
Path: not-for-mail
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 08 Oct 2006 10:10:01 -0500
Date: Sun, 08 Oct 2006 10:01:14 -0500
DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws;  s=s1024; d=yahoo.com;  h=Received:Message-ID:From:To:Subject:Date:MIME-Version:Content-Type:Content-Transfer-Encoding:X-Priority:X-MSMail-Priority:X-Mailer:X-MimeOLE;  b=mA+8bgP/AdmJm7KWJZtzrM7D7dVnLENV8hkuPGHuWyIeGo2lR/F+IF/s/fxBnDP1M3slewEWRmgQGRmn017WlVGLqMRl4iCsK4DYIXQKCAE7ngHFPOw9TzMhaer1dJ/xz0SDjQLwXuR3NglN9MBHBLpnAwNhGXnAU0dod8np/vk=  ;
Message-ID: <016801c6eabb$d492c410$6401a8c0@P42001>
From: Marc <marc0112@yahoo.com>
Subject: Big Game Preserve 6 (m/m) (oral) (anal) (bond) (nc)
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated
Approved: ASSG Approval Key <assg-approval-key@stump.algebra.com>
Lines: 844
NNTP-Posting-Host: 65.182.171.162

===================

Forwarded for author Luc Milne



Copyright 2006 by Luc Milne  <lucmilne@telus.net>.  All rights reserved. 
One copy may be downloaded for personal use.



Each part of this series is a separate tale or "document" connected by the 
overall fantasy of a manhunting game reserve.  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 6



The Scout, Part One



"Breaking the Banker"





Nick Tarn was Head Scout for the five Big Game Preserves owned by The 
Pleasure Corporation around the world.  His official title was Game Stock 
Purveyor and he was responsible for finding, acquiring and delivering new 
fresh animals to the various Preserves for indoctrination, conditioning and 
enhancement.  It was a job which involved constant travel and a wide variety 
of contacts and techniques for securing the appetising animal flesh that 
would satisfy the desires of hunters on the Preserves.  Sometimes he met in 
fashionable private men's clubs to negotiate the "gifts" of sons, grandsons, 
and nephews from wealthy gentlemen who were interested in having the 
Preserve Laboratories remodel their boys into Special Boys for their own 
use, after a contracted period of service as prey on a Preserve.  Other 
times he trawled the streets of neighbourhoods ruled by inner-city gangs 
meeting secretly with contacts who could supply him with "wild meat" for 
training.   And he had a "black book" of names and numbers for various high 
school and university athletic coaches  who were likely to offer up a 
promising kid in exchange for free hunting vacations.  In nearly every state 
and country he had pals among the penal services who were constantly on the 
alert for big-dicked prisoners who might be choice meat for the Preserves on 
their release from jail or prison.



His principles and rules were very simple.



Never buy or take an animal who will be reported missing by family and 
friends.



Never take meat under the age of 15 years or older than 30.  (That didn't 
mean that no animals on the Preserves were more than 30 years old--in fact 
some of the most desireable prey were older guys who had honed their skills 
at evading capture and who were confident enough after years of being hunted 
to turn on their hunters and track them down for their own savage pleasures. 
A significant number of hunters enjoyed becoming prey themselves once in a 
while).



And finally, never ever take on a guy who "volunteers" himself for training 
and service as prey.  Even in the best trained animal the residue of 
"resistance" to his role and the seeds of rebellion in him were essential to 
the creation of a challenging target for the hunter clients.



The only exceptions to the "no volunteers" rule were certain "Easy Kill" 
boys who often accepted a scout's offer of "work" without balking.  The Easy 
Kills were generally street teens and young drifters trained by the 
Preserves for the use of novice hunters.  They were easy to "kill" and went 
willingly to their abuse, their cocks swinging between their legs, ready to 
let their bodies be exploited by hungry, but inexperienced clients.



On his scouting trips Nick Tarn always had a "shopping list" of the kinds of 
animals needed by the different Preserves.  The African Preserve, for 
example, was generally in need of white boys and men to satisfy the ravenous 
appetites of black clients drawn from the ruling and military classes of 
African dictatorships.   Hunters on the European Preserve in Czechoslovakia 
wanted "exotic" prey:  thick-dicked turks and arabs, extravagantly 
cock-enhanced african blacks, and cunning asiatic monkey-boys and 
tiger-cubs.  Hunters at the Brazilian Preserve had an insatiable taste for 
the most extreme mutant products of the Enhancement Labs, so the animals 
acquired for them had to have massively over-sized equipment to start with.



