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Restrained

Ballbusting, kidnapping, humiliation

Two young men are captured by the Eastwood Alliance.

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Restrained

The basketball bounced off the backboard, missing the ring entirely. Connor leapt in the air and collected the rebound. He landed and fired it out to his best friend on the left flank.  Dorrell caught the pass and turned to start dribbling up the street court towards the opposing half, then what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Rather than moving to intercept, the opposing players were sprinting off the court to his left, shouting as they went. Connor looked to his own teammates to see what had caused the mass exit but they too were racing towards the court exit. He frowned bewildered. Then he heard the first cracking noise, followed by another, and two players fell like dead weights to the tarmac.

“Collectors!” he shouted to his friend.

Dorrell glanced towards the opposite side of the court and six men dressed in slate-grey uniforms ran onto the court. Connor sprinted towards the opposite exit on thin legs. Dorrell did likewise. Dorrell only needed five paces to exit the court, but he felt the sting of the taser hit him on his flank when he was just two paces short. Connor was felled much farther away.

The two young men lay, spasming on the floor, as the electricity shorted their nervous systems. They were both aware of movement around them, but they could do nothing but lay twitching as metal collars were snapped into place around their necks.

 

Two minutes later, they regained the use of their limbs and they both rose to a sitting position, still feeling twitchy.

Connor saw that Dorrell had a collar around his neck and immediately felt his own neck. The teenagers looked around. Four uniformed men stood nearby, and two more collared players sat.

“You know why we’re here. Your old lives are over. If ANY of you resists, the collars can deliver pain unlike anything you’ve even imagined. Level two is enough to make you shit yourselves. There are five levels. Now stand up.”

The four young men rose to their feet.

“Follow me.”

“Where are you taking us?” Dorrell asked.

Suddenly the collars sparked into life and a moment later, all four captives were screaming and writhing on the ground.

“No more talk. That was level one. Now get up.”

Groaning, the four teens rose to their feet again and unsteadily followed the man. He led them off the court to the street, followed by five more men. Outside stood a dozen armed soldiers. They formed a ring around a heavily-fortified military truck. On top were two manned 50 calibre gun emplacements. People watched from a distance, but none dared to intervene.

“Take your clothes off,” the leader said. “All the way to the skin.”

The boys stripped their sneakers, socks, shirts and shorts.

“I said ALL the way,” the man said, showing them the remote that controlled their collars. His finger hovered over the number 2 button.

The teenagers reluctantly pushed their shorts down, immediately cupping their hands over their privates.

“Right you,” the man said addressing Dorrell. “Get down, on your hands and knees.”

Dorrell looked nervously at the others, then complied. Another guard produced a flat wooden object. It was three feet wide, with two hinged arms, that folded together to make a single plank. In the arms’ closed position, there were four holes near the front, and one nearer the rear.

The guard crouched behind Dorrell and opened the rear arm exposing the single small circular hole. Half of the hole was carved out of one board, and the other half was on the arm. The man reached between Dorrell’s legs and gripped the 17-year-old’s testicles. He pulled them backwards between the boy’s legs gripping the soft orbs in his fist. He rested the neck of Dorrell’s scrotum across the hole, then he closed the arm trapping Dorrell’s testicles below. The man turned to his colleagues.

“See, black boys always have low hangers. Boy’s got nuts like a bull as well.”

The other guards laughed at he observation, looking at Dorrell’s large nuts poking through the hole.

At the end of the board were two locks. The guard slipped a padlock into the rear one and closed it, locking the arm closed above Dorrell’s testicles. The boy could not pull himself free now unless he was willing to crush his own testicles through a hole no wider than a finger.

“Right, you can sit up boy,” the man said pulling backwards on Dorrell’s left shoulder.

Dorrell rocked back on to his haunches, immediately discovering that what was essentially a humbler, prevented him from rising out of a crouch. He looked at the man with a pained expression on his face. The guard ignored the look and opened the front arm.

“Put your wrists and ankles against the holes.”

Dorrell looked disgusted and fearful in equal measure but he obeyed.

As soon as the boy’s limbs were in position, the guard closed the front arm and locked that in place too. Dorrell was now locked into a low crouch, his knees spread wide, his arms in between and all four limbs locked in a straight line. With his testicles also locked in place, he couldn’t attempt an escape even if he wanted to.

 

“Right you next,” the man said to Connor.

Connor crouched nervously. He felt the man gripping his testicles then pulling. Connor groaned, grunted, then screamed as the man cruelly tugged his testicles backwards. Connor didn’t have low hangers at the best of times, but fear had made them ride even higher. The man pulled with all his might. Connor’s was about to scream that his balls were about to pop, then the arm closed, trapping them far from his groin.

