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Nifty - Gay - Authoritarian - Cross Country Runner

 
Date: Sun, 13 Apr 2008 19:53:52 -0400
From: GGDC <georgegauthierdc@yahoo.com>
Subject: Cross Country Runner

                      Cross Country Runner
                             by GGDC

Author's Note: This is a tale of a young cross country runner and his
utterly improbable misadventures. It is set fifteen years or twenty years
in the future when research and vigorous public health measures have
eradicated STD's.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body, of sexual activity
between adult males, the youngest of whom is seventeen years old, bondage
and discipline and sado-masochistic encounters.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended
for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select
their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is offered for entertainment. If it manages to both amuse and to provoke
prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim. Writing this tale has
been the most fun the author has had wearing clothes in a very long time.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living
or dead.

Address comments to georgegauthierdc@yahoo.com, and before you ask, no
sequel is planned.
                            

                      Chapter 1. The Runner


Kevin almost caught up to the leaders with two laps to go, but a cross
country track is treacherous in bare feet. Toughened though feet might be
from months of running, when a heel comes down on a small pointed stone,
the result is a bone bruise. No way to even finish the race--much less win
it.

He jogged on to the starting line, awkwardly trying to keep his weight off
his left heel. The rest of the field ran past, their arms and legs
pumping. Never a front runner, Kevin usually rather enjoyed looking at the
bare buttocks of the leaders until it was time to make his move. Today,
with the heat and dust and fatigue and with sweat stinging his eyes, the
naked boy could only trudge miserably to the finish. Coach Griffin's face
showed disappointment at the loss and concern for one of his star runners.

"What happened Kevin?"

"Sorry, coach, my heel came down on a rock on that second hill."

"Let's take a look."

The boy supported himself on the coach's shoulder and turned the injured
foot upward.

"A bone bruise, no doubt about it, son. Nothing to do either, you know
that"

At 17, Kevin had been running competitively for four years. Athletic
injuries were all part of the game: bone bruises, pulled muscles, knee
pain. He stood under the outdoor shower stand, the rush of water washing
the sweat and dust off his lean, evenly tanned frame. His close cropped
blonde hair flattened to his head and rivulets ran down and off his small
frame Like so many young men, Kevin was completely hairless. Modern
depilatories not only permanently removed all body hair but allowed the
hair follicles to close up, giving the skin a smooth feel. It was not for
any aerodynamic effect either. It just made him feel more naked.

Like many a cocky kid, he was proud of his body, and truth was, he rather
liked displaying himself, whether at the track or in practice. With public
nudity common and actually compulsory in sports for males he had plenty of
chances. Shoes, sweat bands, equipment or clothes of any sort in track and
field were banned in competition. At home only his mother's insistence had
kept him in clothes at all and then only for family time. In his own room
and in bed he habitually went naked. She was gone now, so it was just him
and his step-dad.

He did not towel down but left it for the hot air baking the field to dry
him off, staying bare like the other runners including the early
finishers.This was the last race of his junior year, so the boy's
disappointment at the loss was eased by knowing that he had the whole
summer to get ready for next season. As the rest of the field reached the
finish line, Kevin started his own post-race stretching routine with
ham-string stretches. With a foot propped on a rail, he bent forward
bringing his face almost in contact with the shin; the tanned torso
glistened with water droplets highlighting the sensuous curve of body from
chest and shoulders to waist and narrow hips. A sly whistle behind him told
of an appreciative audience.

"Just hold that thought, Kev lad" said a long limbed redheaded runner. This
was Tommy Houlihan, his friend and teammate.

"Get you Irish eyes back where they belong," he retorted with mock
severity.

Their easy banter was rooted in mutual respect and liking, and anyway,
Kevin had never concealed his preference for his own gender. Tommy was
straight, but he could still admire a well put-together male body and
Kevin's was one of the best in town. Like many runners he was lean and
taut, the tracery of veins on arms and legs testifying that his frame was
utterly without excess flesh. Slender but muscular even in his upper storey
and with a fine-boned face, Kevin was a catch or rather he would be if he'd
just let himself get caught.

Those pretty boy good looks and an easy charm had not paid off very much in
relationships so far, just some casual encounters, especially the first
awkward ones last year. Rather shy except among friends, Kevin had had to
wait for others to make advances. So far he was yet a stranger to anal sex,
but was not adverse to exploration. Meanwhile, there was the time honored
resort to solitary pleasures to keep his sex drive at least partly
satisfied.

"OK, boys let's not scandalize the public" the coach remarked with a
grin. "We'll go over the pictures tomorrow after an easy practice in the
morning. See you at eight-thirty".

Kevin wondered how he could scandalize the public after four years of
running around naked. Fans at the meets always wanted to snap post-race
pictures, with Kevin wearing nothing more than a smile. The fans especially
like shots of Kevin all hot and sweaty, looking as he might just after sex.
You needed a degree of sang-froid to chat amiably with a group all fully
dressed, all focussing their attention of your physique. Females, even
those who knew Kevin wasn't interested, still wanted pictures of him
bare-assed naked with closeups of face, buttocks and hairless
groin. Sometimes, in the press of admirers, hands brushed against him
"accidentally" in front cupping and weighing, or in back slipping into his
crack, all of this leaving the teen acutely self conscious, especially on
those occasions when his cock started to plump up and visibly lift off. Of
course everyone was too polite to notice.

The boys were in no hurry to leave, and since the race was in their home
town, they did not have to catch the bus. Stretched out on the grass they
chatted amiably for a while, resting, catching some sun, and coming down
from the excitement of the big race. Finally, it was time to leave. Kevin's
house was not far and though he had often run bare ass to and from the park
for practice runs, he and Tommy pulled on shorts and sandals and walked the
half-mile or so Kevin's house.

Set back a bit from the street and with a nice back yard, the two storey
Queen Anne house dated from the early twentieth century. It was in pretty
good shape for a century and a half and had been retrofitted and
practically rebuilt twice so it had all the modern conveniences. Kevin's
step-dad insisted that the old-fashioned gables and front porch gave the
Chandler demesne "character". Kevin spent a lot of time out back
stretching, lifting light weights, swimming, reading, and doing
homework. The rise in global temperatures had finally been stopped but not
before making the climate thereabouts no worse than cool in winter and
quite hot in spring, summer, and fall.

The boys drop their gym bags and clothes off in Kevin's room and went out
to the back yard. Tommy plunged into the pool and swam lazily while Kevin
stretched out belly down on a mat next to the pool. He liked to read like
that; the feel of the sun's warm rays kissing his bare ass was tangible
evidence of his nudity. Kevin's twin cheeks were firm and dimpled but
fairly small in keeping with his compact physique. Though fully grown, at
just under 170 centimeters or five seven, Kevin was smaller than
average. His weight of 125 pounds [57 kg] was in proportion for a build
that while slight was quite muscular. Running, light weights, swimming,
and yoga kept him in shape. Tommy was more than a dozen centimeters or
nearly half a foot taller, with a rangier build. His longer legs gave him
an advantage over his friend especially at the medium to long distances
they both ran at. He sometimes gave the smaller boy massages to relax
strained muscles, but Tommy sensed that today Kevin just wanted to laze
about for a while and chat about plans for the summer, so he climbed onto
an air mattress and floated over to his pal.

Tommy was going abroad for a summer program in Ireland. He was proud of his
growing command of Gaelic and relished the chance to meet his Irish web
pals in the flesh. Kevin was at loose ends. His original plans for an
archeological dig in Italy had fallen through with the loss of his sponsor
to a scandal over smuggled relics. A misunderstanding, Kevin hoped, but
until the smoke cleared, he was at loose ends. At least he did not have to
go out to look for a kid's job at the mall. His dad made a decent salary
and they still had the insurance money from his mother's traffic accident.

"Don't let it get to you Kev lad", the red haired boy said then pushed
water with cupped hands to splash over his friend. Laughing, Kevin
cannonballed into the pool and grappled the bigger boy. A leg slipped
through the fork of Tommy's legs, and they suddenly found themselves
embracing, chests and hips touching. Kevin felt a rush of heat and
awkwardly let his arms fall away. Tommy locked his gaze into Kevin's green
eyes, his hands sliding down to the curve of Kevin's buttocks. He leaned
forward and murmured.

"Kev, you're prettier than any girl around. I'm almost sorry I really don't
go for guys, but if I ever made an exception, it would be for you." He
leaned forward and kissed the blonde on the lips, then slipped his tongue
into Kevin's mouth. Kevin did likewise for a moment then pulled back.

"Yeah, I'd sure like that, Tommy. How about I give you a sample?" He ducked
under the water and took Tommy's cock into his mouth.

"Whoa there. Wouldn't want you to drown on me" he said tugging his friend
back up. Tommy backed away then hiked his backside onto the edge of the
pool. Kevin resumed his efforts. Tommy really like blow jobs and had to
admit that guys did it better than girls. They knew what turned another guy
on in that department. So straight boy though he was, he willingly let his
pal blow him when they got together. Kevin pleasured Tommy's cock with lips
and tongue, then tried to get it down his throat. Kevin was still working
on his technique; his gag reflex got in the way. Tommy actually liked the
fact that it wasn't easy for Kevin to take his cock. Something about it
made him feel dominant and powerful, with the smaller lad between his knees
struggling submissively to accept another male's fully engorged penis. He
used Kevin's ears to pull his face back and forth.

"Arrgh, here I come" he said loosing his load into the smaller lad. Kevin
swallowed each spurt as best he could, but with a cock down his throat, he
could not keep all the cum in his mouth, and some dribbled down his
chin. Tommy pulled out for the final two spurts, letting it hit Kevin's
finely drawn features, a male marking his territory. Tommy never
reciprocated the favor, so Kevin hopped out of the pool next to him working
his own cock. Tommy did not mind helping his friend a little, and knowing
how sensitive they were, he stroked his friend's flanks and the inside of
his thighs, toyed with Kevin's tiny nipples, pulling and twisting and
pinching. He even leaned down to bite them once. Kevin was fully
aroused. Something about the pain turned him on no end. He suddenly
wondered what it would be like to be really helpless, tied up or shackled
and force to accept sexual torture at the hands of a stronger guy. He
never would say anything to Tommy about such perverse desires. A blow job
was Tommy's limit in boy to boy sex. The blonde boy felt his climax build
and release as he came all over his chest then leaned back on his elbows as
Tommy rubbed it in with careful attention to Kevin's nips. Life was good.

                      Chapter 2. At the Dig

Kevin loped along at an easy pace, the sun beating down on bare skin as he
ran a circuit of country roads not far from the archeological dig south of
Salerno. He reflected how lucky he had been to get this chance to work on
a newly discovered site, a satellite of the well-known Greek temple complex
nearby in Southern Italy. It all fell into place with an email from his
mentor who had called in a favor.