It was all more than one man could handle, and Chief Scout Nick Tarn was 
only one of a cadre of scouts, but he was the one all the assistant Game 
Purveyors admired and tried to emulate.



On his current trip Tarn had three primary items to procure for North 
America Big Game Preserve (West):



1.  A top quality thoroughbred animal, smart, aggressive, and hung big 
enough for enhancement to at least a 12 inch cockhang with dense nuts to 
match.  An athletic body was wanted, and if possible the animal should be 
taken from an upper-class U.S. eastern seaboard Ivy League milieu.



2.  A black "Thug" type, preferably from New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, 
street smart and wild, a challenge for hunters who wanted maximum testing of 
their domination skills.   The Labs wanted enough natural meat to make 
enlargement to a hang of 15 inches feasible.   Outright purchase from a gang 
chief was authorized.



3.  A 15 or 16 year old "Farm Boy", rosy-cheeked and corn-fed with a stocky 
body, solid butt, and a thick, workable, 8 or 9 inch cock.   He would not be 
meat-enhanced by the Labs but his semen production would be heightened to 
maximum levels of supply for prolonged milking, sucking, and ass-filling. 
(This last item was likely to be difficult to find: rosy-cheeked farm boys 
usually had rosy-cheeked families who kept track of them."



There were other "wants" on the list--the usual range of Easy Kills and 
Oriental Exotics, but these three were priority items.



***************



The Banker



Mr. Nicholas Van Dykson (one of Nick Tarn's "working" aliases, sat on the 
bench in front of his guest locker in the dressing room of The Downtown 
Athletic Club in a large American city on the eastern coast.   He had been 
swimming in the luxurious club pool as part of his scouting routine, since 
the rules of the club prohibited the wearing of swimming trunks--an echo of 
days when all gentlemens' clubs required nude swimming.   Even with the 
natural shrinking effects of cool water on cocks and balls, Nick was able to 
make a quick survey of the available meat and see the bodies in action. 
Besides, it was a belief of his that if a man looked good wet, he'd look 
even better spread out and tied up to dry.   Two possibilities came 
immediately to his eye: a lanky green-eyed beauty with a lightly sculpted 
body and a limber length of cut meat, and a trim black haired adonis with 
perfect pecs, jutting ass cheeks and an uncut dick that looked as if it 
might grow to an impressive length if treated right.   The two men went to 
the sauna and Nick followed them, hoping to get them talking.  His own clean 
cut looks and mature physique with its long dick heavily veined from years 
of "testing" the stock was perfectly at home in the luxurious atmosphere of 
the club.



In the sauna the two other men sat on the top shelf, side by side, their 
legs splayed, their heads back against the wall, breathing deeply in the hot 
dry air.  Nick sat on the other side facing them his eyes keenly keeping 
track of the semi-tumescent meat between the men's thighs.  Green Eye said 
"Did you get Ginny's invitation to dinner on Sunday."  Black Hair replied, 
"Yes, but I'm not going to be able to make it."



There followed a rambling conversation in which Green Eye teased Black Hair 
about avoiding his wife Ginny's matchmaking and Black Hair made it clear 
that he had no steady girlfriend at the moment and no plans to get one in 
the near future.  Green Eye called him a "homo" and said people were going 
to start talking.  He said it was a good thing Black Hair's parents were 
gone or they'd be hounding him for a grandchild.   Black Hair said he was 
just glad he didn't have to put up with the mess of brothers and sisters and 
aunts and uncles that Green Eye did.



"Yeah," said Green Eye, "but just remember, if you don't get married and 
have a kid, the Hallwell family name is going to die out, for good."



"Well," Black Hair replied,  "that's the price you pay for complete 
freedom."



So, Nick Tarn knew exactly which of the two was his quarry and shortly 
after, in the juice bar of the club he sat down next to Black Hair and 
introduced himself.   "Nice to meet you" the man said, "I'm Drew Hallwell." 
Then they downed some nasty, but healthful smoothies of mysterious fruits 
and grasses, as Nick began his seduction.  He introduced himself as a 
"headhunter" for an agency that recruited high level executives for 
corporations specializing in the Leisure and Entertainment field.   He said 
he was looking for some "young blood" to join the staff of a conglomerate 
that owned a variety of luxury resorts.  When Hallwell said that he was a 
financial analyst for a private bank, Nick hinted that he was looking for 
someone with a "money" background.  He indicated that the young executive he 
was looking for would have to start fairly far down on the corporate ladder 
but that the opportunities for advancement were almost unlimited.  He amused 
himself with quick fantasies of just how far "down on the ladder" Drew 
Hallwell would find himself, when he was strapped to the cock "volumizer" 
getting his dick stretched out to a permanent 12 inches.   Before long he'd 
made a date to meet Drew in the bar of his hotel for a proper drink that 
evening after Hallwell finished up his day at the bank.



