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Subject: Revised Big Game Preserve 4 (m/t) (ora) (anal) (bond) (nc)
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===================

Forwarded for author Luc Milne

Copyright 2006 by Luc Milne <lucmilne@telus.net>.  All rights reserved. 
Downloading of one copy for personal reading is allowed.

Each part of this series is a separate tale or "document" connected by the 
overall fantasy of a manhunting game preserve.  The idea of "Special Boys" 
is from Garth Wells' fine story HORSE (see Yahoo group SlaveNow) although I 
have taken it in a different direction.

BIG GAME PRESERVE 4

"The Father-Son Hunt"

For his son's 17th birthday present Dan Ryder took him on his first hunt at 
the Big Game Preserve.  He imagined that he might be able to make a man of 
the kid, or at least sharpen up some of the boy's soft edges.  Maxton Ryder 
was a frustating boy: for example, there was the pansy name which his 
ex-wife insisted on because it was her favourite uncle's name and she 
thought she might get some money out the old man when he died: she refused 
to allow anyone to call him Max for short, so he had to go through school 
bearing a name designed to make him a target for bullies. But worse, the kid 
didn't seem to mind the teasing.

If Dan Ryder had to give one word to describe his only child it would have 
been "blank"--not blank, as "fill in the blank" but just blank, as in "dead 
end".  There didn't seem to be anything behind the boy's dull eyes: he 
seldom smiled, never laughed, spoke in a low voice, didn't swear, just sat 
in front of the TV or the computer, surfing channels and websites with no 
apparent aim, sometimes listening to his IPod at the same time.  He was one 
of life's natural "onlookers".  He would have been a handsome kid if his 
face had any animation: his nose was long and straight, his cheekbones high. 
his eyelashes thick, on eyelids that seemed to blink in slow-motion.  He had 
a full mouth and an angular chin that was almost dimpled.  His hair was a 
pleasing sand colour with a slight curl, but he kept it short in no 
particular style.

Many fathers would have been glad to have a passive son who presented no 
problems and wouldn't even have been aware of their off-spring's looks, 
except in the general way of normal dads: "Yeah, he's a good lookin' kid" or 
"I dunno, he just looks like a normal teenager, I guess."   But Dan Ryder 
was not a normal dad: he only got to see his boy on weekends, his ex-wife 
permitting, and she could withdraw visiting rights anytime she wanted:  all 
she had to do was tell the family counsellor that the boy's father was a 
"queer" who might lead his son into the "homo" lifestyle. She would have 
been half wrong about that: Dan had no lecherous thoughts about Maxton, even 
though he took a gay man's natural interest in the boy's naked body, seen in 
fleeting moments on the weekend sleep-overs his mother occasionally allowed, 
when she wanted to entertain some new "friend" overnight herself.  Maxton's 
body had all the right parts, put together in all the right ways, but there 
wasn't a hint of sensuality about it.  Dan had never seen more than a tease 
of the kid's cock and balls, but, like everything else, they seemed bland 
and average.

So, all in all, a blank.

When Dan asked Maxton if he would like a weekend of hunting on the Big Game 
Preserve for his birthday, the boy thought for a moment, then said, "I guess 
it'd be okay."

Dan pressed further.  "You understand, Maxton, what the Game Preserve is all 
about, don't you?  I've never tried to hide my tastes from you.  You know 
that it's a place where guys hunt down other guys for the fun of it."

"Okay."  These one word answers drove Dan crazy.

"And you won't get freaked out if I take one of our kills off into the bush 
and have a little fun with him?  You understand what kind of 'fun' I'm 
talking about?"

"Sure."

If Dan Ryder had been a violent man, he might have slapped the kid, just to 
get something more than "sure" and "okay" from him.  Maxton's sexuality was 
a mystery to Dan: the boy never seemed to date, although Dan caught him 
staring at the massive "natural" boobs on a website called "Milk Maids" one 
evening.  But a teenage obsession with breasts and tit milk could easily be 
the sublimation of a deeper hankering for cocks and cum, as Dan knew from 
his own boyhood.   Maxton had only one good male friend, a boy from his 
class named Gareth, who was even more passive than he was.  They would sit 
very close together on the couch in the den at Dan's condo watching 
"Smallville" or "Stargate SG-1" without speaking a word to each other, 
apparently unaware that their shoulders and thighs were touching in a way 
that most teenage boys would have considered "faggy".

So, as Maxton's 17th birthday approached, Dan had agonized over whether to 
offer to take the boy on a hunting trip at the Preserve, with all the 
possibilities and "dangers" that implied.  He felt guilty for even thinking 
about trying to push his son into the life he himself lived, but also 
thrilled by the idea that he might actually be helping the boy find his true 
nature.  He knew that was a rationale that lots of "pervs" used for 
introducing teenagers to gay sex, but, for God's sake, the kid was almost 17 
years old--not exactly jailbait anymore--and still seemed to be virgin meat.