Kevin did not really know anyone else on the crew, but the man in charge
impressed him mightily. Knowledgeable in both field craft and classics, il
professore exuded both professional competence and a masculine attraction
that left Kevin wondering. He knew the man was thirty-one and married. Just
maybe. The other two student assistants, both in college, were typically
southern Italian with slender physiques and beautiful olive complexions.
Neither was into athletics nor inclined to share the training runs Kevin
fit into his schedule whenever he could. Though not particularly body
shy--they usually wore just skimpy shorts or bikini underwear and flip
flops at the dig--neither Tonio nor Beppo saw the point in running starkers
around the neighborhood. Some of the farmers in the area were taken aback
by the sight of a slender blonde American running past, utterly naked and
hairless everywhere. They soon got used to it; some even enjoyed it.

Now after three weeks, Kevin thought he was fitting in. His school book
Italian had improved considerably. No, they hadn't made a major find, but
this wasn't a treasure hunt. It was a serious excavation of an old villa
and farmstead intended to document daily life twenty-four centuries
earlier. They worked the grid with spades, sieves, small shovels, and
brushes and recorded everything in a data base. The assistants traded off
the various tasks, giving everyone experience. After seeing how Kevin did
his training runs, the other boys suggested he might as well dress for work
the same way he did for training. Not much of a challenge really. Kevin
later realized that except for weekly dinners at nearby restaurants, he
hadn't worn clothes since he arrived.

Both Beppo and Tonio had girl friends, but they were two hundred kilometers
away in Sicily. It was hard not to notice the graceful sweep of torso and
backside as Kevin bent over the ground, digging away, his genitals dangling
between his slender thighs. The young American seemed unaware of their
glances and untroubled by the heat or the dust that collected on his sweaty
body. It appealed to his primal instincts, digging away at the earth with
hand tools, all hot and sweaty, not minding the dirt because he was naked
anyway and it would just wash off.

As both his ruminations and morning run ended, Kevin reached the last
intersection onto the country lane that led to the site. He walked the last
few hundred meters, did his stretches, then stood under the garden hose and
flushed clean. The water was safe to drink too, so he pointed the hose at
his mouth and drank deeply. Letting himself air dry, he wiped his feet off
by crossing the grassy field to the site. No sense getting muddy feet. He
was sure that soon he would be half covered in dust anyway. Going naked
saved a lot of trouble, Kevin told himself. He had gotten out of his share
of doing the laundry by pointing out that the other boys never had to clean
Kevin's dirty clothes; there weren't any. All his clothes were hung up or
put away, unused.

"Ciao, Tonio and Beppo" he called out. "Sono tornato a tempo" [I am back on
time].

"No, ragazzo nudo, un po in ritardo, mi pare" [No, a little late, it seems
to me, naked boy]. That was their nickname for the young American. The
boys conversed either in Italian or in English on professional
matters. Their English was considerably better than Kevin's improving
Italian. Kevin chuckled, realizing it was probably true; he probably was a
bit late. After all, it was not like he could glance at a watch. They
worked steadily through the afternoon and into evening. The professore was
in Naples for the weekend, so there was just the three of them around the
dinner table. Tonio was a good cook, so he did the honors. Kevin's job was
dishes and household chores.

After finishing up their notes, they watched a quiz show on TV. Kevin found
it hard to follow the quick exchanges among the contestants and moderator,
but he liked the commercials. Lots of repetition in commercials and they
showed you the product too. Good for picking up a feel for the language and
you learned words you would never encounter in school. After a dozen
viewings of the commercial where a young couple sings the praises of their
new dishwasher, Kevin knew he would never forget what "lavastoviglie"
meant. They could use one here. That cute husband couldn't be over twenty,
same as the two Italian boys.

And so to bed. The three boys shared a bedroom in the rented farmhouse that
was their headquarters. Kevin usually slept without a top sheet, curled up
in fetal position or stretched out on his back. Kevin dropped off quickly,
his slow breathing indicating that he was fast asleep. Tonio and Beppo
kind of liked the young American, but thought he was an incorrigible cock
tease, always naked, bent over showing his ass crack or brown hole. He ran
country roads with his dick and ball sack bouncing about in plain sight and
all the more visible without the pubic hair that might partially hide them.
On a hunch, Beppo had searched Kevin's comp and found a website with a
bunch of pictures Kevin had posed for. He had used his actual first
name. It was one of those sites with young naked boys in seductive
poses. Kevin standing, facing backward as he put a butt plug up his
hole. Kevin kneeling, his tongue licking a hairy cock. Kevin on his back
with knees pulled up and apart, smiling in invitation as the camera got a
good shot of his dilated hole. He needed taking down a peg.

Besides, after three weeks away from their girl friends they were
horny. The boys wanted more than the single blow job Kevin had allowed
them. They knew Kevin really had his eye on their boss. Not that he
couldn't see that the Italian boys weren't cute and sexy with their slender
builds, fine olive skin, and just a dusting of hair at their groins and on
the bottom of their legs. Kevin just didn't want to come off as a complete
slut and offer himself up to one and all. He had to maintain some dignity,
a tall order admittedly for a guy who ran around naked all the time.

Kevin had let slip that he had never taken it up the ass, not a cock
anyway, just dildos and fingers. That was about to change. As far as they
were concerned, this was for Kevin's good as much as their own. Anyone
could see that this was a boy born to be fucked. He needed fucking--hard
and often and by men who knew how. They had a 4 day weekend, the bridge or
"ponte" before the professore got back. In that time, they would change
Kevin into an obedient little sex toy ready to fall on his knees or all
fours on command.

               Chapter 3. An Educational Experience

Beppo got out of bed, went over to Kevin and slipped homemade shackles on
his ankles, careful not to wake the sleeping boy. Tonio put handcuffs
around one wrist then flipped Kevin on his belly. Before Kevin was fully
awake, Tonio locked a cuff around the other wrist. The young American
looked around wildly; he tried to shout but got a gag stuffed in his mouth
for his trouble. The two older boys hauled him to his feet and while Tonio
held his arms, Beppo slapped Kevin's face hard several times. In his best
movie villain voice Beppo told him: "Now that we have your attention, here
is how it is going to be".

Beppo explained that while they both liked the kid he just had to give it
up. It was high time Kevin learned what that pretty ass of his was really
for, and that if you go around all day bare-ass naked you had only yourself
to blame for the consequences. Kevin's protest and pleas were dismissed as
so much cock teasing. Tonight he was getting fucked, but first he would be
punished for his sins. The two boys laid Kevin across a cot pulled out from
the wall. Beppo locked his legs around Kevin's neck, and Tonio stepped on
the stick between his ankles, completely immobilizing the boy. Beppo made a
production of pulling the leather belt off the trousers hung on a hook
nearby. He folded it in half and snapped the leather loudly, enjoying the
whimper that escaped around the gag. Kevin shook his head, but Beppo just
pulled back and hauled off, landing a good one on Kevin's ass, then
another, and another.

"Crack" "Mnggh" "Crack" "Mnggh" "Crack"...

Kevin took ten good ones before Beppo was satisfied he had made his
point. Kevin was shocked and humiliated.

"Look, he's getting hard!" exclaimed Tonio, reaching between Kevin's
leg. "He likes it."

"No, no!" Kevin mumbled into the gag, shaking his head.

"Sure you do, naked one. Admit it." It turns you on." Tonio loosened the
gag so Kevin could confess.

"No, that's just an involuntary reaction. I am not enjoying this." he
insisted.

"Maybe not enjoying it, but you are getting turned on. Getting turned on is
an involuntary reaction, isn't it? And here is the evidence"

Kevin shook his head in denial but could not deny the rush of blood to his
groin as Tonio stroked his cock and tugged on his ball sack.

"Give him another five to get him really in the mood," Tonio advised Beppo,
who complied at once.

Kevin was mortified. Here he was naked and chained, helpless and
confused. These boys were going to take his cherry. It would not be the
romantic moment he had always imagined but a rough initiation, without his
consent. And somehow, his own body was betraying him, responding with a
surge of lust to his degradation. Did that mean he was some kind of
masochist, actually turned on by all this?

The Italian boys dragged Kevin onto the floor, forcing him into a kneeling
postion. They dropped their bikini shorts and presented their cocks to the
younger boy for servicing.

"Get it wet" they told him. "Or it will really hurt. And no talking."
Actually while Beppo had his cock in Kevin's mouth, Tonio used some olive
oil to lubricate the hole and grease up his own cock. A dry fuck would be
murder. They didn't want to injure Kevin, just fuck him and turn him into
their boy bitch. At a nod from Tonio, Beppo pulled his own cock out and
started dick slapping Kevin's face. This was partly to humiliate him and
partly to protect Beppo. A first fuck can be painful, and Kevin might bite
down no matter what threats were made. Tonio grabbed Kevin's asscheeks and
squeezed. God those glutes were so firm and muscular; all that running. He
pushed Kevin forward till his head was on the floor and put his thumbs into
the hole and worked them around, penetrating and spreading. He worked a
thumb in and out while stroking Kevin's cock with the other hand. Kevin
whimpered and pulled uselessly against his bonds, overwhelmed by the
feelings coursing through him. His head was spinning. He was naked and
shackled and helpless and afraid. And yet there was a fire in his
belly. Tonio's attentions made him feel incredibly slutty.

The Italian boy worked his cock up and down Kevin's crack then put the
cockhead against Kevin's hole. He pushed gently letting the smaller boy
feel it and letting him understand that his asshole was now an entrance not
just an exit. He pushed in just enough to get the head past the
sphincter. Kevin writhed in the sudden pain and humiliation. He was getting
fucked. Another male was penetrating him. Tonio gradually fed more and more
of the cock into the warm clutch of flesh. Gods, Kevin was tight. How great
it was to be the first. Tonio was glad he had won the coin toss with
Beppo. Tonio pushed in deeper, almost halfway in. Kevin struggled to accept
it, knowing he had no choice. Tonio smiled; this boy just needed training;
he didn't yet know how to work his ass muscles, how rhythmic internal
contractions could massage and milk a cock. He and Beppo would soon show
him.

Tonio stiffened and drove his hips forward impaling the young American
completely. Rough pubic hair scraped against smooth ass-cheeks. He held it
there for a long moment savoring the warm tightness. He pulled out leaving
just the head in, then plunged in again. He started pumping regularly in
and out, slapping the boy's ass and calling him names, describing him in
unflattering terms, most of which passed Kevin by. This was a whole other
vocabulary from the Italian he had learned in school. No matter, he got the
gist of it right enough. Tonio really wanted to make this fuck last, but it
was just too exciting, taking a boy's cherry, especially such a pretty
cock-tease as Kevin. With loud grunts he started spurting deep in Kevin's
bowels, shot after shot. Tonio bent over and lay his chest on Kevin's back,
breathing heavily. He stayed inside the boy for a long time, taking in the
warm after glow, feeling and petting the boy's sides and flanks.

