MARK SIX
Van jogged down the stairs to the exit. He hadn't activated the timer yet because he had to stop to open the front door. Once outside in the late morning heat, he started the timer and jogged at a slow pace. There was no need to tire himself out when there was nobody around anyway.
His dick bounced with every step, rubbing against the inside of the pouches fabric and causing strong erotic pleasure, especially combined with the piercing that made his dick extra sensitive. The butt plug wasn't pressing to hard anymore as he had gotten used to it and massaged his prostate as he jogged along. The nipple rings bounced as well, stimulating him in a way he had never experienced before.
The oiled up muscle teen made his way almost around the full block when he came across an obstacle. A construction site had cut off the street entirely. There were multiple men working on the road and Van didn't want to get close enough to give them a look at his body.
He took a turn hoping to go around that block and end up on his original street. But the construction site extended to even there. Apparently they were digging up pipes along the whole way. Van ran four blocks before he was able to turn back.
The boy past a few stores with glass fronts so it was impossible to remain unseen. Whenever he saw a pedestrian ahead he switched to the other side of the road.
Other than the fact that he was drenched in sweat and horribly thirsts it was going well. Judging by what he usually accomplished by jogging he could guess that he was about five to ten minutes in.
More than anything the pleasure of his dick head, his prostate and his nipples being constantly stimulated were on his mind. He fantasized about girls from school and had to keep himself calm so he wouldn't just cum while running.
Now it was time to turn around and make his way back. Next time he'd try to run around the other block across the street to avoid the construction.
But there was some kind of event going on in the street he entered. Two dozen adults and their children were celebrating some spoiled kid's birthday. Van bitterly though that this child would never have to do humiliating tasks because of a dead relative.
He turned around. There was no way those people wouldn't call the police. He jogged yet another block and tried again. He was almost out of the local neighborhood.
There was a private high school he had completely forgotten about. It was break time and as soon as one child saw him everybody was filming him on their phones. He jogged as far as possible on the other side of the road but they were certainly getting good shots of him. And to make matters worse there was a roadblock that kept him from turning back, because electricians were installing new overhead cables.
By now he was about ten to fifteen minutes in and felt like dying of thirst. The sweat was trapped under his oil layer and heated him up. When sweat escaped at all it ran down the oil instead of evaporating and taking body heat with it.
He was very close to cumming and very close to collapsing.
Van soldiered on as well as he could, jogging at the slowest speed possible. He past another event, but this time it was all adults drinking beer so he didn't care and slowly ran by. In the corner of his eyes he saw the stares but there was nothing to do about that.
The next part was a problem because he was about to enter a district of the city where streetlights were a regular occurrence and he couldn't stop to let cars pass.
Only one other way led him back. Through the annual farmer's street fair.
A lot of people where at the fair, hundreds perhaps overall, but they were not densely crowded enough to obstruct him and that was all that counted. He ran past the first few stalls unnoticed but soon he became the center of attention of every crossing he passed. He stayed on the main path which was the broadest and let him jog straight through. But that gave practically every attendant a great view of him.
He was yelled at and called every name possible from pervert' to 'faggot' to rapist'. But the worst thing was that people everywhere were enjoying refreshments. They drank organic juices and off brand cola but, more than anything, delicious water.
Van felt like dying but he knew he had to be close to twenty minutes by now. He focused on the one positive thing he had – the sensation of getting his dick head caressed by the silky pouch.
It took forever and he felt like every street fair attendant had taken pictures of him but he made it out alive. Now he could finally turn back in the direction of his place. And because the fair ran along a diagonal he only had one more block to go.
Except with great shock he realized that he had lost his keys.
Van turned around and ran back the way he had come. If he had lost the keys in the fair he would perhaps never see them again but it was possible he had dropped them early on.
The second time jogging through the stalls wasn't easier but still nobody bothered him with anything other than name calling. He was looking on the ground, retracing his steps. The keys weren't there and so he kept going backwards.
A camera team documenting the fair was able to get great close-up pictures of him but he didn't feel any more exposed than he did anyway.
The feeling of his dick getting a light massage together with his nipple and prostate stimulation were his only motivators.
He made it all the way back to the spot where a children's birthday was occurring. There were his keys. Finally. He ran by and swooped them off the ground without stopping.
"Hey you pervert!" a young man yelled at him. "I've seen you ran past here before. I'm calling the police. Stay where you are and I'll tell them to be gentle. Don't make this difficult."
Van, of course, didn't stop or even look back. To his horror, the man ran after him at astonishing speed.
Van raced for his life, disregarding the pain in his dry throat and his side stitches. He had to escape.
It took four blocks until the man fell back. Van had made it. He was almost happy, but the many kinds of pain he felt didn't let him be anything other than miserable.
The boy though the man might have finally give up as he wasn't followed after a turn, so he slowed down and kept looking behind him. After a few seconds he concluded that the man had indeed given up. Then, still looking behind him, Van ran into a letter box, dick first.
It wasn't really painful but it stopped him effectively.
There was the tingling again, immediately after. He had failed. Then the timer on his phone rang, two seconds too late.
Across his abs, words formed, spelling out "DICK SLAVE".
The next mark is perhaps my favorite. It's a lot more creative than a simple slur and will have lasting consequences.
If you liked it so far, tell me about it.