The Don’s daughter

A horny young man discovers that even his massive teenage libido has its limits when he is subjected to a mechanical milking by the Don.

Patrons can access downloadable PDFs of most stories, 4K versions of many images, and content that I chose not to publish publicly here.

Please consider donating to my Patreon in order to receive access. Click here to find out more.

 

The Don’s daughter

Fisher heard the horn and looked out of the window. On the street was an MPV. He ran from the house, shouting a casual goodbye to his mom as left. The vehicle’s side door opened as he approached, and a friendly male face peered out.

“Fisher?” the man enquired.

“Yes sir,” the teenager responded. “Are you Mr Pocilli?”

The man smiled,

“It’s Pocello. Come on in. Rachel is waiting for you at home.”

Fisher and Rachel had met on the Internet, and she lived a couple of towns over, about an hour’s drive away. They’d been chatting for six months. The boy clambered into the vehicle, and the man slid the door closed, and gestured to a seat. There were six seats, facing opposite each other, with a wide space between them, which Fisher assumed was where a table could go. The boy was surprised that the seats appeared to be made of cheap vinyl – it didn’t seem fitting for a wealthy man. Fisher sat and automatically secured his seat belt. His parents had drummed the importance into him all his life, and now it came automatically.

Mr Pocello sat in the opposite seat facing the back of the vehicle.

“Okay Rufus, we’re ready.”

Fisher was not particularly surprised that the vehicle was being chauffeured; Rachel had already warned him that her father was the head of a local “family”, and although he had not asked for further clarification, he had seen enough crime dramas to correctly infer that this was a euphemism for a Mafia family.

Although they’d talked a lot over the Internet, tonight Fisher and Rachel were going on their first date, and he had asked if her dad was okay with them going out together. She assured him that he was fine about it. Thus, Mr Pocello had arranged to collect Fisher so that he could get to know the boy before he was let loose with his daughter.

As the vehicle pulled away, Pocello engaged the boy in idle chit chat about school, sports, and other trivialities, but as soon as they moved out of town, his conversation became more serious.

“So how many other girls have you been out with Fisher?”

“Erm, just one sir.”

“How long did you go out for?”

“About six months”, the boy responded. He sensed a subtle shift in intensity, and he realised that he was now being interrogated to make sure he was good enough for Mr Pocello’s daughter.

“And why did you break up?” the man asked.

“Uh, well I guess we were just interested in different things. She wanted to stay in all the time and watch TV or listen to music, but I wanted to go out and do stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know, like hanging out at the mall or the park with our friends, or going to the beach, that sort of stuff.”

“I see,” Pocello said, sounding like a police detective. “Did you have sex?”

Fisher was surprised at the bluntness of the question.

“No sir,” he answered “We were only 13.”

Pocello nodded,

“Good, good. Tell me son, how often do you jack off?”

“I beg your pardon?!” Fisher said, more to  gain time, than because he hadn’t understood the question. His eyes were wide with surprise.

Pocello made a loose fist and gestured it in his lap to clarify what he was asking.

“How many times a day son, three, four, five?” He was deliberately high-balling the kid so that the boy would feel comfortable to admit the actual amount.

Fisher glowed red and looked down at Mr Pocello’s feet. If it had been anyone else asking, he might have deflected the question, or even possibly politely declined to answer, but in a weird way, he felt that Rachel’s dad had a bit of a right to know about his sex life. Even if he didn’t, Fisher felt that it would be unwise to refuse an answer, or even to lie.

“Um, I guess two, maybe three times a day,” he said, unable to meet the man’s gaze.

“And how many of those times are on web cam in front of my daughter?”

Fisher looked up at Mr Pocello’s face to read the man’s mood, and to determine if he was just fishing. Pocello looked calm and in control. There was nothing in his expression to indicate that he was just trying his luck. The boy decided that it would be unwise to lie. Nervously, with an uncertain shrug he admitted,

“Maybe once or twice a week.”

“Fair enough. You’re young. You want to  sow your oats and show off what you’ve got. But understand this son – you’re not sowing your oats in my daughter until you’re both a good deal  older. Now, how many times have you jacked off today?”

“None,” Fisher admitted, uncertain how the man would receive the news.

