3 comments/ 55230 views/ 49 favorites Gittin' It All By: KeithD "You sure he's on board with it? I mean other than you haven't told him." "Yes, Mr. Gillespie, we won't be popping any male cherries or working on tight holes here. I've had him several times and now he's beggin' for it. And he's been on a train with some of the football players. Just one more step into what we do—and I've already heard him being curious about it. Tough little bugger. The football players balled him for hours and he took it like a soldier. Some monster cocks on the football team." "Don't call me by my name after we've snatched him. Not even Ed. I'll be E and you'll be P." "Gotcha. And what will we be calling him?" "We'll call him The Fucker. And he's to call both of us sir, remember. If he doesn't, apply the screws until he gets it. On a train, you say, and big cocks. But he hasn't been DPed yet? The weekend's not really long enough . . ." "No, but he's mentioned he was curious about it. That's why I thought of him. He's what you like, I think. And he's taken it both long and thick. From the football team LeRoy's nearly seven feet and built like a New York skyscraper. He's got to be over nine, and Dale . . . The Fucker . . . took that fine—three times in a train of two or more hours. And Alphonse was really thick. The Fucker opens right up for me, and you know what I got. And speakin' of, there he comes. Leavin' class; always goes back to his dorm after this class. That brings him along here, right beside the van." "Which one? I can't pick him out." "Which one walkin' this way would you like to spike the most?" Gillespie did some scrutinizing. There were a lot of choices. "That little one, the blond with the mop of curls and the cute 'fuck me' face." "Yep, that's the one." "You sure he's old enough? Looks just like a kid, all innocence and 'golly gee' and bushy tailed." "That's him. He's got a tail to die for, and I told you he'd be the one you wanted. Yes, he's old enough; I checked. Freshman. Wants to be in my fraternity real bad. Says he's willing to do anything to get in, and when I mentioned some things he might want to do, I could tell that it heated him real up. He's our guy. I told him I wanted to hook up with him this weekend, and he was all excited. Said he had nothin' better to do. Asked about some of the SM possibilities. I said I'd contact him—just not this way." "All sounds good," Gillespie said, "but seein; what a twink he is, we'll call him Little Fucker. Here's your mask. He'll recognize you eventually, I'm sure. I'll put mine on and get in the back of the van and open the door. I'll snatch, but you come around the side of the van to make sure he doesn't get away. Try to do it so no one sees you." It worked smoothly. They'd parked next to an overgrown lot, and Dale Benton was the only student coming down this way to his dorm. It was almost like the young blond hadn't put up any resistance at all before he was manhandled into the van and trussed up in the windowless back. But the combination of the surprise factor and that Gillespie was one of the university's assistant wrestling coaches and was about double Dale's weight and bulk explained away a lot of this. Gillespie had the young man bent over a stool in the center of the van bed, with his knees on a thick pad, and was cinching up a belt around his waist against his skin and imprisoning his hands in the restraints attached to the sides of the belt before his cohort, a muscular dark-haired university junior, who was on the wrestling team, was pulling the van away from the curb. It was a forty-minute drive out to Gillespie's remote A-frame cabin in the words. After quickly tying Dale's ankles together and then his knees and struggling with Dale a bit to get a ball gag in his mouth and tied off, the wrestling coach called up to the driver's seat and said, "Give me an hour at least with him before arriving. He'll be docile as a lamb when we get there. I'll fuck all the fight out of him." Paul laughed from the driver's seat. "Thought you'd like the one I picked out." Dale was coming out of the initial shock enough to start squirming and trying to make some noise through the ball gag, but the movement was cut down when Gillespie closed a leather collar around Dale's throat and attached the end of a chain to it that was anchored in the floor of the van in front of the stool. this kept the young man's head down so that all he could see was his bound thighs on the other end of the stool. Gillespie pulled the young blond's shorts and briefs down to his ankles, crouched his muscular body over that of the slight twink's, reached around and fisted Dale's balls in one hand and gave them a little squeeze while growling in his ear. "Stop the fuckin' noise or I'll crush your balls." After another initial reaction of squirming, which was met by eye-watering squeezing of his balls, Dale subsided into trembling and quiet sobbing. "There now, we're all friends here," Gillespie growled. "And we're gonna get a lot more friendly as the weekend progresses. We've got a long drive now, and I'm gonna screw you royally. Just so you know. And I know you want it. So, quiet down and enjoy the ride." While still maintaining a grip on the balls, Gillespie slapped Dale hard on a butt