The Present free porn video

The present Archibald Young What are we to make of this boy, this creature, this phantasm? He is sixteen for another hour, but in his head whirl images and thoughts, strange and terrible desires, lusts and yearnings that would shock many a sixty-year-old. Look at him! Look at him as he walks slowly down the gloomy corridor, below the ground, all dressed in white, like a bride, beside the older man. Is that his father? Giving him away? Look at the boy's face, perfect creamy complexion with a faint blush on his high cheekbones, long black mascara'd lashes, deep purple eyeshade, his highlighted eyebrows a svelte arc of jet. See his sharp blue eyes, a secret, mona lisa smile on his moist, painted lips, his gaze flicking now towards the oozing, cold walls and ceiling, now towards the man's face. Look at his blond hair, falling in soft waves onto his almost-bare shoulders. Look at the shimmering diamonds that hang in dazzling clusters from his ear-lobes. Look at his thick, jewelled gold choker, and the diamonds and rubies pouring downwards towards his d?colletage. Below this sparkling triangle the plunging soft curve of short white fur, the trimming of an occasionally-glimpsed white silk strapless dress, hint at tiny, pointed breasts. A jewelled white patent leather belt hangs low on the dress, and below the same trimming fur just below the boy's crotch emerge white stockings and then long, matching patent thigh-length boots, trimmed with the same fur, with gilt heels clicking on the stone. But the thing you notice most is the huge, long arctic fox fur, slipping off one shoulder and falling almost to the floor, swishing and sliding as the boy moves, like a model on a catwalk, his legs crossing and re-crossing in front of him as he sways. His arms are satin-gloved, with more jewels, red and blue in bracelets and rings. In one manicured hand he carries a champagne glass whilst the other is crooked into the older man's arm. And as the soft furs move, part, then fall together again you see it; beneath the fur trim of the skimpy dress, just below the belt, the boy's erect cock stands naked, curving upward and glistening, caressed by the pelts. You tear your eyes away from this impossibly gorgeous vision and look at the man. His face is what you see first, his eyes. They are also light blue- so light that they are almost colourless- and they are fixed on the boy; not on his beautiful face or moist, parted lips, not on his soft, lustrous blonde hair, not on his half-naked shoulder, framed with white fox fur, but on the slender but stiff boy-cock as it appears and disappears under the silk amongst the furs. The man's wide, fleshy mouth is open in a leering smile as he looks down while they walk together; his lips are moist from licking, as if he were hungrily looking at something delicious to eat- which he is- his breath clouding in the cold. His long, grey hair is swept back from his aquiline face into a jewelled band above the collar of his black velvet suit. He also carries a glass of champagne in one hand, the other, in which the fur-and-silk- sheathed arm of the boy nestles, is hooked into the pocket of his jacket, which despite the cold is open, the crimson silk lining startling in the gloom of the passageway. You see that he is naked above the waist, muscular, with a black mat of hair on his chest and belly, a golden chain around his neck from which hangs a jewelled pendant- a symbol of some kind. He wears a black cummerbund around the top of the velvet trousers, while his feet, also black patent-shod, click in unrythmic chorus with the stilettos of his beautiful, swaying companion. And you look at his crotch, don't you? You cans see his excitement in his gaze, but also here in the large bulge beneath the velvet. Then, under one of the stinking, tarry torches set in iron brackets in the wall, the man and the boy stop, and turn towards each other. In his heels the boy is the same height as the man, and their gazes lock, the vapour of their breathing mingling in the still air. They each bring the glass they hold to their lips, and slowly sip the bubbling wine, silently looking into each other's eyes. You can almost see the charge flowing between them: the older, still lasciviously-smiling man and the willing young boy. God knows what has already passed between them yet their gaze speaks of more to come. More of what? A clue; after they have sipped, the boy pulls the man towards him and, each still holding their half-full glass, brings his face close, steadily gazing; their breath is now just a single cloud in the guttering light from the hissing torch. Delicately, the boy's red lips come gently onto the man's, as his fur- swathed body moves into the man's. And then he kisses the man. First his lips are closed but then they gently open and the champagne from his mouth trickles over the man's tongue and down his throat; the man swallows the gift. And the boy giggles very slightly as his tongue follows the wine into the man's mouth, wet and slimy, and he wriggles to open up his furs so that his silk-sheathed body pushes against the man's naked torso, rubbing his erect penis between the fur trim of his dress and the man's hardness under the black velvet of his trousers. As they kiss the boy now moans quietly, his