Now it was Beppo's turn. He shoved his cock back into Kevin's mouth to get
it wet then pulled out and circled around to the rear. Tonio made room and
took his place in front of the hapless blonde. Beppo plunged in without
preliminaries forcing himself all the way in, eliciting a groan from their
prey. Beppo had a different technique, preferring to attack from several
angles rather than go straight in all the time. This paid off as he soon
found Kevin's prostate. The reaction was all he could hope for. Kevin's
whole body shuddered with lust. He had never felt such sensations. Beppo
did it again. Another shudder that started at the hips and traveled upwards
causing him to beat his head lightly against the floor. Kevin had lost
control of his body. His dominators were in charge of it. They controlled
the feelings that coursed through his captive flesh. They decided what he
would do.

Beppo pulled Kevin into a kneeling position, working his nipples, pinching
and pulling. Tonio saw the boy's shudders and his iron hard cock. Tonio
grabbed the boy's blonde hair to get his attention. As Beppo continued to
work away in back, Tonio presented his cock. He made the boy sniff and lick
his own ass juices off the cock. He made the boy taste and swallow the cock
that had just been up his ass. Kevin's mind whirled as he tasted and
sniffed olive oil and sweat and himself. Tonio made him lick off, chew, and
swallow each of the little pieces of shit on the cock. When Kevin thought
it could never get more degrading, the Italian boy gave him a piss chaser,
pinching his nose to force him to swallow it. Several times during all this
Beppo pulled the boy's cock down so it pointed straight at the floor. Every
time he let go, it slapped upright against the boy's belly. Kevin's cock
never went soft during his ordeal. Yes, this is what Kevin was born for.
He was a natural submissive.

Beppo finally spent himself then disengaged. Both boys left Kevin in the
middle of the floor still bound and helpless. This was only round one. As
Kevin sobbed quietly at what had been done to him and at his own reactions,
Beppo leaned back on the bed and used his foot to tease their captive. He
tickled the inside of the boy's thighs. He prodded the ball sack hanging
between. He poked his big toe at the tiny brown ring of the hole. When the
two boys felt recovered they did it all again, with variations. Hours later
they released Kevin and let him crawl into bed.

In the morning, Kevin couldn't look the other boys in the eye. Tonio told
him to get over it. To get used to it.

"You guys raped me! What do you mean get used to it?"

"You belong to us now. Even if you don't know it, your body does." Tonio
pointed out with devastating logic. Kevin opened his mouth to protest but
could think of nothing to say. He trembled as Beppo ran his hands over
Kevin's shoulders and back and trailed them down to his backside. Beppo
took his right arm in a lock and bent it behind Kevin. Pain shot through
him. At the same time he felt an incredible flush as his belly heated up
and his knees went weak at the thought of his helplessness. He was totally
vulnerable as Tonio slapped his face gently, worked his tits, hefted his
balls and stroked his cock. When it was hard, Tonio slapped it. It bounced
but stayed hard. Kevin bit his lip, tears in his eyes. Was he really such
a slut?

                      Chapter 4. The Landowner

Kevin was on his regular morning run, pounding down on a gravel road that
passed by several large villas. This was a couple of weeks after the boys
had broken him in. They had used him severely over the weekend, taking
plenty of pictures of Kevin begging for cock, Kevin drinking piss, Kevin
shuddering as he was fucked. Kevin on all fours being penetrated at both
ends. There was audio of their fuck sessions as Kevin begged to be used,
asking the Italian boys to work him over, to slap his face or his cock, to
spank or whip his ass with a belt before driving their cocks up his
hole. By the time it was over, the pattern was set. He could deny them
nothing.

The professore sensed something had changed in his absence, but since the
American boy no longer seemed to be mooning after him, fine. The boy was
cute but he would never take advantage of a subordinate. He couldn't help
but wonder at the obvious welts and bruises on the boy, but since he did
not complain, what could he do? When the professore wasn't on site, the two
Italian boys took charge of the little blonde, ordering him about, telling
him to fetch and carry, slapping his face or ass if were too slow. If he
made a mistake or screwed up, he had to bend over for an ass whipping with
a belt. Sometimes they both beat him, alternating strokes. Generally they
assessed twenty strokes as a reasonable punishment for most infractions. He
usually asked for a poke afterwards, but since this was punishment, they
refused. He had to earn their cocks.

Kevin had been reluctant to resume his training run that first day after
his transformation, thinking he should maybe put on shorts to cover the
obvious whip marks on his ass, but one glance from Tonio dissuaded
him. They wanted those wounds on display, public evidence that he was their
naked, hairless whipping boy and fuck toy.

Things didn't get any better when the local landowner, Don Lorenzo, showed
up to see how things were going. He wasn't surprised to see that Kevin was
naked as he worked the site. This was his second visit, and anyway, Kevin's
training runs took him past the landowner's estate. Don Lorenzo knew the
boy was an exhibitionist. Today he also noticed signs of abuse on Kevin's
ass and back. Even his lips were swollen. It was obvious he had been beaten
and slapped. Don Lorenzo caught the smirks the two Italian boys directed at
the young American.

The local landowner was a few years short of forty but still
vigorous. Although a rich man, Don Lorenzo was no idler, just collecting
rents. He worked a good part of the lands he owned. Most was in olives or
figs. He also had a vineyard with a good local reputation. He kept his
visit short, but asked the Italian boys to meet him that evening at his
estate. There he laid out his proposition. He did not want to interfere
with the boys, but he did want a crack at the American boy too. For a
reasonable consideration, they agreed to share the young blonde. Don
Lorenzo offered Kevin a chance to see rural life in an Italian villa
today. Let him work for a week or so at the villa and he would better
understand the finds they were making at the dig. The professore thought
that made sense and he wanted to keep in good with the landowner. Kevin
knew he really didn't have a choice.

"Uh, what should I bring tomorrow when I report for work?" Kevin asked.

"Just yourself. The estate will provide food and shelter, and you won't be
wearing clothes, for authenticity. Think of it as living the life of a
rural laborer of some twenty-four centuries ago. The landowners then didn't
provide clothing for their field hands. As you have seen on Roman wall
paintings, laborers typically worked naked."

So it was agreed that when he finished his morning run, Kevin would simply
stop by the estate and present himself for duty. The wizened gatekeeper
gave him a hard look as he opened the iron gates to the estate. He knew
Kevin was expected and led him around to the farm buildings rather than to
the house.

"There you are young Kevin. No, of course you won't be staying at the
house" he said to Kevin's unspoken question. "You understand don't
you. You're not a guest. You'll be working here. He led the way into a
large barn. They stored tools and the smaller sorts of farm equipment
there, not tractors or plows, just pumps and post hole diggers and
such. Some areas were partitioned off and there were a couple of horse
stalls though these hadn't been used for animals in decades.

"Your first job is to bring a bale of straw from the stack in the shed out
back to this stall. This is where you will be staying, and the straw will
be your bedding."

"What..."

"Ragazzo, you must realize that landowners of the past thought of their
laborers as domestic livestock. They usually burned a brand right here" he
said stroking Kevin's bare flank. Actually he thought the boy would look
good with a brand to go with the welts and bruises. Don Lorenzo made a
mental note to include daily whippings in the boy's routine. "These are
Sergio and Franco" he said indicating two rough looking farmhands. "They
work for me since they were boys." Both were in their late twenties and had
the calloused hands of rural folk everywhere. "Show him what to do". And
with that he left the boy in their hands.

Sergio was the taller of the two and both much bigger than Kevin. He felt
self-conscious as he endured their scrutiny. Franco ran his hand down
Kevin's belly and groin, feeling how smooth and hairless it was, lifting
the boy's arms to see his armpits. Shaking his head, he lead the way to the
shed out back. Kevin couldn't object. In his situation, he didn't have much
say about who touched him or used him. He had to accept that he was a
bottom, like Tonio said. Sergio just pointed to a bale of straw too big to
lift. The farmhands didn't offer to help either. It was too heavy to drag
with a hand hook so the boy had to roll it along, standing it on end then
pushing it over in the direction of travel. The strain on his belly as he
lifted the bale made his butt hole sputter with each shove. He had been
fucked so much his hole was loose. Very embarassing. Eventually he got the
straw bale to the stall, cut the twine, and spread it out. Might not be too
bad he thought, kind of prickly though on bare skin. He noticed a heavy
chain stapled to the front post of the stall. It connected to a old shackle
sized for an ankle, a human ankle.

"Was that really for him? That's carrying realism a little too far." he
thought, but didn't see what he could do about it. The thought caused a
flutter in his belly. He felt his hole pucker and a moment later he let
loose a fart. The farmhands smiled at these further sounds from his
hole. It reminded them of the uninhibited behavior of the farm animals they
worked with. Animals have no shame. This boy didn't either. That didn't
make him a farm animal exactly, but he had a bare hide and nothing to cover
his genitalia or his orifices of excretion. Also he was to be put to work
like a beast of burden, hauling a cart. And if they were right about the
Don's plans, the boy's hide would soon feel the sting of the whip.

The rest of the day was just hard work, nothing untoward. Olive and fig
trees needed pruning either seasonally or to control pests. Kevin's job was
to haul away the cut branches into a pile and load them onto a cart. Franco
explained the use of the cutting tools and let Kevin practice on downed
branches. His inexperienced eye could not be trusted to pick the spot to
cut or judge how much to cut. But the farm hands made a real effort to get
the boy to understand what they did and how. They took pride in their
work. It took skill and experience, otherwise you could harm a century old
tree. Of course the cart was a hand cart and it was up to him to move it by
himself. He half expected them to yoke him to it like farm animal, but no,
he just had to push on the crossbar between the handles. Once he got the
load to the barn, he fed the wood into a chipper, which dropped the wood
chips onto the bed of a trailer.

Kevin felt pretty good at day's end. Never a lazy boy, he had no objection
to honest work. This was a job that needed doing and he had made himself
useful, though at the price of several nicks and cuts. The worst part was
when a heavy limb slipped in his grasp and one of its branches whipped up
between the legs. He rolled on the ground, holding his balls, much too hurt
to cry. When he got his breath back he did cry out but manfully managed to
hold back tears. He really needed the work clothes and gloves the others
had, but that would not be 'authentic for the period'. Farm laborers long
ago did not use gloves and, in these regions, did not wear clothes.

They also did not have access to flush toilets. Actually it wasn't so
bad. Don Lorenzo had built a Roman style outhouse sited between farm
buildings and fields. Quite ingenious really. The Roman design was
sheltered from wind and rain, drew no flies and had no smell. Stream fed
and gravity powered, it was a one-holer with a constant flow under the
seat. A smaller flow ran in a small trough behind the footrest. You did
your business and wiped your ass with a sponge on a stick. Then you washed
the sponge in the trough and hung it up for the next user. The outhouse had
four walls, but the sloping roof covered only two thirds of the space
enclosed. Hence no odors and no flies; the waste flushed by gravity into
the stream lower down.