cheek with his free hand and then the other cheek. Then he repeated on both. The small blond jerked with each blow and groaned in a high tenor range that made the groans come out as squeaks. When Gillespie went down in a sitting position behind the trussed up young man and parted the now-rosy cheeks with the palm of his hands, blew across Dale's asshole, and then stuck his tongue in and began to flick around the sensitive entrance walls, the groans subsided into lower-register moans. "Shit," Gillespie called up to the driver's seat. "You're right. I thought he'd be tight, but he opens right up real nice. The weekend might be enough." A couple of more slaps on the buttocks and then Gillespie stuck a finger in his mouth to wet it. He inserted it in the young man's ass and worked it around a bit. Dale was groaning again and wiggling his butt. Another wetted finger and then another, and Gillespie was satisfied—much more than he thought he'd be. He also was aroused and hard as a rock. The student was just the little blond piece of tail he loved to fuck. He stripped off his own shorts and crowned his cock, beat it against the reddened butt cheeks, and dragged it across the hole several times before starting to work his way in. The Little Fucker was panting in short, jabbing breaths but was otherwise holding steady. The older man's cock went it a couple of inches and held for several seconds, waiting for the channel to open more, which it did. Out and then in again and hold. Out and in a little further and hold. Then out, leaving the Little Fucker in suspense for several seconds, and then a long, strong, deep thrust to the hilt, which almost lifted the young man's body off the stool and produced a muffled cry. Then again, and again, and again. But then Gillespie pulled his dick out most of the way and held. "If you want this, fuck yourself on the cock," he growled. "If not, when I'm finished, we'll take you back and leave you in front of your dorm. Your choice. Either a weekend of getting it all and finding out what you might like or just this fuck and back to your dorm. You want it, fuck yourself." There was a moment of suspension and then, with a long sigh, the young blond began to leverage with his knees and to move his pelvis back and forth, taking and then giving up the cock—fucking himself on the hard dick. After a few minutes of this, Gillespie laughed, pulled away from Dale, and slapped him on the buttocks a few more time. Then he rose up and crouched closely over the back of the young man, thrust the cock hard and deep inside him again, and began fucking in earnest. His hands came up under the young blond's T-shirt and he began pinching Dale's nipples on his smooth, boyish chest. Gillespie inhaled one of Dale's ears into his mouth and held it there between his teeth, and rode the young man hard and fast to completion. When he came off of Dale's back, Gillespie looked down and saw, with satisfaction, that Dale had come on the floor of the van. He pulled up his trousers and moved to the passenger seat in the front of the van, leaving Dale trussed up and bent over the stool in back. "Thought you said you'd want an hour," Paul said. "You've got twenty more minutes." "Didn't take him any time at all to open up. Didn't need as much time as I thought. And I want to do him again when we get to the cabin. So, I gotta stoke up again. You want to do him now too?" "Yeah, I do." "Want me to finish the drive, while you go back there and screw him?" Gillespie was whistling happily and looking in the rear-view mirror from time to time for the last leg of the trip to the cabin, while Dale's friend, Paul, covered him and rode his hips in the back of the van. The deep rumbling sounds coming out of the trussed-up young man were sounds of pleasure. Late Friday morning and so far, so good. * * * * Dale was in a daze and staggering when Gillespie helped him down from the back of the van at the cabin, which was a cedar wood A-frame raised on an English basement built of stone and with no apparent window or door openings in the stone. The cabin was in a heavily wooded area on the side of a mountain. The trees around it had only begun to leaf out. It could be seen that there was another mountain rising beside it—with only hints of a couple of similar cabins for miles around, but none of them near. It was the sort of place that someone could scream their heads off in a windowless rock-walled basement for weeks and no one would hear them outside that basement. This was exactly the reason why Gillespie lived out here. "Paul?" Dale asked, his voice cracking when the dark-haired college junior came around the side of the truck. Paul still was wearing the half-face mask, but only boots in addition to that, and if he had fucked Dale as often already that he'd told Gillespie he had, it wasn't a revelation that Benton would know it was his university friend. "We're wearing masks for you," Paul told him. "So you can claim you have no idea who we were." "If you want to stay and see this through," Gillespie added gruffly. "We've been led to understand you wanted to experience everything. You'll get a lot of if this weekend if you stay. There will only be a couple of times you'll be given this choice this weekend. This is one of them. Do