slim body writhing against the older man's, their free arms encircling each other as the older man responds, his own tongue mashing against the boy's in their mouths, which have become one slimy, wet cavern of desire. Their eyes remain open- they gaze at each other all the while, mutually entranced. What power draws him to the older man's body? What force has created the homosexual lust that fills this sixteen-year-old boy? What urges him to cream all the hair from his body, to grow his hair long, to bathe in perfumed oils, to make himself up like a princess, to wear outrageously erotic clothes of sumptuous silk against his smooth skin, to adorn himself in extravagant jewels, to sheath his long legs in the softest leather, to spray himself with expensive perfumes, and to engulf himself in the softest, luxurious furs- in short, to become for this man a walking, talking, kissing, sucking wet dream? Perhaps it is the man's huge and luxurious house, from which they have just descended into the subterranean tunnel in which they now walk. For this massive house, set in enormous grounds, speaks of fabulous wealth and power. Living in extreme luxury and splendour for nine months, the boy would never have guessed the existence of the dank, barren passageway to which he has now just brought, tipsy, on his seventeenth birthday, and in which he is now sensuously and provocatively kissing this man. Everything in the house said "Pleasure"; sensuous, sexual, homosexual, forbidden pleasure. Look up in one of the vast ground-floor rooms and see whirling gilt cornices that framed huge frescos of boys, sometimes almost naked but for a wisp of something over their loins, sometime jewelled and draped with soft fabrics, leaning against, kissing or being embraced by strong, muscular men, also similarly both naked and hidden. From the ceiling centres hang brilliant chandeliers: look carefully- each pearl of glass is a small erect penis! Look at the walls and see more paintings of beautiful boys in ephemeral gowns draped against handsome men, set against the rich, dark red and gold damask wallpapers. Huge windows framed with heavy, tasselled damask curtains give out onto a vista of formal gardens, lakes and fountains, with open countryside beyond. At night these are drawn, and golden lampshades cast subtle shadows across the scarlet walls towards the floor, thickly, darkly and richly carpeted. Here and there are scattered soft bearskins- black and polar- inviting you to lie back into their soft mass, to lie there and feast on the sensuous depravity portrayed above you whilst a man caresses you, or perhaps, half naked, to turn face down into its scented fur, and urgently invite anal ravishment. Everywhere there are sofas and chaise-longues, covered in velvet, softest leather or even chinchilla, big enough for a boy to lie on with a man, or two, or even three men, with sable or fox throws and soft, large satin and fur cushions on each. Beside each is a walnut cabinet full of cocktails and spirits, oils and creams, condoms, constantly replenished. Pass from here into the cavernous entrance hall, which is floored in white marble, again richly decorated. The gilt-framed pictures here, though languidly sensual, are of doe-eyed, lissom creatures who could be of any sex, softly swathed, posing in romantic scenery. The statues though are Greek; warriors, half clad and powerful. During the day golden light streams from a tinted glass dome above, and the walls are also gold and glossy white. By night gilt wall lights and three enormous chandeliers- crystal, but not phallic- fill the room with light. Apart from two large polar bearskins on the white marble there are no furs here, but blue velvet-covered gilt carved settees around the edge of the space are scattered with plump, soft silk cushions, also gold. The tall doors into the rooms are heavily carved and also gold, and rising from one end of the hall is a magnificent, wide, twisting staircase in white marble, with each newel picked out in gold leaf, ending in a gallery that runs around the whole space, and from which doors lead into other rooms above. The dark blue of the settees is echoes in the deep blue of the thick carpet that runs upwards, towards the private rooms- where private pleasures await. The entrance hall hints at delights beyond but does not shout them; anyone could be and is received here, to await the same man who is presently engaged in that long, slow kiss with the scented, rustling, priapic, moaning fur-swathed boy in the cold, secret stone tunnel, far below. In the dining room is a very long, heavy table, always ready for a sumptuous banquet, with, at its head, a carved blackwood throne big enough to sit three on a golden fox fur cushion. Look at those carvings- of sensuously writhing figures, all male but some strong and others willowy, indistinctly and yet suggestively entwined. Down each side of the table are heavy mahogany chairs softly upholstered, the cushion and back in squirrel fur. Into each is built two discreet self-lubricating, self-sizing vibrators that emerge at the touch of buttons in the armrest- one at the front of the seat and one from the centre, so sitting at dinner naked - at least from the waist down- guests' cocks and rectums can be pleasured automatically as they