Ryder himself wasn't particularly attracted to boys or young men under 20, 
preferring bodies and minds that could provide a little more experienced and 
inventive sex play.  As a financial advisor who worked out of his condo 
after the divorce, he almost never came into contact with teens and spent 
most of his work days online or at lunch with blindingly straight clients 
who were trying to retire by age 55.    Even at the Preserve he usually 
hunted the older animals, although he did like an occasional Special Boy who 
was conditioned to play the passive role once he was caught.   Dan's ideal 
"kill" was a late-twenties animal, not too freakishly cock-enhanced, who 
gave him a good chase and then laid down willingly, ready to suck cock and 
take dick up his ass in whatever position Dan chose. Sometimes Dan brought 
his kill back to the stables well before his alloted play time was up.  In 
fact, when he thought about it, Dan realized that in some ways his sex life 
was as bland and blank as his son's seemed to be, with the exception that 
Dan knew that he liked cock and ass and enjoyed the mild pleasures of the 
hunt to get them.

And now, having steeled himself to pop the big question to Maxton, all he 
got in return was careless acquiesence to his proposal--a toneless "sure" 
and a casual "okay".

When he booked their weekend of hunting, he told the Reservations Clerk that 
he would be going out onto the Preserve with his son and that they would 
probably make only a single kill, using the captured prey together for the 
following 24 hour play period.  Dan had vague and slightly disturbing images 
in his mind of tempting the boy to a little dick-licking and finger-fucking 
with the animal, just to see what might develop.  Then he went online to 
look at the catalogue, seeking a Special Boy suitable for his son's first 
"blooding" as a hunter.  Among the varied selection, he found a 20 year-old 
Special named Fox whose non-threatening look and well-shaped cock and balls 
seemed ideal.

So, on a Friday evening, after unpacking in their room and eating dinner in 
the Lodge dining hall, they lounged around the fire in the Great Room with 
the other hunters, listening to some of the braggarts tell tall tales about 
the animals they had conquered and savaged.  Dan didn't like the way two of 
the guys eyed Maxton hungrily.  They were brothers, Jake and Todd, who 
hunted together and were called The Tormentors by the animals and staff at 
the Preserve because of the sadistic games they played with their captures. 
There was also a first-timer, a chubby middle-aged chump, who sat down 
beside them and actually put his hand on Maxton's thigh as he asked him if 
he was looking forward to the next day's adventure.  But Dan needn't have 
worried:  Maxton turned his blank stare onto the man and said "Sure".  It 
was like a splash of cold water.

The next morning after the usual Hunt Breakfast, including the Chef's famous 
Cumglazed Waffles with Maple Syrup, the clients gathered in the forecourt of 
the Lodge for the traditional tankards of ale.  Dan had chosen laser pistols 
for their hunting, although he himself preferred a long gun laser.  Pistols 
were easier for novices to handle because you didn't have to sight them so 
carefully: moving the laser beam back and forth across the prey would 
usually cause it to come into contact with the cock and balls if they were 
within range, triggering the beeper that made the animal kneel and wait for 
the hunter to take control.   He asked Maxton if he needed to take some 
practice shots on some animals in the corral, but the boy said, "No, I'm 
okay."

So the two of them set out on a trail, son behind father about ten paces, 
scouting the surrounding meadows and woods for a glimpse of bare male flesh. 
Dan saw a massive animal with a long mane of hair and a meatclub dangling to 
his knees jogging across a clearing, but didn't give chase.  He wanted less 
threatening prey:  he wanted to find Fox, the Special Boy he'd seen in the 
hunt list.

>From his picture Fox was narrow-faced lad, with reddish brown hair and a 
wary, calculating look, like the animal he was named for.  His body was 
lightly muscled and lithe, with a sprinkle of freckles across his chest. 
His cock was a long, cut meatpipe above reddened eggsized balls.  But it was 
his green piercing eyes and the moist pink tip of his tongue just emerging 
from the slight smirk of his lips that attracted Dan to him and made him 
think he would make a good "first kill" for Maxton: young and smart, but 
manageable.

They moved through the landscape for a couple of hours, Maxton falling 
further and further behind, seeming to lose what little interest he had in 
the first place.  They came to a wide place in the trail where a 
"refreshment boy" had been tied to a tree for the pleasure of hunters 
passing by.  Dan needed a little drink to wet his dry mouth: he hesitated 
for moment, wondering if it would shock Maxton to come upon his old man 
sucking cock.  Then he thought he might as well go ahead--the kid would 
probably just stand there looking on with a blank stare.