A servant girl brought supper out to Kevin who ate at a rough wooden table
out back. Fairly young and good looking, she made no attempt not to stare
at the pretty young American. She chatted Kevin up while she eyed
him. Nothing really new there. Like at the track meets. He could hardly
complain that she ogled his ass or his privates. Fact is, he didn't have
privates anymore. Everything about him was public. He was honest enough to
admit that the 'shame' of constant public nudity was a turn on, even when
he threw wood at inappropriate moments. Yes, people could see his plumped
up cock, his hairless ball sack. They could glimpse his hole when he bent
over. Some people already knew that the brown crinkly ring wasn't just an
exit anymore. Well, he was a teenage boy, not a eunuch. Biology ruled. He
had the usual orifices, only his were never inaccessible.

Alone once again, Kevin reached under the table, lazily stroking his
cock. It wasn't particularly large when soft; that helped when he ran. It
took both his small hands to cover when erect. Kevin had a smooth cock,
not gnarly with veins. He tugged at the foreskin that hung down a good
finger's breadth past the hidden head of his cock. The bizarre practice of
circumcision was dying out in America and had never caught on in
Europe. Its real purpose was to discourage masturbation among 19th century
youth by making the penis less sensitive to manipulation.

In Roman times slave owners could infibulate a boy, putting a pin through
the bottom of the foreskin to keep him from getting an erection. They had
complete control over their property and could do anything except maybe
butcher a slave for the table. They could resort to whippings and even
castration for incorrigible slaves. "I hope Don Lorenzo doesn't get too
authentic" Kevin mused. He halfway expected to get whipped. The landowner
had mentioned he would not tolerate poor performance. Kevin wondered what
his foreskin would look like with a pin or maybe a ring through it. Both
would prevent an erection, but a ring, that was a handle. You could slip a
finger through it or hook a leash and lead a boy around by his cock.

"Playing with yourself, are we?." Kevin looked up; it was the landowner and
his two farmhands.

"Ah, um..yes" Kevin sighed. No point denying it.

Their smirks told him they had seen everything. Franco gave Sergio a look
that said "He really is shameless." The landowner gestured for the American
boy to stand up a minute while the farmhands pulled the bench back from the
table.

"Sit down here, boy" Don Lorenzo said, indicating that Kevin should
straddle the bench facing him. "I know you hurt yourself today. Glad to
see you are recovering." His fingers lifted and massaged the ball sack
lying on the bench between them. "Hands to your sides, little one" the
older man admonished as the boy tried to interpose his hands. "Yes, very
nice," the man murmured as he rolled the orbs in their sack. His other hand
found the boy's cock and began stroking it, pulling the foreskin back,
squeezing the head at the sides to watch the cock lips spread open. "Lie
back on the bench" Kevin blushed as the man explored his crinkly brown
ring, inserting two fingers and pulling it open. He continued to manipulate
him proprietarily, as if he were an owner checking one of his farm animals.

"You know boy, in their day the Romans might ring or pin a boy's foreskin
to keep him compliant and to keep him from impregnating the female slaves."
Kevin's eyes bugged out. Had this man somehow divined his thoughts? The
man tugged at the hanging portion of his foreskin and rubbed it between
thumb and finger from inside and out. Forestalling any verbal objections,
the older man continued with a brief description of what an owner might do
to a slave, whether to maintain control or to punish: infibulation, nose
rings, a guiche.

He had to explain that one to the still innocent lad. "A guiche goes
through this fold of skin that makes a line between scrotum and anus. Kevin
gulped as the man's finger rubbed the fold of skin and traced its length.
A small ring just big enough for a finger. Tugging on it early in sex
arouses; tugging later interrupts climax." The landowner assured the boy
that they need not go so far for authenticity. Besides it might get in his
way as he ran cross country, especially if the small ring were just the
anchor for a dangling ornament. "A nose ring though, that is doable." Kevin
hoped he was just teasing him. Could anything be more blatant if he ran
around with his ass striped from whippings and a ring in his nose?

It was soon evident that the landowner was not serious about a piercing, at
least not today. He suddenly changed subjects and talked about Kevin's work
that day. Don Lorenzo liked the way the boy had pitched in, working to the
limit of his strength. He looked so beautiful pushing the heavy laden
cart, sweating and straining, leg muscles standing out in relief. Don
Lorenzo wished there were a way he could really enslave this young
American, and keep him with him. The boy was so young and small and
beautiful not to mention wanton and submissive, letting a near stranger
take control of his genitals. Well he did have him for the next ten days.
The picture record he had already started would console him when the boy
left. The older man suddenly assumed a stern look and reminded Kevin of how
he had jammed the chipper twice that day. The first time, they cleared it
quickly. The second time required a genuine repair with a replacement part.
Even making allowances for inexperience, the landowner felt the boy must
accept a certain amount of punishment for his transgression.

Kevin rolled his eyes. Why bother with silly excuses? No surprise really
that they intended to string him up and whip him. Fuck him afterwards, in
all likelihood. More authenticity of course. Owners had the right to punish
or to use their slaves for their pleasure. The two farm hands took him by
the arms and led him to the equipment barn. They led him over to a set of
metal shackles hanging from a rafter. He had to stand on tip toe as they
fastened them to his wrists. Fortunately they were lined with leather and
would not leave sores. Not leaving anything to chance they locked a
spreader bar to his ankles. Sized for a much taller man, these pulled his
legs painfully apart. He could hardly touch the ground now. A short cord
tied the center of the bar to an eyelet recessed into the floor. So there
he was spread-eagled and bound hand and foot.

"Now I am going to explain about this gag," Don Lorezo said as Franco
forced it into his mouth. It was a wide flat piece of leather that pressed
down on his tongue. "It is not to keep you quiet. We are quite isolated
here. No one will hear except my staff. It is to keep you from talking. I
don't want you silent. I want to hear your screams. I want to hear your
moans and sobs and whimpers. But a whipping is no time for a conversation.
You have nothing to say, really. I don't needed a whipped boy to tell me in
so many words that he is in pain. I can tell easily enough, both from the
sounds that escape around the gag and the way your body writhes under the
whip. I don't need you to tell me that you want it to stop. I suspect some
part of you actually wants this to happen." he continued, nodding at
Kevin's erect cock. He smiled and rubbed a thumb over the head, already
leaking pre-cum."

"I especially don't want to hear pleas or threats or promises. You are in
no position to make them, even if my cousin weren't the police chief of
this province. I am a man of influence and you are just the young foreigner
who has made a spectacle of himself around here. Just because public
nudity is now legal doesn't mean everyone approves of it, especially in a
rural backwater like this. There are many who think a good whipping is just
what you need. I am one of them."

Don Lorenzo stepped back and looked at the tableau appraisingly. "Hmmm,
we'll start off with a simple whipping this evening. No need for clamps on
those tiny boy tits or weights hung from those balls. Sometimes a blindfold
is fun, but it would keep me from seeing into your eyes. The eyes are
windows to the soul and tonight I want to see your fear, your pain, your
shame, and yes, your lust. We shall save those embellishments for another
day. Never fear, you will get to sample all these delights. And just wait
till we use the special spreader bar. It has a long tube perpendicular to
the bar. Dildos of various sizes can be mounted on top. Short as you are,
the top of the tube itself likely reaches up to your hole. Those dildos
will go in all the deeper for it."

Kevin's head was whirling from all this trash talk and from his churning
emotions. He looked apprehensively as Franco shook out a mean looking
cat-of-nine-tails and took a position behind him.

"Don't worry, little one", he murmured reassuringly. "It is just leather,
no bits of lead are sewn into the tips of the lashes. That would tear your
lovely hide." And so it began. Over the course of an hour, Franco and
Sergio traded off as they rained dozens of strokes on the hapless boy,
pausing only to let him catch his breath. As Don Lorenzo had acknowledged,
the gag did little to muffle his screams. They spared no part of his body
below the neck. Franco's specialty was a wrist trick that brought the cat's
lashes up between the legs. Contrary to what one might expect, when done
from the rear, the target was the boy's genitals as the tips of the strands
lashed the belly. From the front, the target was ass-cheeks and
boy-hole. Sergio preferred the traditional approach: from behind deliver a
side arm stroke horizontally to the hip and let the strands wrap around
front to strike the cock and balls. Both men appreciated that with Kevin's
low body fat, he had very little cushioning. That whip hurt.

Don Lorenzo used the pauses to pet the boy, kiss his cheek, blow into his
ear, and exhale into his face so he would take his master's scent. He
murmured endearments and encouragement. Told him how beautiful he looked
strung up, every muscle taut. How musical his sobs and cries were. How
brave he was to take so many strokes. How honest he was to recognize his
need to submit to stronger males. How generous he was to share his naked
beauty with the world, even removing any body hair that might conceal a
part of his loveliness from onlookers and refusing clothing. He
complimented the youth on the smoothness and firmness of the column of his
erection. He grabbed and weighed one of his buttocks and complimented the
boy on how firm it was. He stroked the boy's flanks and ran his thumb over
and around the cock head. He captured droplets of the boy's pre-cum and
inserted a finger into his mouth under the gag. The boy's cock bobbed as
the droplets touched his tongue. He had tasted it before but never like
this, a gift from this strong male who had taken him in charge. As a
reward, Don Lorenzo gave the blonde another taste, then took one for
himself.

Kevin's knees went weak and he nearly fainted at the intensity of this
shared moment of sex and sensation. Don Lorenzo kept stroking the boy's
cock, but never enough to bring him off. Better to keep him delirious with
arousal. Here is where a guiche would be useful. Even if he misjudged the
boy's arousal, a sharp tug on the ring through his flesh would stop an
orgasm in its tracks. As he had expected, although it sometimes sagged with
the pain of the whip, the penis always returned quickly to full staff.
This boy was a treasure, beautiful, submissive, and masochistic. He had to
find a way to keep him--to help him explore his body's lust for pain and
surrender. The pictures they were taking of his degradation were all fine
and good, but possession was the thing.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur after they let him down for the
fuck. They laid him over some bales of straw still shackled and delved into
him for the next two hours. Sergio would reach between the boy's legs and
bend his erection down, stroking sensuously, then letting it snap up to his
belly. The boy went frantic with frustrated desire, begging around his gag
for them to let him come or at least to fuck him. Franco liked to pinch
the tiny nipples while he fed the boy his cock. Don Lorenzo took a gentler
approach, like a horse whisperer soothing a mare. They let him come only
once very near the end. After an enormous ejaculation, the boy fainted dead
away. Finally, they let him loose but only briefly dragging him exhausted
and unresisting over to his stall. Franco locked the fetter around his
ankle and laid him gently on the straw. Can't have him sleep walking around
all the farm machinery. If he needed to go, do it on the straw in the next
stall. He could muck it out in the morning when they released him.The trio
smiled down at their beautiful boy, cum glistening on his belly and still
oozing out of his shaft. Franco teased the head a bit, eliciting a
moan. Kevin was at that stage when the sensation in his cock was so good it
hurt.