pleasure their mouths with delicacies, silky wines and even chilled semen. On the floor in front of each chair, under the table, is a black sheepskin rug so that boys in silks and satins, made up and perfumed, can kneel comfortably and pull men's penises out from their clothes with their jewelled, manicured hands, stroke them with their soft hair, lick them with their wicked tongues, kiss them with their soft lips, and finally suck them with their hot, wet mouths until the cum gushes down their hungry throats. The boy has lived in this house for nine whole months. How could he not have been tainted by its cloying sensuousness - even by a few of the sumptuous rooms on the ground floor? How could he have gone on dressing in jeans and t-shirt in such elegance, such voluptuous luxury, such seductive glamour, whatever was done to him by the man, or anyone else in that palace of pleasure? Even if he had met no-one, if he had just lived in the rooms we have seen, how long would it have taken for him to cast aside his boy clothes and, naked, draw a soft fur to his naked skin? Or to kick off his sneakers so he can curl his toes in the soft bearskins? Or to stretch out in the soft embrace of one of the huge sofas, dreaming of the scenes above him, sipping thick red wine as he caressed himself with sable? Or, again nude, to sit on the yielding fur of one of the seats at that table of sin, let his fingers lightly touch the button that, pressed impulsively, would gently and silently drive an oiled phallus into his at once shocked and knowing young body while he gazed at the huge painting of a man and a beautiful, half-naked boy kissing opposite him? Ah, but we know there has been more, hasn't there? And, back in the bowels of the earth we see the man break off the kiss, although the boy leans forward, still hungry for his mouth, panting through painted lips just in front of his face, and then he leans his head back, keeping his slim silk-sheathed body moving against the man's groin, and, smiling, sips more champagne. And the man, also smiling, also sips, their eyes still locked together in a sexual tryst. Then the man gently turns the boy and they resume the journey down the subterranean tunnel, and once more the boy's erection- now even more rampant- is the focus of the man's gaze as it flashes into and out of view as the white fox fur swishes around it. If being alone in the mansion from which they are now moving would have been enough to set the boy onto his path of luxurious depravity, how much more entrancing were all the different servants who effortlessly met his every whim and desire? The muscular middle-aged masseur who was forbidden to touch the boy's penis but whose own erection was rampant under his satin trousers as he worked on the boy's naked hairless body with rare oils, on the softest towels, and whose fingers and hands, and even elbows, swept the boy into a sensual trance. Who could blame the man if his oiled fingers accidentally strayed into the boy's anus, and stayed there, eventually producing a spurting emission by the boy's untouched but rampant penis, as he giggled in shock and joyous release? And who would grudge this man carefully and lovingly licking up the pool of the boy's semen from his scented belly before continuing the massage? And who would grudge the couturier the occasional caress or kiss to which the boy gratefully and tantalisingly responded. He spent hours designing and helping the boy pick out what he should wear for any occasion. The erotic designs in soft, sensuous materials, exposing the boy's buttocks, cock or erect nipples or all three, were beautifully crafted by his seamstresses into fabulous creations. When the boy was dressing in his sumptuous boudoir the couturier was often there, smoothing his silk stockings, adjusting his suspenders or shimmering underwear (if he was wearing any), critically adjusting his creations for maximum impact on the men who would see them, particularly that man, the one with whom the boy was clicking down the gloomy passageway. And in that scented paradise of softly erotic anticipation, the boy's stiff cock, pointing heavenward, surely demanded an occasional brushing touch with a soft fur or silky satin, the boy's soft and crimson lips the occasional laughing kiss, his often naked buttocks the occasional lingering caress, oiled fingers against his rosebud, or his erect nipples a tiny, thrilling pinch. But the old queen was allowed no more- he had his rewards with others, elsewhere in the mansion. And what about the security guards, who protected the boy and everybody in the mansion from any sort of intrusion by the outside world? In their black silk suits, muscled, handsome and hunky, they were also forbidden to touch any boy, but they were not forbidden to touch them! So, half in and half out of a black silk peignoir trimmed with the fluffiest black rabbit, high-heeled mules trimmed to match, a diamond-encrusted velvet choker and matching cock-ring, and absolutely nothing else except perfume, the boy delights in summoning one with a crook of a painted and jewelled finger to a beaver- covered chaise in one of the sumptuous drawing-rooms- a private one, with guests excluded. While the man stands looking down at the laughing, painted face, the boy caresses his