Pocello leaned forwards, more intense than ever.

“Saving yourself huh? Well let me make it quite clear, if you put your dick anywhere near Rachel’s pussy, I’m going to pop your balls with my bare hands, do I make myself clear?”

Fisher was feeling thoroughly intimidated. He found it only too easy to imagine how painful it would be if the man carried out his threat. He squirmed involuntarily and nodded timidly.

“Good, good. I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out. Now, as a matter of interest – what’s the most times you’ve ever cum in a single session?”

Fisher looked sheepish.

“Um, three sir.”

“Three times huh? Impressive.”

The man reclined back in his chair and removed a small remote control from his pocket. He pressed a button. The vehicle’s windows darkened. Panels opened in the floor and walls and human-sized rubber hands on the end of flexible two inch articulated hoses snaked out towards the boy. He recoiled in horror. They were all around him, he undid his seatbelt ready to flee, but a hand grasped his wrist in an iron grip. Another grabbed his other wrist. They moved upwards towards the ceiling lifting his hands above his head. Several hands started to remove his shirt, sneakers and jeans. Fisher looked at Pocello desperately.

“What’s happening?” he asked in a panic.

“Oh, I’m just taking the edge off – making sure that you’re well behaved with my daughter tonight.”

Fisher looked at him, confused, as his jeans were pulled past his feet. He was wearing surprisingly boring white briefs. The hands pulled them off in one swift motion and deposited them, along with the rest of his clothes in a storage drawer beneath the seat. His plump sack and short fat penis bounced free. Pocello noticed that the boy was uncut and had a long puckered foreskin.

The boy was horrified. He writhed, and brought his knees together in an effort to preserve his modesty. Two hands grabbed his ankles and pulled his legs very wide apart, lifting his feet until they were higher than his head. He was involuntarily reclining against the seat, with his ass in the air and his pale, hairless, virgin ring facing directly towards Rachel’s father.

The hands held their position waiting for further commands. Fisher looked at Mr Pocello terrified.

“Please, don’t hurt me?”

Pocello chuckled,

“I’m not going to hurt you son. That would upset Rachel. I just want to make sure that you behave yourself when you’re with her tonight.”

“I will, I will, I promise!” Fisher emphatically assured him.

The man smiled.

“Of course you say that now, but I can’t help but remember the fact that you haven’t jacked off yet today. You’re a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. I’d rather not take the chance.” With that, he pressed a few more buttons on the remote, initiating the next phase.

One of the hands lightly lifted the boy’s penis, and moved down towards the base, pulling the foreskin back. Another hand took the boy’s glans between two fingers and started to lightly  massage it, whilst the tip of a third finger made small circles over the exposed fraenulum. Lubricant oozed through minute pores in the soft, warm rubber, and in less than 30 seconds, to his humiliation, Fisher had a raging boner. The boy looked at his hard-on in disgust, then at Mr Pocello.

“Please don’t. I don’t want this!”

Pocello grinned at him, and spoke as though he was addressing a small child,

“Well of course you don’t, but I’m not really doing it for your benefit now am I?”

Fisher looked at Pocello with anguish. The man was watching him with an expression of mild bemusement.

The hand changed into a fist and lightly gripped his penis, and immediately began making conventional jacking movements. The boy felt his excitement rising, and sensors in the vehicle detected his arousal, increasing the pumping speed accordingly. He stared at the ceiling, trying to emotionally distance himself from the fact that his girlfriend’s father was watching him.

He felt his dick getting even harder, and in spite of himself, he could feel his balls churning as he moved rapidly towards climax. Just two minutes after the pumping had begun, Fisher was embarrassed to feel himself squirting. He felt the jizz splashing onto his chest, and he wished desperately that he hadn’t saved it up. Fisher looked down at his penis. The glans was very swollen and shiny. He looked up at Rachel’s father, hoping that the man would let him go now that he’d cum.

“Hmmm, that didn’t take long. I think it’s just as well that we had this little meeting or you’d have been in danger of blowing your load in your shorts.”

Fisher stared at him. He was deeply humiliated but also furious at the abuse. He knew he was in no position to give vent to his anger, even if he was the sort of kid who would cuss out an adult, which he wasn’t.