In his room at the hotel, Nick prepared the bed for the anticipated 
"testing" to come: his "travel" ankle and wrist bindings were slipped under 
the mattress so the stud could be spread out and tied down for free access. 
He put the digital camera in the drawer of the bedside table, ready to snap 
a few shots of the prey's assets when he was all pumped up and ready to 
play.  These pictures were necessary for the Pleasure Corporation's records 
and to use as blackmail if a subject absolutely refused to cooperate and 
threatened to go to the police. ( It was amazing how the possibility of 
obscene photographs of himself circulating the tabloids made a man stop 
talking about police charges and lawsuits. )    He laid his toy kit on the 
floor by the bed ready to dip into for tit clamps, cockstrap, ballgag, 
blindfold and penis whip--all the tools that might be needed to determine 
how well the subject responded to use and abuse. Then he slipped a little 
vial of powdered viagra into his pocket to spike Drew Hallwell's drink, just 
to get him in the mood for an invitation to "come upstairs for a little 
talk".  As he moved to the door he caught a glance of his face in the 
mirror: his eyes glinted with the excitement of his own variety of "hunt".



In the quiet elegance of the hotel's cocktail bar he greeted Drew Hallwell 
and asked the man to sit alongside him at the banquette table he'd chosen. 
He dazzled his new young friend with the offer of a French 75, a 
sophisticated cocktail  of gin and champagne with a sprinkle of sugar and a 
dash of lemon juice.  It was perfectly designed to cover the taste of the 
viagra which he tipped into Drew's glass as the younger man leaned down to 
pick up the cigarette case Nick "clumsily" dropped on the floor when he 
opened it to offer a cigarette to his guest.



Handing back the slim black leather case, he said he didn't smoke but 
wouldn't mind if Nicholas did.  Nick thought that was lucky because he liked 
to light up in the breaks between the acts of the "performances" he coaxed 
from his captives.  He even liked to take a puff then french kiss the smoke 
into his victim's mouth, sucking it back up into his own so he could taste 
the sperm-flavoured second-hand smoke from the guy's well-fucked throat.  He 
found that these days a non-smoking man was likely to be more shocked by 
this act than by almost anything else you could do to him.



The first French 75, bubbling in the flute glass and laced with chemical 
aphrodisiac, mellowed Drew Hallwell out without noticeably giving him a 
hard-on.  In fact it wasn't until the third cocktail that his eyes began to 
glaze over with something like unfocussed lust.  In the meantime Nick pumped 
him to find a little more about his circumstances.   Relieved to hear that 
the man lived alone in a rented apartment, he moved on to Hallwell's job.



"So, how do you like your work at the bank, Drew?   Does it give you any 
challenges."



Hallwell shook his head and said morosely, "No, it's a pain in the butt most 
of the time.  Four years at Princeton and an MBA at Harvard and all I do is 
help rich old fuckers get richer without taking any risks.  I tell you, man, 
hedge funds have taken a lot of the fun out of investing."



"So what do you do for fun," asked Nick.



"A little running, a little racket ball, a little pussy chasing.  Nothing 
spectacular."



"Why don't you take some time off and look for something a little more 
exciting?" suggested Nick.



"Funny you should say that," replied Drew.  "This was my last day on the job 
for a while: starting Monday I've got three weeks of vacation.  I need to do 
some thinking about my future, I guess."



"You got any plans?  I'm going to an isolated spot out west, one of those 
resorts owned by the company I'm headhunting for.  It's a kind of nature 
Preserve, a good place to chill out.  Start seeing things from a new 
perspective. (Like lying flat on your back, looking up at a hunter's cock 
dangling in your face, he thought.) You should come with me.  Getting back 
to nature can make a big difference is a guy's attitude."



"That's nice of you Nick, but I don't know, I think...uh...I think 
I...uh...is it getting hot in here or is it just me?"   Drew loosened his 
tie and  the top button of his shirt as he spread his legs out wider on the 
leather of the banquette bench.  His thigh came into contact with Nick's and 
stayed there.  Nick glanced down at the man's crotch and saw a tell-tale 
bulge inching its way down one leg of his trousers.   Nick casually let one 
hand drop to his guest's thigh as he gestured the waiter over to order 
another round.



