By Greg Alexander

By the time they got back, I was a mess.

The vibrations in my cock cage had caused me to involuntarily squeeze my muscles to pump my cock harder for god knows how many hours, despite the worsening ache in my dick that it caused. Unable to reach my cock, my pelvis was doing small involuntary thrusts to try to get relief. So much pre-cum had dripped onto the floor that it actually looked like I had taken a major piss. And all the while, I was compelled to bite down on Trevor’s salty flip-flop which served only to make the ache in my dick worse. Meanwhile, my entire torso began to ache, as my body strained helplessly, unsupported by anything, yet unable to even sag toward the ground, given how tightly stretched I was.

When at last the door opened, Trevor and Collin came in. One of them was carrying three six packs of coronas, and the other was carrying a bag of chips and a box I couldn’t see what was in the box. They set their supplies down next to the chairs, and then came over to examine me.

Trevor’s eyes immediately feel to the floor. “God! You’re dripping like a leaky faucet. What a fucking mess,” he exclaimed.

“You should make the fag lick that shit up,” Collin suggested.

Trevor said nothing. Instead, he collapsed down into one of the big chairs. “We gotta watch the game,” he declared. He reached for the remote, and switched the TV on.

Collin sat down in the other chair. The loud sounds of football filled the dorm room the cheering of the fans, the commentary by the announcers, the high tech swishing noise of graphics whisking on and off of the screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the TV it looked like the game had just started.

Trevor kicked off his tennis shoes, so that all he was wearing were his thick white ankle socks. With my body still rigidly suspended in midair between the two stools, Trevor sighed with satisfaction, and abruptly in a move that was becoming increasingly familiar to me lifted his legs up into the air, and rested his feet on my naked back. I grunted heavily as my torso bore the brunt of his weight.

“He makes a great foot stool,” Trevor was saying, as he reached for one of the bottles and popped it open. “Really phenomenal. You should try it.”

“Ok,” Collin said, chuckling. Still wearing his big flip-flops, he too put his feet on my back, right next to Trevor’s. This time, I grunted from the combined strain of their weight. The flip flop which I was biting down on in my mouth almost fell out of my mouth, but I managed to hang on to it.

Trevor reached into his pocket and produced two big, fat cigars. “Here, take one. They’re cubans my uncle sent me some,” he said, turning to Collin.

Collin grinned. “Sweeeeet,” he murmured, as he lit up.

“Alright, roommate,” Trevor said, after a few minutes, as they both sat there clenching cigars between their teeth and smirking at each other. “It’s time to start the game.”

I was confused . . . the football game had already started.

“We figure it’s high time you learn a little something about football,” Trevor was explaining. “And Col and I are so thoughtful, we’ve decided to teach you. So we’re gonna make a little bet.” He took another puff on his cigar. “Who do you think is gonna win the game here, foot slave: the Arizona Cardinals, or the Indianapolis Colts?”

How the fuck should I know? I didn’t know the first thing about either team, except that they both existed. “Uh . . . I dunno.” I was still clenching Trevor’s flip-flop in between my teeth, so my voice was muffled.

“Well, you better pick one, or we can’t play the game,” Trevor said. His voice had an obviously fake friendliness to it I figured I better pick a team fast.

“Uh . . . uh . . . the Arizona Cardinals,” I grunted, still biting down on the flip flop.

Trevor and Collin immediately doubled over and roared with laughter.

“Holy shit!” Collin exclaimed. “You’re fucking right. He doesn’t know anything about football.”

“I know, man. It’s fucking pathetic.” Trevor puffed his cigar again. “You wanna go get the equipment, and we’ll explain how the game works?”

“Sure.” Collin reluctantly pulled his feet off my back, stood up, went over to the corner of the room, and returned, carrying what seemed to be a medium-sized bucket, and a box with a rack of flat, metallic discs. They seemed to be lifting weights.

I had a bad feeling about this.