you want to be driven back or do you want to see what's waiting for you in the cabin?" The young blond, looked at the older man. He was a hunk and a half, but Dale couldn't place him anywhere in his experience. There was no reason why he should. Dale didn't play any sports; there was no reason for him to recognize one of the assistant wrestling coaches at the university. But he was a hunk and a half. Dale couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed the fuck the man had given him—or that the mystery of the snatch and binding hadn't contributed to the enjoyment. For all he knew he already was being tested for the fraternity and that this was just part of the hazing. He looked down at the dirt between his feet. "I want to see what's in the cabin . . . for now." The young man only got a glimpse of the inside of the upper levels of the A-frame, which offered a well-appointed vacation cabin, before he was hustled downstairs and pushed into a windowless, rock-walled room that would be both his living quarters and his prison for the weekend. It was about twelve by twenty feet. A double bed was located at one end and a small sofa and armchair and a round table with four chairs at the other, with a short kitchen wall. There was a full bath off the bedroom on one side and a closed and locked metal door on the wall on the other side—in addition to the strong metal door on the entrance into the bedroom from the stair hall. Dale had been left with Paul to show him around his quarters—including that the refrigerator was stocked with some basic food but overstocked with beer and that there were joints under one counter in case he wanted to be high through some of what he'd experience. Paul told Dale he'd have to strip down completely and that there would be no more clothes for him until the end of the weekend. When Dale was naked, Gillespie reappeared in the room. He too was naked now, except for the black face mask, a studded leather harness criss-crossing his chest, black combat boots, and a condom on his low-hanging, but now-erect cock. Dale took in a deep breath at the sight of the smooth-bodied musculature of the older man. He clearly was a bodybuilder or wrestler—Dale never would be told that he was an assistant wrestling coach at the university—and he had a more mature, developed body than anyone Dale had hooked up with yet. Dale had been fucked by members of the football team, and Paul, although hirsute with black curly hair, also had a fine, muscular body. But they didn't have the deep definition and sense of power and experience that Gillespie's body exuded. Of the two fucks in the van, the one by the older man had been more expert in finding Dale's triggers and providing the timing and rhythm that put Dale on a high and kept him there. The older man had brought in a plow belt, a wide strip of black leather with handles on the two ends, and had his hands through the handles. "If you want to learn some stuff this weekend and have a real fuckin' good time, you're going to have to trust me, you little fucker," Gillespie growled. "That's you this weekend, the Little Fucker. To you, I and the other guy are the masters. And you will address us as sir. For the trust, you have to give it to me freely now, no restraints now—those will come later. But you have to just give me full control and take it. Got that?" There was a bit of hesitation, but Dale answered with a quiet, "Yes." "Yes, what?" Gillespie barked. "Yes, sir," came back almost immediately. "Leave us now, P." Paul backed out of the room and closed the door. Gillespie told the young blond to stand still and he circled him a few times. The last time, he stopped behind the young man, whipped the plow belt over Dale's head and down to his waist and jerked up on the belt, jackknifing Dale at the waist. In surprise Dale tried to maintain his balance, but Gillespie growled, "No fighting it. Go limp like a ragdoll." The younger man did so, flopping over so that his head, arms and legs dangled toward the floor—Gillespie was much taller than Dale was and had brought the younger man's body full off the floor. Dale cried out in surprise and pain as Gillespie thrust his cock up into his channel but then, at Gillespie's repeated command, let all of the tension drain out of him and just dangled there, whimpering and moaning, as Gillespie fucked him hard and deep, adding a rhythmic tightening and release of the tension on the plow belt to the rhythm of the thrusts of his cock. It was one of the most expert fucks Dale had ever had. As he fucked, Gillespie demanded to know how Dale was reacting to it, and, through pants and short sobs, Dale did everything he could to convey that this was the fucking, the attention, the exotic experiences that he wanted to have. He admitted that being snatched and bound and fucked hard in the back of a moving van had aroused him greatly. He repeatedly said he wanted to experience more. "We don't operate like most do in BDSM," Gillespie said. "There's no safe word for us, to make us stop. Sometimes, but not always, we'll ask you if you want to go on to the next experience or level. But there's no safe word to stop the present. Do you understand that." A bit of a hesitation and then, "Yes, I understand." "Yes, what?" Gillespie