After the Idyll

The late afternoon sun was still very warm and Scott was almost asleep. He lay naked on his towel, his limp sex curled on its bed of pubic hair, when a voice broke through his lethargy. "Hey, can we have some fun with you?" It was a man about his own age in just a red Speedo. Next to him was another, dressed the same, but with an erection showing over the top of the suit. "I'm Chris, said the blond, "and this is Joe." He gestured to his black companion.

Scott raised himself on his elbow, preparing to get up, when Chris said, "No? OK. See you around," and turned away.

"Wait!" Scott had no idea why he said this. He wasn't looking for multiple partners, or the edge of menace he picked up from the two.

"Wait? Oh, yeah? You want to be our toy?" Scott said nothing. Chris's lips almost curved into a smile. "Hey guys!! I think we've got a lamb!" he called, directing his voice over the top of the dune. He placed the sole of his foot on Scott's sternum and nudged him back to a supine position. "As you were, then." He left his foot there and Scott knew that the increasing strength of his heartbeat could be easily detected.

Three more men appeared over the dune. Another blond and two darker, Mediterranean or middle eastern. Scott felt fear, but also anticipation. What was going on? Did he yearn to be used? His breathing became shallower and more rapid. His penis began to swell.

Chris removed his foot and said, "Cy and Phil here are into rope play, but first let's pin you down." Two of the men wrapped rope around his wrists and fashioned a loop through which they placed tent stakes. They placed Scott's hands even with his head and splayed out somewhat before pounding the stakes into the sand. It was sand, and so Scott was not permanently tethered, but he didn't want to break free. He relaxed and his penis began to straighten.

Next Cy and Phil produced ropes from which other ropes dangled. They knelt down and tied the main rope around Scott's thighs as high as possible. Their knuckles grazed Scott's testicles as they worked and Scott's penis stiffened even more. It was erect. His arousal was visible to everyone. The exposure caused a spasm in Scott's torso, more pleasure for Scott and more evidence of his willing participation in the activities.

More ropes were tied around his thighs just above his knees and then Cy and Phil began to construct elaborate designs between the two bands on each thigh. Scott writhed with pleasure.

When they were done, Chris said to no one in particular, "OK, go get the stuff." Two men climbed the dune and returned with what looked like small dead bushes in their arms. There was no foliage, but thin, woody, intricate stems. Scott thought they might be what tumble weed looked like.

"We're not into permanent damage," Chris told him. "But we do like a little bit of... sort of pseudo-torture. These will sting like hell, but won't break the skin very often. So let's see what other perversions we can uncover from your virgin psyche. We can tell from that telegraph there." He nodded at Scott's erection. "Will it go up or down?" he laughed. He flicked it with his forefinger and a sharp, erotic sensation travelled up Scott's abdomen.

"OK, guys, choose your weapons."

Scott couldn't imagine being turned on by pain, but when the first blow came he realized he craved more. His whole body melted in surrender, except for his cock, which shouted out how much he affirmed what was happening. It was clear to everyone, including himself. The men took their turns one at a time, on different parts of his body, the brush weapons breaking apart and leaving debris over Scott. At each blow he emitted a muffled, inarticulate sound, but in his mind he was shouting Yes! Yes!. It was the clear, unambiguous sense of surrender that thrilled him.

When they finished with his front they wrenched out the stakes and told him to turn over. Scott did so and spread his arms and legs, inviting the bondage, craving the assault everywhere. They didn't take time to re-stake him, so Scott held himself steady and available as they resumed their assault, one by one. The branches were thicker now, having been broken off. Scott was grateful that the last blow, on his buttocks, was especially strong. He was sure it drew blood.

"Ok, move off the towel. We don't want it to get all messy. And raise your ass in the air."

Scott lifted himself with bent knees. This time they did re-position the stakes, holding him in place, so his anus was well exposed. Chris applied lubricant to his own cock and pressed the tip against Scott. It took some maneuvering to get the ridge past the sphincter, but once done he was able slowly and smoothly enter Scott until thighs and buttocks were pressed hard together. He pulled out and in and grasped Scott's cock and stroked it in the same rhythm. Scott felt like his cock was being pumped with more and more blood with each stroke, until semen shot onto the sand. Then Chris emptied himself into Scott and collapsed on his back.

After a few moments Chris rolled off and said, "The others will get their chance later, if you're willing to join us in our club house. What do you say?"

Scott could only nod his head in acceptance. He was untethered and given the towel to wrap around his waist. The rope on his thighs pressed against his testicles and rubbed together with every step, reminding him that he was their art work, their play thing. He was led to a low structure set further back in the dunes. It was made of cinder block, flat roofed, with small windows close to the eaves, so there was no view in our out. But as they approached a sharp edge of pleasurable and fearful anticipation lodged in him. But it wasn't a conflict of emotions, he realized ruefully. It was pleasurable fear. He was finding pleasure in certain kinds of fear.

The dim interior of the building contained a small stage on the far wall and a bar along the right hand side. It was filled with young men, most also wearing Speedos, but a few in jeans and two stark naked. Many were sitting at small tables. Others were standing in close groups.

