed. The strikes were growing more intense, successively
alternating between a soft caresses and hard heavy thuds. The flat whaps
of the heavy blows could be heard all over the bar, punctuated by
occasional groans as the slaveboy gritted his teeth and endured the
pain. Barry was getting pretty good at this.
They were now a half hour into the session. Barry had backed off to
more moderate strokes now, pausing occasionally to caress and lick his
boy bottom's back. boy brent began to gyrate and writhe to the strokes
as the endorphins pumped and surged thru his system. So this was was
what hog heaven was like, he thought to himself.
45 minutes into the flogging, it was getting intense. The blows were
raining down heavy now, without respite: WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The boy was
trying to mumble his mantra to himself between screams. He began to move
his back from side to side to try to ward off the licks from his most
raw and tender spots, to no avail. Approaching his limit, he began to sink
to his knees.
The blows stopped.
The backslaps started.
The flats of Barry's palms went pat pat pat over brent's tender heated
skin, increasing quickly in intensity to a pounding almost hard enough to
knock the breath out of him. The boy gripped the post with his remaining
strength now and just held on. Still the slaps continued -- the boy
screaming and mumbling his mantra -- until his knees gave way at last
and he collapsed to the floor, his neck still tethered to the post.
Unseen hands helped him up and gave him a drink. The pain removed, his
mind quickly cleared. He had forgotten he was in a bar, and the flogging
had drawn quite a crowd of onlookers -- some faces wore incredulous
expressions, others hungry ones.
The boy smiled as he studied the hungry faces and committed them to memory.
--
boy brent (B4) htw-[csegk]++ |
bcapps@agora.rain.com (gay stuff) | May all your sins be original.
bcapps@atlastele.com (telecom stuff) |
|