“Can you let me go now please sir?” he asked, forcing himself to be much politer than he felt the situation warranted.

All the time he was talking, the hand was still pumping him. His balls ached a little from his ejaculation, and his glans was highly sensitive.

“Let you go? Of course not, not yet. You’re nowhere near done yet. I want to make sure you’re thoroughly drained before I let you anywhere near Rachel.”

Fisher glanced towards the driver. The big man was watching him intently in the rear-view mirror, and licking his top lip. It was clear that the man was enjoying the show.

The hand was still implacably pumping away at the boy’s penis, and the kid’s penis had not softened a bit. A single digit from another hand pointed towards the boy’s glans from directly above it, then moved in until it was touching the delicate skin, and started to move in fast, tantalising circles over its engorged surface, the lubricant ensuring that the sensation was pleasurable. The pumping picked up from 3 to 5 cycles per second, and Fisher could already feel himself being driven towards a second orgasm. He squirmed in an effort to move his groin away from the hands, but wherever he moved, the hands moved with him, maintaining perfect tempo and perfect pressure.

Fisher grunted, as much in frustration as with pleasure, and looked Pocello right in the eye, with an intense look, and the man stared calmly back. The boy ejaculated hard again as he looked at Mr Pocello, but apart from a momentary tightening of his abdominal muscles, he refused to show the man any sign that he’d cum. However, he couldn’t hide the thick wads that gushed two feet into the air between them. Pocello grinned.

“That’s two.”

The hand increased the pace of its pumping, and Fisher continued staring resentfully right at Pocello for a few more minutes. The man was utterly unphased. An angry teenager was as threatening to a man like him, as a small child. The hand was moving at 15 cycles per second – one for each year of the boy’s life. It was moving so fast that the boy could no longer discern individual strokes; just a general sensation, like a very rough vibration. He felt as though his dick had swollen to the size of a baseball ball, and his balls were being violently bounced in his nutsack. It wasn’t painful, but it was extremely intense.

With absolutely no warning, the boy was cumming again. One moment he was simply experiencing the high-powered wank, and the next he could see his cum being flung around the cabin. It wasn’t that he didn’t experience an orgasm, but the masturbation was already so intense that his genitals felt as though he was on the verge the whole time, so the actual ejaculation was a barely discernible difference in intensity. It was not so powerful as the other two, and the small jets of cum were thrown around the vehicle by the fast pumping.

And still the hand didn’t stop. It carried on at the same frantic pace. The root of Fisher’s penis was aching from three  powerful orgasms. His balls felt as though someone was firmly squeezing them.

“No more please,” he begged Rachel’s father. “Stop now. I can’t take any more.”

“You said you’ve managed three times on your own. Well that’s three. I want to be absolutely sure you don’t get any idea of using your pecker on Rachel tonight, so we’ll just go a couple more, just to make completely sure you’re done.”

Fisher groaned.

“I can’t do five! My nuts are already worn out!”

“Maybe, but you still managed to cum.”

“Please, I’m begging you.” Fisher wheedled.

“Never beg boy. A man should have more self respect!”

“A man wouldn’t be sitting here getting jerked off in front of you!” Fisher retorted. It was a defiant response, and it was probably unwise to antagonise the man, given his situation, but he was exhausted and emotional, and he couldn’t help himself.

Pocello rarely encountered people who gave him lip, and most only lived to do it once. But he couldn’t deny the logic of the boy’s words. He gave the kid a wry grin and nodded. He got out of his seat and came over and patted the boy’s upturned, naked rump.

“You’re right son. This is no position for a man; even just a young man like you; to find himself in, and I apologise for that. But my daughter is too precious to me, so this is an indignity that you’re just going to have to endure.”

He sat back in his seat, and took out a cigar. He showed it to Fisher.

“Do you mind?”

The ludicrousness of the courtesy struck the boy. The man was forcibly raping him, to all intents and purposes, but he was going to ask his permission before lighting up a fucking cigar?! Fisher stared at Pocello, distraught, and gave a snorting half laugh, half snivel, that immediately turned into full grizzling.