silk- covered groin until his cock hardens underneath it, all the time stroking his own slender erection with manicured fingers. Other boys in the room stop whatever they are doing- preening themselves in front of huge gilt mirrors, or idly masturbating on sofas, a glossy magazine in their jewelled hands, or, naked under opened satin gowns, dancing slowly together, erections brushing, kissing wetly- and wander over the thick carpets and fur rugs to watch, smiling and caressing each other as they gather around. The boy unzips the man's trousers, under which no underwear is permitted for this very purpose, and releases a large erect penis straight into his hot, dribbling mouth. He is looking up at the man as he kisses and sucks his penis. The man is standing like a statue, his eyes locked into the boy's gaze as he is lovingly sucked and masturbated. Other boys around come forward and start caressing the man's powerful torso as he is fellated, their painted fingernails excitedly digging through the silk of his shirt. One of them might pull another in front of him, part his satins or furs at the back- split here for this very delight- and ease his cock between the smooth buttocks wantonly pushed back towards his lover, as the one in front leans back into his embrace; slow sodomy would take place as they both watched the delicious scene before them. There would be sighing and murmuring as caresses became more intense, both of the man and between the scented, beautiful, softly-clothed bois. Surely one of them would drop to his knees on the thick bearskin rug beside the chaise, gently push away the boy's hand from his own cock so it could be taken into his own painted mouth, licking and sucking? Then the boy's eyes, having not left the man's handsome face, would close as he orgasmed into his beautiful lover's hot, wet mouth, and this would triggered the man's own cum. He would hiss or moan as he pushed forward into the boy's mouth, his penis spurting, the boy hungrily swallowing all he could drink of the salty slime. And all without the man's hands, plunged into his pockets, so much as touching the boy's soft hair, or any of the luscious bodies that swooned around him, whatever they were doing to inflame his lust. He knew and they knew that everything was watched on TV cameras everywhere in the mansion. It was all recorded, edited, and then sold to exclusive clubs and magazines, the male guests carefully disguised. The boy, now satiated and sleepy, wanders upstairs to kick off his mules and slide between the satin sheets of his vast bed, pulling up the thick silver fox bedspread up over him to fall into a deep, blissful sleep. The cameras will record that after the sex between the other boys either comes to its climax in mutual emission, or simply fades back into the charged, sensuous atmosphere that pervades the whole house, they disperse. There may be perhaps a final caress of the man's chest, buttocks or legs- or even, in the case of one lovely boy, a quick licking off of the last remnants of semen from his still-turgid cock. The security man replaces his organ in his silk trousers and calls for the maids to come, who carefully clean all traces of semen or spittle from the soft furs or fabrics on which so much sex has taken place. And the cameras will notice that the maids are themselves beautiful, that their heels are tall and their petticoats are short, that they are also naked above their stockings, and that as they move around the room and clean off the spunk from wherever it has fallen, often licking their fingers in delight, their erect penises wobble in front of their dresses, nestling in the frothy lace of their outrageously short satin skirts. And does he have a past, this fabulous boy-girl? Does he have a history, a path from his birth to this moment- this gloomy tunnel, with this priapic older man? Of course. Does he have a name? Yes- he is Joel, and all the people in the house call this man Master- except Joel, who, in the bedroom, in the huge baths, in the jacuzzi, in the private cinema or dining-room, in the chapel, in the limousines, in the private jets or anywhere where Joel and he are kissing, caressing, sucking, fingering, masturbating or coupling calls his lover, his rescuer, his protector, source of all his young body's delight, Karl. So as they turn a corner in the foetid tunnel, and approach a heavy old door, studded with nails, Joel leans over to nibble Karl's ear, and whispers, "Mmmm, darling Karl, I love this mystery. What have you got me?" "It's behind that door," Karl murmurs. "But I'm not sure you'll like it. So I'd better kiss you again now in case you don't." From the other side of the door comes fain, throbbing music. Karl pulls the boy to him in front of it, and, smiling salaciously, leans into the boy's beautiful, laughing face, his tongue out, and pushes it between the boy's full, soft, red lips as their bodies once again cleave to each other, the hands free of champagne glasses roaming over each other. Joel's thick, long eyelashes flutter and close as he gives over to the surge of lust that fills his slim body under the silken dress, and the soft white fur of his coat moves against his cheek as he pulls Karl's head in so that his own tongue can reach further and further down the man's throat and once