They went into the house sending the young servant girl out to tend to
blonde boy's hurts. She gave him water and pills for the pain and to let
him sleep. She also daubed at his raw and leaking asshole, then stretched
the folds of the brown ring with her fingers while rubbing an antiseptic
cream into the abused muscle. This was just nursing. She knew this boy felt
nothing for females. How could he? His was the submissive role; like a
girl, to be penetrated.

Thus passed the first day of authentic reenactment of the life of a farm
laborer in ancient times.

The next morning Kevin did not know what to expect. Would they throw him
into some dungeon? No, they released him and gave him breakfast. Kevin knew
that Continentals typically ate a light breakfast and this was no
exception, but it wasn't the usual fare. No coffee. Not only was coffee not
'of the period' but it would dehydrate him and probably make him take a
dump right in the middle of his daily run. Incredibly they expected him to
carry on as normal: a morning run, field work into the evening, and further
special entertainment till bed time, if you can call a pile of straw a bed.

"Go ahead, boy. Get started." the landowner said indicating the driveway to
the front gate.

"You really think I am going out that gate and coming back? You really
expect me to return here later to work for you, to pull a cart like I were
some farm animal, a beast of burden. To surrender myself naked into your
clutches for further tortures?"

"Exactly".

Kevin jogged away and through the gate. His sore muscles protested at
first, but as he warmed up they loosened up. He considered his options. He
could run back to the dig, but the two assistants would only turn him over
to Don Lorenzo. He couldn't go to the police. He was entirely without
funds, no papers, a foreigner, stark naked, and notorious in the area. He
couldn't call his step-dad. These men had more than enough pictures and
voice recordings to blackmail him. His step-father was liberal enough; he
knew the boy was gay and something of an exhibitionist. Naked field sports
sort of required that these days. But he did not know about the pictures
Kevin had sold to the web site. He would not easily accept a son who took
money to display himself so provocatively, hole twitched open to invite
penetration. He wanted a son he could be proud of, a good student, a fine
athlete. Not a whore. And those were the mildest of the pictures these men
now had of him.

He went past the turn-off to the site and continued his regular route. This
took him past the entrance to the estate several times. On the last lap, he
slowed as he approached the gate. Hardly believing it himself he rang for
the gatekeeper and did not protest as the old man switched his ass once
then directed him to the barn. The farm hands smiled as he meekly gave
himself up. Thereafter the day proceeded much like the one before, except
the punishments for infractions were more severe. Just as expected. What
was wrong with him, Kevin wondered as they strung him up for his second
whipping. What other side of his psyche might be revealed in this cauldron
of sensation. Yet he knew that this evening's surrender was but a step on
the road to his dark destiny, whatever that might ultimately be.

              Chapter 5. In the Hands of the Carabinieri

Two weeks later, as Kevin ran his course, he saw a police car in the
driveway of the estate, but since he had another lap and a half left, he
ran onward. He was working again at the dig, passing his nights in the
company of the two Italian boys. They fucked him every chance they got.
With the professore in the next wing, they could not indulge as much as
they would like in painful tortures, but there were many ways to degrade a
boy without a lot of noise. They also picked up tips from Franco or Sergio
who came over a couple of times 'to represent the landowner'.

For instance, blindfolded, Kevin had to guess, from just its taste, whose
piss he was drinking. He had no other clues. Handcuffed on his knees, head
back, mouth open, he took the stream of piss as it came out of one of their
cocks. In all fairness, they filled him with a mouthful and let him swirl
it around with his tongue to get the taste. If he still wasn't sure, they
had him blow some of it out of his nostrils. As a last chance they would
push his nose into a wide jar and let him suck it into his nose. Failures
were punished by taking a switch to his ass. Beppo liked to use the brown
ring of the asshole as a bullseye. Kevin got quite good at the game, even
when the tried to fool him by eating things that would give their urine a
funny taste or color.

Whatever was happening at the estate, it would keep till he finished his
run. Anyway, he wasn't sure he wanted to show up uninvited while the police
were there and with obvious whip marks on his naked ass. Just after he
passed the gateway, he heard a car rushing toward him from behind, so he
angled toward the shoulder to give it room. As it pulled closer he heard a
shout over the loudspeaker: "Fermatevi" [Stop]. It was the police, the
Carabinieri. They did not explain or give him a chance to ask what was
up. They just grabbed him roughly, cuffed his wrists behind his back, and
hustled him into the car. Most of his newly acquired Italian left him as he
blurted out questions and protests. The maresciallo [sergeant] in the
passenger seat just shook his head and ignored the bewildered boy.

They took him to the estate and pulled him out of the car. The driver
grabbed his wrists forcing the boy's arms painfully up behind him. The
officer reached between the boy's ass-ckeeks and stuck a finger up his
hole. Held like that, resistance was futile. They frog marched the nude boy
over to the landowner who nodded sadly and said simply " E lui" [That's
him]. It turned out that the maresciallo spoke good English. He explained
that Don Lorenzo had reported a jewelry theft. A precious emerald of
considerable size and value was missing. Don Lorenzo told the police that
the young American living in the neighborhood had worked there
recently. Also, he had been spotted leaving the grounds that morning just
before discovery of the theft. Kevin wailed in disbelief. No, he hadn't
been on the grounds this morning. The maresciallo insisted on a search.

"Search! What do you mean search? Where could I hide anything?"

"Ragazzo, do you think we are incompetent or stupid? Maybe you already
stashed it somewhere by the side of the road, hoping to get it later. Or
maybe it is still on your person. Or in your person?", he added, poking his
baton in Kevin's stomach. "Or maybe lower? Bend him over" he added then
poked the tip of his baton a little way into Kevin's hole. Let's start
with the easiest place to reach." He put on a latex glove, snapping it on
right under Kevin's nose. The driver, reminded where his finger had just
been, stuck it in Kevin's mouth for him to clean off then grabbed the boy's
balls to keep him still. Bent over, ass in the air, Kevin suffered the
indignity of a full cavity search.

"Come pensavo" [just as I thought} the senior cop said, holding up the
emerald he had palmed."It was up your ass, after all". Kevin looked around
in despair. This man worked for the landowner's cousin, the police
chief. It was a perfect frame job. "We caught you red-handed boy."

Don Lorenzo said something in Italian too fast for Kevin to follow,
provoking a chuckle from the policeman. "Yes, it is not his hands that are
red but this" stroking Kevin's ass where the red welts from weeks of
whippings overlay his bruises. The officer took a phone call, then looked
sternly at the boy. It seems that the police had searched his things at the
dig and found a stash of dangerous drugs. Also subversive pamphlets and
emails linking him to foreign terrorist organizations.

Shaking his head sadly the landowner repeated his tale of trust abused. He
told how Kevin had pleaded for the chance to work for him, saying he wanted
to learn about rural life. He really wanted to gain access to the estate
and case it for robbery. The boy hung his head and started crying. He did
not know why they wanted to break him or what they wanted to do with
him. It's not like they couldn't just take him for sex if they fancied
him. He was in no position to refuse. If strong men wanted to bend him over
for a spanking or a fuck, they would. A boy who ran around naked in public
displaying a hairless groin and a bare ass striped by a whip had no dignity
to stand on. Kevin realized that whatever their intentions he had neither
defense nor recourse. The planted evidence made the frame up
unbreakable. He was theirs.

Don Lorenzo was moved by the boy's despair. He did not really want to hurt
the boy but how else could he keep him in this country? The assistantship
at the dig had only a couple of weeks to go. Kevin would then go back to
America, lost to him forever.

Just then the police driver pointed to Kevin's groin, asking about the
narrow white stripes all up and down his cock. He cupped the boy's genitals
moving the limp cock back and forth with his thumb to display the
injuries. The landowner shrugged, pretending ignorance. In reality he had
taken a cock whip to Kevin since his second day. Don Lorenzo enjoyed using
a cock whip on a lad. With proper training a boy could be taught to crave
the caress and sting of the small whip. Over time, the sting of the whip
itself would cause arousal as much as dread. Bounce the cock with taps
underneath, stroke it with light passes, strike it up down and
sideways. Sometimes a trainer used a leather tie to pull the stiff dick
down and away from the boy's belly so the whip could strike the upper side
of the engorged penis.

Kevin was just a beginner of course, still in the first stage of submission
to the cock whip. If the landowner had his way, Kevin would learn to come
just from the sting of the whip. His cock would get harder and harder from
repeated snaps until it was time to bring the boy off with a vicious slash
to the top of the cockhead, striking the cocklips dead on. That was the way
to control a boy. Control his sexuality.

The next days found Kevin completely bewildered and helpless. There was no
question of a public trial. Under anti-terrorism laws, normal legal
protections were suspended. The carabinieri wove a tale of a perverse
foreigner hoping to finance terrorists from the proceeds of theft and drug
sales. His bizarre behavior, public nudity, and kinky sex were designed as
much to distract the authorities from his true purposes as for personal
gratification. They kept Kevin in the lowest level of the jail in solitary
confinement. Until conviction and sentencing prisoners were not entitled to
state provided clothing so Kevin stayed naked. They would not let him talk
to a lawyer. He might pass messages on to terrorist contacts. His only
visitors were the two policemen who had arrested him and the landowner's
cousin, the chief of police. It took only a glance for him to understand
why Don Lorenzo had resorted to such desperate measures to frame the
lad. No man who loved young males could lightly accept the loss of such a
catch. The three policemen did not come to the cell to question him but to
use him sexually.

Kevin's step-father refused his calls and any aid. The serious charges and
the clear cut case plus public disclosure of the boy's perverse sexual
adventures were too much for the older man. Especially mortifying were the
video and audio materials that Don Lorenzo provided anonymously. He felt
he had to disown his wayward step-son (and keep all his mother's insurance
money).

Italy did not have the death penalty, but the authorities threatened Kevin
with surgical castration and mind altering medication, a chemical lobotomy
that would turn him into a zombie. They claimed that his perverse sexuality
could not be let loose on the general prison population. He would go to a
special prison where a severe regime prevailed. In the end, they made him
an offer he couldn't refuse. In exchange for a full confession, they would
let him keep both his genitals and his mind. He surrendered all civil
rights including the right of appeal. Oh, he also had to renounce his
American citizenship. There would be no messy diplomatic interference in
behalf of a stateless criminal. Kevin took the deal.

                      Chapter 5. Slavery

The special prison was an old castle on a low island like something out of
a Dumas novel. Otherwise uninhabited, it lay out of sight of the coast. The
sea, radar, and offshore currents kept the island isolated. Nobody bothered
to dress Kevin for his trip to the prison. The severe regime for special
prisoners included the humiliation of perpetual nudity for prisoners of his
sort. As they dragged him off the prison launch, Kevin saw prisoners
working in the fields. Half were in orange jumpsuits and had standard
prison haircuts. These were the bigger men and rougher looking too. The
rest were like Kevin, younger and smaller as well as naked and hairless;
many were completely bald.

