A gay adult story: Nigerian Nightmare – Part 4 by Andy Caulden ,
The following story is entirely true and contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity between adult males. READ NO FURTHER if you are under the age of eighteen or offended by such material.
Nigerian Nightmare – Part 4By Andy Caulden
Baba and Daniel half-drowned me when they dumped me in a bath of cold water and began cleaning me up with a hand broom and scrubbing brush.
They forced my head under the water several times, and when I came up for air, they targeted my face with hot water from the shower head.
‘I really like this one, Dan,’ said Baba. ‘He’s so-o-o weak and willing, and so-o-o pretty and bony.’
I was clearly no match for their great strength, and they knew it, so I just flounced about in the bath as they took full advantage of my ‘weak and willing’ body.
‘The doctor is gonna like him, too,’ said Daniel.
‘Yes,’ Baba agreed. ‘Dr. Harper is bound to keep this one hanging around for a couple of days. He’s crazy like that.’
The words ‘hanging around’ and ‘crazy’ triggered an adrenalin rush that sent me into a blind panic. I had nowhere to go, especially with Baba’s powerful hands holding me down, but still the urge to flee took over my body completely.
‘Hold on to him tight, Baba,’ Daniel barked. ‘The little fucker doesn’t want to play nice anymore.’
‘Silly boy,’ said Baba. ‘Mr. Teene’s bum-boys have no say in when or where they go. They simply bend over and endure the pain or pleasure.’
Daniel slapped me hard across the face, which hurt like fuck.
‘Don’t play up, boy,’ he said. ‘Dr. Harper is one of our best clients; he’s firm but fair. So if he likes you, Mr. Teene won’t pimp you out to anyone else for a good long while.’
It was then that I was hauled out of the bath and handed a small towel. I only had a few minutes to dry off before my ankles and wrists were bound tightly with duct tape.
‘Because of the bag,’ said Baba, ‘I don’t want to tape up your mouth. So keep you trap shut during the ride across town.’
‘If you call out for help,’ Daniel added, ‘I’ll slice off your nuts and throw you in the canal, got that?’
I nodded my head as Baba left the bathroom to get ‘the bag’.
* * *
Everything went black when the sleeping bag was placed over my head and dropped to the floor, and then zipped up fully. With only my feet sticking out of the bag, the two Nigerians wrapped duct tape round the material covering my lower legs.
I was then grabbed by one man and thrown over the shoulder of the other, before being carried out of the bungalow at breakneck speed.
I bumped around in the back of the van as it sped across town. My boyfriend and I had been abducted by a bunch of modern-day slave traders, and Mr. Teene was going to pimp us out to men like Dr. Harper. We were now lost souls, and our fate was irrevocably sealed.
Deep down, the fear of being fished out of a canal when Mr. Teene’s clients had tired of me was being suppressed by the thought of all that hard, dominant sex. My cock began to twitch as in my head, Mr. Pain and Mr. Pleasure began to argue with Mr. Self-Preservation over who really had my best interests at heart. Of course, any opportunity to escape would be seriously considered, but Mr. Fear had to be absolutely sure I wouldn’t be risking my nuts if things went awry.
I just couldn’t believe how ambivalent I was about this potentially life-threatening situation: one minute, I would be terrified of being raped and tortured, and then possibly killed by my abductors; another minute, I would be really keen on submitting fully to my abductors, in the hope that they would release me as a reward – clearly my cock was ruling my head in the latter scenario.
* * *
A lot of metal and wooden door-banging occurred when the van eventually came to a halt. I was unceremoniously pulled from the vehicle and carried through a doorway, which left me with a painful bump to the head.
Down a flight of stairs and two doorways later, I was dumped onto a concrete floor.
‘Sorry the delivery is late, doctor,’ said Baba, ‘but Mr. Teene wanted to make sure you got the best of the bunch first. We rushed him over as fast as we could.’
‘No problem, Baba,’ said Dr. Harper. ‘I have a patient on the bench at the moment, and two more waiting their turn in the boxes back there. What’s this one called?’
‘Crawler,’ Daniel replied. ‘Mr. Teene christened this one Crawler.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dr. Harper. ‘Let’s hope Crawler likes rubber bondage, breath control and electro torture; plus ball-bashing and forced milking. The boy on the bondage bench has been wriggling about in that rubber sleep-sack for almost an hour now. He so-o-o wants to cum, but I just can’t get his testes to give up their seed. He must be so frustrated.’
All three men laughed as I was suddenly pulled to my feet and unzipped from the sleeping bag. I peered out through half-open eyes as the lights in the room dazzled me for a minute or two.
Dr. Harper’s lair was large and spacious, and lit with two rows of fluorescent lights. The brick walls were painted white, as was the ceiling and flagstone floor, and the room resembled a cellar that had been converted into a clinical torture chamber.
I wobbled and nearly lost my balance when Daniel dropped to his knees and hastily removed the tape securing the sleeping bag to my lower legs. He then freed me from the bag completely.