Connor was forced into the same stance as his friend, groaning against the pain, and crouching lower in an attempt to mitigate the pulling on his testicles. But his discomfort was irrelevant to the guards, and soon enough his arms and legs were confined just like Dorrell’s.

Two minutes later, the other two basketball players were crouched and locked into their own stocks, their own testicles in no greater comfort than Connor’s.

 

Another guard pulled open the two heavy metal doors at the rear of the truck, then lowered a metal lift to ground level.

Lifting them under each armpit, two guards per boy carried the captives onto the flat lift bed. As he was lifted off the ground, the weight of Connor’s legs pressed down on his stretched testicles. The pain almost made him vomit and he moaned until his feet were placed back on the lift bed, easing the pressure somewhat.

When all four captives were aboard the platform, a guard raised the lift to the level of the truck bed. Connor strained to look over his shoulder and see what was inside. What he saw turned his blood to ice. Inside, arranged in three neat rows, crouched 19 more boys. They appeared to range in age from about 14 up to their early 20s. They all looked out fearfully, many of them groaning in pain.

But what most concerned Connor was what was on the ground between him and the other prisoners. There was a neatly arranged row of metal pegs, each about 6-inches high, sticking out of the floor, and a three-inch metal button protruded from the floor near each one. Connor surmised correctly judging by the interval between the pegs, that each boy was impaled on one.

Two guards lifted him again and walked him to the rearmost empty peg. He squirmed but there was nothing he could do to prevent his own impalement, especially with his knees spread so wide. He was lowered slowly onto the peg, which mercifully, was lubricated and much narrower than an adult penis. His hole offered no resistance, and soon it was embedded fully within his rectum to a depth of 4 inches. One of the guards stepped on the nearest metal button and Connor’s eyes opened comically wide as he felt the top half of the peg spreading inside his hole, holding him firmly in place.

The guards brought the other three boys in one-by-one and impaled them alongside Connor, then they shut the doors and continued on their capture circuit. By the end of the day, 48 young men were groaning and restrained in the back of the truck.

 

4 hours later the truck pulled up at the processing centre in Eastwood. The captives were unloaded and lined up in the main hall. The centre’s administrator made his way through the new lines of boys inventorying them, scanning them with a medical scanner designed to detect genetic abnormalities, and taking notes. An olive uniformed general arrived.

“Are they ready for sale?” he asked.

“Yes, no problems that I can detect.”

“The latest captives look very healthy.”

“Yes, and they’re much more docile since testicle stocks were added to the restraint systems.”

“How does that help?”

“The stocks keep their testicles stretched and in a constant state of discomfort. They are less likely to try to escape when it means crushing their own testicles to do so.”

The general moved to the rear of the hall and dropped to a knee looking beneath the captives. He could see 48 bulging scrotums; 96 testicles all protruding beneath the stocks. Many looked bruised from their tight confinement, and more still were darkened due to restricted blood flow.

He walked up behind a boy of about 18 and lightly tapped the testicular lump the protruded beneath the youngster.

“How are you doing boy?”

“Sir, I’ve done nothing wrong. Please let me go home,” the boy begged.

The general gripped the tangerine-sized lump and squeezed it.

“Now don’t start that boy. I asked how are you doing?”

“My knees hurt. My back hurts, and most of all my nuts hurt. What did I do wrong?”

“Wrong? None of you did anything wrong. You just happened to be born in the wrong zone.”

 

The general strolled to the front of the hall and addressed the captives.

“Prisoners, you are now property of the Eastwood Alliance. Soon you will be sold. If you are lucky, you will become houseboys, labourers or even surrogates. Some of you will likely work in brothels or be sold as personal fuck toys.”

He paused then smirked.

“Just hope that if that is your fate that you are purchased by a woman and not a man, or your assholes will be sore for the foreseeable future.”

A palpable wave of fear rippled through the captives. The general and the administrator laughed at the boy’s reactions.

“They are never happy to hear that,” the administrator commented.

Five minutes later, potential buyers were admitted. A couple of dozen people holding tablet computers milled around. They referred to the screens which detailed the scans of each boy, and they pawed and examined the boys they were interested in as though the teenagers were cattle at a market.

Connor and Dorrell stood side by side but it seemed that a very different kind of buyer was interested in Dorrell. He was muscular and powerful. Connor was skinny and pale. Half a dozen people examined him, peeling his lips back to examine his teeth, feeling his muscles and more besides.

