CHAPTER INDEX
A "CLICK-TO-READ" LIST OF CHAPTERS DESIGNED TO MAKE FINDING SPECIFIC SCENES A LOT EASIER
A "CLICK-TO-READ" LIST OF CHAPTERS DESIGNED TO MAKE FINDING SPECIFIC SCENES A LOT EASIER
AN IMPROMPTU FIRST DATE
THE TWINK & THE JOCK
CHAPTER 38 - BREAKING POINT
As much as it pains me to admit this, I think I ended up breaking far sooner than my brutish captor would have liked. At the very least, far sooner than many of the guys Brody had previously tortured. I guess I just wasn't used to it, being on this side of the fence, I mean. And truth be told, I knew clinging to defiance was an utterly pointless endeavour. Even had I held onto pride and vengefulness for just a little while longer, the brute would have still broken me one way or another. The longer it took, the more pleasure he derived from it, and the more unbearable and extreme his torments would become.
I was still shooting daggers up at him with my eyes and grunting crude obscenities through my gag when the telltale smile of sadistic delight began tugging at the corners of the seated tyrant's lips.
Pro Combat compression shorts descended on my muzzled face, filling my flaring nostrils with the debilitatingly poignant musk of a dozen gruelling football games. I coughed on the overpowering scent of Matt's crotch, but more than anything, it was catching the unmistakable whiff of the cocky stallion's butthole that ultimately fractured and crushed my resolve. That alone sent me close to breaking point.
The merciless return of Brody's smothering palm, the use of Matt's funky football socks and the much-dreaded reappearance of Sam's harrowing boxers did the rest. By the end of the brief, five-minute-long torture session, I was quite literally transformed into a heaving, whimpering mess. My pride was irreversibly crushed, and the fires of rebellion, which had only a few short minutes ago burned bright, lay quelled and dormant. I lay there, physically exhausted from the smothering and utterly stripped of my will to fight. Brody appeared satisfied, if a tad bit irked at how quickly I'd tucked tail.
"You done, eh, punk? Still got anything smart to say?" he asked, his hot breath tauntingly close to my face and his mocking tone doing nothing to conceal the disquieting pleasure he derived from all of this. The brute was hoping for more. More resistance, more pride, more fight. But much to his own disappointment and apparent disgust, I had none left to give.
Brody accepted my quiet surrender, though I could tell by the expression on his face that he wished I hadn't given up so quickly. "That's what I thought. Pussy." he half-jokingly spat, briefly rubbing the giant ball of musky, crotch-scented compression shorts over my face before tossing them back down to the floor, right next to Sammy's big boxers.
Large fingers slowly rose to caress the top of my hairy dome, playfully – almost affectionately – ruffling my hair up. I was still heaving in exhaustion and quietly moaning beneath my gag by the time those same approbatory fingers departed from my hair and delivered a series of light smacks across my face. Then a stark warning backed up by an accusatory finger was voiced.
"Now you shut the fuck up and you suck on that smelly gag. You piss me off again and I swear I'll fuckin' sit on your face. Got it?" he somewhat reprovingly warned, causing my eyes to go wide and inciting me to very quickly nod my head yes.
I knew my friend well enough to know his threats were not idle. I had seen him do worse, not once but numerous times.
In any case, Brody's iron grip on the reins predictably eased down a bit after that. He was still every bit as domineering and as unapologetically allergic to even the faintest hints of defiance, but his manner was more controlled now that I had surrendered so completely. I was under his authority, which, for better or for worse, meant that I was now under his protection.
Brody's face bore visible excitement at having me like this. The regular licking of his lips and the noticeable sparkle in his eyes were a surefire sign of that. Still, the musclebound behemoth appeared undecided about what to do next. He was like a kid in a candy shop - wanting to try everything all at once, but not knowing what to get or even where to start.
He sat there for quite a while, one positively mammoth hand cupped loosely over my tapegagged face while the other lazily pumped my erect shaft up and down. I struggled to fill my lungs under the weight of his tremendous palm, but the brute still held it snug to my face, allowing me enough air to remain conscious but forcing my nostrils to very noisily work overtime.
It was a test of obedience and an exercise in submission, I knew. The message was clear. He was in control. I breathed because he allowed me to, not because it was some preauthorised right. The privilege of drawing air into my lungs - the most basic of biological functions - could be revoked at any time and without any explanation.