“See,” Collin explained. “Trevor and I want to make sure we have a good time while we watch the game.” As he spoke, he took the bucket in his hands. He stooped down underneath my taught, tied up body, and set the pail directly beneath my balls. For another bizarre moment, I had the image in my head that I was going to be milked, like a farm animal. But instead, Collin took a length of soft nylon cord. He looped it several times around my balls, over and around the cruel chastity case that incased my dick. Before he tightened the rope, he removed (at last) the vibrator, so that it no longer delivered that agonizing stimulation to my ball sack. But they had other things in mind for me.

Collin yanked the rope tight, so it was squeezing down on my balls. Then, he took the other end and looped it through the handle of the bucket, again and again, until the bucket was dangling directly below my cock. Then he tied it again securely.

“There,” he said, with satisfaction. In one more fluid motion, he placed the box of disc weights on the floor directly in front of me, so that I was staring at them. Then he clambered back into his chair, and with a sigh of satisfaction, once more placed his flip-flopped feet on my bare back.

“OK,” Trevor said, cigar still in between his teeth. “So, the rules are pretty simple. I have a feeling you’ll pick them up pretty quickly as we go along.”

I had a bad feeling I already knew how the game was played, but I was hoping I was wrong.

“Basically, Collin and I are a team, and we’re playing against you.

“Every time our team the Colts scores against your team the Cardinals we get one point. It’s worth pointing out that the Colts are one of the best teams in the NFL, and the Cardinals are one of the worst. But don’t worry; maybe the Cardinals are set for a historic upset.” He chuckled. “We also earn points every time something significant happens in the game that you don’t immediately catch on to. So every time a team scores, or gets a first down, or anytime there’s a turnover or a timeout, you gotta say what’s just happened right away.

“Oh. And if that flip flop falls out of your mouth, we get 5 additional points. So I wouldn’t let that happen.

“There’s not really a way for you to win points.” Trevor puffed his cigar again, and grinned. “But . . . ya know. Try to enjoy the game anyway.

“Let’s start!”

Barely two minutes into the game, the Colts wide receiver caught a ball in the endzone.

“Touch down, colts,” I grunted, biting the flip flop.

Trevor and Collin grinned and high-fived each other. “Yeah! Point for us!”

Collin stood up and grabbed a one of the round lifting weights from the box right below my nose. They seemed to be all different shapes and sizes the one he had grabbed was comparatively small. “Let’s start off easy,” he suggested. “Just a two and a half pounder.”

Trevor shrugged. “Whatever.”

Collin looked at me. “Now do you see how this game is played?” he asked.

Unfortunately, I did.

Without further words, he plopped the disc into the bucket. Immediately, I felt the weight drag down on my cock cage, as if someone had taken my ball sack and yanked on it. I grunted. It wasn’t painful. Yet.

Collin and Trevor sniggered.

“The Colts seem to be on fire,” Trevor observed. “I think we’re gonna be scoring a lot of points.”

On the screen, they had kicked the extra point. I watched, trying not to think about the bucket tied to my balls.

Collin looked at me, and after a second, smiled. “Well, the extra point counts as more points. And footstool didn’t tell us that it happened. So by my count, that’s two more points for us.”

“Hang on,” I protested. “Doesn’t the extra point just get counted in with the touch down? It’s all the same thing.”

Trevor and Collin both snorted with laughter.

“What the fuck,” Trevor guffawed. “The boy bets against the Colts, but now suddenly he’s a football expert? Alright, we get three points the extra one is for you contradicting me.”

Shit, I thought.

Trevor was getting up this time. “Alright,” he said. “This time I’m adding heavier weights. Pass me one of those coronas Collin, wouldya?”

By halftime, the stack of weights had grown considerably, and the bucket had 40 pounds in it. My balls were absolutely killing me I was trying hard not to think about the overwhelming amount of weight dangling in mid-air, at that very moment, from my dick. It was hard and that made it hard to focus on the game. And since I didn’t know anything about football, that meant I kept screwing up.

By this point, Trevor and Collin had downed several coronas each, and were onto their second batch of Cubans. They both seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

“Man,” Trevor said, as he took another gulp. “Ya having fun down there, foot stool?” It sounded like the beer was starting to have some effect.