Eventually a couple in their late 30s seemed to take an especial interest. They went through the usual routine. Then they spoke to him.

“How old are you boy?”

“15.”

“15 SIR,” the man corrected.

“Sir.”

“Are you strong?”

“I don’t know. Average, I guess. Sir.”

“Are you any good with a computer?”

“I’m okay Sir.”

“Are you het or homo?”

“Het Sir.”

“Hmmm, well at least he learns quickly,” the woman said.

“How many girls have you fucked?” the man continued.

Connor paused and blushed.

“Two sir.”

The couple looked at Connor’s small pain and fear shrunken penis.

“Well his prick is very small for his age,” the woman said.

“Yes, that’s a bonus.”

She reached between his legs and gripped Connor’s penis.

“Intact too.”

“Yes, cut boys are so much less sensitive. Why the hell so many in the Stand still cut their sons I’ll never know.”

“They’re barbarians!” the woman agreed.

The man put on a plastic surgical glove. Connor strained to watch as the man walked behind him.

“His porthole’s not too hairy. Be easy to get the rest off. Get it nice and smooth. He’s still pink back here.”

Connor felt the tip of the man’s index finger on his sphincter. His eyes widened but with his thighs wide and his hands secured, there was nothing he could do to deny entry. The man twisted his finger, pushing inside.

Connor glanced to his right, where Dorrell was being examined by a man looking for labour for his building business. His eyes met the older boy’s. Dorrell glanced behind as the man started twisting his finger in Connor’s rectum. Connor blushed at the invasion and looked away, lowering his gaze to the ground in front of him.

“Nice tight hole. You ever had a stump up here boy?”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand.”

“A stump, a peg, a dick. You ever been fucked?”

“No! No way! No sir.”

 

Connor felt a hand on his testicles.

“Pods are smooth,” the man said. “Probably small too, but I can’t tell ‘cause his pouch is so to tight against the wood.”

The man returned to the front.

“Have you ever sucked a dick?”

Connor looked up.

“No SIR!” he said indignantly.

It was bad enough that he was now a prisoner, likely to spend his life serving others, but he really didn’t like the direction the questions were going.

The woman smiled.

“That’s okay Leon, Willy can teach him quickly enough.”

Connor’s cheeks flushed scarlet at the sound of their plans for him.

“I’m sure I’d be really bad at it sir,” he added lamely.

The woman burst out laughing.

“Oh, look at him trying to dissuade you. He’s adorable. Okay, I’m sold. Let’s go put a bid in.”

 

Thirty minutes later, the couple were back along with a member of the auction staff. The man unlocked the rear arm and Connor’s testicles sprang free for the first time in over 8 hours. A feeling of pins and needles rushed through them as the blood flowed freely again. Connor grunted.

His new owner knelt behind and groped the boy’s scrotum again.

“Yes, I was right, his pods are on the small side. Maybe a 10 or 11.”

Connor felt the man jiggling his balls with his finger tips. After so many hours stretched away from his body, they were loose and mobile.

He felt something being pressed lightly to the side of each testicle.

“Yes, I was right. 12ml.”

Connor felt his testicles being separated and encased as they were pressed into the bottom of something hard and cool.

“I think a 20% compression should be enough to keep him check don’t you darling?”

“Oh, make it 30. You know the boys are always MUCH better behaved when they’re in danger of peeing themselves. Also, it will keep his adorable penis tiny. He’ll be less likely to develop an attitude if he’s smaller than the others.”

A lid closed on the thing, and once again there was pressure on each of his testicles. This time, the top pressed them against the bottom. Connor’s pain rose rapidly as it shut.  The teenager squealed as the pain rapidly reached the limits of his ability to tolerate it. The last thing he wanted was to cry in the presence of all these other teenagers, but he was close.

Then the man’s hands were gone and Connor could feel something heavy dangling down off his scrotum.

“Let’s plug him as well. Don’t want any accidents on the way home,” the woman said.

She handed the man an object. Connor just had time to glimpse the black rubber butt plug before it disappeared behind him. He felt one of the man’s hands on his lower back. A few moments later the tip of the plug was pressing against his hole. Instinctively he pushed against it.

“It’s going in whether you like it or not. The more you resist, the longer your pods will be under compression.”

Against every fibre of his instinct, Connor did his best to relax and he immediately felt the plug being forced into him. His hole spread easily enough at first, but soon enough it reached the limit of his sphincter’s cold elasticity.

“Not too hard Leon, you’re always so impatient then you have to wait while they heal.”

The man maintained firm pressure on the plug. Connor grunted in pain, then his hole snapped shut on the neck of the plug, holding it in place.