said, eliciting a sharp cry out of Dale as he thrust unusually hard and deep. "Yes, sir." The two were reduced to the groans and the grunts of the fuck effort. Dale shot off on the toes of Gillespie's combat boots, and the older man fucked on for another five minutes before dumping Dale on the floor, ripping his condom off, and ejaculating on the side of Dale's face. "Lick your cum off my boots," he growled. When Dale had done so, Gillespie went to the door. Without turning, he muttered over his shoulder. You'll find food for lunch in the kitchenette. Eat up. You'll need your strength for the afternoon. "What are you going to do to me then?" Dale asked, his voice trembling. "This is not one of the points you are given a choice to back out," Gillespie muttered. "But what is this all about?" "This is about you being able to take two men at the same time—and any more kinky shit they want to do to you. You've been overheard to be interested in doing that. Are you?" "Yes, sir." Given, again, after a little bit of hesitation. Fantasizing about it and facing the prospect of it were two entirely different matters, and it only now was occurring to Dale that he may have bit more off in his imagination that he could manage. "Remember that, then, no matter how rough the weekend gets. We have the same goal for you." The door slammed behind him. When Dale was able to pull himself up off the floor, he hobbled over to the door Gillespie had exited through and then tried the other door that had been closed. Both were locked tight. * * * * "Thank you." "For what?" Paul asked. They were sitting at the dining table up on the main level of the A-frame. Paul was outfitted in leathers like Gillespie was. "You know fuckin' for what. He's fuckin' perfect. Just like I like them." "But you'll hold yourself on check with this one?" Paul asked. "The fraternity wants him, and I'm supposed to return him in one piece. We need another fraternity punch. This is supposed to give him experience and toughen him up. Not break him." Gillespie flared up. "I treat them all good," he declared. "And I don't give a fuck what your fraternity wants or doesn't want. I do this to get my rocks off to break nice little pieces like the one you brought me down to groveling for the kinkiest experiences. I am the fulfiller of fantasies. Even the experience of being snatched and used roughly is a fantasy many have and few can experience." "Not all of them," Paul countered. "I'm afraid this one might be just a bit too perfect." "Fuck that, and who the fuck you are to be questioning me? You forget yourself. Stand up." "Ed, please." "Not Ed, fuckin' moron. E to you this weekend. I said stand up and bend over this table. And what do you say." The pause was pregnant, laced with testosterone and challenge, but Paul did stand up, meekly, and bend over the table. "I say yes, sir." He gasped as the older, stronger man, bent an arm painfully up his back and slammed his chest on the table top. When he'd worked his cock inside Paul's channel, he released the young man's arm, but put him into a full Nelson and arched Paul's back up to his chest, as he fucked with hard strokes up into him. He went to just a beefy arm around the younger man's throat while he jacked Paul's cock off in the rhythm of his own cock strokes. Paul collapsed, panting, on the top of the table after both had ejaculated, his breathing ragged. "So, who's the only master here?" "You are, sir," Paul managed with a whimper. "Want you to sleep this afternoon while I work him over," Gillespie spoke down at the finely muscled back of the young man he had just ravished. "I want you to be with him and to wake him and fuck him every two hours or so. I want him completely exhausted and compliant tomorrow morning. We've only got the weekend, but there's more I want to do with this one than some of the earlier ones. He's just perfect." "What . . . are you going to do to him . . . this afternoon?" Gittin' It All "I want to start into the DP. I want him riding both cocks under his own power and by his own preference by Sunday afternoon." "Isn't that a little soon for . . .?" "Your job is to make sure it isn't too soon. I want it done. You brought me a perfect one." Gillespie pulled out of Paul's ass, lifted the young man off the table, forced him to his knees in front of his master, and made him clean Gillespie's cock with his mouth. Who was master and who was servant was reestablished. * * * * Dale's eyes went big and he gasped when the door between his room and the room behind it in the rock foundation of the A-frame cabin clanged open and he was pulled into the chamber by Gillespie. The walls were windowless rock as in the bedroom cell, but the wall at the back was trenched and lined with gas fire logs throwing up a flame, which was the only flickering illumination on the room. The walls were lined with manacles and whips and chains. A sling with a black-leather pouch was at one side, chains with wrist restraints hung down at another side, with other chains and ankle restraints on the floor under them. There was some kind of reclining board affair with restraints attached to it. And in the center, Where Dale was led was a framed contraption of sling and chains and restraints. When Dale was bound to