So when Maxton caught up with his father, he found him on his knees with his 
nose buried in the cockhairs of a guy's crotch: the refreshment boy was 
straining against his ropes as he slaked his sucker's thirst with frothy 
cumsoda.  Dan pulled off the cock and squeezed it in his fist, pressing out 
the last sweet tears of aftercum onto his lapping tongue, then gave the 
boy's nuts a "thank you" twist and rose to face his son.

"You thirsty, Maxton?" he said daringly. "Want to try some of this?  These 
boys are specially conditioned to feed several guys every day,"

Maxton looked calmly at the cock his father was offering him: "Nah," he 
said, "I'm okay."

"You're sure you're not upset about this?  I did warn you that I wasn't 
going to hide anything from you this weekend."  Dan watched his son closely, 
trying to find the merest spark of feeling in him, even if it was revulsion.

"Yeah, it's okay.  I'm fine," the boy said.  So much for shocking the little 
prick, Dan thought.

As they moved deeper into a wooded area Dan made Maxton take the point, 
thinking that by giving the teen more responibility he might get him a 
little more involved in the hunt.  After a few minutes, Dan sensed that his 
son's focus had somehow sharpened: he slowed a bit and began to move more 
quietly, holding up his hand, as if to caution his dad to do the same.  Then 
he came to a halt, staring into the near distance: Dan followed his gaze, 
and there, to his astonishment, was Fox, standing in a dapple of sun and 
shade among the birch trees.  The animal was frozen, as if he thought he 
couldn't be seen if he didn't move.  But his cock rose slowly from his 
crotch, swaying slightly as it hardened, betraying him.  Another surprise: 
Dan saw Maxton slowly take a wide stance, flex his knees, raise his laser 
pistol in a two-handed grip, and press the trigger.  The red beam went 
straight to the tip of the Fox's dick, stimulating the capture beeper.  The 
Fox's eyes widened, he smiled slightly, then sank to his knees in the 
submission position.

Dan was thunderstruck!  "Great shot, Maxton.  I guess all those video games 
have taught you something after all." He moved up to his son and gave him a 
manly clap on the shoulder.  "Now, lets get this animal tied up and start 
taming him."  They moved to Fox, who leaned back on his knees as they 
approached, presenting his body even more openly to his captors: his cock 
fell heavily against his stomach, leaking the first strands of precum onto 
his abs.

"Usually I cuff a kill first thing," Dan explained, "but I don't think we 
have to worry too much about this one trying to get away.  I think that we 
can get straight on to your 'blooding'--make this animal your private 
property right now."

"Blooding?" asked the boy, nervously.

"Well, not real blooding Maxton, just symbolic 'marking' to show that you've 
come of age.  In real hunting a first-time boy hunter will often get the 
dead animal's blood smeared across his face to symbolize his growing up, and 
sometimes he has to drink a handful of the kill's blood.  But here we use a 
different kind of liquid to 'blood' you.  Here, I'll collect it for you." 
Dan knelt by the animal and took its cock in his hand, rough jerking it, 
while he pinched its pink nips with his fingers.  Seconds later Fox began to 
heave up against the jerking fist, and Dan moved his free hand down to the 
cumlips, cupping his palm to catch the ropes of sperm that looped out of 
them.   Then he stood and wiped his slimy palm across Maxton's cheek, 
marking him with the "blood" of his first "kill".

"Now, eat the rest of it off my fingers Maxton.  Get your first taste of 
real 'manjuice'.

Maxton turned his head away, shuddering.  "No, dad, I don't want to."

Dan saw red for an instant.  He grabbed his son's face with one hand, 
pressed against the boy's cheeks to make his lips pout open, then crammed 
two cum-coated fingers into the kid's mouth.  "When I say 'eat', you eat, 
you little freak!"

As his son pulled away, gagging on his first taste of semen, Dan came back 
to his senses, mortified that he had mistreated his boy.  "I'm sorry, 
Maxton, I don't know what happened.  I'm sorry.  It won't happen again."

Whimpering, Maxton whispered, "It's okay, dad.  It's okay."

Dan Ryder was so penitent that he didn't notice a long bulge snaking down 
the his son's trouser leg and a spot of something wet spreading on the 
khaki.  But Fox noticed.  Fox saw it all and understood it all perfectly.