"Have another cocktail, buddy.  That will cool you off a bit."  He moved his 
hand up an inch to come into contact with the tube of  meat there.  "Or why 
don't we go up to my room and get comfortable.  You can't take your coat and 
tie off here in the bar, but upstairs we can let things hang out.   Maybe 
order up some room service.  I feel like eating something.  What about it?"



Drew was staring down at the hand pressing against his swelling cock.  This 
guy's a fucking fag, he thought.  He's actually feeling me up in a public 
place.  No guy had touched his cock since his history tutor at Princeton had 
blown him on the floor of his study.  He knew he should cold-cock the 
groper, but his dick seemed to be enjoying the unexpected attention.



"I gotta go.  I gotta date," he mumbled.



But Nick petted him soothingly beneath the table as he waved the waiter 
away.  The man's smile as he walked off indicated that he had a pretty good 
idea of what was happening down below.



"It's only  5:30 Drew, plenty of time for a quickie upstairs.  Maybe watch a 
little porn on the closed circuit TV channels.  Come on buddy, let's loosen 
you up a little."



As Nick urged the groggy Drew to his feet, the waiter returned to accompany 
them to the door, shielding the young man's swollen package from curious 
eyes.  In the elevator Drew slumped against Nick's shoulder and breathed 
heavily, letting himself be carried along in the sex fog that seemed to 
surround him.



Once in the room, Nick positioned Hallwell against the side of the bed and 
pushed him down on it, twisting his torso so he fell with his head toward 
the pillows, leaving only his legs to be lifted and positioned.  Hallwell 
protested a little, making incomprehensible sounds of resistance.



"Yes, I know, Drew.  It's hot and you want to get comfortable.  I'm going to 
get some of these clothes off you so you can stretch out and relax."   He 
was practised in undressing half-drugged horny men, and before long he had 
Drew down to his tartan Abercrombie and Fitch boxers, with the rosy head of 
his uncut cock beginning to peep out of its covering of foreskin as it 
stretched below the edge of one leg.   Resisting the impulse to lean down 
and lick at the bead of precum glistening there, Nick made the necessary 
attachments of ankle and wrist straps, leaving the magnificent body open to 
his undivided attentions, then undressed himself quickly, feeling his heavy 
rope of cock sway in anticipation of the fun to come.



He knelt on the bed between the young man's thighs,  gripped either side of 
the fly opening and ripped the shorts apart, leaving a ragged circle of 
naked crotch to work on.  Later he would use his swiss army pocket knife to 
cut the boxers completely away, but it was part of his style to let his 
victims know from the beginning that they were at his mercy.  And ripping 
their underwear off them was a clear sign that they were in for a session of 
domination and abasement.



Drew began to come out of his fog and started to strain against his 
shackles.   "Wha'  the fuck you doin', you fag?  Lemme go or you're gonna to 
be in a lot of trouble.   I'll have you up on assault charges.  You'll go to 
prison, you creep."



Nick got the ball gag out of his bag of toys and strapped it around Drew's 
head.  "Just be quiet, stud.  We don't want the neighbours complaining. 
This isn't going to hurt at all.  In fact I think you're going to like it. 
This dick isn't complaining.  The harder I squeeze it, the longer it gets. 
I think it's got a taste for  rough treatment--its pretty little cocklips 
are drooling like crazy."



He began a slow massage of the young man's shaft, pulling the loose skin up 
to form a fat rose of flesh over the dewy head, then moving back down 
slowly, uncovering the whole swollen glans, twisting slightly with his fist 
as he stroked.  He continued this slow milking until so much honey streamed 
from Drew's cocklips that the skin began to make a wet slurping sound when 
it caught on the thick ledge of the meatus where it met the shaft and had to 
be forced over it on its passage up and down.   Drew moaned obscenities 
behind his gag and strained against the straps for the first half hour of 
this mesmerizing cock massage, but gradually subsided into a rhythmic ripple 
of muscle contractions and releases, accompanied by a crooning whimper on 
each out-breath.



Nick's hands began to tire from their alternating turns on the cock, but he 
never broke the pace, knowing that the repetition was a crucial part of this 
preliminary test to see if the animal was a likely candidate for training. 
He began a spell of two-handed stroking, one fist moving slowly up and down 
the shaft, while the palm of his other hand circled the head, pressing 
firmly against the cockslit, prompting an even heavier flow of precum.