The guards hustled the blonde to the infirmary. There they shaved his head
and used a depilatory to keep it bald. The treatment would last two years,
although they let him believe it was permanent. They got rid of his
eyebrows with the same depilatory. This last was a simple but fiendish
punishment. Without eyebrows, in the hot climate, sweat would always run
into and sting his eyes. Then the guards pushed Kevin in front of a camera
for his intake photo. In a full length mirror nearby Kevin saw what they
had done to him. He hardly looked like a human being anymore. More like
some space alien or a statue.

The doctor implanted a locator and restraint chip up his nasal sinus. The
island prison did not have walls. The castle walls were really to keep the
prisoners out of unauthorized areas, not keep them from escaping. The real
prison wall was the restraint chip. As long as it received the proper coded
signal from the prison transmitter, nothing happened. Trying to get more
than two hundred meters from the shore triggered both a locator beacon and
blinding pain that would leave a prisoner screaming and rolling on the
ground. It was fail safe. Turning the signal off would not assist an
escape--just the opposite.

The interview with the warden was not promising. The man's short brutal
speech only confirmed what his cruel face suggested. Kevin was there to
suffer for his 'crimes'. "There has to be an accounting, young man. They
let you keep those", he said, pointing to Kevin's groin. "That doesn't mean
you can enjoy them. With the help of a group of concerned citizens, the
guards, and other prisoners you will learn the meaning of pain and
degradation. I think you already know one of these concerned citizens: Don
Lorenzo. He and his cousin, the police chief, visit from time to time. I
expect their visits will be more frequent now that you are here. At least
for the next five or ten years, until they lose interest. Don't worry. You
won't ever lack for attention. Many of our civilian auxiliaries like a
young man in his late twenties and early thirties."

Kevin realized this was not imprisonment but slavery. He would be at the
mercy of the guards, the 'concerned citizens', and other prisoners. The
prisoners never paired off. No one prisoner could keep a boy for
himself. The guards allowed the dominant males to abuse the smaller and
younger ones, but they must always share, giving every dominator a chance
at every submissive. They would likely take him at both ends at once. Or
plug his hole with two cocks, all three bodies in contorted positions for
the double penetration. Why not add another at his mouth for good
measure. And don't forget to torment his nipples, slap his ass, tug on his
ball sack and slap his cock back and forth. Whatever they want they will
just do. He had to take it. That was why he was here.

The authorities told the prisoners that the only way off the island was
burial at sea. The warden did not mention it, but sometimes prisoners were
sold to sadists or foreign slavers after a faked report of their
deaths. The warden sold only the worst criminals, those he was sure were
guilty and really deserved the death penalty his country no longer used.
They were sold to countries in the Middle East, Africa, or Asia. These
deals always were made with the understanding the prisoner's life off the
island would be nasty and short, with the body disposed of completely.

Kevin would be a good candidate for sale except he was innocent.It was
quite obvious that the landowner had framed the boy to make him available,
to keep him from leaving the country. Theoretically they could get a good
price for him. Plenty of folks hated America. They would jump at the chance
to rape and fatally torture a young American, especially a pretty
blonde. But he would never go on the market. The warden was a cruel man,
but he liked to think he was fair.

Kevin's life on the island alternated between the fields where he worked,
the running track along the shore, the underground torture chambers and
cells, and the whipping post and vertical rack. These were outdoors in the
full glare of the sun. With his wrists shackled to the top of the whipping
post or spread-eagled on the rack, Kevin endured repeated whippings
followed by vicious gang bangs. Every part of him was fair game. The
prisoners especially like to work on his tiny nips. Kevin looked so young
and boyish with his small stature and hairless body. Prisoners would chew
on his nipples, pinch them, tug on them. They told the boy that they were
doing him a favor making the tips more prominent, more manly.

From time to time they gave him a time-out for special treatments in the
infirmary to heal his abused hide. Many of the concerned citizens liked to
start their visit with a fresh "canvass". Sometimes he was allowed a
training week to get back in shape with regular exercise. They even let him
go swimming close to shore. No one in management wanted the boy to look
haggard and worn out. Better to keep him fresh looking.

Don Lorenzo visited monthly. The first visit was awkward. Both knew how
shabbily he had treated Kevin. The older man wanted to explain without
questions or interruptions. He locked the boy into a Saint Andrew's cross
and gagged him to keep him quiet. The blonde American looked delectable
that way, reminding the older man of the pleasures they had shared. He told
the boy of his infatuation, his overwhelming physical attraction, which he
was sure was reciprocated. He told of his anguish at Kevin's approaching
departure to America to finish high school. Who knew when the boy might
return, maybe years, maybe never? Don Lorenzo had to have Kevin, even if he
had to share him this way. That was why he framed him.

Kevin knew that the strong feelings they shared were not from romantic
love. They really did not know each other that well as people. Neither knew
much of the other's background. Nevertheless Kevin admitted to himself that
if it had been at all possible he would have stayed. Whether their
relationship lasted months or years, he would have surrendered himself to
the older man and lived the life of a farm laborer of old, or of a slave,
or of a domestic animal, if that was the way Don Lorenzo wanted him. Of
course that was impossible, both then and now. Kevin was not a free agent
and never had been. It was only on his second visit that Kevin told Don
Lorenzo of his thoughts and feelings. Though they both felt sad about what
might have been, the Italian man was thrilled that the boy reciprocated his
physical yearnings. They picked up where they had left off, the last time
Kevin was strung up in the barn.

Don Lorenzo kept his old promise and trained Kevin to orgasm when his cock
was slashed with that special whip. He even brought Franco and Sergio with
him on a visit. Kevin responded as before to the variations in their
respective techniques. The landowner's visits became the high point of the
month, leaving the boy delirious and exhausted, degraded and sore, sobbing
yet exhilirated. The three men did not hold back. They whipped the boy as
hard as they fucked him. Sure Don Lorenzo would coo in Kevin's ear or lick
the sweat off his nose, or stroke his flanks languidly. But that was
between sessions with whip or paddle or belt or cat. He loved to fondle the
boy's scrotum and tell him how pretty his cock was, but only after spending
half an hour slapping that same cock back and forth, whipping it, hanging
weights from the balls or dripping hot wax on his tender bits. It had to be
that way. The landowner was a dominant and a sadist. He had to treat Kevin
as a victim. That is what the boy really was, a submissive and a masochist,
not to mention a shameless exhibitionist. Those aspects went together at
least as well as Lock and Key.

Don Lorenzo's cousin usually showed up with the maresciallo. The latter
liked to string the boy up by his wrists and torture his testicles. He had
strong workman's hands and liked nothing better than to squeeze them with
his thumbs. It was not that the two policemen like to inflict pain so much
as they liked seeing a boy react to it. It was really sexy to see a cute
face screw up in pain or fear, or lust. Sobs and pleas and cries of
despair were like music to them. They would stroke themselves as they
watched a boy's body writhe and twist in its bonds. They loved to see the
play of chest muscles and ribs as boys sobbed or struggled for breath. The
flexing of abdominal muscles and limbs as the boys endured torture aroused
them to the peak of excitement. Kevin's small muscular physique and pretty
boy features made him everyone's preferred subject. His pain and
degradation was captured for posterity.

The warden had a good rapport with Don Lorenzo and passed along candid
videos produced at the prison featuring the young blonde. Suitably edited
to blur the faces of the torturers, videos and stills were a major money
maker for the prison staff and completely off the books. New releases went
on sale quarterly through discreet channels on three continents.

After a six months the warden decided it was time to get serious about
Kevin's piercings. So far Kevin had merely had his ears pierced to take a
pair of gold earrings. These were solid and of uniform thickness all
around, not the prissy kind with a thin pin at top. The rings gave the doms
convenient handles for face fuckings. Kevin was told to report for his
next round. Practically crying, he went through the indicated door and
looked nervously at the dentist chair in the middle. It was equipped with
an intimidating array of straps and cuffs. There was a man in a lab coat
and two trustees of the prison, both dominators of course. They pointed to
the chair. Kevin sat down and trembled as the trustees strapped him
down. First there were cuffs were at ankles, wrists, and elbows. Next came
straps across his chest just below the nipples, a broad strap at the waist,
and leather ties at the knees. They forced his head back to the headrest
and secured it with straps around his neck and forehead. Where did they
think he could run off to?

The lab coat uncovered a tray with an alarming array of hardware: rings of
various sizes and large needles. They started with a nose ring, about four
centimeters in diameter. First they washed the lower part of his face with
soap and water, then followed up with rubbing alcohol. It paid to be
careful about infection, always a potential problem with sepsis. The lab
coat put the needle against the septum of the boy's nose and punched
through without benefit of anesthetic. He forced the ring through the hole
and closed the gap in the ring with pliers. The ring hung down past Kevin's
upper lip. Next came nipple rings about five centimeters, installed the
same way. Kevin watched through tears as the lab coat forced the needle
from one side of his nipple to the other. It was so odd to actually see the
needle poke through.

He hoped that was it for now, but no, the lab coat smiled evilly as he
hefted Kevin's ball sack. This time he pinched a small fold in the bottom
and slid a flat narrow blade through it, making two slits. This ring was
small but thick and flat. The lab coat called it an anchor as he fitted it
through the two holes and closed the ring. "Anchor for what" Kevin
wondered, but he knew better than to ask. Finally the lab coat fitted two
narrow rings around his cock, one near the base and one just behind the
head. They were slipped through pairs of holes close together in the skin
covering the bottom of his cock. The lab coat mentioned that these were
ornamental rather than functional. They did not pass through his meat, just
through the skin to fix them in place.

The lab coat cautioned Kevin against infection telling him to keep the
wounds clean till they healed. He knew the guards would also check the boy
out every few days. "I'll see you in ten days" he told the nervous
boy. "And then what" Kevin blurted out, unable to contain his
apprehension. The lab coat hesitated, then decided that anticipation was
even crueler than surprise. He explained that the next piercing would be
like a prince albert. With the foreskin pulled back out of the way, the
technician would push the needle into the urethra just behind the sweet
spot on the underside of the cock head. The ring would then pass out
through the piss slit. It was large enough to admit a finger or the snap of
a leash, but the real purpose was to lock his penis in place. A small
connecting ring through the penis ring and the anchor ring in his scrotum
would lock them together. "It's sort of like castration except every thing
in left in place. It's a little like infibulation except the cockhead isn't
locked within the foreskin; the head itself was bound to the scrotum, in
bondage, so to speak." Kevin realized that with all this hardware he could
not get an erection again.