About 15 minutes later Dan led the cock-leashed Fox into a Pleasure Shed at 
a remote part of the Preserve: the shed was a shelter open on three sides, 
furnished with bales of hay covered in leather hides and racks of pleasure 
toys for the taming of captured prey.  Maxton followed at a little distance, 
shambling along like a sulky grade-schooler.  Some hunters preferred to play 
with their "kills" in the wild using only the tools that the land provided 
for their fun: supple willow whips, stinging nettle goads, strong 
vine-ropes, fuck logs, rocky suck slabs beside icy ball-shrinking streams, 
and all the rest of Nature's sex toys.  But Dan liked the more comfortable 
Pleasure Sheds and Taming Pavilions for his play.  He thought of himself as 
a civilized hunter.

He'd asked Maxton if he wanted to go back to The Lodge and not continue with 
the hunt after the disaster with the "blooding", but the boy had seemed to 
buck up and said, "Nah, dad.  I'm cool."

Well, thought Dan, at least "cool" was a little more promising than "okay".

Usually Dan started his pleasure time with a quick face fuck of his kill, 
making it clear that he was the master.  But in this case he thought he 
should start with a simple milking, and that Maxton should do it, just to 
get into the swing of things slowly and unthreateningly.   After all, what 
teenage boy doesn't like to beat his meat?  And learning that it was fun to 
jerk someone else off was just a step in the direction toward more complex 
games. He stretched Fox out on the haybale pallet and led Maxton to kneel 
between the widespread wiry thighs where he had easy access to the lifting 
meat.   But some fifteen minutes later after watching the limp-wristed kid 
endlessly rub Fox's long, shiny dick with two fingers while diddling his 
balls clumsily with his other hand, Dan was coming to an angry boil again. 
Even on an animal trained to cum almost on demand, Maxton's feeble fumbling 
did no more than produce so much lube grease that his fingers kept slipping 
off the meat it was trying to milk.

Finally Dan said, desperately, "Let's get naked, kid.  Maybe you just need 
more stimulation.  Maybe having your cock and balls out in the open will 
warm you up a little."  Without expression Maxton stood and began to 
unbutton his shirt.  As they both undressed, Dan watched carefully to see if 
his son's cock showed any sign of enjoying the scene, or even if the boy 
stole a look at his dad's swinging penis.  But the boy's medium sized prick 
just hung between his legs, bloodless and lank, although it was bigger even 
when it was soft than Dan had imagined, and the balls had a plumpness that 
seemed to promise more than the cock might actually give.  Even more 
disappointing, the boy's helmet-shaped cockhead with its deep ledge at the 
rim of the meatus was bone dry--not a glimmer of fuckjam shone on its 
surface.

"Let's get that nice piece of boymeat into this animal's face, kid.  Nothing 
like plowing a Special Boy's throat to get you steaming hard."  Dan moved 
Maxton onto Fox's body, so that his knees straddled the animal's chest, then 
took his son's cock in his fist and crammed it into Fox's eagerly gaping 
lips.  The Special Boy had been trained to drain any kind of manmeat put 
into its face, but on Maxton he had no effect.  The pulpy teat just rolled 
around on his tongue, refusing to rise to a milkable fullness.  Dan could 
see that the sucking was having no results, so he moved up behind his son 
letting his own cock nuzzle into the boy's ass crack, reaching around and 
teasing the boy's nipples with his fingers, letting his lips nuzzle at the 
nape of the boy's neck.

While Dan's attention was elsewhere, Fox tried something different on the 
cock in his mouth.  He let his teeth come into contact with the rubbery 
shaft and began to bite down, ever so gently, pulling back and forth on the 
velvety skin.  He felt the first stirrings of excitement in the cock, a hint 
that something bigger and meatier was about to come.  But then the father 
swung away, and pulled the boy's meat out of Fox's lips.

"It's no use," he complained.  "The kid's just a cold fish.  I'm out of 
ideas.  You got any ideas, Maxton?  Anything you'd like to try?  The sky's 
the limit here."

"No, dad, uh, I don't think so" replied Maxton who was eyeing Fox with a 
spark of interest.

"Maybe I should ask the animal here.  What about you, Fox?  You're the 
trained expert--got any ideas about getting this little nerd to harden up 
and be a man?"

Fox stared at the son, his tongue just visible between his lips, then moved 
his calculating look to the father.  "Idea", he said, "makeimsuck".

Dan hadn't really been expecting a reply from the animal, so he wasn't sure 
what the clipped nasal voice was saying.  "What do you mean."

Fox repeated, more forcefully, "Idea.  Makeimsuck.  Makeimsuckme."

"That won't work" protested Dan, "you know what happened when he got just a 
taste of your jizz.  He almost threw up."

"Bigidea. Tieimup.  Makeimsuck.  Tieimuptight."

Dan glanced at Maxton to see what the boy thought of this "big idea" and saw 
that the kid's cock had grown perceptibly, beginning to stir itself heavily 
in his crotch.  Damn, he thought, maybe the animal is right.  Worth a try.