Taking himself by surprise Scott loosened the towel and let it fall to the floor. There was murmured appreciation for Scott's body and for the rope work. He walked toward the stage, focusing on the two manacles hanging from the ceiling and the two set into the floor. He savored the random caresses and light slaps as he moved through the assembly. As soon as he mounted the stage he turned to face the audience and raised his arms and spread his legs to receive the bonds. Two men quickly fastened them and Scott's cock and balls swelled further.

"Hey, guys, listen up. We've got a lamb. We can play the game! For you guys who haven't been here before for the game, this is how it works. Basically we take turns trying to get this guy to come. And we bet on how many of us will have to give it a go before we succeed. Each person is allowed only two strokes. A stroke is a forward and backward movement. You can do anything you want. Your hand on his dick. Your dick in his ass. Other stuff if you think of it.

The betting works this way. We each put five dollars in that jar." He pointed to the bar. "And we write our names on one of those slips of paper, along with our guess." He gestured again to the bar. So if you think the 3rd guy will bring it off, you put 3 under your name. If the third guy succeeds, everyone who wrote down three will divide up the pot. OK?" There was a general murmur of approval as the crowd moved toward the bar. "Quinto, would you draw the first time?" he asked the bartender.

He had a dagger in his hand. Scott gasped in horror, but the man first took Scott's limp cock in his hand, encircled it at the base and slowly drew his hand to the tip and then down again, causing an erection to come to fullness. The room had become totally silent. Then he gently touched the tip of the dagger to the root of Scott's balls and very lightly drew it up the back of the erection, until he rested it in the slit. Scott couldn't look any more. He through his head back and shut his eyes. The man had to shift the angle of the dagger and draw the edge ever so lightly down the front of the shaft. Scott melted into profound surrender to whatever might happen, but his cock remained firm. The man ever so slightly nicked the skin at the base, not so much a wound as a punctuation to end the performance. Scott's dullness had vanished. His passivity had turned into full engagement. He was eager for the next player to approach.

The second man took him from behind, with no finesse. The sense of being taken was arousing, but not nearly enough to bring him to orgasm.

The third man bent over and took him in his mouth. The pure physical stimulation kept Scott hard, but he felt detached as he watched the head sink and rise.

Then the fourth man approached. He was not one of the original five and he stood in front of Scott until they were visually engaged. There was a hint of a smile on his mouth, a suggestion of knowing. He put his hand between Scott's legs and pressed the back of his thumb into his anus. Then he very, very slowly drew it forward. He paused on his testicles and pressed just to the point of pain, continuing his gaze, as if to emphasize their communication. He continued across the testicles and up the back of Scott's cock. All the while he said: "When the game is over, we'll all leave. You'll stay the way you are, and we'll call 911 to get you released. But before we leave, we'll make sure you're standing at attention, for their amusement. Scott's breath shortened and speeded up, approaching panting. The man pressed his thumb against the tip of Scott's cock, gripped it and slid down with just the right speed and pressure and then back up again. Scott took in a great breath and let it out with a cry as his semen shot into the air.

"OK, guys, we have a winner!!!" Chris held up the player's hand in triumph. "Now let's get him back in shape!" As promised, they then rubbed and caressed and poked and prodded and licked and sucked until Scott had regained his erection. "Let's go, now. You can have one last chance to feel him up and then we're outta here before we call the cops. Scott, your suit's on that table. You'll probably want it," he said with a leering grin.

Scott watched them slowly file out, randomly turning to stare or smile at him knowingly. Now he was alone, bound and displayed for whomever opened the door.

After they left Scott stared at the dark wood double doors across the room. He willed the doors to open. And then he willed them to stay shut. He tried to will away his erection, but the more he thought about ordinary people seeing him on display the harder it got. He twisted slowly so his legs moved inside the ropes, in hopes of discharging his sexual tension, maybe triggering an ejaculation, to no avail. When he finally heard a car pull up his thigh muscles and abdominal muscles contracted in an erotic spasm.

The door opened and two police, a man and a woman, entered and stared. Their jaws actually dropped. Scott's embarrassment was so great he was close to ejaculating.

"My God!" They approached and the man pulled a tool from his pocket. "They said you were tied up, so I brought this." It looked like a pair of pruning shears. First he snipped the ropes holding Scott's arms above his head and then quickly snipped the ropes around Scott's upper and lower thighs. Several more snips and the elaborate design fell away.

"Do you want to press charges?" asked the man.

"No... I only heard a couple first names. And, anyway, I think I pretty much agreed to everything." He felt an equal amount of shame and relief to say it out loud.

"Do you need to see a doctor for that?" he asked Scott, nodding down at the display.

"No, thanks. I'm pretty sure it will go away once I get on some clothes."

The woman handed him his swim trunks which were sitting on a table with his towel and he stepped in, relieved that he'd been right. Then she retrieved a small notebook and pen from her pocket. "And who are you?" she asked.

"I, I don't know.... Well, yeah, I know I'm Scott Avery, and where I work and live and stuff, but beyond that I don't think I know who I am anymore."