BDSM Library - Story: Nick\'s Summer, Chapter: Part 3

Nick's Summer Part 3 - Back to Work

by Emile

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Photo time. The gauze bandage was off the tatt, and Jack insisted on taking some happy snaps for Nick's photo album. He stood there in the bright lights, tense muscles glistening in the heat, as Jack directed him - legs apart, pierced donkey dork drooping between his thick thighs, the large fresh tatt emblazoned on his pelvis. The 'little' trash can was 4 inches high, easily visible above his waistband (if he was allowed to wear anything). The wafting stink at the top grazed the message "Keep me droolin' on his abs", now smeared with slugs of cum from the cameramen. They were townies, friends of Jack, and had already been paid for their work in advance - two hours Nick spent on his knees, choking on greasy cockmeat, swallowing their tangy cum in the sum. Some had pulled out early, shot all over him, and their warm juice was drying against his dark mule skin. They made him lift his arms behind his head again, to expose his sexy pits to the camera, and make him look more vulnerable. Already his veiny biceps ached from holding his arms up for so long, and trickles of sweat coursed down his forearms, around the tricep, making his shaved pits glisten. On command, he thrust his chest out, pouty nipples jutting towards the camera, the "cunt" message shining in the sun.

"Cool man" one camera guy said "smooth as a cunt, eh!". The guy was fully clothed, making Nick feel more naked, and had enjoyed slamming his long cock down Nick's throat so hard he still had his pubes in his teeth. He'd shot his load all over Nick's chest, matting the hair with so much dickjuice it ran between his abs, coating his hefty package. The camera perfectly caught the dripping milk, the closest Nick'd gotten to cumming all week. They'd kept him hard non-stop, of course, taking it in turns to sit Nick on their laps and stroke his fat cock until it strained against the new piercing - a thick ring through the glans that stretched out his foreskin, revealing dickslit to the camera - until he panted with fucklust and pain.

They also kept him drooling constantly, feeding him pills that made his already fuck-bloated dick stand stuff and spew junk until his red shorts were so heavy with sap they sloughed off his body altogether. His dad hadn't been happy about that - beating his balls so badly they still jutted out, swollen and purple, from behind his swinging dick. That was four days ago, two hours crouched on the leading hand's table, legs spread wide and held by two men, arms spreading his buttcheeks, straining to keep himself in balance. Two hours of pain, of having his nads whacked so hard that even the lightest touch or squeeze, even being lightly nudged aside so his father could finger his crack to make him squirm - sent waves of agony though his gut. He begged his dad to stop, told him it wasn't his fault his dick drooled, that the men were keeping him on heat, but that just made him slap all the harder. "Don't you be blaming my good folk for your filthy habits, boy" he bellowed "You think you so hot with your he-man chest and your mammy's titties, parading around in front of the men, you just asking for trouble." He fingered the jock's swollen nads, eliciting a groan and causing his dick to lurch. You best be learnin some respect for your superiors, like Jack here! He'll teach you manners, boy". Jack had his shit-eating grin on his face, and was watching from behind, arms folded over a muscle singlet stretched over his barrel chest.

The singlet had been Nick's once, before Jack had taken all his best stuff, and thrown the rest out. What clothes he was allowed to take to college would be Jack's hand me downs now, threadbare, ripped and worn, mostly his trashy clothes from when he'd been a drifter. Nick guessed he'd been pretty fucked up before he came to the farm, and had done some pretty disgusting things in his life, which he confirmed when his dad and the men left him, heaving on the edge of the table. Jack approached, leering, and pulled something out of his back pocket. "Here's your new uniform dickbreath, sorry I've not washed it in a while". The material was balled up in his hand, the bundle as small as a tissue. With horror, Nick took it, and it unravelled in his hand. It was light blue spandex, so thin he could see his hand through the gauze material, a long narrow cup with strings. Jack lifted it out of his hands and helped him into it, slipping it up his tree-trunk legs, until the material caught on his fat cockhead and began stretching up with Jack's tugs. The thong was even more obscene than his shorts had been, the pouch stuffed with his oversized tool and puffy balls clung to every inch of skin, every vein, the top resting on his smooth crotch, just revealing the main vein to his cock. The straps were different lengths, the first tight around his narrow waist, the others looser so they draped over his hips and arse, barely covering anything. The strings holding the base of the pouch split at the base, so anyone could touch him from behind, run their hands down his back, finger him effortlessly from his crack to his balls. His blue balls throbbed from the pressure, and dick leaked more sap, staining the material dark blue, although swabs of lighter stains showed this pouch had been drooled in more than once before. As a finishing touch, he produced the 'punisher' - a rotating dildo Jack had bought for Nick last summer. It was 12 inches long, 3 inches thick and black, and Nick could barely walk or move without it punching up his gut, especially when Jack cinched it to Nick's cockring with a wide leather strap, that pulled his balls apart and his dick downwards.