He got some lengths of rope from the toy rack and lashed Maxton's wrists and 
then his ankles together.  He saw a bead of jelly glisten at the boy's 
cocklips as he pulled the ropes tight: he ducked down and licked it up: the 
thick liqueur tasted of sugar and ginger. Then he stretched his son out on 
the pallet with his arms above his head, and ordered Fox to straddle the 
slim, vulnerable figure.  The Special Boy needed no further instructions: he 
pressed his cockhead down to Maxton's mouth and rubbed his slimy cumslit 
over the boys virgin lips, which stayed tightly closed.

"Idea. Squeezeim.  Squeezeimhard." said Fox.

Dan took a fistful of his son's nuts, heavy as lemons and ripe with unspent 
semen; he mauled them with his palm, making the boy gasp, opening his mouth 
to Fox's instant thrust.

If Dan had been teaching his son to suck, he would probably have taken it 
easy at first, not wanting to hurt the kid, but Fox knew what was best for 
this kit.  He pushed his long pole down in one sudden assault, past the 
stretched lips, past the fluttering tongue, through the spasms of the gag 
ring and deep into the silky wet lining of the boy's gullet.  Then he began 
to circle his hips in a kind of corkscrew, reaming out the soft channel, 
letting his cockhoney coat every inch of the inner quivering flesh.  Dan saw 
Maxton's cock swell even more, prompting him to grind the malleable boyballs 
harder.  Another spurt of clear syrup gushed from the gasping cocklips; he 
gobbled it down, his body shuddering from the explosion of boy flavours on 
his tongue.

But Dan wanted to see his son's face impaled on Fox's pole; he crawled 
around so that he was kneeling at the top of the boy's head, facing the 
mouth-hunching animal.  He knee-walked forward until his nuts fell over 
Maxton's eyes, and pushed his steely cock down so that it touched the boy's 
upper lip, stretched taut by Fox's rutting.  Fox pulled back so that just 
his cockhead was in Maxton's mouth, and took Dan's meat in his hand forcing 
the bulbous head into the boy's maw as well, so that he was gob-stuffed with 
two juicy cocksnouts, sticky with dick jelly.  Fox took Dan's face between 
his two hands and stared fiercely into his eyes: "Idea" he panted, 
"doubledeepim".  They pressed their bodies as close together as they could, 
pec to pec and ab to ab, then slowly warped their huge helping of sausage 
meat into Maxton's throat.  The boy's gag ring stretched to its limits as 
the double meatus pushed through it, filling the channel beyond.  Streams of 
prefuck trickled down, followed almost instantly by shattering blasts of 
sperm cascading into the teen's belly, quenching, for the first time, his 
unspoken and unknown thirst for manmilk. Both cocks jinked and jerked in the 
kid's gullet.

Dan made Fox pull out before they choked his son to unconsciousness.  Then 
as Maxton lay gasping, with cockdrool dripping from his puffy lips, they 
both stared at his cock and balls, now in their full glory.  Maxton's dick 
had swollen in the excitement of his mouthrape to a fat, moist, slab of 
teenmeat and his balls rolled in their sack like gelatin, alive with the 
pleasures of abuse.  Fox dropped down onto the boy's cock with avid animal 
gnawing and grunting, driving the sharp point of his tongue into the 
cumlips, bubbling with precum oil.  Dan squeezed the ripe plums deep into 
their loose pouch and crammed them into his mouth, growling and twisting his 
head from side to side like a dog shaking a rat. They feasted mercilessly, 
slobbering over his crotch, but nothing they did made the meat shrink or the 
balls shrivel: the boy's penis and testicles seemed to grow bigger and 
fatter with every rough assault by tongues, teeth and fingers.  Dan would 
have gone on until he got his first taste of Maxton's virgin semen, but Fox 
had other fun in mind.

He pulled his mouth off the throbbing cock and said "Bigbigidea. 
Makeimwait.  Whipcock.  Whipnuts.  Whipcum."  He went to the toy rack and 
brought back a small flogger with 9-inch square leather thongs, handing it 
to Dan.  "Whipimcum", he said.

Dan had never used whips on his prey: they had always seemed too crude for 
his taste, but now the idea of penis-whipping his son attracted him and made 
his rod stretch long and hard.  He suddenly realized that his wimpy son's 
cock was bigger and thicker than his own, and in a blinding revelation he 
knew that the boy must be punished for that.  He was beginning to move from 
a lifetime of rational, careful, calculated sex to something darker, 
something more shapeless and predatory.