The wet rasp of his tormentor's palm on the tender lips of his cum canal 
brought Drew out of his stupor and caused him to arch in paroxysms of 
torturous pleasure.  The palming continued relentlessly until he also began 
to accept that manipulation with eagerness, the shudders turning into 
attempts to push the head of his cock even harder against the constant 
circling caress.



Time flowed on as the two, hunter and victim, played out a long game of 
torment, resistance, acceptance, entrancement, and new torment in cycles of 
rising lust.



After an hour of continuous milking, Nick was ready to introduce his captive 
to the thrills of lips, tongue and teeth.



Now, when the upstroke created the foreskin-rose above the cockhead, the 
stroker leaned down and probed with his tongue into the sweet nectar at the 
very heart of the blossom.  He circled his tongue around the cocklips and 
dipped its tip into them, tickling out more of the heady juice.  Then as he 
slowly stroked the skin back down he let his tongue swirl in ever widening 
sweeps over the pulsing crown, finally gripping the deep ledge of the corona 
with his lips and teeth, while his tongue lashed at the meat caught in his 
mouth.   He continued this agonizing combination of lip pressure, biting and 
tongue lashing for a long twenty minutes, as his fist continued to slow-jack 
the skin of the shaft below.  Drew's moans became a kind of yelping whine 
and he rocked from side to side trying to shake off the beast feasting on 
the tenderest part of his meat.  But this only had the effect of making Nick 
grip harder with his mouth, teaching the animal the lesson that the more he 
resisted, the more agonizing the torment would become.  And once again the 
continuous head-sucking became more pleasure than pain and Drew drifted off 
into an panting ecstasy, surrendering to the obsessively spiraling tongue.



Finally, about an hour and a half into his "testing" of the potential 
addition to Preserve stock,  Nick reached up with his free hand and removed 
the ball gag from Drew Hallwell's mouth.  Before the man could speak, he 
thrust two fingers into the cavity and pumped them back and forth in the hot 
saliva, leading the prey on to a new and perhaps never-before-experienced 
joy.  Gradually, as Drew adjusted to the invasion of his mouth, Nick 
introduced a third and then a fourth finger, stretching the full, sensuous 
lips and probing deep into the silken cavity.  He pressed against the back 
of Drew's tongue giving him a hint of a more intimate pressure which was to 
come.  The young banker began to gag, but Nick was infinitely patient and 
determined: he kept moving his fingers in the spit drenched mouth, inching a 
little deeper with every probe, showing the captive that the gagging was 
just part of the pleasure and nothing to be panicked about.



He was ready to move on to one of the most crucial and most dangerous of the 
"testing" procedures.  Keeping his fingers in Drew's mouth, he straddled the 
athletic torso and kneewalked up the body until his cock hung menacingly 
above the finger-stuffed lips.  With his other hand he reached back a 
grabbed the man's nuts in his fist and squeezed hard.  Drew jerked at the 
sudden assault on his balls.



Nick knew that it was time to shift into a higher and more brutal gear. 
"Stay still, bitch, or I'll nut you for good."  He squeezed again and the 
body beneath him suddenly went quiet, stunned by the hand mauling his balls, 
but even more frozen by his rapist's words.  "That's right, bitch.  That's a 
good girl.  Just lay still and let Daddy teach you how to be a good little 
slut."



Nick knew from long experience that straight, upper class men were often 
more shocked by being called a "bitch" and a "slut" than by the physical 
attack itself.  He moved quickly to take advantage of that shock by turning 
his four fingers over in Drew's mouth leaving them palm up, making a kind of 
groove for his swelling cock.  He slid his cock into that groove, until the 
man's mouth was stuffed with the "cock-in-hand" of his master.  This yawning 
stretch of Hallwell's lips and the levering open of his jaw had two 
purposes: to keep him from realizing immediately that he had a cock in his 
mouth and to help protect his attacker's meat in case the victim bit down on 
the invaders.



Nick kept up his insulting encouragements: "There you go, girl.  That's the 
way.  Suck your man's cock, make him feel good.  That's a good bitch. Make 
your man feel good."   Nick also knew that after the initial shock of being 
called a bitch, a straight man would take a cock more easily into his mouth 
if he had an image of himself as a women strongly implanted in his mind. 
Somehow it was okay for a woman to suck cock--natural even, and if he was a 
bitch slut, then that's what he deserved.  Of course, men being what they 
are and cocks being made for mouths, once a guy had meat between his lips he 
usually gave into natural cocklust and let his throat be used in the same 
way he would use a slut's cunt.  And the more precum spice he got on his 
tongue, the hungrier he got and the louder he slurped.