Pocello lit the cigar, leaned back with his legs crossed and watched the machine force the boy’s fourth orgasm from him. In spite of the frantic pace of the machine, it was just over five minutes before Fisher’s worn-out libido could take him over the edge. He was laying quietly, simply staring at the roof and waiting for the ordeal to be over, when a few drips of fluid oozed from his urethra. His balls were already aching so much that it didn’t feel like an orgasm – just an increase in his discomfort. This was not the dramatic surge of semen that had signalled his first three orgasms. The liquid was no more than foam – the frothy last dregs of his over-worked prostate gland that was struggling to fulfill demands it was not designed to meet.

The hands stopped moving. At first Fisher didn’t notice. As a defensive mechanism, he’d separated his mind from what was happening to his body, and he was thinking about skateboarding with his friends. But slowly, he became aware that he was no longer being masturbated. He blinked, like a catatonic person coming around. He looked down at himself. His glans was red, and the edges had a darker purple tone, slightly bruised from the pounding. There was a thin coating of foam over the top half of his glans. He was still hard as a rock. Despite the fact that the masturbation has ceased to be pleasurable a long time again, his body had continued to respond to the physical stimulation.

Fisher looked towards Mr Pocello silently; patiently waiting for whatever was to come next. He was afraid to ask if his ordeal was over. Pocello said,

“Well, looks like your balls are just about drained out.”

Fisher said nothing.

“Last time then, just to make sure you can’t get up to no good when you’re with Rachel. And we’ll make this a good one as we still 30 minutes before we arrive.”

He pressed  some buttons on the remote, and activated a different  program. One hand gripped Fisher’s penis, holding it in place. Two more hands extended  their index fingers, moved  in and commenced rubbing the rim of the boy’s glans, moving in repeated strokes from front to back. The pressure was very light; not enough to hurt the already-over stimulated head, but just enough to send little tingles that felt almost like electricity, down his shaft to the  root of his cock.       Another fingertip started to make small figure eights behind the head of his cock. It softly brushed between his fraenulum, and the two rear hemispheres of his glans. He could feel the delicate skin of his fraenulum being lightly pulled from side to side. A fraction harder, and it would have been uncomfortable, but the device was monitoring his brain waves and nervous system, and it knew precisely how hard to stroke to provide maximum erotic stimulation without crossing the line.

Three fingers of a fourth hand started to move along the  line of his perineum from back to front,  starting an inch in front of his hole, and continuing past his testicles. The middle finger incredibly lightly caressed the perineum not quite touching the skin, but delicately skimming the fine hairs  that were just starting to grow there. The other two fingers more firmly slid across the flesh of the boy’s penis on either side.

The combination of delicate, perfectly cadenced caresses was incredibly stimulating, and Fisher’s brain struggled to distinguish one sensation from another. He looked at Pocello, horrified at how well the machine was arousing his already over-milked body, and how eagerly his penis was responding, yet again. He frowned as he felt his glans swell eagerly beneath the light touches.

Two more hands started to tweak his nipples. They pinched firmly, pulling at the adolescent’s small brown nipples – hard enough to be mildly uncomfortable, but not enough to hurt.

A hand appeared at his mouth, and Fisher was bewildered as it started to move an index finger in and out of his mouth, pressing his tongue on each inward stroke. Fisher bit the finger, and two more hands quickly appeared, and pulled his jaws apart, so that the finger could resume its oral penetration.

“How many of these fucking  hands are there?” Fisher fleetingly thought to himself, unaware of the irony.

Then he was immediately distracted by the worst invasion of all. Another index finger plunged into his rectum. There was no ceremony or gentle acclimatisation. One second there was nothing there, and the next a very oily digit was jammed into him as far as it could go. The look of shock on Fisher’s face was comical, and Pocello released a belly laugh. The finger smoothly pulled out, then pushed back in. Fisher tried to clench his hole but the finger was too oily, too narrow, and with his legs held wide apart, the muscles in his sphincter were barely able to apply any pressure whatsoever. After a dozen strokes, Fisher realised that the finger was not merely moving in and out of his hole – it was fucking him. He writhed in disgust, in a renewed, but equally futile effort to stop the invasion. He looked at Pocello with a distraught expression on his face. His eyebrows wrinkled as he endured the intrusion. He flushed scarlet with humiliation, and even though he was a ruthless man, used to hurting people, even Pocello felt momentarily bad for the boy.