He approached Maxton's prone form, ankle cuffs off now, spread-eagled on the 
leather mat but still with his  hands stretched above his head.   He shook 
the flogger, letting his wrist move the thongs in a circle, making tentative 
flicks toward Maxton's crotch.   This kid has got to be taught what his cock 
is good for, he thought.  This kid is never going to say "Sure, dad"  or 
"Okay, dad" to me again.

But before he could get in a real swipe at Maxton's cock, Fox moved between 
him and the boy.  He said with a little smile "Idea.  Whipimbutt. 
Whipimballs.  Whipimcock.  Sametime."

He rolled Maxton over onto his stomach, then pulled him up to his knees. 
Reaching through his legs from behind, he pulled the boy's rubbery cock and 
spongy balls back through his thighs, then pushed the kid's legs together 
tight, so that a good length of the shaft and the engorged purple head were 
caught, along with the nuts squeezed down tight in their sack, making them a 
challenging "bull's eye" in the inviting target of Maxton's tender butt 
cheeks and smooth skin of his upper thighs.  Dan saw at once what had to be 
done to make the target even more secure.  He took a piece of rope and 
lashed it tightly around his son's knees so he could not open his legs to 
avoid the whip on his cock and balls.  Fox moved around to Maxton's head and 
sat with his legs wide, dragging the boy's mouth down into his crotch ready 
to be cockgagged if he yelled too much.

Dan drew back his arm and made a hard snapping slash at the meat target. 
His aim was off and the thongs only hit the boy's butt and just the smallest 
patch of loose ballskin.  Still, his son jerked and cried out "Please, dad, 
don't."

"Shut him up," growled Dan, angry that the first "favour" his son had ever 
asked of him was to stop giving him a good time for his birthday.  Fox fed 
his sticky sugartit into the boy's lips giving him something to suck on, 
diverting his mind from the fun his father was having at the other end. 
Dan took another stroke with the flogger, this time only teasing the balls 
and the cockhead with an easy brush of the thongs, just to get the distance 
and the aim. Then he made a large arc with his arm, letting the thongs slap 
a little harder on the meat, immediately following with another sweep and 
another, getting into a rhythm: draw back... sweep forward in an arc... slap 
on the flesh... return...drag the thongs slowly across the nuts on the 
backswing...sweep forward...slap on the flesh... over and over.  The boy 
began to groan, hissing as he drew in his breath after each caress of the 
whip, shivering Fox's cock with delight.

Dan paid more attention to the butt cheeks and the tender thighs, striping 
them with red lines, then criss-crossing them with more glowing stripes from 
other directions:  he moved on to more biting flicks, stinging the boy's 
flesh, making him squeal and pant around Fox's ramrod which began to stretch 
deeper into its warm moist sheath.  As he worked, Dan felt his own cock 
swell harder: wanted to work it with his other fist, but found that the 
rhythm was broken by trying to do two things at once.  He began to make 
variations: snicking the thong tips directly on the weeping cockslit, like a 
star quarterback in a locker room snapping a wet towel on the equipment 
boy's puckerhole.

He discovered a propeller movement, circling a dozen times in one direction, 
then a dozen times in the other direction, making sure that the cockshaft 
and the balls got smarting glances of leather on every pass.  The more 
inventive he became, the more beautiful was the trilling song that emerged 
from his son's throat, and the deeper Fox's cock drilled down to meet the 
rising sound.   By now Maxton's cockhole was leaking a constant stream which 
had the consistency of whipped honey.  It coated his thighs and made the 
thongs stick when they dragged across them, creating a sucking sound as the 
stinging cords were pulled away for another sweep.  The balls bloomed a 
lustrous red and the dilated cumlips puckered open and shut, uncontrollably.

Dan felt himself losing all restraint; he began flailing without plan or 
reason: the Pleasure Shed was filled with the sizzle and buzz of leather 
lacing tender cockflesh and with gurgling yowls of torment vibrating against 
the shuddering cock thrusts of a feral beast.  Then, the stream of cock 
honey became a river of boysperm, erupting like lava from the contractions 
of the cumtube and the spasms of the swollen cumlips.  Seeing the white 
flood, Dan dropped the whip and fell to his knees sucking hungrily at the 
well-head of crude cum-oil he had tapped.  He locked his teeth around the 
heavy ridge of flesh where the head met the shaft and used his tongue to lap 
relentlessly at the fountain of cream.  At the same time Fox began to feed 
his own wild seed into the boy's throat, filling him up as his father 
drained him.

Later, when the food wagon drawn by a matched team of ponyboys called at the 
Shed to see if any of the hunters there wanted an evening meal, only Dan 
took the barbecued ribs and corn-on-the-cob that was on offer.   Fox was fed 
with the Preserve's "game formula", a nourishing diet of energy bars blended 
with virility drugs, steroids, mood controllers, and sperm enhancers. 
Maxton just shook his head when Dan asked him if wanted something, making a 
hoarse sound that might have been "No".  It was hard to tell because his 
mouth was full of his father's club steak at the time and he was about to 
get more of the beef gravy he was learning to crave.