And that's just what happened with Drew Hallwell: Nick's fingers were long 
gone from his mouth, but the pulsing sausage remained, lightly probing at 
the back of his throat, edging its way down into the warm saliva pooling at 
the gag ring.  He looked up into Nick's smiling face, seeing the lips move, 
hearing the words "good girl, good bitch" crooned again and again, and 
gradually his throat relaxed and the tube slipped easily into his deepest 
gullet.



Nick saw something happen behind those blue eyes, a kind of melting of 
resistance,  and knew that this prime piece of flesh was going to make a 
fine hunting animal, so long as the Labs didn't condition too much of the 
innate resistance out of him.  It was one of the hardest things for the 
psychological retrainers to do:  make a man into prey, without dulling his 
instinctive masculine wildness and his independence.



The scout sensed that his own cum climax was imminent, so he pulled out of 
the younger man's throat and rolled off him, flicking at the head of his own 
cock to suppress the rising gorge of semen.  There were two more acts to be 
played in this drama before his job was over for this evening.



First he had to check Hallwell's ass, make sure that he didn't freak out 
completely when he was invaded from the other end.  Some prospective game 
animals had to be passed over because it became clear that no amount of 
seduction or coercion could ever accustom them to the ass fucking that would 
be so vital a part of their captors' pleasure on the Preserve.



Taking a stud's mouth cherry was much easier that taking his ass cherry. 
The Labs had lots of techniques for making an animal  into an aggressive 
manbutt fucker--that was no problem--but if a trainee had a deep fear and 
dislike of being fucked himself,  there wasn't much they could do to convert 
him.



There were two ways for scouts to test a prospect's "fuck receptivity" as 
the Techs called it.   One was the direct and sudden thrust of a hard cock 
into his ass without warning or preparation.  If a scout suspected that the 
man he was testing was probably a secret "ass slut" then he used this 
method.  It was quick and had the advantage of determining early on if an 
animal had the natural ability to stay hard while being fucked.  That was a 
valued attribute, because most clients liked to squeeze and jerk at their 
kill's cock while they pumped into his hole.  Many of the hunters used the 
animal's hard cock as a kind of control stick, tormenting it to guide his 
movements during a fuck.  For example, if you pinched his swollen cumlips 
hard while you porked his butt, his sphincter would usually clamp down 
involuntarily on your shaft, giving better friction.  And if you fisted his 
shaft in short quick strokes, bringing him to an endless edge of climax, his 
whole fuck canal would begin to flutter on your plunging cock.   The down 
side of the brutal approach was that some men passed out from shock and pain 
and were too traumatized when they became conscious again to do anything but 
lie there like dead meat.  And the trauma never seemed to go away, no matter 
what the Labs tried.



The second method of testing the "fuckability" of prospective stock was the 
slower "four-stage" seduction system: first a teasing and tongue washing of 
the pucker flesh; then an easy spit-lubed finger- probe as far as the 
prostate.  This was followed by the gradual introduction of penis to a depth 
of about five inches, pausing to let the animal control any panic; and 
finally a balls-deep exploration leading to full-powered pistoning.  The 
approach could be done doggie style or from the front with the subject's 
legs pushed up to his shoulders as he lay on his back.   This last position 
had the advantage of letting the tester watch the animal's expression at the 
same time he monitored the condition of his cock and balls.



Nick felt reasonably sure that Drew Hallwell, in spite of the drug induced 
horniness, needed the slower and more subtle approach.  He'd come to that 
conclusion when he'd seen tears begin to trickle from the corners of the 
young man's eyes as his mouth was being stuffed with scout cock.   It was a 
sign that he felt humiliated even though he eventually sucked without 
resistance, and Nick didn't want to risk the crippling psychological blow 
that a direct assault on his ass hole might give.



So he released Drew's ankles from the cuffs and gently and cut the rags of 
his shorts off his body, then firmly pressed his legs up to where they could 
be cuffed with another pair of straps hanging from the bed's headboard. 
This opened up the rosy virgin pucker winking in the smooth ass crease that 
was lightly sprinkled with black hairs.  He slicked up his middle finger 
with spit and circled the hole with it, moistening the entrance.



