The boy had moxie, I’ll give him that. Even after being gagged and bound by a crowd of leather-clad tops and daddies, the boy continued to put up a fight… futile as it was. Michaelangelo--- one of our most regular of patrons, whom we affectionately call “Magilla Gorilla” on the account that he is one of the hairiest bastards to walk through our doors--- had a stronghold on our struggling new boy-toy. Like a pack of wolves, the men began to strip off the brat’s clothes. By the time they had finished the clothes were so torn and tattered that they wouldn’t be of any use again. The men did a complete job of it, the kid didn’t even have any socks or boxers on his person. He was bare-assed naked for all to see as the guys grabbed and lifted him up off the ground. They then brought the twenty-year-old captive over to the pool table where I sat watching the whole thing. Magilla Gorilla kept his hold on the young lad, forcing him to face me. The boy recognizes me and hatred lights up his face. I uncross my arms and gesture for him to be brought even closer to me.
“Looks like you’ve been a bad boy,” I tell him menacingly. “I’m going to show you what we do to wanna be punks with great big mouths and little penises.” The boy jerks violently as the men hold him down over my lap. His head and upper torso hang away from me and the pool table towards the floor. For just a moment the boy is taken aback as the blood rushes to his head. But the most important part of the brat is his tight white ass arched straight up in the air to greet us. I take a generous hold of one of his porcelain cheeks, give it a tight and painful squeeze, and then administer a hard strong smack to it with my open palm. Tears stream down the young brat’s face.
Rubbing his now bright red ass, I ask him in a calming, but authoritative voice, “Did that hurt you?” Again the boy struggles violently. “I guess not because you’re still acting like a total shit.” Without holding back, I give his ass another powerful smack, followed by another, and another…. The boy balls, sobbing as tears flow out of his eyes. Adding to his horror is the sight of a room full of leather tops whipping out their cocks and stroking themselves around him as they watched. I rub and massage the young man’s cheeks, confusing him into believing I’ve finished asserting his punishment. But then, once again, my assaults start to fly rapidly against his tender flesh and, just as quickly, I grab the punk by his hair and force him to face me while he sits up on my lap. Our faces are so close together that our lips almost touch. With a gentle, but cocky grin I look into his red watery eyes. The boy’s own expression reads a mixture of total terror and hopelessness.
“Did that hurt?” I ask him, all the while holding him up by his ass cheeks. As I rub his little sore buns he nods, still weeping uncontrollably. “Shhhh,” I try to quiet him as he caves into my chest. One of my index fingers brushes against the crack of his ass and the boy tenses up abruptly.
“We only have one problem,” I continue. “Although I feel better, these guys are still pissed off at you.” Without warning, I slip my index finger into his tight ass. The boy jumps, and with my other hand, I grab his face and bring it close to mine.
“Shhhh! Didn’t I warn you about keeping quiet?” Surprisingly, the boy quiets himself even as my finger boldly fucks his ass. The men in the bar become more excited and some even begin to grope the available cock nearest to them. But their eyes remain fixated on my finger pumping itself into the virgin ass displayed on my lap. I smile as I notice the boy trying to control his squirming. He’s obviously uncomfortable having a persistent finger violate his asshole, but at least he’s submitting.
“Here’s the situation,” I tell him. “You still have to make it up to these guys, but I don’t think this tight little punk ass of yours can handle all these guys beating the hell out of you. So you’re going to make them NOT be angry with you by letting them punish you in other ways that WILL make them happy.” As if seeking refuge, the boy’s face buries itself into my chest again. His tears rain down matting the hair on my chest to my skin. |