again his erection slides up and down the man's velvet groin, under which the man's cock is itself hard and large, in a wild, rutting movement that amplifies his young, homosexual excitement. And kissing the older man, feeling the furs and silks and velvets against his body, Karl's hand on his back, is not enough- he wants more! He wants it to be deeper, closer, harder- so he flings the glass away against the stone floor where it smashes, and then holds the handsome, cruel face even tighter against his own soft, mouth as their tongues writhe together. Karl immediately does the same, so he can pull this scented, miraculously beautiful and lust-filled boy harder against his own firm body. Their mutual pleasure and excitement is rising. Karl is silent, but breathing heavily. Joel is beginning to whimper with lust. Then Karl pulls back, and pulls Joel's yearning body away from him. "Mmm, my darling. I think you're ready for your present," he whispers in Joel's ear, then takes a key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and it swings open. Karl gently guides the boy, whose beautiful eyes are wide and gleaming with anticipation, in front of him, they boy's heels clicking on the stone flagging, with a rustle of furs and silks just audible above the soft but deep, throbbing pulse of the music within. Then Joel stops dead. There is a rope hanging down from the ceiling of a large cavern, lit harshly from above, and it is tied to the upstretched hands of a man. His feet are chained to rings in the stone floor. He is dressed only in a sort of hospital gown. He is blindfolded, but has heard the sound of the door and Joel's heels on the stone floor above the music, and is facing the door. As soon as Joel sees this man, a single word rushed up to his crimson lips unbidden, swift and clear. "Daddy?" The man starts, and his head turns from side to side. "Joel? Joel- is that you?" But Joel is silent, seeing his father here, of all places, and after so long. And all those years drain away, and he is once again eight years old, cowering behind the sofa while the man rages, hoping to avoid yet another beating. And there again is his mother, blood dripping from her mouth where he has struck her, sprawled on the floor, sobbing, unable to protect her gentle son. In the few seconds in which he takes this scene in, he is transformed from an sexually excited, tipsy, scented and pampered femboi, yearning for mens' caresses, kisses, fondling, masturbation, sucking, licking and of course deep anal penetration into a trembling, shocked, speechless state, no longer aware of the feel of the soft dress, the furs, the choker, his own soft hair on his half- naked shoulders. And his erection wilts as the pounding of his heart fills him. But Karl, behind him, senses this, of course- even anticipated it. And in a moment he is standing behind Joel, and grasping his shoulders through the white fox fur. He gently pulls Joel back into his firm, naked, hairy chest as he brings his mouth to Joel's ear and whispers, "He's all yours, Joel. You can do anything you like with him. Look!" And reaching up with one hand, he gently turns the boy's head to the side, so that his gaze is forced away from his father to the rest of the cavern, towards a wooden rack, from which hang barbed chains, several whips of different lengths and widths, nailed paddles and, shockingly, some long knives. Next to it is a table on which a bottle of champagne -recently opened and frothing- and two glasses stand. Karl reaches down into Joel's groin, and pushes a fold of the wonderfully soft fur of the boy's huge coat against his now-flaccid penis, while at the same time pushing his own velvet-covered groin, filled with his now even more rampant erection, through the furs against the boy's naked buttocks beneath. Joel's eyes widen with further shock as, befuddled by the champagne, the smell of Karl's aftershave, and the knowledge that he is standing in front of his (albeit blindfolded) father, he takes in what Karl means. His gaze, no longer fixed, then moves around in the space, while his father is struggling in his bonds, calling out, "Joel, Joel, is that you? Will you help me? Joel, please! Joel!" His father's pleas seem to be shouts, echoing round a large cavern, hewed out of the rock, floored with stone flagging. The cavern is softly lit, apart from the bright light above the struggling figure in the chair. The walls are hung with thick tapestries, and there are candelabra flickering on tables and dressers. He can see only one door- closed behind him. Just to one side of the captive there is a raised dais, and on this a large, elaborate gilt sofa, in crimson velvet, on a huge polar-bear rug. On the sofa is tossed a thick, red fox fur spread. While Joel is looking about, still shocked, he feels Karl's hand stroking his groin with the soft fur of his coat, the man's other hand around his chest, pulling him back into his firm body, the hard erection pushed against his buttocks through the same furs, the feel of the man's face against his, the man's heavy breath in his jewelled ear. He can feel his heart thumping. He can smell the candle smoke through Karl's aftershave. Joel looks back at his writhing, noisy father, and sees the dark stains on the flagging around the chair- could they be