“Yes sir,” I said meekly, still biting down on the flip flop.

Collin downed the rest of his beer, slamming the bottle down onto a table next to his chair when he was done. “I don’t think the little bitch looks like he’s having a good time,” he declared, licking his lips.

“It fucking pisses me off. Here we are, having a perfectly good afternoon, kicking back, enjoying ourselves, and your roommate’s lookin’ all down and gloomy.”

Trevor was egging him on. “Yeah, yeah man. You’re right.”

The beer was definitely starting to show.

“I bet I can make him laugh,” Collin said suddenly.

“No fucking way, dude.”

“I totally can.” Collin stood suddenly. He walked around behind me, so that he was staring at the soles of my feet.

The chain threaded between the two stools, connecting my handcuffs to my ankle-cuffs, was still absolutely taught my entire body felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t move I was literally wracked between two stools, and now that my rigid body was supporting forty pounds of weight that was pulling down on my ball sack, the pain was intense.   I wondered with dread what could possibly be coming next.

“So . . .” Collin said from behind me, a mischievous smirk in his voice. “Are your feet ticklish?”

Trevor snorted with laughter at this.

I shuddered. My feet, in fact, had always been oversensitive. I used to have an older brother when we were younger, sometimes when he wanted me to buzz off and leave him alone, he would threaten to pin me down and tickle my feet. It always worked I was absolutely terrified of being pinned down, totally helpless, while someone wiggled their fingers around on my naked soles. The few times my brother had actually carried out his threat, I had just about died.

And now, here I was, strung out, totally helpless, my feet exposed to the mercy of Collin.

“You’re gonna want to try not to wiggle around too much,” Collin advised me from behind. “With so much weight strapped to your dick, it’s probably gonna be pretty painful to have that bucket swinging around too much.”

Trevor, still sitting in his chair his feet propped up on my back, puffing on his cigar, chuckled at that.

Collin started to poke the soles of my feet with his fingertips. I tried desperately to yank my feet away, but of course it did no good with my ankle cuffs so tightly immobilized, I had to just hang there and take it. My fleet flopped back and forth futilely.

Collin, encouraged, stepped up the pace. His fingers began to attack my soles vigorously, eagerly seeking out my most vulnerable spots. He soon found out what they were: the areas between my toes. Before long, he was using his strong jock hands to ruthlessly attack there, prying my toes back with one hand while he went to work with the other.

I lost control. My body twisted violently from side to side as I writhed and squirmed, thrashing uselessly against my bondage. As Collin has predicted, of course, this caused the bucket strung to my balls to sway more and more from side to side, like a weighed down pendulum. The pain in my ball sack only intensified, but there was nothing I could do.

Involuntary laughter began to jet out of my mouth.

“Please . . . stooppppp!!!” I gasped, in between fits of laughter. The unbearable ticklishness of my feet, combined with the searing pain on my ball sack, was way more than I could take. As I panted and shrieked, I felt the flip-flop still in my mouth slipping away. I tried to hang on with my teeth, but I was laughing too hard to bite down firmly.

The flip-flop fell to floor.

Trevor suddenly doubled over with laughter. “He dropped the fucking flip-flop!” he said. “The little bitch dropped the fucking flip-flop.”

I stared at Trevor’s sandal, now lying on the floor down below my face. Fuck, I thought again.

Collin had stopped tickling my feet. “Ya think he remembers what the penalty for that was?”

“I dunno. Let’s ask him,” Trevor said. “Bitch boy?”

“You get five extra points . . . sir,” I said, with a sigh.

“That’s right,” Trevor said with a grin. “Whatya think, Col? Should we add 5 more 5 pound disks? Or should we go easier on the poor fucker?”

“I say put in the 5 pound disks. You told the little foot stool not to drop it.”

Trevor looked straight at me. “What do you think, foot stool?”

I swallowed. “Please don’t add any more weight, sir. I’m so sorry I dropped the flip-flop, sir, I couldn’t help it. It won’t happen again sir.”

