|
Urchin street boys are arrested in this South Amer
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
THE SYNDICATE
Jack Sprat
I parked alongside the jail's outer stone wall, stepped from my car and
pressed the bell button by the lone solid steel door. A small upper slot slid
open, a face appeared. "You have come for the prisoner?"
I held the document close to the small window. The guard, squinting
to check the signature on the release. The prisoner was to be freed to my
custody.
"I want to see him before I take him."
The heavy metal door slowly opened. I stepped inside. The jail was old,
drab, and it smelled. This room contained four holding cells, their large
black bars casting shadows on the drab walls. All were empty but the one
containing my prisoner.
"Get on your feet and get over here," the guard ordered.
The prisoner lifted himself by his hands until he stood upright, then
very slowly shuffled to the cell door. He was dirty, he had marks from being
beaten. He was about sixteen years old, a street urchin arrested for theft.
His eyes met mine. They were hateful, but reading them closely, they pleaded
"Please help me."
"His asshole needs medical attention," the guard said.
"Oh God!" I muttered. "I didn't get here in time."
A big key entered the cell lock. The jail door opened. The cowering boy
stepped out. He had been beaten and raped. I wondered if it were done by other
prisoners or the guards.
I led him to my car, helping him enter and gingerly sit. I could see
him grimacing, ready to scream from pain. I rushed him to the hospital where
a needle was pushed into his arm. He was soon asleep.
Orderlies came, stripped him of his smelly clothes and bathed him. His
skin was light tan, patched by black and blue areas. He was uncut, his
testicles were normal, no swelling. They had not hurt him there.
He was rolled on his stomach. As his legs and back were washed,
I gingerly spread his cheeks. Through matted blood, I could see he was
badly torn. I wondered how many times he had been forcibly entered.
**
The disappearance of many street boys is a secret between the police
and the syndicate. Urchin boys are brought to jail daily. The young handsome
teens are separated from the others, showered, and examined, the best being
sold to the syndicate. The proceeds, always a sizeable amount, split among
the local politicians.
At night, a windowless van moves from the jail, out of the city, then
travels a dirt lane until it reaches a secluded farm house patrolled by guards
and dogs. The syndicate will train the boys here. They will be auctioned
later.
Three times or more a day, each boy is taken to the training room,
stripped, examined, used, and instructed. If they protest, they are bent over,
their head and hands locked into the holes of a wooden restraining stock. This
puts their young butts and balls in readiness for whatever pleasures their
trainers wish to take. They are also trained for oral sex at the stocks, if
they have refused kinder, earlier instruction. Their head is locked at the
right height and unkindly treatment at their rear soon has their mouth open,
fully cooperating.
While the subject of inflicting pain has been somewhat ignored, difficult
boys are occasionally touched with cattle prods (Never to their balls.) until
they learn the feeling of erotic sex is much better than that of pain. Many
boys start with immediate cooperation. This is the smart thing to do.
The training room is also furnished with a special wooden chair. The
boys sit with their legs pulled back over its high wooden arms leaving
everything completely vulnerable to exploring hands, probing fingers, and
teasing penis thrusts to tight assholes. Nearby, an iron rail bed has leather
straps that will also restrain a boy in any position.
For the first lesson, the novice trainee is strapped naked in the chair,
pleading, squirming and yelling while his involuntary erected penis is
teased, pumped and tickled. Fingering his ass will usually bring his loudest
objection. The lesson ends with his ejaculation. In a few hours, after he
recharges, he will be brought back for more. It will take a few days before
he will relax.
Syndicate sex stores have added sound proof rooms with a small center
stage, stocks and a chair being standby props. Surrounding the stage are
private box seats with see through mirrors. Many pay well to watch the
training start on a new naked boy, the cast being transported from the farm.
Before entering their booth, onlookers are made to buy an oversize soft
paper towel to catch their cum, for mostly all will masturbate. They can also
buy accessories, small tubes of lubricants, battery vibrators, and various
size dildoes to gratify themselves as they watch the training advance. $50
is charged for each show, plus accessories. There are usually 20 booths all
occupied for each performance with shows starting at noon, continuing until
midnight. Big money.
For $200, a viewer who is infactuated with a certain boy, can be his
trainer for one hour. The customer wears a hood so he is not identifiable.
Watching a hooded person with a restrained naked boy in a chair can be a very
erotic turn on. A staff member is present at all times to keep reasonable
control.
Finishing training, the boy has learned that giving and receiving erotic
sex is much more comfortable and enjoyable than then receiving pain. After
both have been administered, all quickly pick the first option.
At sale time, the boys stand naked on stage to be individually auctioned.
The starting bid is $5,000. All are clean and healthy. None have had their
assholes torn.
That night, private jets leave the airport, many carrying young male
cargo. These boys have been groomed to provide sexual satisfaction for
the wealthy elite. They will live in large estates and mansions around
the world.
Most will be treated well, a few shabbly, but none will ever be treated
worse than the boy I just rescued from a "civilized" jail.
...the end
|
|
