By lthr_jock

Jim kept his head down and moved along the road as fast as possible, eyes fixed on the pavement, only glancing up to try to see a street sign and to avoid walking into people. Even so, he attracted attention very quickly as people noticed the collar and wristbands standing out starkly against his skin. Worse, his cock was being kept solid down his right leg by the cock-ring was a noticeable bulge in the bleachers and he heard several shocked comments.

After what seemed like an age, he got to the end of the road to where he could see a street-sign. Ignoring the road name, he looked quickly at the post-code on the sign — NE9 — bloody hell, he was miles from home. He shoved his hands into his pockets and found nothing inside. Without money he couldn’t even get a tube, bus or taxi. Jim shivered at the predicament he was in, chose a roughly south westerly direction and kept walking.

Jim carried on like that for several miles, walking fast, head down as the light slowly faded. He was starting to worry and as he progressed, he was stumbling more often and more than once he blundered into a group standing outside a pub. On each occasion he heard jeers as he hurried away down the road. It was as he was stumbling away from one of these groups that he got himself into trouble.

Head down, all he saw was a pair of cherry red DMs and he pulled up just short of walking into their owner. As he went to look up, a fist slammed into his stomach and he doubled over. He felt hands from behind him grab him under each arm and as he retched helplessly he was dragged into an alley.

Forced back against a wall, Jim found himself held in place as rough hands grabbed the ring at the front of the collar and forced his head up. He found himself looking up at a huge skinhead, his muscles clearly outlined under his skin-tight Fred Perry shirt.

“What the fuck is this then? SLAVE? What the fuck is that about?”

Jim tried to explain but a sharp slap across his face stopped him.

“Slaves don’t talk do they? Fucking idiot. Show him Tim.”

The big skinhead slammed a fist into Jim’s midriff, and as he gasped, the skinhead to his left stuffed a thick ball-gag into Jim’s mouth and then strapped it tightly behind his head. The two guys holding them then spun him around and pushed him roughly against the wall. Pulling his hand behind him, then locked his wrist restraints together with a padlock. Face pressed hard against the wall, Jim could only grunt as he felt hands caressing his arse.

“That’s better. Now, slave, you’re gonna learn what happens to people who come into our territory without permission.”

Pushing has hand between Jim and the wall, he pressed a gauze pad over Jims nose and mouth. Jim recognised the sweet smell, but could do nothing about it and soon lost consciousness again.

Jim woke to cramps in his arms and to find himself in an uncomfortable position. He was crouched kneeling over a leather bench, with his legs strapped to it at knees and ankles. A strap around the top of his back secured him in place on the bench with his arse slightly elevated. As he looked up he could see a mirror in front of him, which showed that the gag was still in place. His hands were secured behind him, but winched away from his body, causing his muscles to cramp painfully. He pulled against the bonds but they were tight and very secure. As he stopped, he looked around. Jim was in what looked like a warehouse. To his left was a small office and he could hear a voice coming from it. As he strained to listen, he could make out the big skinheads accent and realised he was on the phone.

“Yeah, no problems. Like you said, we followed him for a couple of miles, till he was getting a bit panicky then we picked him up. Nah, he won’t be around for a while yet. So, like you said, scare him a bit, then you come in to collect him. No problems.”

As the voice stopped, Jim heard footsteps coming closer to the office door, so he dropped his head back to the bench and closed his eyes. He heard the footsteps coming closer and could not suppress a shudder as he felt rough hands rubbing over his arse.

“Nice. I know yer awake. I been watching on a webcam.” As the skinhead spoke, his hand kneaded Jim’s arse harder, pushing his fingers deep into the seam, tickling at Jim’s arse. Jim opened his eyes reluctantly and tried to speak, but the ball gag prevented all but muffled grunts from emerging.

The skinhead moved to crouch in front of him, his head level with Jim’s. “I bet you’re wondering what happens now. Well, normally I’d already be fucking you, but a friend of mine has other plans.” The skinhead stood, walked out of Jim’s eye line and returned pushing a television on a trolley. Turning the TV on, he moved behind Jim and clipped a chain to the back of Jims gag, yanking the chain roughly, Jims head was pulled up so he was looking directly at the TV. The skinhead then slipped earphones on Jim’s head.

“You’ll enjoy this.” The skinhead turned the TV on, and Jim saw a spiral of colours, revolving slowly, pulsing gently. Behind him, the skinhead deliberately turned away from the TV and prepared a syringe. Jim felt nothing but a small prick as he was injected into the buttock. He realised that the spiral was something hypnotic and closed his eyes. Soon, though, he heard a soft voice in his head telling him to open his eyes, focus on the spiral, look deep within the colours. As the drug in Jim’s system took hold, he opened his eyes and began to obey the voice. As he stared at the spiral it changed speed, pulsing at a different frequency. The voice began giving more instructions, speaking slowly and clearly, but Jim was focussed totally on the spiral.

The skinhead knelt beside Jim, noting the way in which his eyes were now totally focussed on the screen and grinned as he initiated the second part of the programme. The spiral now faded slightly on the screen, still present, but overlaid with pictures. Pictures of men in uniform, men in leather, men in rubber. Pictures of men talking, kissing, rubbing each other. Pictures of men in bondage, restraint and chastity. As the pictures grew more graphic, the skinhead reached under Jim to rub his swelling cock and was pleased to find it rock-hard underneath him. Drawing a knife, he slit the seam at the back of Jim’s bleachers and with two fingers rubbed some lube into his arse. Jim’s reaction was a groan into the gag and to buck his thighs backwards into the skinhead fingers. He grinned, and slowly, gently inserted a butt plug into Jim’s willing hole.

Moving the programme to the next level, the skinhead chuckled at Jim’s reaction. The combination of the visual and auditory input as well as the drugs now coursing through his system were making him incredibly aroused and incredibly open to suggesting. He was now wriggling and writhing in his restraints, not in an attempt to escape, but in extreme arousal. The plug in his arse was more stimulating than anything he had imagined before and as the TV images sped up, becoming more and more sexual and perverse, Jim shuddered with what would be the first of several climaxes.

The skinhead chuckled. This guy would be good once the programming was complete. He doused the lights in the warehouse, leaving the TV as the only light source, illuminating the twitching, drooling form of Jim.

 

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NOTE: “Undercover” originally appeared on the Eckie site. It is being re-posted here with the original author’s permission.

 

Copyright © 2007 and 2015 by lthr_jock.

 

All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

 

This story is erotic gay fiction and is for mature audiences only. It may contain supernatural themes, sex scenes, violence, coarse language, drug use and other adult themes.

 

Metal would like to thank lthr_jock for granting permission for this story, which has previously appeared on other websites, to be re-posted here.