After a few minutes, Fisher suddenly came to the most disgusting realisation of all; the mouth finger was in perfect time with the one penetrating his hole. Not only was he being double-penetrated, but it felt somehow like he was simulating sucking a cock. He groaned in disgust. The machine was perfectly calibrated so that the boy was stay right on the edge of orgasm for as long as the man chose, but was unable to achieve release.

The finger in the boy’s hole withdrew. The middle finger joined the first, but instead of fucking, they pushed into his hole and started twisting, the tips brushing repeatedly again Fisher’s prostate. He could feel the lips of his hole  responding to the twisting fingers; gripping, trembling, spasming. It was as though his sphincter wanted to grasp the fingers so that his anus could receive more stimulation.

Meanwhile the finger in the boy’s mouth was also joined by the middle finger and the thumb. They gripped at the  boy’s tongue. He moved it and they chased it, around and around  in his mouth, and still his cock was being gently teased, and his nipples plucked, and his perineum massaged, and his hole reamed. Then more fingers were gripping his testicles, rolling, pulling, gently squeezing – enough to cause mild pain, but not damage.

It was more than his mind could cope with. He stopped fighting, and fell back whilst his body was played with the skill of a master musician. His gaze drifted off a million miles, but this time, he wasn’t deliberately separating himself from what was happening to avoid the emotional trauma; he was so overwhelmed by the erotic sensations he was experiencing, there was no room in thoughts for anything else. His whole body felt as though it was one massive orgasm on the verge of occurring, but he didn’t go over the edge. His cock felt huge; bloated; throbbing. His balls felt like two aching baseballs in a tight sack; both pained, yet eager to deliver a huge payload of boiling cum. His hole was hungrily sucking at the fingers that twisted, and screwed within it.

The fingers withdrew from Fisher’s hole and his body missed their absence. His sphincter contracted rhythmically, as though urging the fingers to return. But they didn’t. Instead they were replaced by a dildo attachment. Fisher saw it move towards him. It was nine inches long, and thick. He tensed in anticipation of the pain, but the fingers had already loosened his hole, and  the dildo slowly entered him, stretching his hole to its absolute limit. It started to pump in and out, slow at first so as not to damage him. It had a knobbled surface, and the kid’s asshole twitched and trembled in excitement as each lump stimulated a nerve. When the experience was finally over, it would take Fisher a long time to come to terms with how eager his asshole had been for stimulation.

Pocello watched the boy with amusement. The car’s sexual stimulation function had been tested a few times. One sex pest had been jacked until his dick was bleeding, and a local rapist had -literally been fist-fucked to death, but this was the first time that it had been used purely for sexual entertainment.

“I think he likes it Rufus!”

The thick-necked driver looked in the mirror. Fisher was writhing, but he was no longer doing so in an effort to escape. His body was merely responding to the ecstasy that the hands were producing. Rufus gave a dirty leer,

“Yes boss. Maybe he’ll buy one for himself?”

Pocello laughed.

“I very much doubt he could afford it, so let’s just keep it as a special treat shall we?”

Rufus grinned.

“Sure boss.”

Mr Pocello sat and watched the boy, fascinated at how completely he was lost to the machine’s expert ministrations. It was like watching a wildlife documentary on the teenage sexual response.

After a while, the man looked at his watch. They were ten minutes from his home.

“Time to bring this to an end.”

Fisher neither heard his words, nor saw as the man punched in a few commands on the remote. The fingers on his glans withdrew, and the one that was holding it, started to pump briskly, rapidly getting faster. The dildo in his hole also accelerated in perfect rhythm. The change in behaviour attracted the boy’s attention, and he started to become aware of the car again. A couple of strong contractions oozed two thick rivulets of cum from the head of his penis, and they flowed gloopily down the side of his rigid member. They were immediately followed by 11 massive contractions as the orgasm proper began. It  was easily the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced. Two of the gargantuan spouts went clean over his shoulder, and the next three hit him in the hair, face, and chest. The remainder deposited a virtual river in thick, white ropes of cum, from his chest to his pubis, and all down his belly.