this frame, his arms were raised and spread on chains with padded restraints at wrist and above the elbows, his shoulder blades rested on a strip of black leather, and his legs were raised and split on other chains and were bent back each other so that his heels were tucked under his buttocks and restrained there. The leg chains pulled his pelvis higher than his shoulders. His body was suspended a couple of feet off the floor, set at the perfect angle for Gillespie to stand between his spread thighs and fuck him. The gasping and screaming and groaning had started when Gillespie attached the tit clamps that were joined by a chain and then pulled on the chain, pulling the nipples up from Dale's smooth, boyish chest. The strain and pain had brought Dale's head up only to find that Gillespie was straddling his throat and pressing his cock between Dale's lips to force the young man to get him hard with a slow, tonsil-probing face fuck. When Gillespie pulled away from this end, he harnessed a strap-on cock, attached to project from the base of his balls under his own cock. With remembrance of what Paul had told him about Dale having taken the length of LeRoy and the thickness of Alphonse, black football players whose cocks were legendary at the university, Gillespie had strapped on one of the bigger dildos, ten inches long to exceed LeRoy by an inch and two-and-a-quarter-inch thickness to exceed Alphonse by a bit. To his surprise—and possibly to the small blond's as well—with the dildo well greased up, Gillespie had managed to stuff it all, to the hilt inside Dale's passage, amid considerable writhing and screaming by Dale, his head thrown back to where he watched the flaming wall upside down while Gillespie buried the dildo inside him. Both were sweating like greased pigs during the insertion process. When the dildo had bottomed, Gillespie left it there, grasped his cock and Dale's, both rock hard, and stroked them together until both of them had ejaculated. He pulled the dildo out of Dale's channel, tested how the reaming was going with his fingers, while Dale begged him to fuck him for real, and then came around to the front and made Dale clean his cock with his mouth. Grabbing Dale's head by the hair then, he lifted it and shoved the young man's face up into his arm pits, one at a time and then onto his chest, for Dale to tongue off the sweat Gillespie had built up. To Gillespie's satisfaction, Dale found all of this arousing and he took up the begging for Gillespie to fuck him. With Gillespie he'd get a bit of both LeRoy and Alphonse, although not quite the measurement of either one of them. Instead of his cock, he brought in front of Dale's face a string of tear-drop-shaped graduated balls. These were what Gillespie used to measure the progress of his reaming project with. The largest ball was four inches in diameter. Dale moaned at the sight of the string and then writhed and panted and groaned as Gillespie slowly began burying them in his channel. The channel took four balls, the largest being two and a half in thickness, before Dale's sobbing and screams convinced Gillespie that this was the limit for now. There were three balls left. If they all were buried, it would be a bit over twelve inches in depth. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," Dale was murmuring when Gillespie had finished slowly plopping the balls out of the passageway. And Dale's cock was rock hard again. The lad was still with the project. Gillespie leaned over, took the cock in his mouth, and rewarded the young man with a pelvis thrusting explosive release. Gillespie patted the young blond on the thigh, whispered, "You're doin' great," and announced that he was going to take a break. "What about me?" Dale whimpered. "I need to piss real bad." "So do it," Gillespie said and walked out of the dungeon. When he came back, he pulled over a length of hose, turned the water on, and sluiced down Dale's body. The floor sloped to a drain right under the frame Dale was attached to. Gillespie was wearing another strap-on dildo. This one was an inch longer than the first one he'd used but not even half as thick. Gillespie's own cock was sheathed, though, and erect. And he made sure Dale could see the two cocks together as he approached. Dale moaned and started to beg, knowing what was about to happen. "But you wanted me to fuck you," Gillespie said, with a laugh. Dale whimpered and writhed as best he could as Gillespie saddled up to him and started to bury the dildo. This time Gillespie put the dildo into action, fucking Dale at increasing depth in slow in and out glides until the young man had taken all eleven inches. The young man's body was shuddering and he was sweating profusely, panting heavily, and moaning in low tones. Gillespie reached over with a small bottle in his hand, told Dale to breath in, and hit him with a couple of sniffs of a popper. When Dale's body quieted down, Gillespie pulled his pelvis back, bringing the dildo tip almost out to the surface. But this was only to permit him to push the underside of his cock down on top of the greased dildo and then to start pushing both of them, together, into the channel. At four inches of the double penetration, Gillespie gave Dale another hit of the popper. At seven