Dr. Harper smiled as he looked me up and down. He was a tall, muscular man, with an unsettling air of menace about him. I swallowed hard as I took in what he was wearing: a full set of theatre blues, as worn by surgeons, and a pair of white, mid-calf, rubber boots.
Daniel squeezed my right arse-cheek as the bondage master stared longingly at my cock and ball-sac.
‘You will call me Sir,’ he said. ‘I know the title is well overused in these situations, but we do need to keep our relationship on a sound footing. I will call you Crawler, slave or slug, and promise to do my utmost to make your stay here as uncomfortable as possible.’
Daniel squeezed my arse-cheek again, as a prompt to answer the man with respect.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ I said passively. ‘I will do my best to…’
‘Obey and suffer,’ Baba put in.
‘He’s a fine looking boy,’ said Dr. Harper to Baba. ‘I’m sure I can turn him in to a well trained slave. He has “wimp” written all over him.’
‘Do you want us to remove the duct tape and chain him to the wall?’ Daniel asked.
‘Yes,’ the doctor replied. ‘He can stand and observe what a patient-cum-slave must endure to keep me amused. I’ll hang him upside down from the ceiling later.’
The tape securing my ankles and wrists was swiftly, and painfully, removed; and once free, I was frog-marched over to the nearest wall by Mr. Teene’s henchmen. My arms and legs were then spread apart and restrained by manacles to four ring-bolts anchored in the brick wall.
I stood against the wall and shivered. My view of the room was now unrestricted – Baba and Daniel had stepped aside to admire their handiwork. Dr. Harper’s torture chamber was more oblong than square, with three wooden, coffin-shaped boxes standing upright against the far wall. They were painted white and bolted to the brickwork.
The long wall on my right was bedecked with all manner of bondage and torture equipment. A row of leather hoods and straps topped a row of riding crops, paddles and whips. All the above items were black in colour, as was the ropes and rubber tubes on the bottom row of the array.
Four black latex suits hung in a line from the wall on my left. The frogman-like suits looked quite menacing, as they eerily watched over the bondage bench in the centre of the room.
The sturdy wooden bench was black in colour and fitted with an array of restraining rings. It was the size and shape of a large bed, and stood some three-feet off the floor. The rubber sleep-sack, which held Dr. Harper’s frustrated patient, lay centre stage, and was secured to the bench by a dozen or more leather straps.
The shiny black cocoon held its hapless captive in limbo, with only his hard-standing cock and hairless ball-sac exposed to the light. Two small straps, with electrical wires attached, were wrapped around his genitals. The wires ran off to an electrical control box, which bristled with buttons, lights and switches.
The patient’s head was enclosed in a tight-fitting leather hood, with some kind of gas mask attached. A short, rubber breathing tube protruded from the mask, which reinforced the impression in my mind that I was looking at a giant insect, or shiny black alien.
‘Where did you find the bum-boy on the bench, Dr. Harper?’ asked Daniel.
‘Oh, he and his two friends belong to Mr. Stringer,’ the doctor replied. ‘They took the wrong pills at the wrong party and were nabbed by the man himself. He spent a day or so initiating them, and then asked me to train them for a couple of weeks.’
‘Can we watch you bring the bum-boy off?’ asked Baba. ‘We won’t get in the way.’
‘And you did say, last time, that an audience helps you get the best out of a slave,’ added Daniel.
‘True, true,’ said Dr. Harper. ‘You’ll have to strip off though, just like last time.’
I stood and watched the two Nigerians shed their clothes in double quick time – their coal-black bodies looked just as stark and sinister in the white room as the bench, the latex suits and the array of torture equipment. The sight of their muscular bodies made my cock twitch – I so loved the look of all that raw fuck-power on display.
The doctor and his two admirers walked over to the bondage bench. They gathered round the cocoon’s midsection, which left me with the view of two bare-arsed men and the bum-boy’s enclosed head and feet.
The first groan I heard was swiftly followed by the sight of the bum-boy’s head jerking back and forth wildly, as if it was on a spring, and his feet moving up and down inside the sack at a rapid rate of knots.
His muffled groans continued as he thrashed around within the confines of the sleep-sack. The zapper attached to his genitals was causing his body to twist and turn every few minutes. The poor sod was trapped in his second skin and suffering badly.
All three men seemed delighted with the convulsions and sounds the bum-boy was making: he was certainly emitting some strange noises as the doctor stimulated his cock to the nth degree.
After a good twenty minutes or so, Daniel moved aside to allow me to see the end of the doctor’s torturous edging. A muffled outburst of verbal abuse filled the room as the bum-boy’s cock released a torrent of creamy white spunk. The boy’s body continued to convulse as the doctor encouraged his slave to, ‘keep it coming, boy. I need to see more.’
I stood and shuddered as I realized the zapper would be attached to my cock soon: I would be forced in to one of those rubber wetsuits, or a sleep-sack, and milked by the doctor for hours on end. I looked down and my traitorous cock was fully erect.
– – –
Copyright (c) 2011-2013 Andy Caulden