The lab coat directed the two doms to free the prisoner and return him to
normal duty. "Poor boy," he thought. He had told Kevin the truth, but not
all of it. The next session would go considerably beyond what he had
outlined today. For starters the prince albert would also anchor a metal
sound forced up the urethra. The would also install two large cock rings,
one around the base of cock and balls and the other just around the ball
sack to make his genitals stand out and away from his belly. These were
special rings, too small for the organs to pass through. They had a gap to
let them be fitted, but then a pipe wrench would force them permanently
shut.

It's not like the boy had a real use for his organs of generation. He was
gay. Even if he were free, those orbs would never furnish the seed for
offspring. Same with his cock. It would never penetrate a female to plant
his seed. And he certainly wasn't going to penetrate any males, little punk
ass that he was. The only uses for them these days were for his balls to
provide the hormones that kept his body properly muscular and toned, for
his cock to evacuate liquid waste, and for both to give his tormenters
sensitive nerve endings to stimulate. That was the real reason they were
reluctant to castrate prisoners. You could do that to a male only once, but
you could torture them endlessly if you left their balls in place.

The lab coat speculated on what else to add in coming months. Probably a
guiche. He also rather favored a series of studs punched perpendicularly
through the meat of the cock alternating left and right the length of the
shaft. They would be shaped like little dumbbells, with wide heads to keep
them in place. Nothing takes a boy down more than metal piercing his
cock. A male's cock is supposed to penetrate not be penetrated up, down,
sideways and all the way up his piss tube into his body cavity. Maybe a
couple more studs through the meat of his cock head. Also, he really would
like to sew a fine gold wire around the end of that dangly foreskin. He
would use basting stitches from inside to outside in a circle around the
edge. That would keep the foreskin open. Hard to keep clean perhaps, and
possibly vulnerable to infection but what a striking visual, a golden
corona, a first for him and the institution. He also had an idea for
inserting electrodes under the skin of the ball sack, one resting in
contact with each ball with a stainless steel nub poking through. Good way
to shock a boy's balls all right. All in all it amounted to a fair bit of
metal, but it was not like the boy would be going through airline security
any time soon.

In the fullness of time all these things came to pass.

                      Chapter 6. Time and Again

Kevin was now 18 and a half, almost a year into his captivity. He had
adjusted well given the degrading circumstances. The program of strenuous
exercise and good food were part of the system. You wanted your boys bright
eyed and bushy tailed. You also wanted wounds to heal quickly. All this
required robust good health. The authorities never told the prisoners, but
their diets included mild anti-depressives and even euphorics for the boys
who endured the worst tortures. The idea was to keep the prisoners from
fatal despair. A prisoner who had given up was of no use to anyone. He
wasn't even fun to torture. The prisoners also got anti-biotics and other
meds to prevent infection. Prison areas were kept clean, but the
submissives were often forced into unsanitary practices like rimming,
cleaning ass juices off cocks that had penetrated them, and eating shit.

One thing Kevin never got used to and really hated was toilet
duty. Drinking piss OK, it didn't taste too bad and it was mostly
sterile. Likely it would not make you sick. Why did all these sick fucks
force him to eat their shit? They preferred he took it as it dropped out
of their holes. The maresciallo was the one who got him started. An shrewd
man, he started the training with a banana. Kevin was laid on the floor as
the policeman lowered the fruit into his lips. "Take it little one. Hold it
upright in your mouth with your lips, not your teeth. On command start
chewing; get it all in before you swallow, but don't swallow till I tell
you." As Kevin feared, once he did the banana, it was time for turds.

"How could they do it? he wondered. He had to watch his tormentor's hole
dilate as a turd slowly emerged and dropped into his open mouth. He had to
keep the turd intact and upright while they took pictures. He sucked it all
in and chewed; more pictures. Then he swallowed making sure to keep his
head back so everyone could see the chewed turd pass down his throat into
his belly. Then he had to fight his gorge to keep it down. Next came a piss
chaser. No fair up-chucking later. Close surveillance made sure of that. At
least he could swish his mouth with the piss and get most of the taste
out. What would his old dentist say about 'food particles lodged in his
teeth'.

Kevin was a perpetual favorite of the concerned citizens. Naturally Don
Lorenzo and his cousin got priority consideration for a go at the boy. The
others bought chances in a lottery for the available slots. The warden
found this not only lucrative but the best way to fend off complaints. The
lottery was scrupulously honest. The proceeds paid the bribes that kept him
in office.

Other clients like to hang the boy up by his genitals. He is small and
slender, so it won't actually tear them off, as long as the genitals did
not have to take his full weight. It is done in this fashion. First you
spread-eagle him on the horizontal table, limbs pulled out in a big X,
keeping him utterly helpless, with chest, throat, belly, balls exposed and
vulnerable. His breathing is fast and shallow because his is afraid and
because his diaphragm cannot flex properly. Next warm him up with a good
lashing. Nothing quite like the sting of a cat as it wraps its lashes
around a boy's ribs or smashes into his groin to get his attention. Take a
chain connected to a hand winch, drop it from the ceiling and attach to his
large cock ring. It makes a good lifting point since if it is properly
fitted, it won't slip off, and it is wide. It won't strangle his genitals.
As the winch pulls the chain up, the boy's body clears the table except at
heels and shoulders. You can see daylight beneath his straining torso and
limbs. Look at the way his taut limbs tremble. Relish his moans as the cock
ring takes more of his weight, eventually about half. The tormentor usually
shoves a large dildo up the boy's hole at this point then gives him another
lashing. The second one hurts the boy in two ways, from the sting of the
cat and from the strain his struggles put on his tortured genitalia. Face
fuck him for added effect. Don't forget to talk dirty and belittle the
boy. Tell him this is what he deserves. He brought it on himself. What else
can he expect, displaying himself so wantonly. Offering his holes to any
man who asks. The pictures are just incredible.

What more could they do to him Kevin wondered. He was never getting out of
here. He was trapped: naked, hairless, and helpless--just a sex toy, a
whipping boy, and all too often a urinal or toilet. About the only thing
they had not done was brand him. Probably leaving that for a potential
owner if he got put on sale. An owner would want to brand his ass, just
like in a western. After all, isn't that what he really was?
Livestock. Certainly not a person. Did he say livestock? Let's not give
them ideas or they would mate him with a dog or goat or horse maybe. Even
Don Lorenzo maybe. He had once told Kevin of his fantasy to harness the boy
as a carriage pony with a bit in his mouth, reins, collar, the works. The
driver would control the pony with reins and buggy whip. A special feature
would be the 'emergency brake', operated electrically via a cable to the
pony's balls. The landowner wanted to drive around to his nearby estates
displaying this horseflesh to all passersby. And if the pony had to answer
a call of nature. Well he would do it like any other farm animal, just let
go--right out in public. Too bad if there were small boys about to fling
stones at the pony, switch his ass, or tug his ball sack. With a nose ring,
they could keep the pony under control for further abuse. Best not leave
such a pony tethered in the street. If there were only some way to give
him a tail. A horsetail dildo stuck up the boy's hole would interfere with
bowel movements. Something animatronic maybe mounted to the tailbone?

From time to time clients tried to buy Kevin. In his second summer at the
prison the warden entertained a visitor who had made an offer for Kevin.

"Yes, it's a handsome amount, more than we usually sell a boy for, but this
one is young. Not yet nineteen. Actually he is small and looks much younger
than his years. Except for the lack of hair on his head, he might pass for
fifteen. His youth would make another natural or accidental death hard to
explain. Let the boy grow up. They have little enough here, such boys; at
least let him reach manhood."

"As you know, a boy represents a revenue stream and a source of
gratification over a course of years. As he gets older and less desirable,
his value declines. Eventually he reaches the striking price for a disposal
sale. This boy is nowhere near that. No! I could not part with him for such
a price or for triple the amount!"

The warden did not mention that he knew the boy was innocent and of
particular interest to his friend Don Lorenzo, a man who had always played
fair with him. Kevin would stay with them for the next five years and
likely twice that.

               Chapter 7. World Turned Upside Down

After more than two years of servitude, Kevin got his miracle. Military
intelligence proved that the evidence against him about terrorists was
phony, although they could not say who had perpetrated the fraud. Suspicion
fell on Don Lorenzo, the man who accused the boy of stealing the
emerald. Had he also planted the drugs? This led to a full investigation.
Police officers took Kevin in shackles to the mainland.

"Now tell us young American, we know you were framed on the terrorism
charges. What about the theft?"

Kevin did not want to get Don Lorenzo thrown into jail. Yes, he wanted out
of jail himself, but so he might turn himself over to the older man and
live as his slave. "I'm sorry, I really am guilty. I did take the jewel but
not to keep. I was just mad at that man's bossy ways, how he tanned my hide
for any infraction, so I took it, yes, but that was just temporary. I would
have given it back."

"I see, so you did have the emerald in your rectum, up your ass that day".

"I never thought the police would look there. I thought no one on the
estate saw me that morning. I understand that it is within your authority,
so I ask you to sentence me to hard labor at a privately operated prison on
my former employer's estate so that I might make restitution by the sweat
of my brow and the sting of the lash on my hide." Kevin hung his head
miserably as much from real guilt for his lie as from pretended guilt for
the crime.

The examining magistrate was no fool. He had seldom heard a fishier
story. And the look of relief among the local constabulary was
suggestive. Still, if the boy were willing to take the blame. This case was
a major embarrassment to Italian justice with too many loose ends. Someone
had to take the fall for the drugs too. "You know there are two open
charges, one about jewel theft and the other about drugs".

"Uh, what happens if I admit to that too."

"Your sentence will be more severe. As you know, Italy had tough drug
laws."

"And if I deny it."

"Then someone else would come under suspicion of planting them, thereby
obstructing justice, Don Lorenzo most likely."

"In that case, I plead guilty."

"No, the boy is lying, I did it." cried the older man, mortified that Kevin
would sacrifice himself for him.

The magistrate waved down their dueling admissions of guilt and rendered
his verdict.

"The American boy is innocent of terrorism charges. He admits taking the
jewel and has reversed his original plea on the drugs. It hardly matters
whether they were just for personal use. Considering the severity of the
crimes and the time already served, and taking into consideration the way
he was railroaded into confessing to terrorism as well..." this delivered
with a lugubrious look at the state prosecutor, "I am inclined to reduce
his life sentence. What do you think would be fair, ragazzo nudo?"

Kevin glanced down at his nudity. He was in court starkers. All those
piercings and rings, a dozen in his cock alone, four on his scrotum plus
nose, ears, nipples. Add to that shackles on wrists, ankles, neck with
connecting chains. Hard not to feel self-conscious with everyone else fully
dressed. "I need to make the theft up to Don Lorenzo. I can say nothing in
mitigation of the drugs. Could you put me in his custody for the rest of
whatever sentence is appropriate for the charges I admitted to?" He knew he
should also be punished for his false testimony. He did not think he had
fooled the magistrate one bit and would likely suffer more for it.

"You think his hand will fall lighter on you than the guards in prison, is
that it?"

