Tie Me up Lie in the Magazines

Mr. Smith had caught me red-handed, the day before. I had been cumming to his dirty bondage magazines and comics. He had me on camera, masturbating in a public place. He said I would do what he told me to from now on, or else he'd show the video to my mother.

He also said he'd show the video to the police. I'd be arrested and put in jail as a sex offender. Mr. Smith laughed, saying the other inmates would make it fun for me inside, when it got around that I liked to jerk off in public.

I was fucked. Mr. Smith had me over a barrel. At least for now, only metaphorically.

So that was that. I was already down to my undies. I had to do it. I slid my hands down, pulling down my under panties and my chubby young penis popped out. I let my little briefs drop around my ankles.

At first, out of instinct I tried to cover my self with my hands, but resigned I forced my arms to my sides. The late afternoon sun shone on my bare body and my knees shook. My cock stretching out and up.

I was naked, helpless, cock out in public. I wanted to run.

Taking a deep breath I tried to look up at Mr. Smith, he was grinning and holding up his camera phone. I couldn't meet his eyes. I looked away, quickly glancing around the yard. I felt terribly exposed. He licked his lips, and made a circle motion with one hand. Mr. Smith wanted me to turn around.

Even though I was showing my entire nude front, somehow being made to show my ass was an even grater degradation. I was so humiliated, and so turned on. My young wiener was twitching with excitement, in the evening air.

Knowing I had no choice, I stepped out of my undies, and slowly turned my tushy to the camera. My cock bobbed with excitement, proving that some perverted part of me was loving the shame.

My mind must have been clouded with my hornyness, because a side of me wanted to push my humiliation even further. I fairly shook with excitement, as I faced my fit little bubble butt to the nasty old man's camera phone. My hands were at my sides and my knees were together. Slowly as if acting on their own, my hands moved to my knees, bending me over, and pushing my little ass back.

Now, cute butt sticking out, I looked over my shoulder at the camera, wide-eyed and pouty. Mr. Smith's crocodile grin was pure evil, and I couldn't meet his eye. My heat was racing and I faced forward, pushing my butt out even more. I tried to look back at him again, but I was too ashamed. So instead I just pushed out my ass even more, and gave it some plays full shakes and bounces.

This drew a loud appreciative whistle from Mr. Smith, and I wiggled some more. I was just so turned on, I was overcome with a sick desire to expose and humiliate myself. As if acting on their own my feet began to slide apart, spreading my legs. Then keeping my back arched, I reached behind me and grabbed my buttocks. Gulping down my shame, I spread my cheeks.

I was terrified of what I was doing, I was beat red with shame, and my cock felt like a metal bar. I felt like one of the boys in Mr. Smith's comics, a slave boy. I imagined I was a captive, being made to prove my virginity on the auction block. I wondered how it would feel to be for sale like that, my ass up to the highest bidder...

I was abruptly bounced back to reality by a loud whistle and cat call from Mr. Smith. The fat old creep was hooting at me like a stripper. He was being really noisy and I jerked my head around, scared someone might peep over the wall, to see what the fuss was about.

Mr. Smith was laughing behind me, and I realized how ridiculize I must look. I was naked, bent over, spreading my ass, and at the same time looking in every direction with fear.

Being laughed at like that, in my fear, brought my situation home to me suddenly. Letting myself be used in this way brought on a deep wave of emotional humiliation. My eyes began to moisten, but I held my position, head forward, cheeks wide, till the dirty old man had finished taking his pics and had me face front.

By the time I turned and faced the old man, I had a few streaks of moisture on my cheeks, but I wasn't really crying. Premium dripped from my rigid penis. I tried again to face Mr. Smith and his camera phone, but I just couldn't meet his eyes. I bit my lip and lowered my gaze, to the ground.

I was so humiliated. I was so scared, terrified else someone would see. My knees were shaking, and I badly wanted to yank on my clothes and run home. I knew I couldn't. I was in too deep. Mr. Smith had too much on me. If I wanted to ever put my under panties back on, I had better start jerking.

I felt like I was in a dream, I couldn't really be doing this. I felt like I was in my dirtiest fantasy, a slave boy forced to preform for a cruel master. However my racing heart and shaking knees, were all to real. I was quickly learning the difference between a dirty fantasy, and real submission and humiliation.

So, shaking like a leaf, I licked my palm, and slowly began to rub the circumcised tip of my thick young cock. I was so over excited, the second I touched my self, my hips bucked forward, and I rocked on the balls of my feet, almost losing my balance. This drew more laughter from Mr. Smith. He thought it was funny that I had no control over my hornyness.

This was so wrong, I should be wanting to have my cock touched by pretty girls. I shouldn't be getting turned on by stripping for a creepy man, more than twice my age. What was I doing?

I looked at my tormentor and kept stroking. I couldn't meet his eye, so I looked at the rest of him. I glanced at his big hairy knuckles clutching the beer and camera phone, his balding head and hairy cheeks. Mr. Smith's big beer belly stretched the buttons of a Hawaiian shirt, and he wore loos shorts, and sandals. I stared at his big hairy feet in flip-flops, and I stroked my penis, as my eyes drifted up his thick legs, to his crotch.

I wanted to look away but my eyes were locked, when I noticed a huge erection tenting Mr. Smith's shorts. The mean man clearly had a huge penis, and he was clearly loving this show.

Mr. Smith was rock hard, and the naughty thoughts of what he must want to do to me with that big rod drove me wild. I thought about what he would do if he had me tied and helpless like the boys in the magazines. I imagined myself, hog tied and crotch roped in his living room, shivering in my underwear, waiting for Mr. Smith to come home and, and... I came.