"Please,  don't ,"  Drew moaned, his chest heaving with the uncontrollable 
thrill of having his ass touched by a man for the first time in his life. 
The circling continued relentlessly with the pressure steadily increasing. 
"Please, Nicholas"  begged the young banker, "you can suck my cock if you 
want, but don't  do this."



"Don't fight it, stud.  Don't worry.  This isn't going to hurt you.  This 
will made a real man's man out of you."



Nick had abandoned the "bitch" scenario now and moved on to the suggestion 
that getting butt fucked was somehow a "guy" thing and nothing to cry about. 
He worked up a mouthful of saliva and drooled it down into the crease, then 
followed with his lips and tongue, washing the whole warm valley with loving 
swabs:  he let the tip of his tongue travel lightly over the rippled flesh 
of the pucker itself, until the hole began to quiver with desire.



Between tongue strokes he kept up a seductive litany of questions:



"This is what all men secretly want, isn't it, Drew?"



" A hot tongue on your asshole, teasing yout rosebud?  Isn't that what you 
want, stud?"



"Doesn't matter whose tongue--man's or woman's--just so it doesn't stop. 
Right?"



"Just so it goes on and on, like this."



Drew began to purr, making a sound deep in his throat like a tiger being 
stroked by its keeper.   Then Nick replaced his tongue with his finger 
again, but this time pressing in and through the pucker, lightly reaming the 
velvet lining of the ass canal.  Bit by bit he inched closer to the prize, 
until he felt that little swollen knob that could trigger volcanos of sperm: 
he pressed it, then tickled it, finally crooking the digit and pulling back 
and forth against the nub with little tugs of his arm.  Drew bucked and 
thrashed, and his lead-pipe of cock bobbed up and down, slapping against his 
abs, leaving wet slime trails of fuck lube on his stomach.



"Yes, yes, yes," Drew muttered again and again, gasping when the incredible 
sensation stopped.  "Please," he said, "please. Don't stop."



By now Nick realized that, strictly speaking, the next two stages for 
checking Hallwell's fuckability weren't necessary.  Clearly the man 
responded very actively to the probing of his ass and Nick didn't need to 
deepfuck him to prove it.  Yet the sight of the muscular body twisted into a 
cock-teasing "come-on"  couldn't be resisted.  He moved forward on his knees 
and lifted his bloated cocksnout to the wet hole, pressing it gently through 
the sphincter ring:  Drew's ring muscle contracted quickly around the rim of 
the glans and held it firmly.  That was a sure sign to Nick that he could 
thrust as hard and as deep as he wanted into the warm pulsing sheath beyond, 
and that's precisely what he did--one massive push slicking down into the 
fuck chute until his crotch hairs ground against the tender stretch of skin 
between the young man's ass and balls.   Drew drew in a mighty breath, held 
it for as long as Nick let his cock rest deep in the inner heat, then let it 
go in a long satisfied sigh as the scout began a slow-pump in and out, never 
abandoning the hole, always pulling back just to the point where the muscle 
ring caught at the corona ledge, then pushing back down, relentlessly 
forging ahead to the goal.



He looked down at Drew's rapt face: his long lashes fluttered on half-open 
glazed eyes, and a flush of pleasure spread across his cheeks.  His mouth 
parted and Nick bent down to take in the sweet fragrance of sex rising from 
it.   He was suddenly overcome with an immense sadness mixed with anger and 
regret:  in another life, he thought, this man could have been a lover, a 
life partner, someone to cherish and protect.  But Nick knew he had chosen a 
different path: he was no lover; he was a rapist, a user, a spoiler of 
innocence.  His fucking grew harder and rougher.  Drew responded to this 
violent assault with an eager acceptance, his sphincter contracting with 
equal violence around the driving shaft. This only spurred his ravisher on. 
Fuck you, thought Nick, you're prime meat, boy, and I'm going let the Lab 
doctors turn you into a trophy for any hungry cockhound who can bring you 
down.



Just as he reached the point of no return, he pulled out of the shuddering 
asshole and shot his cum all over Drew Hallwell's cock, which rolled heavily 
across his stomach.  While he was still shooting he put his hand over the 
gushing cumlips and coated his palm with thick milk: he covered Drew's 
gasping mouth with it and felt the man's tongue lapping greedily at the 
gism.  He scraped the rest of his scum off the young banker's body and let 
him lick both hands clean, Then he leaned back on his haunches and looked a 
long time on the ruin that he had created.   The anger was gone, but an echo 
of regret lingered.  Releasing Drew's ankles he lowered his legs to the bed 
and recuffed him with the original straps.   No use in risking a late panic 
rebellion as the effects of the virility drugs wore off.  Once a prospective 
animal was tested and approved, Nick never took chances with the property.