"No, worse. I'm sure he will work me hard in the fields, around the
estate. And if I slack off, I know he will take a whip to my ass. He's done
it many times. And to make sure I don't run away, he will chain me to a
stall in the barn like before. I've been bad, wanton, behaved
disgracefully. I need discipline."

"Yet I have read the report. This man chained you up like a farm animal
and forced you to sleep on straw. He worked you hard, whipped you, even
tortured you. He and his men visited every indignity on you, kept you
naked, took you for their sexual plaything. And this is the life you want
to go back to? Don't you want to go back to America?"

"I couldn't do that anyway. I renounced my citizenship, broke all ties to
my past life. I am a stateless person. I have no civil rights, no
documents, no money, or even clothing. I cannot legally get a job here. If
I am turned over to Don Lorenzo, placed in his custody, then I have a place
in society"

"A place in society. Very well, you are sentenced to penal servitude for
the next fourteen years. Don Lorenzo, you will take charge of this wanton
boy and rule him with a stern hand. As he himself acknowledged, he has few
rights, no money or clothing. You will ensure that does not change. Don't
spare the whip either."

The magistrate was satisfied that justice was done, but what would really
become of that lovely boy?He expected Don Lorenzo would keep him on a very
short leash, literally. Likely the boy would be seen around the countryside
utterly naked but in harness. His passport photo was the only one in the
file where the boy wasn't nude.

Don Lorenzo led the boy out the courthouse. The carabinieri drove them
toward the estate, leaving them them off at the gate. The old gatekeeper
nodded to the Don and swung the gate open. This time too, he took a switch
to the boy's ass. Kevin turned to face him and got a switch to his
front. Although his genitals stung, he politely said "Prego" [Thank,
you]. From then on the old man always kept a switch handy for when Kevin
came through the gate. He usually gave him half a dozen front and
back. After he broke his first switch the boy made him a sturdy birch cane;
he could really lay stripes to the boy's ass with that.

By the barn Kevin noticed a lightweight aluminum cart or trap, a racing
sulky modified for human traction. The boy trembled as the landowner
steered him to the sulky. He had Sergio take off all the young convict's
fetters then shackle the boy's wrists to the shafts and fit him with a
narrow horse collar with springs connecting to the shoulder pads he would
lean into to get his load going. Next came the head harness with a rowel
bit, just the thing keep a frisky animal under control. Blinders cut off
his peripheral vision. He would have to depend on the driver for
situational awareness. Frnco then fitted reins and the 'emergency brake'
that delivers a shock to the balls. The youth took a deep breath resigning
himself to his lowly station in life as a draft animal.

Looking critically at the boy's chest, Don Lorenzo added nipple clamps
connected by a chain. Snapping those on the boy's nips he waved aside the
pain he saw on the pretty features. To his horse handlers Don Lorenzo
remarked

"Can't have those too loose or they will come off while he is trotting or
running. The chain will look good slapping his chest".

"He's lucky you don't load him up with weights down here.", Franco remarked
though he wasn't serious.

The landowner cupped his pony boy's metal studded genitalia and
mused. "Maybe we don't need this particular ring (the one that prevented an
erection)." Kevin brightened, but Don Lorenz shook his head. "Don't get
your er hopes up too soon, my young colt. I'm just planning to replace the
ring with a tiny lock. If I allow you an erection it will be when and where
I say so." Kevin sagged against the man in gratitude. The owner continued
with his examination, musing on how so much metal could easily lead to
infection perhaps needing surgery to correct. Too bad if they had to geld
the young colt. "I rather like rolling this pebbly plum in my fingers" he
said to his men.

It sank in to Kevin how totally this man now controlled him and his
sexuality. He understood that his place was that of abject servitude. He
had found out, earlier than most, just what he would be when he grew
up. Using the head harness the landowner then turned Kevin's face to him
and wiped his brow, tracing the arch of his eyebrows and admiring the clean
lines on his new pony boy.

Settling in to the buggy seat, the landowner picked up the buggy whip and
announced to Franco and Sergio that he would be touring his outlying
estates this afternoon. Kevin started to speak, to ask if he could go to
the bathroom first but realized that even without the bit gag, that was not
on the agenda. He would just have to do his business at the next stop right
there in the roadway or yard just like any farm animal.

Don Lorenzo clucked at the boy and snapped the whip lightly to his
ass. "Andiamo cavallino [Let's go, pony. The landowner did not spare the
whip until he was satisfied the boy, er the pony was moving along
smartly. On the way the driver mused about other things he had in mind for
his pony. Yes, the tiny lock was a fine idea. He would have the
veterinarian remove the studs in the penis to allow normal function of the
erectile tissue. The prison had made its point, emasculating the boy that
way, but the landowner had something else in mind. The Don intended to
resume Kevin's earlier training with the cock whip. Reward and punishment
were the key to discipline. No pleasure was more intense for a youthful
male than orgasm.

Already in the works were a two passenger trailer (with a jump seat for a
third) and a freight cart to attach as needed to the tow point on the
sulky. They too would be constructed of aluminum to maximize the ratio of
payload to vehicle weight. All three were intended for practical use to
shift workers or materials around his estates without using fossil fuels.

How exciting it will be watching the slender youth strain to start a load
rolling, loads often five or six times his body weight. His rear leg would
extend back, buttocks rock hard, every muscle standing out in relief as he
threw his slight form into the shoulder pads. This would be his role on the
estates, farm laborer and draft animal by day, pleasure slave by
night. Hauling will build strength and stamina but not bulk. Muscle tone
and good definition were the aim. This boy would serve him with his
strength and his beauty. He would invite friends and selected political
allies to share in these delights. He thought this a good time to mention
another measure Kevin must submit to.

"You understand that soon you must lose the very power of speech as a mark
of your servitude in a less than fully human capacity. It's a simple
procedure, naturally correcting itself after a year of so, with options for
additional applications of course, depending on your behavior. As a draft
animal you must learn to communicate in horsey neighs and snorts and stamps
of your hooves. Then you will truly have found your destiny. Whenever you
are unhitched and serving as a farm laborer, you will use sign language for
linguistic communication, but speech is no longer one of your privileges,
for now anyway and the next two or three years most likely."

The landowner explained that he would soon enter his new pony in the
on-line registry of the local stockmen's association. He would start his
breeding program with that small stallion his neighbor had, really only a
pony like himself standing twelve hands at the withers. In time Kevin
might graduate to true horses (over 14 hands). Don Lorenzo expected his own
pony would be a great demand among his fellow stockmen, eager to give their
randy stallions the chance to cover Don Lorenzo's pony. True he couldn't
drop a foal like a true mare, but he would always be available for
breeding, always in heat.

A randy stallion was unruly and even dangerous to its rider. Breeding
stallions on Kevin would help them regain their equanimity. Finding a
partner was always a problem with the scattered equine population of the
region. You had to have both mare and stallion in heat at the same time and
not just any animal either. Their blood lines had to be compatible. None of
that applied to Kevin. It would be much easier than with a true mare. No
need for that large trailer. Just bring the pony boy over in a car or
truck, flush him out thoroughly, swab his cunt with a mixture of lube and
artificial mare's juices and lay him over a bar stool. The stallion would
do the rest. Naturally Kevin would get training in how to best satisfy this
new kind of male rider.

The boy realized this must be so. How foolish to think otherwise. Owners
controlled their livestock totally. A pony could no more speak than it
could decide where to pull its load. Just as a pony had no say in whether
it kept its testicles or was gelded. Or which neighbor could bring his own
animal over to cover it. The master and his farmhands would keep him in
hand. They would control his movements, his labors, his orifices, and his
sexuality and would use him as they saw fit. His was a future of many years
of hard labor and submission to endless mountings by human and equine
alike. In all humility he could expect no better, and he found the prospect
roused deep needs within himself to serve, to submit, to abase himself, to
welcome penetration by males of whatever species. He hoped his tiny boy
hole was really up to the task.

Of course, the landowner would not keep the boy chained up full-time. No
need for that at all. They could just extend the range from the villa
permitted by his restraint chip. The boy could do farm chores anywhere on
the estate and run the paths and trails to keep in form. Off-site though
the landowner must be publicly seen to maintain close control of the
prisoner entrusted to his custody. He must see about getting an X frame and
a whipping post built outdoors too.

Oh, and that nearly dead olive tree near the farm drive would make a fine
'Tree of Woe', as in the old Conan movie, to crucify and display the boy
for arriving guests. Yes, he would have workmen install permanent
restraints for the limbs, a large wooden dildo to both impale and support
the boy's ass, and a storage box of devices: light and heavy cats of
course, ball weights, and even goose quills to tickle-torture him. Must put
a stepping stone there to make it easy to put clasps on those nipples while
looking him straight in the eye.

The boy hadn't worn clothing much as a teen in America. He hadn't worn any
since his arrest, already naked. He would not wear clothing of any sort for
the next fourteen years. No and not even a horse blanket in the nippy
weather that occasionally visited these regions. After two years in prison
he must be used to such privations. What difference did it make if his skin
felt the bite of the cold or the sting of a whip. Both were by now
familiar. What difference did it make if he shivered from the chill or
trembled in anticipation of the next blow of a whipping. Don Lorenzo
particularly liked to watch the boy's buttocks trembling fast; it looked
comical as well as erotic.

Even after Kevin served his sentence, as a stateless person, he would have
nowhere to go. Don Lorenzo would then be in his early fifties and his pony
in his very early thirties. No reason why together they couldn't take two
recalcitrant boys from prison and harness them to the traces. Should they
look for a set of twins or maybe a matched pair: one blonde, one dark? Two
could pull heavier loads, or even three if necessary. He could foresee that
personal liberty would seem very strange to Kevin by then. How comforting
and familiar it would be to be put back into the traces himself, wrists
locked to the shafts, whip flicking his bare ass. No, Kevin would not wear
clothes as a farm hand. Such things were past him now.

With these happy musings, the land-owner and boy-owner drove to his
outlying farms. In the yard at their first stop, Kevin just had to let go
his bowels even with two adolescent boys standing by. The laughed and
mocked him and called him names. The manager came outside from where he had
been talking with the landowner and told the boys to back off and for one
of them to bring the bucket. He tugged on the reins to move the pony boy
and trap forward, noting with approval that even when not harnessed, the
boy could still be led by a leash snapped to the large nose ring.

With the landowner watching, the farm manager cleaned Kevin's backside with
a sponge on a stick then slapped his rump, complimenting Don Lorenzo on the
fine lines of his new pony. Did the landowner plan to breed him, he
wondered, puzzled by all the metal through the pony's genitals. Smiling the
Don told him no, not that way but yes, he would, and often.

"Ah," said the manager, "like this then?", thrusting the handle of the
stick into the pony's hole.

"Yes."

"So it's a filly then, not a colt?

"Exactly."

                                   THE END

 
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Nifty - Gay - Authoritarian - Cross Country Runner