bloodstains? His heart thumps suddenly even harder with a shocking thought: terrible things are going to happen to his father. And his penis jerks upwards under the furs stroking his naked, smooth, shaved groin. His penis speaks first, and it speaks the dreadful truth. His wanton young being follows. A wave of pleasure, greater than he has yet known in any of the soft, perfumed, luxurious and sex-filled life he has been leading for almost a year, sweeps over him. A thrill so sudden and unbidden, a thrill from deep within him, from an abyss of dark depravity he had hitherto not known, flares from his hardening cock. It passes simultaneously up through his silk-covered body to his soft, long blonde hair, as well as sinking down to his stiletto heels. A huge new need is filling him, to hurt, to humiliate, to torture, to have a man entirely at his mercy. And the man he needs for this is this one- his father. And with this need has come a violent lust for sex. He is trembling now. Karl feels this sudden change in the boy's penis, his trembling body against him. "Yes, Joel, darling," he whispers, "what a fucking bastard he is, isn't he? What does he do when he hears your voice? Does he ask if you're OK? Does he worry that you too have been taken by force from the street and are at our mercy, like him? No! He just wants you to help him. What a fucker! Do you see that, Joel? Do you see what he is?" And Karl's hand slips between the folds of Joel's furs and grasps his now hardening cock, while the other slides up and down over his fur and silk-covered body. Joel is now moving instinctively against the man's body behind him, his buttocks feeling Karl's erection through the fur, silk and velvet that separate them. He sighs as Karl starts masturbating him. His trembling body can barely stand. His head falls back against Karl's velvet collar, his eyes now narrowed, fixed on his father. "You have him, now, darling. He is yours. Remember what you told me about him? All those times he hit you? Frightened you? Humiliated you? Remember how he called you a sissy, a wimp? Remember how cruel he was to you? Remember how much he enjoyed your suffering? And then he fucking left you!" Joel nods. His story is well known to Karl, who has spent months extracting it, part by part, lying naked to him on perfumed, silken sheets or with the boy's oiled, willing succulent anus impaled upon his cock in huge gilt baths, or at expensive restaurants, the boy in tight velvet dresses, jewelled, relaxed and heady with wine and the feel of Karl's leg against his patent heels. Joel turns his face up to Karl's ear, and whispers, so as not to be heard by his father over the music. "Take his blindfold off. I want him to see me." "Are you sure?" "Yes." So Karl walks over to the still-calling out, writhing figure. Joel is now masturbating, overwhelmingly excited. Karl deftly removes the blindfold. He stands behind the man, who has fallen silent. He is blinking in the sudden glare of the bright light. He cannot yet see into the shadows where his son is standing, dressed as an erotic bride, all in white. He cannot yet see his son's now-beautiful face is made up like a fabulous prostitute. He cannot see that his son is dressed in a very short, white, silk fur-trimmed dress, white high-heeled, fur-trimmed boots, a huge, soft arctic fox coat, one silk-gloved jewelled hand stroking his blond, shoulder-length hair, the other slowly masturbating his erect penis, emerging between the folds of fur. But he can just catch the flashing of Joel's jewellery in the gloom as he moves, and perhaps he catches a whiff of expensive perfume, and is staring at him. After giving his father a few moments for his eyes to get used to the light, Joel stalks forward so that his father can see him fully, and stops in front of him, still masturbating. "Hello, Daddy," Joel simpers huskily, seductively, outrageously, deliberately. "Joel?" his father gasps. "Joel? Is that you?" "Yes, daddy, it's me. Do you like my clothes?" And he looks down momentarily at his penis, pointing at his father between his satin fingers and the furs, and then looks up into his father's face. Then he does a mincing, feminine twirl, holding the magnificent fur coat open to show his slim body, his tiny nipples, his jewels, his cock waving under the short dress. He faces his father, and caresses his long blond hair, looking up with a provocative smile at his father from half-closed, thickly mascara's eyelashes. The man is staring, dumbstruck. He looks his son up and down, his gaze pausing briefly between his legs, then stares into his son's face again. He bellows, like a wounded animal. Then he finds his voice. "Fuck, Joel, what have they done to you? Shit, the bastards! I'll kill them," he shouts, and he starts struggling again, trying to escape the bonds on his hands, now chafed and red. "No, Daddy!" says Joel, clearly. "They didn't do this to me! I did this to me! I did! I love this, daddy. I love being like this!" The man becomes silent, his mouth open, gaping at the vision in front of him, and at what he has just said. "And I fucking hate you!!" Joel bursts out. "You fucking bastard, you fucked me up, you fucked Mum up, you fucked everything you ever touched up! And now you're going to pay for it! Karl, darling, strip him!" he