“Hmmm, that’s pretty good,” Trevor said with a yawn. “But I really think you should beg and grovel a little bit more if you don’t want us to put in five new disks.”

“Make him lick your feet clean, dude,” Collin suggested.

Trevor shrugged. “He’s already done that a lot man.”

“Well then make him clean mine,” Collin said. He sounded eager.

Trevor shrugged again. “Why not?”

“This is the best halftime show ever,” Collin said with a sigh. He rotated the stools around 90 degrees, so that I was now staring away from the TV screen, with my feet toward it. He pushed me a foot or so to the side, so that I was positioned directly in front of his chair. Then he climbed back into his chair, kicked his life-guard flip-flops off, and stuck his massive bare feet directly into my face.

“Now,” he said. “Lick them clean. Totally clean.”

“And you better look like you fucking want `em, too,” Trevor added. “I want you to lick `em like they’re fucking lollipops, or I’m gonna put in the weights.”

The smell of male feet was once again overpowering and even with 40 pounds pulling down on my ball sack, as I inhaled, I felt my dick, already so desperately eager to erupt in a shower of cum, getting even harder. I began to lick, and lick his feet were dirty, and sweaty. The more I lapped at them, the more blinding my need to cum became.

“Whatya think, Trev,” Collin said after a while. “Ya think he’s licking `em up like a good foot slave?”

“Yeah.” Trevor smirked, and cracked open another beer. “But I think we should still put in 5 more weights.”

Collin seemed surprised. “Why?”

Trevor shrugged yet again. “Because we can,” he said. And he stood up, reaching for the box of weights. Staring at him with a combination of horror and surprise, I had stopped licking the soles of Collin’s feet.

Trevor stared at me. “Did we tell you to stop licking his feet?” he asked me.

“Uh . . . no sir,” I stammered.

“So you just disobeyed us.”

“Uh . . . no sir . . .”

“And you just contradicted me.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry sir,” I choked. “You’re right sir. I deserve to be punished sir.”

I kept licking Collin’s feet. He was laughing now, hard. He wiggled his toes in front of me. “Don’t forget to lick the little spaces between my toes!” he exclaimed gleefully.

As I hastened to obey, I could feel Trevor dropping five more disks into the bucket each one thudded down with a sickening clank. The strain on my ball sack became more and more intense, and the bucket sunk closer and closer to the floor, with each successive weight added.

“Sixty five pounds now,” Trevor said with a whistle when he had finished. “That’s fucking intense.”

“The game’s starting back up,” Collin said with a lazy smirk. He was still wiggling his toes as I now licked the lint out from in between them.

Behind me, I heard the noise of football coming back on.

“Alright,” Trevor said, looking at me. “Ready to keep playing our game?”

I didn’t want to argue with him. “Uh . . . of course sir,” I said, wincing from the agony in my ball sack. “Perhaps you could simply turn me around sir, so I can see the TV?”

Trevor cocked his head to one side. “What do you think, Col?”

“No way dude,” Collin said with a grin. “The fag makes an even better foot-licker than he did foot-stool.”

“Alright, slave,” Trevor said. “You heard the man. Keep licking. You’re just gonna have to listen to the game real carefully. Cuz if you miss anything important . . .” He trailed off. There was no need to finish the sentence as he glanced at the box of weights on the floor.

The box was only half empty.

“Touch-down! Colts”

“Field Goal, Colts!”

“Cardinals fumble. Colts take possession!”

“First down, Colts!”

From time to time, I would exhale these updates as I gritted my teeth in agony. I could only hear what the announcers loudly and cheerfully said, and did my best to relay that on to Trevor and Collin. Usually I picked up on what was going on fast enough. Sometimes I didn’t. From what I could gather, the Cardinals my team were being massacred. And so were my testicles.

By the end of the game, I had lost track of both the score, and the amount of weight my ball sack was bearing. All I knew is that both figures were grimly high.

By the time Trevor switched off the TV set, I was desperate for some relief.