He rolled off the bed, took the camera out of the bedside table drawer, and 
snapped some quick shots of the magnificent sweated body with its tumid meat 
draped across a thigh and  heavy balls dragging down onto the bed in the vee 
of its legs.  Then he went into the bathroom and put on one of the hotel's 
fleecy robes before coming back into the room to sit at the desk with his 
laptop, ready to write up his report for emailing to head office.



When he pulled down the menu of forms he had to fill in he thought, damn, I 
haven't finished with this fucker yet.  I must be losing my touch.



He hadn't pulled the required load of cum from the subject--an important 
step in the evaluation of an animal's future usefulness.   He went back to 
the bed.  Drew was drifting in a fuckhaze, but fortunately his cock still 
throbbed, bloated and wet, not yet tapped of its load.   Nick took the warm 
tube in hand and jacked it hard--about 15 tight-fisted pulls on the shaft. 
As Drew's breathing quickened and his torso began to heave,  the scout put 
his lips in a tight vacuum seal around the gaping cumlips and sucked up the 
flood of cum that erupted from his skillful pulling.  He rolled the cream 
around on his tongue like a wine taster teasing out all the flavours of a 
promising vintage, then let it run down his throat in measured swallows, 
testing for what wine connoisseurs called the "finish", that aftertaste or 
tail that a really good wine has.   The best cum would leave a lingering 
richness that brought back, even hours later, pleasant memories of the 
sucking that had produced it.   Some hunters on the Preserve kept Semen 
Diaries with entries describing the flavours and the textures of each of 
their kill's climaxes.   They would sit in the Great Room of the Lodge after 
dinner and compare notes, arguing about whether a prize animal's sperm 
tasted more like vanilla or coconut.



Anxious to finish his report, he went back to the computer screen, called up 
the "Semen Evaluation Form" and began typing:  "The subject's product is 
copious (eight or nine thick spurts amounting to an estimated three ounces) 
and the texture is that of whole milk with a slight froth of cream at the 
end.  The flavour is somewhat salty, but that can be repressed by the Sperm 
Enrichment Lab when they sweeten and augment the natural flavours.   The 
saltiness prevented an accurate analysis of the basic taste, but there was a 
ripe, delectable quality to the finish."



He took a short break to pick up his phone and call a junior scout waiting 
in a cheaper hotel nearby for his orders.



"Josh," he said, "he's ready.  Call transport and make arrangements to get 
him to the jet.  You'll need to give him something to keep him docile, but 
we don't want to have to carry him out.  Make it look like you're helping a 
guy who's had a little too much to drink, okay?   As soon as I finish my 
report, I'm leaving, so I may not see you.  I'll leave the key at the desk 
and you can check out for me.  I'm on a red-eye to the coast to do a deal 
for some black meat with our "gangsta" friends."



He put down the phone and continued with his evaluation of the animal he had 
successfully "recruited", making some suggestions about the way the 
Corporation should handle Hallwell's sudden "resignation" from the bank for 
his "new position" out west.  He also asked them to make sure that 
"cleaners" went to the man's apartment and cleared out his things, squaring 
any outstanding rent with the landlord.  Then he dressed and packed his suit 
case: as he stowed the "toy" kit into it he had a momentary regret that it 
hadn't been necessary to use the clamps and the whips to make the young stud 
submit.



Before he left he stood at the side of the bed looking at his "kill" 
sprawled tantalizingly, in luscious spread-eagled repose.  With a rueful 
smile, he leaned down and whispered in Drew Hallwell's ear: "Good luck, 
buddy.  You're going to make a lot of guys very happy."



In the elevator he took the shopping list out of his pocket and crossed off 
the first item--the "top quality upper class Ivy League thoroughbred animal" 
was in the bag.  Now for the next item--a black "thug" fresh off the street. 
Maybe he'd be able to use some of his toys on that piece of merchandise!



(end Part One of The Scout)

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

Moderator: jtmichcock@yahoo.com
Questions to Moderator: assgm2000@hotmail.com
On the Web: http://www.assgm.net
Email Story Submissions to: assgm@stump.algebra.com
Guidelines/FAQ: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/assgm-list/files/
Mailing Lists: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/assgm-list (all posts) and
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/assgm-mm (adult pairings only)
20061008100114