commanded, and he turns and struts over to the rack of whips. And Karl is chuckling as he tears open the tapes that hold the man's gown on him, letting it fall to the stone floor on the man's feet. Meanwhile, Joel has poured himself a glass of champagne, gulps it down, bangs down the glass and picks out a red leather whip, about a metre long, barbed with little metal spikes, and whose handle is shaped like an erect penis. He is smiling, his heart thumping with pleasure. He struts back to stand in front of his father, whip in right satin-gloved hand, his cock in the other, masturbating, the jewels flashing as he pumps himself in a frenzy of lust. Karl moves to stand behind him, also facing the man. The man is wide-eyed, now trembling, afraid. He is rather obese, and his hairy paunch hangs down over what looks like a very small dick. "Joel, please," he begins, but is cut short as the boy brings the whip down on his chest. He cries out in shock and pain. "Shut up, daddy!" says Joel. "Shut up!!" There is now an angry weal on his father's side and chest. Some blood is oozing from the barb-holes in his skin. "Joel, Joel, no!" his father cries out, but the beautiful boy, eyes, flashing, brings his fur-covered arm up, the whip high above his shoulder. With a shout of delight he brings the whip down on his father's shoulder. His father screams even louder, and Joel's cock swells even more in his pumping left hand as he sees the fresh blood oozing, dark against the pale skin of the older man. He hears Karl at his ear. "Let me take your coat, darling. You'll get too hot..." he breaths. His father, hanging there, panting with shock, naked, tears running down his cheeks, blood on his torso and shoulder, whimpering, is looking at him,. Joel, drunk with power and young lust, turns towards Karl's laughing, saturnine face and when he sees it he moans with pleasure, drops the whip, and moves into his body into the man's, and their faces come together, and then their wet lips in a long, slow, lascivious kiss, with the boy's body cleaving to his lover's and their arms wrapped around each other as the man's tongue slithers into and around the boy's wet mouth. The boy is rubbing his penis on the man's erection under his velvet trousers and one of his hands slides down to massage the hard organ through the material as they kiss. He is in a transport of sexual pleasure, caressed by the scented, sensuous fabrics and furs as his body moves, lasciviously kissing his deviant seducer and stroking his luscious cock; right in front of his helpless, shocked and tortured father! Karl, still deeply kissing the voluptuous and inflamed boy, slides the huge fox fur off his bare shoulders and Joel allows him to slip it off his gloved arms. They break the kiss, and Karl turns behind him to take the coat over to the velvet sofa, where he drapes it and then turns to face Joel and his father. He deliberately undoes the bulging front of his velvet trousers, under which he is naked, to free an enormous and stiff erection. He then sits back on the velvet, pulling the red fox furs over his lap, and begins to caress his penis with the furs. "Let the fun continue, darling Joel!" he says, laughing evilly. Joel reaches down and picks up the whip. He has trouble tearing his gaze away from Karl's masturbation in the soft, golden fur. His own cock is sticking out horizontally under the fur trim of his provocatively short silk dress. He is cooler now, wearing only this dress, his beautiful tall boots, jewellery and perfume. His father's whimpering draws him round to face the captive, and he thrills to the sight of his victim, so helpless, bloody, confused by what he has just seen his son, his own son, do with this man. "Joel," he moans, but once again he is cut short by a savage slash, backhand, across his chest, and he yells in pain and manages to turn away from his persecutor. And now Joel, with little cries of fury and pleasure, really starts whipping his father's back, his right arm almost a blur of strokes, the jewels glinting in the bright light from above, the left hand pumping his excited cock. His father is screaming loudly with each stroke of the whip, and somehow the pounding music has also risen in volume. The swish and crack of the whip on flesh, his father's screams and the pounding music fill Joel's body with sexual magic. The sight of the blood oozing from the lacerated back before him, and, when he glances over to the sofa, Karl's increasingly frenzied masturbation in the golden fox fur, fills his young, depraved heart with joy. He is sweating now! "Pace yourself, darling!" calls Karl- enough for Joel to emerge from his overwhelming sexual trance, and he pauses his furious whipping. "I need a rest!" Joel laughs, drops the whip and stalks over to the sofa. His father is groaning, in agony, but still twists himself enough to see his son, a sweating, priapic, scented boy-girl, climb up onto the furs so his own cock rests in their silky embrace as he leans down with his painted lips parted, panting, towards the erection in Karl's hand. The man pushes up his hips so that his penis rises from the golden fox furs towards the boy's mouth, and Joel delicately licks the precum from Karl's prepuce. In a moment Joel has grasped the base of the man's penis and takes it all