“So I bet you want me to take out those weights,” he said, crossing his arms in front of me and grinning that evil little smirk so chillingly familiar to me by now.

“Yes . . .sir,” I whimpered.

“OK.” He took a step forward, then another step. In one fluid motion, to my surprise, he unbuckled his belt, and then smoothly whipped off his jeans. Without skipping he beat, he dropped his boxers as well. Now his muscular legs were completely bare . . . and his cock was visible. In spite of everything, I stared at it; he was hard as a rock, and his big fat cock seemed to almost throb with the flushness of his erection.

Off to the side, I heard Collin whistle, obviously impressed.

Alright,” Trevor said. “You want us to take out the weights? Suck my cock, bitch.”

With that, he straddled me, so that his muscular frame loomed over my prostrate tied down body, and his legs squeezed up against the outsides of my outstretched arms. With a cruel recklessness, he lowered himself heavily onto my forearms. His bare ass thudded down onto my elbows, and I winced at the new surge of pain my taut arms, still frozen in place over the stool, were not equipped to take the full weight of Trevor.

Now his enormous cock was merely inches from my face. In spite of everything, I found the sight of his fully erect dick to be even more of a turn-on. Trevor’s bondage creative as ever had not only immobilized my body, but also my head and neck, so that I could barely tilt, pitch or rock my head around by anymore than half a degree. My face was right there. I was trapped, at the mercy of Trevor’s cock.

But of course, he wanted me to beg. Again.

“Beg me to let you suck my cock,” Trevor said with a grin. He waved his dong around enticingly in front of my eyes.

I could tell the absolute truth. “Please, ” I choked, “please. I want to suck your dick, sir. Please let me suck your dick.”

Trevor scooted up closer to my face, so that I could practically smell the precum oozing out of his piss slit. Then, unexpectedly, his hand shot out, and he slapped me across the face, hard.

“Not good enough, bitch,” he grunted. He turned to Collin. “Maybe the fucking cum slut wants to be tied up here for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah,” Collin said with a laugh. “Maybe we should see how far his scrotum can stretch!” He was looking at the bucket, which had by this point sunk so far down toward the ground, from the weight, that my ball sack was indeed looking terrifyingly elastic.

Fear welled up inside me.

“PLEASE, SIR, PLEASE!” I said, my voice desperate. “Please, I have to suck your cock. Please let me suck your cock!! I’ll do anything if you’ll let me suck your cock.”

“Alright,” he finally said. He scooted forward yet again, so that his ball sack was now shoved up against my face. His pubic hair tickled my nose and my chin, and his cock now completely dominated my field of vision.

First, lick my balls,” he ordered me. As I complied, he reached for another beer, and popped it open.

Trevor’s balls tasted slightly salty and unwashed . . . the smell of cum was particularly pungent. As I licked and licked, lapping at his balls like a hungry puppy, Trevor let out a sigh of pleasure. “Nothing beats having your own live-in cocksucker,” he said with a chuckle, as he drank his beer.

“My turn next,” Collin said, with a touch of envy.

As I licked, my tongue was getting more and more dried out, and I found I was craning my neck. After what felt like almost 20 minutes of this, I finally took a breath and stopped, refreshing myself before I continued.

Trevor didn’t even pause to look down at me. “Collin, add another weight to the bucket.”

“Why?” Even Collin seemed surprised.

“Because my little cock slut just stopped licking my ball sack.”

“I’m sorry sir! I was just taking a momentary break.”

Now Trevor looked down at me. “Did I tell you that you could take a break?” His voice was calm, relaxed.

“No sir.”

“OK. Collin, add two weights. God, slave, you are so fucking stupid. How many times will I have to punish you before you stop arguing with me?” He pushed himself still further forward and rocked backward, so that now my nose was practically sticking straight into his ass hole. “Now, lick my ass.”

As I continued to lick, I felt Collin slip two more disks into the bucket tied to my ball sack. Tears welled up in my eyes. The pain was even worse now. But I didn’t dare stop.