inches, another hit. When the dildo was bottomed out again and the two cocks began to slowly pump, Dale was silent, completely docile and fully relaxed, save a twitch or two at the extreme depth of the thrust. Dale, with the help of Gillespie's hand, had already come again, and Gillespie peacefully continued with his slow pump until he had ejaculated into the condom as well. Dale was just lying there, loose as a rag doll, humming in low tones to himself. A beaded string check revealed that another ball could be buried. Three inches wide. Gillespie looked at his own hand bunched up into a fist. He estimated he would need four inches clearance. He always had before except that time when his hand had been swollen in a bar fight. But he had managed the fucker that time. Maybe five inches. When Paul came down to tell Gillespie their supper was ready, Dale was still on the frame, and Gillespie was standing between his legs. There was a rolling hospital cart beside Gillespie now, though. The top surface was covered with a white cloth, and the gleam of silver rods, called wands, was being picked up by the flickering light of the wall of fire. When Paul came up beside Gillespie, he saw what he expected to see. Gillespie was sounding the cock of the bound blond. The cock was erect and throbbing. A silver sounding wand had been inserted and run down in the urethra—the piss slit—and Gillespie was slowly spinning the rod with his fingers. One of Dale's arms had been released and he held a bottle of poppers in that hand. Gillespie was permitting him to take popper hits at his own discretion. His head was thrown back and he was moaning deeply. Paul could see the tension in all of his limbs and knew that every fiber of the young man's being was focused in that rod buried in his urethra and being slowly, teasingly twisted. "He's about ready to blow," Gillespie muttered. "Give him another, maybe two sizes up, while I go get ready for dinner. And let him come." As Gillespie turned and walked away, Paul grasped the underside of Dale's cock with one hand and slowly pulled the wand out of the piss slit. "Paul, Paul," Dale begged in a faraway voice. "Fuck me, fuck me, please. And make me come." Paul looked around to see if Gillespie was still nearby, but he wasn't. So he took a condom packet off a lower shelf of the hospital cart, rolled it on his already engorged cock, moved between Dale's legs, and slid inside his passageway. He marveled at how loose and open Dale was. Of course Gillespie had been working on him all day. He crouched over Dale's chest so that Dale could reach and rub his nipples with his one free hand while Paul fucked him. Dale was sighing and murmuring to himself, moving toward release. Mindful of what he'd been told to do, though, Paul straightened up, reached over to pick up a wand two sizes thicker than the one he'd pulled out of Dale's cock and, holding the underside of the cock steady even as he was slow pumping his own, slowly inserted the wand. Dale's body tensed up immediately, and he began to grunt and groan. He went rigid and cum bubbled up around the sides of the buried wand and dribbled down the sides of his cock. Paul couldn't spend the time with this that he wanted, so he pulled out of Dale's channel, ripped the condom off, and quickly stroked himself to an ejaculation down Dale's belly. He left the wand buried as he turned and fled the room. "You're late," Gillespie growled when Paul came to the dinner table. "He took longer to come than I thought he would," Paul answered. Gillespie gave him a searching look but said no more before digging into dinner. He's had a taxing day and was quite hungry. "You've gotten him to what now?" Paul asked. "Three inches for sure," Gillespie answered. He's perfect and a sweet piece. "But he's small. Don't you think—?" "Four inches," Gillespie said as if there was no discussion of that. "I'd do five if I had longer. He's just perfect. Two cocks and a dildo is the most I've gotten inside an ass of someone his size. I'd like to—" "But what if he doesn't want to go farther? For the fraternity needs, he should be good now. And when do we give him an option next?" "I don't know if I care if he doesn't want to go farther. You can ask him in the morning. But he's tougher than I had given him credit for. And he still is saying he wants it." "But maybe after tonight—" "You can ask him. We'll see what's what if he says no." Paul bit off what he wanted to say to that. He was on dangerous ground questioning the master this much—not to mention having fucked Dale before dinner without instructions to do so. But the coach was on dangerous ground too. They'd gone into this agreeing to limits, limits based on what the subject could take and wanted to take once they'd accommodated to having been snatched. Gillespie was challenging these limits. He'd already gone way too far twice. And they'd gotten away with it; nobody to complain. But that had to be something completely in the past, mistakes that they didn't make anymore. After dinner, they both returned to the dungeon. Paul had been invited to watch, but once they got there, Gillespie grabbed him and pulled him over to the incline board. Holding Paul close to him with a firm grip on both of his upper arms, Gillespie