For the first time in his hunting career on the Preserve, Dan Ryder spent 
the whole 24 hours that he was entitled to with his kill.   That night he 
and Fox slept on either side of Maxton, head to foot, with their cocks lying 
across his warm lips and their faces pillowed on his thighs with his 
milkteat in easy reach of their mouths in case they wanted a sleepy suckle.

In the morning, on waking, Fox pushed the head of his semi-hard cock deeper 
into the boy's mouth and pissed until he was empty.  Dan was wakened, not by 
Maxton's gurgling, but by the rapidly swelling tube of boymeat in his mouth 
as the teenager responded to his further degradation.  Not wanting to let 
good cock go to waste his father sucked hard and got a creamy morning 
"pick-me-up".

Rolling off the pallet, Dan looked around wondering what games he could play 
with his son today.  His gaze fell on the whip and he picked it up, ready 
for a second whack at Max's balls.  He had begun to think of Maxton as "Max" 
now, and sometimes even as "Maxie", because the kid was no longer a bland 
and nerdy kid, he was becoming an exciting abuse pig, ripening and ready for 
slutty nicknames.  And Dan was ready to make up for 17 years of frustrating 
blankness from the pussy, by punishing his big cock and balls and 
face-fucking his brains out.

Fox saw what the hunter had in his hand and quickly crawled to the edge of 
the pallet, taking the flogger from him.  "Bigidea," he said, "fukimhard. 
Dogfukim."  He looked into Dan's eyes and twitched his lips in a knowing 
smile.  He saw that he had caught the man's attention.

"Yeah," agreed Dan, "let's fuck the slut, make a real cockhound out of him. 
You want to start on him, Fox?  It was your big idea again."

"Bigideabetter. Youfukimfoxlickim."  He rolled the drowsy boy over and 
pulled him up again onto his hands and knees in the dogfuck position, the 
raised waffle pattern of his whipped ass still red and hot: the Special Boy 
grabbed the burning globes and pulled them apart revealing the delicate pink 
bud hidden in the hairless boycrack.  "Foxlickim. Yufukimquik."  Then as Dan 
jacked up his cock, getting it ready for his son's puckerhole, the clever 
animal buried his face in the steamy crease and slavered the hole with 
foxspit until it gleamed and dripped.  When he was satisfied that the ass 
was cock-ready, he laid down on his back with his head beneath Maxie's 
dangling cock, reached up and grabbed Dan's rampant dick in his fist and 
guided it to the entrance of the kid's pussy.  Just when Dan began to press 
into the warm ring, Fox lifted his head and let his tongue slide along the 
thick erector muscle of the shaft as it moved into the ass, finally bathing 
the man's heavy nuts with it when he reached maximum depth.  Both father and 
son groaned, one with pleasure and the other with pain, followed by 
pleasure, as the pumping began.  Fox continued to provide the saliva cream 
for the cockmeat as it pistoned in and out of the pucker ring.  He avidly 
slurped at the rich mixture of fucksap and assjuice that coated the driving 
rod and seeped from the boy's meatchoked hole.

Dan had never even thought about fucking a teenager, let alone his own son, 
but now he found that the sensation of rubbing his cock over a kid's p-spot, 
making him shake with ecstasy, was one of the greatest experiences of his 
life.  The teasing lap of foxtongue on his shaft and balls was just the 
icing on the cake.

Fox felt the semi-hard weight of the boy's cock flopping against his head as 
his father's powerful thrusts rammed into him.  The animal reached through 
and pulled the meat back so that the wet head came into contact with the 
underside of his father's driving cockshaft.  The friction of his father's 
spitslick cock on the boy's cumlips made them swell and deliver up more 
gobbets of teenhoney which Fox ate as his own special breakfast.

Dan felt himself rising near and nearer to climax, and just at the moment 
when he felt that trigger-release in his nuts, signalling that nothing on 
earth could stop his cum from erupting, he pulled out and sprayed his deluge 
of semen onto Fox's face and into his mouth as a reward for his tongue 
service.  But before the cum stopped spurting Fox grabbed the cock and 
plunged it back into the cub's hole: he wanted the son to feel his father's 
sperm warming his guts.  Besides, Fox knew that he could lick out the nectar 
from the kit's leaking rosebud afterwards with his long trained tongue.