The auction assistant released the front arm of the slave stocks freeing Connor’s limbs.

“You may stand up boy. Don’t try anything silly or I’ll turn your pods to mush,” the woman said, showing him a small remote.

“And I’ll drop you with the collar,” Leon said, showing him a second remote.

Connor rose slowly to his feet. His knees and back were screaming from so long hunched over.

“Ahhhh,” he whined at the pain as he gingerly straightened.

He looked down between his legs. A steel orange-sized sphere hung where his scrotum had once been. His scrotum and testicles were now locked within.

“What do you think of your new pouch boy?” Leon asked grinning.

“It hurts.”

“Yes, that’s the idea. You’d better do as you’re told or it’ll hurt a lot more.”

“Might as well dress him fully before we leave,” the woman said. “Chin up boy.”

Connor stood as straight as he could, which was not that much given the fact that he had spent so many hours doubled over and he now had a three-kilo weight dangling between his legs. He stood hunched like an enfeebled 90-year-old man.

The woman approached and pressed a small object to the areola of his equally small, dark left nipple. The object was shaped like a flattened cone with a tiny hole missing in the middle. His nipple was pressed against the back side. She pressed a small cylinder against the front of the cone. There was a hiss of gas and his nipple was sucked through the tight hole. He flinched at the momentary sharp pinching sensation.

“I don’t think he was expecting that Shavaughn!” the man laughed.

She smiled and attached a second brass pasty to Connor’s right nipple.  He looked down at them. They conformed tightly to his areolas. There were small golden bells hanging from a ring below the apex of each cone, and his dark nipples protruded like two berries, each the size and shape of of small pea.

Shavaughn lightly rubbed his engorged left nipple with her finger and he squirmed, surprised by his nipple’s sensitivity.

“He hasn’t got much of a chest, but they look good against what curves he has got. I do love the slim ones darling,” she said.

“Yes, so do I.”

Leon ran his palm appreciatively over Connor’s flat stomach. There was not an inch of fat. Then the man ran the same hand slowly over the globes of Connor’s bottom, tracing the curves. He finished with a wide-fingered squeeze. Connor resisted the urge to cringe away from the hand, but inside his flesh was crawling.

“How about a jiggler?” Shavaughn asked.

“Yes, might as well walk the whole block. Let everyone know what we bought him for.”

The woman attached a small device to Connor’s still shrivelled penis. The boy looked down at his groin. His penis looked pathetic – as much foreskin as meat at the moment. Shavaughn wrapped the jiggler around the root of his genitals on a metal ring and locked it in place. A second ring was connected two inches away from the first, attached by a thin leaf spring. It lifted his penis up at an angle of 45 degrees, making it look far perkier than it felt.

“That’s better. You look like a little boy on a cold day now!” she teased.

Using a small clamp, she clipped another small tinkle of golden bells to his foreskin.

“Take a few steps,” she said moving away in front of him.

Connor followed her instructions and was dismayed to discover that jiggler made his penis bounce and jiggle like some kind of fishing lure, and the bells only attracted attention to it. As he turned to return to Leon, he glanced at Dorrell. The black teen was also on his feet, but his new owner had no such sexual shenanigans in mind. Dorrell was naked, with his arms shackled at wrists and elbows behind his back. His owner was happy to depend on nothing other than the collar to control his new acquisition but they both watched as Connor paraded for Leon and Shavaughn, his penis and nipples competing for attention.

Connor and Dorrell’s eyes met. The lives they thought were theirs to live that morning were unquestionably gone for ever. No captive ever returned from the Alliance. Both boys had a future of servitude ahead, yet Dorrell looked at his friend with nothing but sympathy. They both knew what fate awaited the younger boy. He was to become a personal sex toy for this couple and any others they chose grant access. His asshole would be ploughed as the whim took them. He would learn to suck the man’s cock with all the relish and gusto of lifelong pro. And gradually, Connor would start to crave cock in his mouth or hole as though he had been born a homo.

It was not being a homo that mattered. They were both cool about that. But the knowledge that Connor would soon become such a horned-up whore, desperate to ride cock was what ate at him. Such captives were the stuff of legend back in the Stand.

Both boys knew it. The knowledge of Connor’s future passed between them. Connor’s shame was so great that he could not bear to look his friend in the eye a moment longer. He turned away.

“Good,” Shavaughn said. “Let’s get you home.”

Connor glanced briefly at his friend one last time, then, nipple and penis bells tinkling, steel scrotum swaying and penis dancing, he followed the woman to his new life.


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