The hands slowed, then eventually stopped. Pocello was stunned at how very much cum the boy had produced, especially after already ejaculating four times in the past hour. The kid was drenched in it. It was in his hair, running off his face, all over his body, and thickly matting his pubic hair.

Fisher could hear ringing in his ears, and there were flashes in his vision. The neural overload was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He lay, stunned for a minute, panting breathlessly. The hands withdrew, and finally, for the first time in an hour, his penis started to soften and wilt, and his balls drooped back into his soft sack. He looked, exhausted, his hair dark, wet and matted with sweat, at Rachel’s father. He could feel the gelatinous cum dribbling languidly down his face. It hung off his left eyebrow and continued down his cheek. Fisher blinked a few times automatically, but refused to acknowledge the indignity.

“That was very impressive son. I’m very glad I didn’t let you near my daughter with that load still in you!”

Fisher stared at him balefully. It was a bizarre compliment that the boy was in no way willing to accept. He was just waiting for his chance to be free. His first action when he got free would be to call his dad, who would call the cops so that they could arrest Pocello and catch him red-handed with the crazy car. Then Fisher would go home and shower all night long, and hopefully never see Rachel’s crazy father ever again.

Pocello said,

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He pressed a button and small nozzles replaced the hands, moving around his body, spraying Fisher from top to bottom, and even into his hole. The boy was still held spread-eagled by four of the hands. Now Fisher understood the reason for the wide spaced seats, and the vinyl upholstery.

Pocello looked at the kid’s hole. It  was still distended, open by a good inch or so.

“Looks like it’s gonna take a while before your hole closes up again. You’ll have to be careful if you don’t want to shit yourself!” Pocello said jovially.

Fisher looked at the man in disgust. The vision of what Mr Pocello had said, came only too easily to the boy’s mind. He imagined that as soon as he was sitting upright, the turds would just slip from him. He didn’t find the prospect remotely as amusing as Rachel’s father seemed to. Fisher scowled at the man, but had the sense to keep his mouth shut. He’d get even soon enough.

Once the spray-down was completed, Pocello pressed another button, and finally the hands gripping the boy, released him. Fisher’s legs fell to the floor hard, hurting his heels, and he immediately covered himself with his hands. Pocello laughed,

“Son, it’s a bit late for that; I’ve already seen more of you than anyone on this planet. You’ve got no secrets from me.”

Fisher didn’t remove his hands, but continued staring at him morosely. Pocello reached under a seat, and took out a towel. He passed it to the boy.

“Dry yourself off. We’re almost there.”

Fisher dried himself off as Pocello retrieved his clothes from the compartment where they’d been stowed. The man handed them to him. Fisher accepted the clothes, and immediately started to put his briefs back on. He turned his back to preserve his modesty, but as he lifted his second leg to put it into the hole in his underwear, Pocello reached between his legs and firmly grabbed the boy’s smooth dangling balls. Fisher jerked with shock, and looked over his shoulder at Pocello.

“Gotcha!” the man said, grinning.

Fisher stared at him uncertain what to do. Pocello held on longer than necessary for a mere “gotcha” moment. If it had been one of Fisher’s friends that was holding his balls, this would have been a moment of ambiguous sexual tension, but there was no hint of sexual tension with Rachel’s dad. The only feeling was one of threat. The man slowly increased the pressure on Fisher’s balls, mashing tem together. The boy tensed his stomach against the pain.

“You will treat Rachel with respect tonight won’t you?” Pocello asked, emphasising the word “will” to make it clear that it was an instruction more than a question.

Fisher gave a terse, pained nod. Pocello continued squeezing, as the seconds ticked slowly – four, five, six – then Fisher said,

“I can’t get dressed if you’re holding me Sir.”

Pocello grinned again, and gave the boy’s exhausted nuts and extra hard squeeze, then released them. Fisher yelped, and quickly pulled up his briefs, immediately following them with his jeans.  His nuts were aching badly now and even with his jeans on, his asshole felt like it was gaping wide open.

Pocello spoke to the driver,

“Pull over Rufus, I need to have a little chat with Fisher here, before we arrive.”

“Yes boss,” Rufus said, and pulled over to the roadside.