The brawny hunk's grip would tighten every now and then – the short and irregular bouts of suffocation keeping me on my toes and serving as stark reminders of who was in charge. I remained compliant through it all, knowing full well that this relatively mild treatment was fully dependent on the hellishly thick-palmed brute's whims and my ability to appease him.
"You enjoying this, buddy?" he asked, after what must've been five minutes of torturously slow wanking.
"Mmmnpphhh." came the sound of my hopelessly well-muffled response, something which made the smirking brute chuckle.
"No? Well, your cock certainly seems to be saying otherwise." the seated behemoth mumbled, ever so slightly increasing the pressure of his smothering grip just for the sake of making my lungs and nostrils work a little harder. That kept me compliant.
Another minute of slow and silent wanking ensued before the inevitable teasing resumed. "How's that gag taste? I bet you're having fun suckin' on Matt's pouch." he spoke, instantly drawing a muffled lament and then rewarding my negation by pretending I had replied with a resounding yes.
I frowned rather angrily and tried shaking my head no, but the oafish brute merely responded by smothering me more fully and unannouncedly digging one hand into my dreadfully ticklish crotch.
I squealed beneath his touch and then squealed even harder when those same teasing fingers tentatively ventured into the defenceless area between my thighs. Padded leather creaked and groaned beneath my frantic attempts to get away, but still, the three dozen heavy-duty gurney restraints showed no signs of waning.
"Man, I can't believe how much I fuckin' love this thing!" the tyrant finally exclaimed, after loosening his grip on my face and granting me a much-needed reprieve from both the smothering and the intense tickling. "I really gotta get myself one of these. And that gag too!" he almost immediately added, allowing his hand to briefly depart from my boxer-clad boner-tent in favour of scooping up the freakish stuffer Andrew had previously forced into my stepbrother's mouth.
The gag had him spellbound, but more than anything, it was the padded gurney that had my friend truly mesmerised.
"Fuck, we really need to get ourselves one of these. I mean it! Can you fuckin' imagine getting Chad into these restraints? We could take him down, you know? You, me, Matt, Hunter. Fuck, he'd be so pissed. We could gag him. Sit on his face. Tickle the fuckin' CRAP out of him." he went on, speaking to me in a hushed tone and getting carried away in his own fantasies even whilst I lay there; quietly sniffing the underside of his massive palm while his other hand absent-mindedly tugged at my painfully rigid boner.
It continued like that for several lengthy minutes until Brody finally shifted his position; opting to splay his massive tree trunk-sized thighs apart and sit on his own heels. The proximity of his underwear-clad groin suddenly grew manifest, and I knew from the sensation of his package - which now brushed against the top of my hairy dome - that he was both close and very much erect. Just a little closer and his bulging manhood would've been resting on my forehead.
The beefy tyrant just sat there for a few seconds; looking down into my muzzled face but saying nothing. He licked his lips, fiddled with his own nipples, played with mine and then fondled both of ours at the same time. I groaned - more out of longing than anything else - when one of his huge hands returned to my angry boner-tent. Brody gave it a few slow tugs before returning his focus back to my undefended nipples.
"Fuck, you're hot!" he suddenly let out, his low voice coarse and raspy from a mixture of fatigue and sexual lust.
I looked away at the sound of those words. The awkwardness of them was made all the more palpable due to my friend's hungry gaze and unwillingness to clarify.
It took a brief moment for my mind to fully grasp what he meant. He may have found my athletic build rather appealing to look at, in a purely aesthetic sense, but it wasn't so much my body that had him allured as much as it was my predicament. I was fully naked save for my loose-fitting boxer shorts, I was strapped from the neck down, my mouth was fully stuffed, and my face had been muzzled shut. In other words, the perfect victim. Beautiful in my helplessness and perfect in my surrender.
Sammy too had offered him much of the beauty he sought, but I was a better prize. A worthier trophy. More muscular, more defiant, more challenging to bring to heel, and as a result, more beautiful in my captivity.
"Bro. I have an idea." the brute suddenly whispered, shooting a nervous glance up at the two bedroom doors, almost as if wanting to make sure no one else would overhear what he was about to tell me.
I was always wary of getting dragged into Brody's endless schemes. But even though I more often than not managed to avoid getting tangled in the webs he spun, I got the feeling it wouldn't be so easy this time. The rush of excitement was clearly splayed all over his boyish face. I was about to get sucked into another one of his stupid games. I just knew it. Fuckin' hell.
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