Taking me completely by surprise, the orgasm almost rocked me off my bare fee. I couldn't believe I was cumming.

I thought is was gonna be hard to jack off in front of an old man. I though I'd be never able to make myself cum for him, but here I was. After only a few minutes... I was about to spurt. I desperately tried to hold my orgasm in, long enough to get my palms in front of my cock. I knew had to catch and eat, what was about to come out of me.

I humped my hips. and moaned as I spurted, the hot slime filling up my palms. Semen filled both my hands, and I kept pumping out the sticky liquid. For a moment I feared I'd never stop cumming, and I was mortified by all that had to consume.

Finally, I stopped cumming, and I looked down, with teary eyes, at my sticky hands. I had to keep them together to hold in all the white mess. I knew I didn't want to eat it.

It was so gross, and now that I had just cum, I was no longer feeling the sexy urge to push myself to nastier and dirtier things. I didn't feel like the sex little slave boy I had imagined my self only a few moments earlier. Now I felt like a very ashamed young man, standing naked, in front of an old creep with a camera.

My semen was threatening to drip through my cupped palms, and I brought my hands to my lips and took a long lick. The hot slime was salty and gross, making my snap my mouth shut and grimes. I almost spat out the bitter goo, it was so bad. But somehow slowly, agonizing, I gulped down the first mouth full.

A chuckle from Mr. Smith drew my gaze, and I realized how comic I must have looked gagging on my first gulp of semin. He was at the edge of his set now, leaning forward with the camera phone. Mr. Smith was no longer holding a beer in his other hand. Now he was slowly stroking his big dick through his shorts.

I felt a twinge in own penis. The humiliation was turning me on again, and hadn't even finish, licking up my cum. I took another big lick, between both hands, and this time I looked up and finally met the old man's gaze. I made a cute pouty face and kept my mouth wide, showing the camera the big slimy glob on my tongue.

Doing so made me feel very naughty, and made my dick begin to swell again. However it turned out to be a bit of a mistake. You see, I still wasn't at all used to the texture and taste semen. I when I closed my little mouth on that big glob, I gagged again. This time worse than before. I grimaced and moaned, my eyes watering as I choked the big blob down. Mr. Smith was loving this, getting every second of my humiliation on video.

In spite of everything, the shame was turning me on, and my dick stretched and bounced. I was completely aroused again, like I hadn't just squirted this slime all over my hands a few moments before. There wasn't much left on my palms by now. I licked the last bits up slowly, trying to maintain my gaze with Mr. Smith's camera phone and look submissive and slutty.

My penis bounced, and I had a sick urge to "make my cum shot look good". After cleaning my palm and sucking each finger clean. I reached down and rang out my rigid cock, Squeezing hard I pushed out a final squirt onto my out stretched fingers. I wiped the fingers on my lips, and blew the camera a cummy kiss. Finishing by licking the last drops from my mouth, and dropping my eyes with shame.

I was ashamed. This was the darkest thing I had ever done on my life. I had just willingly shown myself at my most vulnerable to a total creep. Not just that but a creep who clearly only had sadistic and selfish intentions towards my sweet young self. A creep with black mail on me and a taste for young men in bondage.

My eyes were misty with shame full tears, and I had a dropping panic feeling of regret in my belly. What had I just done? What would become of me.

Mr. Smith was chuckling at my shame, cracking another beer. I tried to dress quickly, by my rigid wiener made it awkward. As I turned to leave, still zipping up my jeans, Mr. Smith stopped me.

He told me I'd forgot to pick a magazine to take home. By then, I desperately wanted to be away from my tormentor, but I also badly wanted to look deep into that Pandora's Box of wonders. I turned back and knelt before the box of dirty magazines at Mr. Smith's feet.

I was so overwhelmed I grabbed the first magazine of the top not even looking at my prize. Mumbling lame thanks, I turned again to go. I heard Mr. Smith behind me in a cheery voice, reminding me I needed another magazine, all I had to do was give him another show.

I practically ran home, locking myself away in my bedroom. My hands were shaking and my dick was still hard in my jeans. I sat down to tried and collect my thoughts. I slowed my breathing, my heat began to slow down, and I started to relax.

I realized I was still clutching the dirty magazine in one hand. Looking down for the first time I saw what I had. It was called "Boys In Trouble". The cover showed a fit young man, dressed in nothing but a bright pink thong pouch, hands roped behind his back, legs tied forcing him to kneel. The boy was being held in what looked like a living room, and the front door was open. Silhouetted in the door was a big man carrying a brief case and a bottle of wine. The boy was clearly struggling, plainly afraid of the man in the doorway. A caption read "He was tired of coming home to an empty house, so he borrowed the boy next door."

I wondered how I'd feel If my gay neighbor "borrowed" me. I imagined myself kneeling like, the boy in the magazine, helpless, exposed, waiting to be used. I though about how the ropes would feel as I struggled, unable to free my wrists, or rise from a position where my face was at cock level. I'd squirm and twist extra hard as I heard his car pull into the drive, and the key turn in the lock. I crossed my arms behind my back to get the feeling, and imagined people walking by on the side walk, unaware that a gagged and tied boy was being subjected to the most cruel humiliations, behind curtains just a few yards away.

I realized my heart was racing again. I hadn't even opened the magazine yet, and I was rock hard. I needed to jerk off again. I spread the mag out on my bed, and standing before it, I unzipped, and began again to stoke my chubby young penis. I took off my shirt and dropped my jeans and undies to my ankles. I stood nude before the dirty magazine. I knew I'd be doing this again very soon, in front of the creepy man next door.