into his hot mouth. Karl lies back in the furs and starts thrusting upwards, his hands on Joel's head. A rhythmic fellatio is established. Suddenly Karl leans forward. Joel pulls his mouth off Karl's prick. "What is it, darling?" asks Joel. Karl is staring past the boy's blonde hair, towards his father. A slow, evil smile spreads over his face. "Look!" he says. Joel, whose dress has pulled up over his waist so his smooth, naked buttocks and gaping anus, delicately painted with lipstick is pointing towards his father above the fur-trimmed boots, looks over his shoulder and gasps. "Fuck!" he exclaims. His father is now silent, crying, and is staring back at him. His penis has risen almost vertically. It is not thick, nor long, but definitely erect! The man has been excited by something- his pain? The vision of his pretty son, dressed as a long-haired, wealthy slut, enjoying masturbating and whipping him? Or seeing his son kneeling in furs and clearly relishing sucking and caressing the older man's erect penis? Instantly, Joel knows, in his depraved being, that it is all of these things. "Oh, daddy, you naughty man!" laughs Joel, and rises from the furs and walks towards his father across the stone floor, his slender penis pointing straight forwards beneath the trim on the skimpy dress. Karl watches from the sofa. His father is still, transfixed by shocking lust- for his own outrageously sexual, feminised son. And this son, laughing, minces up to his helpless father to stand close in front of him. He reaches down with a satin-gloved, jewelled hand and grasps his father's erection, while staring with beautiful, wicked, laughing eyes at his father's face. Their eyes are locked together. Joel is licking his lips, glistening with Karl's precum. Joel can't help it! He is possessed! He leans forwards and kisses his father wetly on the mouth, and begins gently stroking his father's erect penis. At first his father resists, keeping his mouth shut, and turns his head away. With his free hand, he pulls his father's face back, and continues kissing him on his lips, smearing them with Karl's fluids. His father continues to resist, closing his eyes so he can't see the beautiful face, the soft blond hair, the deep blue eyes, the long, mascara'd lashes, the purple eyeshadow, the perfect eyebrows, the flawless cheeks of his son. But he can't help feeling the boy's breath on his face, or the heat from his slimy lips, nor smelling the rich perfume from the boy's body. And mostly he can't help feeling his penis being expertly masturbated, enveloped in the smooth satin of Joel's gloved hand. Joel feels his father's penis engorging as he begins to pump. And then, suddenly, in his father comes a sort of release, a yielding to the pleasure he is receiving from the boy who so recently brought him agony. He stops pulling back away from his son's wet lips, opens his eyes so they can can drink in the vision of transvestite beauty in front of him, and opens his mouth so that his sissy son's tongue, slimy with his lover's emissions, can slide into it. They kiss wetly together. The kiss goes on and on, with father and son both more and more excited and erect. Joel gently pushes his body towards his father so that his own cock slides against his father's under his the satin of his gloves, and starts a gentle humping movement with his hips. They are both moaning, their mouths mashing wetly together. Suddenly Karl's hands are on his waist, sliding forward around his dress, and lifting it so that his buttocks are bare. He feel's Karl's hot breath on his shoulder and now the man's erect penis against his buttocks. Joel thrills to the prick as Karl pulls back and lets its head push against the boy's oiled anus, and spreads his long, thigh-length booted legs apart. The penis slides wonderfully in, and then pushes on and on into his willing rectum, as Joel lets out an involuntary whimper of pleasure with the familiar sensation of Karl's lovely cock entering his body. His kiss with his father goes on as they gazing into each other's eyes, and Karl starts fucking Joel. A huge orgasm is gathering for all three of them, and it comes first for Joel's father, who breaks the kiss with a loud moan of pleasure as his son's masturbation brings him to spurt- into his son's gloved and jewelled hand, over his son's penis, over his son's silk dress. The semen oozes down Joel's stockings and into his fur-trimmed boots. "Christ, darling, darling," he moans as he spurts. "Daddy, daddy, I'm coming!" shouts Joel in reply, as his own climax arrives with Karl's thrusting sodomy filling him with sexual joy. Joel shudders with relief and pleasure as he spurts again and again. His own semen now mingles with his father's in their sticky groins. And Karl is also coming inside his entrancingly evil and beautiful boy-slave as he shudders with the ending of the delicious sex he has had with his own willing father. ****************************** Of course, the story does not end there- oh, no. Joel's present is not cast aside after he has had his way with him. Karl insists that he is cut down, his wounds tended to, he is fed and given a bed to sleep in, and that, within a day or two, he is ready for more punishment from Joel. And more delicious, incestuous sex with his pampered, scented, femboi son.