hissed, "There an open condom packet under the cart. You fucked him, didn't you? That's why you were late to dinner." "He begged me, E," Paul said in a plaintive voice. But Gillespie was already pushing him down on the incline board. The board was pitched so that Paul's head was toward the ground. He was firmly strapped flat on his back on the board by restraints on his arms and legs, around his belly and around his neck. The leg attachments on the board were parted and bent up, so that his legs were bent up and spread and his ass was raised by a thick pad under the small of his back, exposing his buttocks and anal entrance to the automatic fucking machine Gillespie had set up between Paul's spread and bent legs. A twelve-inch-long, two-inch-thick rubber dildo attachment on the end of the machine arm had been thrust into Paul's ass. Gillespie pointed said he was being kind. The dildo would penetrate no further than six inches. But he set it on medium thrust, and as Paul began to grunt and groan and ineffectually apologize and beg for mercy, Gillespie walked back to where Dale was bound to the frame. Dale gasped and groaned as Gillespie pulled the buried wand out of the piss slit, only to reach for the next larger size. On the size after that, Gillespie left the wand buried, greased up his right hand, and started experimenting how far up Dale's ass he could get it. He got all of the fingers and the thumb in, up to the knuckle. When he spread the fingers inside the channel, Dale cried out, arched his back against the restraint of the bonds, and cum burbled up around the buried wand. "Very good," Gillespie murmured. "You're doing great." He pulled the wand out and came around, bent down, and gave Dale a deep kiss on the mouth. And then another, until the young blond was greedily returning the kisses. The perfect one, Gillespie thought. A chill ran down his spine. If I had him for just a week. "Is it still Friday?" Dale asked in a weak voice when he had been released from the last kiss. Gillespie had released the tit clamps too and was rubbing the nipples, which were plumping right up for him. "Yes, it's still Friday. We still have all day Saturday and most of Sunday. You've come so far. I'm told you've taken LeRoy and Alphonse, but separately. Don't you want to be able to take them together?" "I suppose," Dale answered in a small, faraway voice. "You just suppose? You aren't sure?" "Yes, I'm sure." "In that case, this is all worth it. You don't want to stop, do you?" He held his breath. The point of losing the willingness may have come earlier than he'd thought. But this one was so perfect. Gillespie had no intention of stopping. "No, but there is something I'd like." "What?" "A regular fuck once in a while. Getting off the normal way. A hard cock inside me. And no condom. I'm clean if you and Paul are." Chills went up Gillespie's spine again. He certainly was clean. Tested frequently, as Paul was. They barebacked. "We can do," he answered. He didn't mention that Paul would be fucking Dale all night, to keep him exhausted. He unhooked the young man, and carried him gently over to the suspended sling. As he passed the incline board, he flipped the fucking machine off and pulled the release on the restraints, and Paul thanked him with a deep groan. Gillespie laid Dale, belly down in the sling, with both arms and legs dangling toward the floor. He fucked him slow and deep and bareback from behind, rewarding him for a day well endured. His hands went under Dale's chest, and he cupped and rubbed Dale's nipples. He teeth gently pressed into the nape of Dale's neck, until Dale turned his face toward him and they kissed. Paul went under the sling and took Dale's cock in his mouth. The day ended with a "normal," peaceful fuck. This, though, was only a preliminary to the night of fucking in Dale's bedroom cell, riding Paul's cock and being ridden by Paul's cock every two hours for the rest of the night. * * * * Late Saturday morning, exhausted and glassy eyed, Dale lay on his back in the sling, no restraints, a bottle of poppers in his hand to be used at will, while Gillespie double fucked him, bareback and with an eleven-and-a-half-inch-long, two-and-three-quarters-inch thick dildo. There was no fight in Dale; he laid there and took it, with sighs and deep moans, taking a hit on the popper probably a few more times then he should be doing. Paul had asked him in the morning if he wanted to quit, but a challenge was averted when he answered no. Paul had been sent upstairs to get some shuteye. Knowing now that Dale would take it if given some affection with it, Gillespie was kissing him on the lips, sucking on the young man's nipples, and using his cock like a gear shift when he fucked him. Dale hadn't lost interest. He came more than once, in a strong arc of cum, but otherwise his body was elsewhere altogether. After the fuck he took all but the last of the string of balls. He'd taken three-and-a-half thick inches. After lunch, Gillespie put him on the incline board, with the fucking machine, and attachment of three clustered one-and-a-half-inch rubber dildos. He took it with a minimum of crying out and begging for mercy—all of that muted, though, as he was totally exhausted and half way to the wind. After that, a