But at the moment, in front of the cameras, Nick was naked and unplugged, and very exposed. Two guys brought out an old claw foot bath. The bath was short and half filled with light yellow liquid. He grimaced, thinking it was piss, but it was far worse. The guys grabbed him, each holding an arm and leg, and lowered him in, so his knees and arms were over the edge, arse first. The liquid was warm and viscous - like thick oil - and clung to his skin like rubber. They kept lowering, until the oily liquid lapped at his tits, leaving a thick layer around his chest, clinging to the hair. Hot oil trickled into his arse, lubricating his cheeks and invading his gut. His swollen balls stung as they entered, and heaved in the oil as it sloshed around. Last was his dick, oil slowly coating the stalk until it trickled into the wide opening of his foreskin, into his pisshole. Some of the guys had been stretching the pisshole wide at night with alligator clips and U gouges, working the steel up to the handle as he writhed around. The pain was so great they'd had to pin him down with four men, as the fifth worked the wide carving tool down the shaft. Now their efforts paid off, as the slick oil coated the bruised sides of his urethra. "This stuff's cooking grease" Jack told him, as the cameras whirred, "with a few special ingredients. We heated it up, so it'd be nice and wet for you, but its usually just solid fat, that white grease that sticks to everything. Makes a nice piss substitute for the shoot - the boys didn't want to waste anything you could be drinking!" They snapped away as the bath cooled, and began to congeal around him. Jack never said what the "special ingredients" were, but Nick could guess for himself. Even as it cooled, the hot, burning sensation stayed - like when they'd smeared chilli on his dick. He could feel the grease in his gut scraping at the sides, like they'd swirled in some sand or grit into the mix. And there was the unmistakable smell of menthol, which he could also feel making his tender skin feel icy-hot. Soon they hauled him out, the grease was too cloudy, and they had enough for their purposes. He sloshed around a bit as they grabbed him, and the rest of his chest and thighs got coated with grease. The feeling was gross, his whole body slick and greasy, and worse was inside. As he tried to walk, the still warm grease coated his innards, making them churn. He let out a loud fart, unable to stop the air slipping out of his greasy hole, and the guys all laughed. One grabbed his swinging dick, and sent a wave of sensations up his body - pain and discomfort of the sand scraped grease-clogged tube, and pleasure of the fist sliding up his well lubed dork. "Not so fast, boy" he muttered, "Jack's said you need to come into town with us first to see somebody. He's a special fan from way back, a wrestler, who can't wait to get WWF on you." Jack came up and handed him some clothes. "You better dress proper, he paid a lot to spend the night with you, cunt. We'll be watching you, so you'd better be extra nice!" The clothes were pretty regular - a thick cotton t-shirt and long cotton pants, but covered in grease, they clung to him like a second skin, soaking into the material. Every movement and the cotton clung to his rippled torso, making him look more naked than before. The thick cotton kept him warm and uncomfortable, and dark patches appeared wherever it clung to his body. Jack was making sure he would always slip lower on the pecking order - now he was greased up and bundled off like a side of beef, to the highest bidder.

In the car into town, things didn't get easier. Apparently the wrestler, Trev, had wanted him "fresh", so he was spared the usual ride impaled on some dick, but instead they peeled down the pants to his knees and made him jerk off - slow and steady, balls slapping with every pump. Trev wanted him rock hard. Trev was a big fan of muscle jocks, liked to see them strain and beg, unrelieved, as he slammed them down. He told them (he was very specific) how much he liked their faces, looking up, chest puffed out, nips hard, pleading for him to let them go. You see, Trev had a special kind of wrestling, he'd pin them down, and tie them up, slowly immobilising them until they were helpless, then he'd fuck them, making them hobble over and sink down on his dick, pulling their legs from under them until gravity took its course. If they slammed into the mat when wrestling, dick first, he could rope up their hands, and that'd be the worst, since they'd be unprotected from his every move, but sometimes their dicks and balls were trussed first, which could be equally agonising.

It was hardly a fair fight, even though the jocks were tough and strong, Trev was bigger and meaner, plus he made sure they fed his victims a sedative - not enough to knock them out, but to make them groggy and slower, aware of what was happening but unable to properly defend themselves. One guy twisted his nips through the shirt, and Nick groaned, partly in lust from the wank, but also pain and fear of what was to come. "Good" the guy said. "he likes sensitive nips too. Hope your dad doesn't mind a bit of stretching! And we told him to go easy on the new piercing, but he does like to play rough." He was getting really worked up, and closed his eyes, moaning, fucklust taking over. They let him keep beating until his dick was straining against his hand, bloated and purple. Suddenly, he felt a pill being shoved into his open mouth, a finger pushing it down his throat, as another hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from his dick, letting the pants slide up the greasy stalk until only the throbbing head was showing. And that's how he was as they pulled him out of the car at the cheap motel, aching blue balls and iron cocked, head beginning to spin. He was jostled forward and into a darkened room. The guys sped off, and the door closed. In the dim light, he started to make out the other occupant, his huge wide shoulders, tapered sides and chest slab, an oversized bodybuilder that towered over Nick. He tried to speak but his tongue was thick. The bodybuilder came up, saying only "We start .. NOW."