Dan collapsed onto Max's back, giving Fox a perfect opportunity to double 
fuck them both with his neglected dick.  He slammed into the father's tight 
ass ring, stroking with cunning thrusts--sometimes long-dicking, sometimes 
shallow-dipping, letting the thick ledge of his meatus catch and pull at 
Dan's joy button.  Then he lowered himself to the son's dripping hole, 
reaming it out with grinding circles: back and forth he moved, from hole to 
hole, until at last he felt his milk vacuumed up by the father's tightly 
gripping sphincter.  Cum oozed from the hole and dripped down onto the boy's 
ass beneath, as the three of them collapsed onto the leather, sticky with 
ballsweat and dickdrool.

Once recovered, after each had grabbed Maxie's hair and guided his open 
mouth over their crotches, making him clean up their fuck-spill, Dan and Fox 
got the boy to his feet and attached a cock leash tightly to his still 
throbbing meat, making it arch shamelessly from his groin and bounce 
obscenely as they led him down forest trails and through grass fields, 
stopping to play whenever their lust for the boy's ripeness overtook them. 
For a couple of hours they tied him to a bondage post, blindfolded and 
gagged, and lay in the cover of the brush nearby, lazily fondling each 
other's cock  as they watched passing hunters and one maverick Special Boy 
slake their cum-thirst with Max's seemingly endless flow of force-milk.

Finally, in the late afternoon, Dan Ryder hooked up both of his "captures" 
to a double cock leash and led them, sated and drained, stumbling with cock 
fatigue,  back to The Lodge.  There, the Chief Warden came down from the 
terrace where he and some of the guests were enjoying their pre-dinner 
drinks and took Fox off to the stables.  As he walked away Fox, looked over 
his shoulder at Maxie, then at Dan, flicking his tongue at them through his 
faintly smiling lips.  Dan tugged sharply on Max's leash and led him through 
the intrigued hunters into the Lodge and up to their bedroom.  Even after 24 
hours of abuse, the boy still left a thin trail of fucklube across the 
slates of the deck.

Later at dinner, which Dan come to alone, leaving the comatose Maxton 
upstairs, the talk ranged, as usual, over the day's adventures, but no one 
was able to get the father to talk about the great change that had come over 
his shy and non-committal son.  As he left the bar where they had all 
repaired for a nightcap, one of the Tormentor brothers approached Dan and 
said, "Hey, man, me and my brother were wondering if we could borrow your 
boy for the night."

Dan was nonplussed.  "What do you mean, 'borrow' him," he stammered.

"Well we noticed that he seemed to be a hot little stud when you got back 
this afternoon, a real change from the tight-assed schoolboy you started out 
with yesterday morning.  We thought maybe we could use him for an hour or 
two and taste some of that boy juice for ourselves--maybe learn him a thing 
or two.  My brother's an ace at teaching a kid the "spread"--you know, tying 
him down and spreading his legs wide enough to get in real close for some 
hard manhandling on his meat.  And my special thing is ball milking--I hang 
a boy from the ceiling hooks in our room and squeeze 'im till he's dry. 
Then I squeeze 'im some more just for fun.  What about it?  You could watch 
if you wanna.  Might give you some good tips on how ta make 'im squeal."

Dan was dazed by the nerve of this guy, offering to abuse his son while he 
looked on.   He opened his mouth to blow the creep off, but strangely found 
himself saying instead, "Well, yeah, that might be kind of fun.  Let me see 
if the kid is up to it.  I'll call you in a little while."

"Great, buddy.  My dick's startin' to purr already.  Talk to ya, later, 
then."

As Dan walked down the second floor hallway toward his room he thought, 
"What the hell was that?   Am I really going to turn Maxie over to a couple 
of sadists and sit by jerking my meat while they turn him into so much 
fuckmeat?  Fuck that.  No way."  In the room he picked up the phone and 
called down to the desk.  "Would you tell those guys you call The Tormentors 
that I've had second thoughts--my son and I won't be seeing them tonight."

As he hung up a thought struck him: if anybody's going to turn this boy into 
a suckhole it's going to be me!

He walked to the bed where Maxie lay sprawled, his cum-caked body pungent 
with the odour of sex, his turgid cock lolling wetly against his stomach. 
Dan opened his fly and released his dick and balls from his trousers.  He 
roughly pulled his son's face up to the musky head and rubbed his cumlips 
over the pussy's mouth and up into his nostrils. In his mind he heard his 
son's voice speaking a new language, the vulgar tongue of "Fuck me. Feed me. 
Milk me. Whip me. Yes, Sir. No Sir. More Sir"--an endless litany of 
submission and desire.

He slapped the boy's cheeks with his limber, thickening meat.  "Wake up, kid 
and smell the cum.  Your birthday treat isn't over yet."

(end) 

***The above is the sole responsibility of the poster.***

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