three-inch-thick dildo, thirteen inches long, was successfully nearly completely buried. After this success, Gillespie released the young man, took him in his arms, and cuddled with him, while working his body with his hand. He was waiting for the request for a "normal fuck," and granted the wish, at least at the start, when he heard it. Dale groaned and grunted when Gillespie started also working the thirteen-incher, three-inches-thick dildo into the passage as he embraced Dale in a close-lock chest hold. With a whimper, though, Dale relaxed to it and took both cocks. The epitome of the evening came after dinner, when after another double penetration fuck was accomplished. This time no dildo. Gillespie and Paul took him together, the two men standing, facing each other in the center of the dungeon, and Dale suspended between them, taking the longer Paul from the front and the thicker Gillespie from the rear, his chest embraced by Gillespie and his knees hooked on Paul's hips. The goal of taking two men simultaneously had been reached. The goal of Dale seeking it out on his own still had not. Afterward he took all four of the balls on the string. Gillespie celebrated by handing Dale from the suspended chains on the other side of the room, suspended in air with restraints spread-eagling him from the ceiling, getting his full, greased fist up into the channel, and moving Dale body around in the air with the strength of his fist inside Dale's ass. Dale was only conscious for a part of that exercise. It had been a long day, an abundance of ejaculations and poppers. When Dale came to, Gillespie permitted him to go off to the shower in the bathroom adjoining his bedroom cell. It was a large shower, and there was no secret to why. He was soaping up when Gillespie and Paul joined him. They pushed him to the floor of the shower, onto his shoulders, and Gillespie jerked up and spread his legs, holding them spread, and jack-hammer fucked down into Dale's channel. At a signal from Gillespie, Paul started peeing on Dale's face. "Just wanted you to know that there is a lot more involved in BDSM if you want to go that route than I've done to you," Gillespie said. After the fuck, he added his pee to Paul's across Dale's prone body, and then they left him in peace on the floor of the shower. They went upstairs for a celebratory drink. Saturday had been a big success. * * * * Sunday morning was graduation. Gillespie and Paul lay on their backs on the floor of the bedroom cell, facing away from each other, but thighs overlapping thighs and both of their fists fisting both of their cocks together. Gittin' It All On his own volition, rested now, and using no poppers at all, Dale descended his well-reamed channel on the bunched cocks, taking them both, and riding them to a triple ejaculation. Gillespie told Dale he wanted to see him again, and Dale thought that was a good idea. He was a little cool to Paul, though. He was glad he'd been prepared, but it wasn't that wild about Paul's part in all of it. He wasn't even sure now he still wanted to rush Paul's fraternity. They bound and blindfolded Dale, chained him to the floor of the back of the van, and drove the van into the university. Unbinding him helping him back into his shorts and T, and giving him back the books he'd been carrying when he had been snatched, they let him off in front of his dorm. Gillespie then said he'd drive Paul back to his fraternity house. He didn't drive straight there, though. He took a roundabout route over by the stadium and the jock dorms. He pulled up to a curb there, and the back doors of the van were opened from the outside. Paul turned his head to see a couple of massive, black bodies, just in tennis shoes and gym shorts filling up the back to the van. He had the sensation of gleaming white teeth flashed in two grins. "What?" he blurted, turning to Gillespie. "You've been too cocky and have a mind of your own of late," Gillespie said. "I've signed up a couple of new assistants." Paul wasn't able to say anything else for the long ride out to the cabin. The two burly football players pulled him out of the passenger seat and back into the back of the van. They had him stripped in no time and his briefs stuffed in his mouth. LeRoy went down on his back on the floor of the van, and Alphonse slammed Paul's channel down on the long cock and pushed Paul's shoulder blades down onto LeRoy's chest. LeRoy trapped Paul's chest in a long, muscled-armed embrace, while, with Paul straining at the briefs in his mouth to scream the outrage and pain of the double invasion, the college junior shuddered at the entry above LeRoy's long cock of Alphonse's thick one. The two began counterpistoning him in the rhythm of a double fuck that the two were only now beginning to master. Part of what had made the two sign up with Gillespie was that he promised he could help perfect their taking of another man together. He told them he had a cute little blond in mind that they would be amazed could take them both. As for Paul, his usefulness to Gillespie had come to an end. They'd take him back to the cabin and work him over real good between the three of them. And then, who knew? Gillespie didn't really think Paul would ever be returning to the university campus again.