His ass crack smelled even more strongly, but I licked it clean all the same. I heard Trevor grunt with satisfaction as my tongue darted in and out, lapping around his butt hole. I began to feel as if I’d been doing this forever.

Finally, to my relief, Trevor rocked his body back forward.

“Alright, cock slut,” he told me. “I’m so fucking horny. Now, you do a good job give me the blow job I deserve and I’ll take half the weight out of the bucket. Give Collin here a second awesome blow job, and we’ll take the rest out, maybe even untie you for a while. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even think about maybe letting you cum, if you ask us real real nice.” He laughed. “Unlikely. But who knows? Maybe we’ll be feeling especially generous. So don’t fuck up.” With that, he shoved his dick forcefully into my mouth.

I lapped at his ramrod cock with my tongue, trying to please him. I moistened my dry mouth, swallowing his inflamed cock-head. Trevor, still straddling my outstretched, totally taut arms, began to plunge his long juicy man stick in and out of my mouth, propelling himself in and out with his powerful masculine hips, naked and thrusting in front of my eyes. As he became more and more inflamed, his thrusts grew more and more violent, until he was crashing his pelvis into my face with each movement, paying no regard whatsoever for my own severe discomfort. His massive cock slammed into the back of my throat repeatedly.

This was more violent than my last forced oral sex session had been whether because he was deliberately putting on a show for Collin, or because this was just another part of my “punishment week,” or for his other perverse reasons, Trevor seemed bent on face fucking me, and on making my forced blow job as uncomfortable as humanly possible. I felt my gag reflex kicking in, but I had nowhere to go my face was frozen in place, and I was incapable of doing anything other than lying there, strung up taught between two stools, while Trevor went at me. As I felt myself gagging on his cock, Trevor, as if sensing this, pushed himself still further toward me, so that he was now completely mashed up against my face. He shifted his knees forward so that he was able to actually hold my head in the vice-like grip between his knee-caps.

“Collin,” I heard him say, as if from very far away. “Do you want to tickle his feet?”

They both laughed at that.

“I’m serious,” Trevor said, still guffawing. “I want to see what happens if you tickle the little fucker’s feet while he sucks me off.”

They found this a hilarious idea. As I continued to suck on Trevor’s dick (I didn’t dare stop, even for a second) I heard Collin position himself behind me. As he set to work, once again, on the soles of my feet, my entire body went rigid with laughter. With what must have been 100 pounds dangling from my ball sack, this was an excruciating sensation but I couldn’t help it.

“Suck my dick. Suck my dick, bitch!”

Somehow, fear allowed me to keep servicing Trevor’s cock. As he thrust back and forth into my mouth as I felt myself on the constant verge of gagging Collin attacked in between my toes with relish. I thought I would go insane. It was just too much; too many different humiliations at once.

Then, suddenly:

“I’m gonna cum!” Trevor’s whole body stiffened. “Swallow it, bitch boy!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Take my fucking load. Take it all!”

He thrust into my mouth, and a geyser of hot cum spurted like a fire hose down my throat. The cum kept flowing. I held my breath, and swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed.

When Trevor at last was spent, his body slumped limply in front of my face, and his dick, now soft, slipped gently out my mouth. He was breathing hard, like he had just worked out, and sweating.

“Oh man,” he said to Collin with an exhausted grin. “Forget rooming with jocks from now on. I’m gonna room with this little cocksucker for the next three years of college!”

“Let me trade with you, man,” Collin said. “Now I’m fucking horny.”

“Alright, alright, in one sec.”

Collin shifted impatiently, as he began to unbuckle his pants. “Why one sec?”

Trevor was still straddling my arms. He leaned back, folded his hands behind his head, and grinned with relaxation. “Cuz I’ve had about 5 beers, and now that I’ve shot my load, I gotta piss.” He looked straight at me. “OK, bitch boy, open your mouth again.”

 

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Metal would like to thank the author, Greg Alexander, for allowing this story to be posted here. You can contact the author at greg_alexander222@yahoo.com.

Also thanks to Metalbond reader John for his assistance in preparing this story for posting!