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Captives Of The Mountain Men
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The bare concrete floor was icy cold against Tom's feet as his captors escorted him to the dungeon in their basement.
Tom was in his mid-20s and built like a football player, with buzz-cut blond hair. He shivered as the cold concrete floor drained his body heat. He felt vulnerable . . . and helpless. Back in the cell, Donny and Caleb—his queer Klansmen captors—had forced him to strip and masturbate for them, then suck their cocks through the bars.
Donny was a big man in his late 30s, with long limp black hair and a scruffy beard. He unlocked the heavy steel door and Caleb pushed Tom inside.
Caleb was a tall, thin, muscular man in his mid-40s, bald with the sides of his head shaved and a big bushy beard. He gripped Tom's waist and pressed his stiff cock into Tom's butt crack. "Soon, Honey," he whispered. "Soon."
Donny followed them in, then closed and locked the door.
They were in a big bare room with an unfinished ceiling and naked concrete walls.
A rectangular steel frame—vertical bars with heavy horizontal braces—was fastened to the bare joists and floor a few feet away from the back wall. A padded black steel bench sat beside the frame. On the other side of the frame, a black leather hammock was suspended from the joists by chrome chains.
A black flag was fastened to one wall. It bore the image of a clenched fist—stark white against the black—and the legend "America's Fist."
This was a full studio, with a video camera and lights hanging from the joists, two more cameras mounted on wheeled tripods, and flatscreen monitors scattered around the room.
Tom was frightened of what Donny and Caleb were going to do to him. Knowing that his humiliation and shame were being recorded and broadcast to the world—or at least to the homophobic queer white supremacists occupying a small dark part of it—made it even worse.
"You have SUCH a purty lil ass." Caleb pressed against Tom's back, rubbing his bare dick up and down Tom's butt crack and reaching around his body to fondle his cock. Embarrassingly, it hardened under the bad mountain man's touch.
"Oh yeah!" Caleb crowed. "We're gonna have us some fun tonight!" He changed the angle of his cock, pressing its head into Tom's anus.
Tom didn't dare pull away. "What are you going to do to me?"
Caleb turned Tom to face him. He was still dressed in his boots and camo fatigues, which hid most of his tattoos. Flesh-colored adhesive bandages covered the ink on the backs of his hands. Only the tattoos on his head and neck were still visible. His hard cock and hairy balls thrust out from his open fly.
"Whatever we want." Caleb grinned at Tom's hard-on. "And you're gonna like it." He fingered his own stiff pole. "And so will we." He pointed to the cameras. "And a lot of other Patriots."
"Okay," Donny said. "It's showtime." He was naked, except for his heavy work boots. His cock was already hard, secured by a black leather cock-and-ball ring with shiny chrome studs.
Donny wrapped his fingers around Tom's stiff dick. "I like doing fags." He rubbed his thumb and index finger over Tom's cock-head, smearing the precum leaking from its tip. "We don't have to worry about getting rough. We know you can take it." He let go of Tom's cock and turned away.
Caleb cuffed Tom's hands behind his back and marched him out onto the bare concrete floor. "Get over there." He guided Tom to a square of carpet and pushed him to his knees, then turned on the lights and aimed a camera at Tom. "We're doing a live broadcast tonight."
Donny came over, carrying two pointed white hoods. He and Caleb put them on, hiding their faces.
"Okay, let's rock." Donny stepped in front of the black and white flag and adjusted a camera while watching his image in one of the monitors. He nodded and smiled briefly, then looked directly into the camera and punched a button on a remote control.
"Patriots . . . Arise!" He extended his arm in a clenched-fist salute. "We are America's Fist—fighting to restore America's greatness and to punish its enemies."
The monitor showed Donny from the waist up—bare chested with his head and shoulders hidden by the peaked white hood, blank except for the eye holes. It didn't show his hard cock, waving in time with Donny's pumping arm motions as he shook his fist at the camera.
"Patriots!" Donny shouted. "Over this last month, you have watched us punish the dark-skinned polluter of racial purity." He dropped a hand out of the camera's sight and fondled his hard cock and bulging balls. "Tonight, we render justice to a traitor to his own race . . . Defiling himself . . . and the entire white race . . . by submitting to that dark-skinned animal . . ."
He punched the remote and the live video feed switched to a recording of Tom, bent over in the middle of the cell with his hands on his knees, bracing himself while Washington fucked his ass from behind.
The video quality was excellent, with multiple camera angles. There were more cameras hidden in the cell than Tom had suspected. The editing was professional, with lots of close-ups of Washington's plunging pole and Tom's swaying cock as the young black stud's body slammed into his.
Donny cut the video just before Washington came. "If you want to see all of this video, or any of our other videos, go to our website . . ." He gave a dark web address. "But right now, we're going to punish that fuckin' n—'s white bitch."
The live feed switched to a long shot of Tom, on his knees with Caleb standing behind him, slowly stroking his stiff cock. Donny walked into the shot, flaunting his own erection. "N—Bitch, prepare to be punished," he said. "Do you have anything to say before we begin?"
"Do your damndest," Tom growled. "I'm not ashamed of what I am or who I fuck. And I don't hide under a hood."
"I was going to show you some mercy," Donny snarled. "But not now." His cock was harder than ever and Tom knew he was smiling under the hood. "Stand up." Tom rose to his feet. It was a little hard without being able to use his hands, but he managed.
Caleb unfastened the cuffs and handed Tom a black leather strap with chrome snaps. "Put this on."
Tom looped the strap around his cock and balls. He'd seen cock rings in porn, but had never worn one. It pulled his balls tight—painfully but weirdly sexily tight—and hardened his cock. Under different circumstances, it would have felt good. "What now?"
Donny pointed to the frame. "Over there." Tom froze. Caleb grabbed his shoulders and marched him over to the frame.
"No," Tom moaned. Caleb cuffed his wrists and ankles to the frame, leaving him spread-eagled and facing the wall. "Please, no!" He was facing another camera that covered his whole body, including his rock-hard cock and bulging balls, held tight by the thin black leather strap.
Caleb reached around Tom's body and jacked his stiff pole while pressing his cock-head into Tom's anus. "You're gonna get it now, sweetie," he whispered.
"Are you going to fuck me?"
"You wish." Caleb stepped away from Tom and looked at Donny.
Donny stood there, slowly jacking his dick while he looked down at Tom. "Fifty lashes." He rubbed his thumb and index finger over his cock-head, smearing the precum leaking from its tip. "For a start."
"Yes SIR!" Caleb picked up a flogger—thin black leather straps attached to a handle—and moved into position, behind Tom and well to the side, giving the camera a good view of Tom's muscular buttocks.
Crack!!!
Tom screamed in shock and surprise as the lash struck his buttocks, making a sharp cracking sound that echoed around the bare concrete space. Each individual leather strap stung in its own unique way. It was startling, as well as painful.
Caleb waited until the pain had begun to subside and then . . .
Crack!!
Tom screamed at the new pain, trying to jerk away, but restrained by the wrist and ankle cuffs that held him spread-eagled to the frame.
"That's two lashes," Donny said. He was off camera, slowly jacking his stiff dick and playing with his bound balls while he watched Tom and Caleb. "Keep going."