Fisher had put on his trousers and shirt, and was pulling on his socks and sneakers.

Pocello started to speak,

“Okay son, right now, I know you’re feeling pretty pissed off and violated, and you’re right to feel like that. It’s the law of the jungle – the big animals get to eat the little ones, and compared to me, you are definitely one of the little ones. I’m not going to insult you with an apology. I’m sure that this insult has overcome your fear of me, and you’re already planning how to make sure I go to prison for this. Forget that idea son. It’ll never happen. Let me just explain a few facts. Your mother’s name is Jean and she works as an accountant. Your father is James  and he runs a lumber business. Your 12 year old brother attends Rutcliffe Junior High. Your best friends are Denny, Blake and Mikey. I could list the other members of your family and what they do, and where they live, as well as everyone who’s important to you. Suffice it to say, I know plenty about you. Now if you try to explain what has happened to the police, and I get a single cop at my door, every member of your family will immediately be snatched by my associates. They will be stripped and sold to some foreign friends, who will take them overseas, where they will spend the rest of their lives being fucked by rich, fat , sweating Arabs or Africans. You and your friends will have your balls cut off, then you’ll spend the rest of your lives getting fucked in brothels in Afghanistan and dancing for Taliban soldiers. And your friends will know it was your fault.

If your family goes into hiding, we’ll get your friends, and if we can’t get them, we’ll get your sports coach, your favourite teachers, your scout leader – anyone that matters to you. And they will be tortured for months and eventually killed. Do you understand?”

Fisher stared at the man agape, his mouth and eyes wide. He was suddenly realising how utterly ruthless this man was.

“Do you understand?!” Pocello repeated, more firmly. Fisher nodded, dumbly. He was trying to come to terms with how deeply powerless he was.

Pocello continued,

“I have most of the cops in this state in my pocket in the first place, so it’s unlikely that you could ever cause me more than a mild inconvenience in any case. Most likely, I’d find out straight away that you were causing ripples, and you’d never get to reach anyone who could help, and we’d get you and your whole family before you could even run. From now on, my people will be monitoring your phone calls, your emails, and who you and your family speak to, so there’s no chance you could get everyone out safely, without them changing their behaviour and giving the game away.”

Fisher looked at the man quietly. He was wayyy over his depth. He resolved that he would just beg off sick from this date, and then avoid ever speaking to Rachel again. He’d have to do the best he could to get over this violation on his own.

“Now let me tell you how things are going to go,” Pocello said. “In a while, you’re going to meet Rachel, and you’re going to be a perfect gentleman. You’re going to take her out and, act like the happiest kid in the world, and you’re going to show her a great time. I don’t have to worry about you keeping your dick in your pants after this journey, but if Rachel gets frisky, you’ll just tell her that you want to save yourself till you’ve known each other longer. At the end of the night, I’m going to  take you home. You will NOT breathe a word about what has happened to anyone, especially Rachel. You will never dump my daughter, but if she dumps you, you’ll inform me, then you are free to walk away. You will meet her at least once a week as long as she wants to see you, and before you do, you will be picked up by Rufus and drained – I think three times instead of five should be fine in future. I don’t care if you play your little games on webcam. If you want to jack off for her, that’s fine. At least she’s not getting pregnant.

In short, you will treat my daughter like a princess as long as she wants to go out with you. You will keep your dick in your pants any time you are out with her, and you will never meet her without going through me, or without your nuts being drained first. And in case you’re thinking of killing yourself, or disappearing; if you do, my associates will take it out on your friends and family. Do I make myself quite clear?”

Fisher’s mind was reeling. He could not see any possible options but to acquiesce to Pocello’s every demand. He nodded, as he imagined years of being forcibly milked every single week. Pocello leaned forwards and gave him two hundred dollars. Fisher looked down at the  money in his hand dumbly. Wha was this for -an apology? Was he being bought like a rent boy? Pocello straightened the kid’s hair like a father watching out for his son on the night of his first prom.

“Be sure to have a good time tonight.” He tapped Rufus on the shoulder and gestured that they should resume to his home.

Fisher sat, utterly defeated, his aching, exhausted, drained balls cupped in the pouch of his briefs, and prepared himself to give the performance of his life…