The Trustees

Brian Bonds is alone in his cell. He has no clothing. He sits on the floor, leaning against the wall. In the dim light you can see his broad, lightly hairy chest and treasure trail leading to the cock in his fist. His other hand is tucked deep between his legs, the fingers inching toward his prostate. There's a nightstick next to him, and a pan of lube. Brian grabs the stick, licks it, lubes it and shoves it into his hole. He grabs the handle with his feet so he can drive the hard cylinder in and out, keeping both hands free to stroke his cock and explore his erogenous zones. Brian's eyes are closed. He's remembering how he got here -- the flogging he endured at the hands of Leo Forte, who skillfully applied the lash that left Brian's back, thighs and haunches covered with screaming red and purple welts. Shirtless, Leo moves with a animalistic grace that exudes sexual power. He trades the lash for a bullwhip, leaving Brian's skin cross-hatched with scarlet streaks. For Brian, only the memory remains. He changes his position, reaching behind his thigh to grasp the nightstick, his whole body undulating as he rhythmically fucks his hole and pulls his cock, until the cum pours forth like a balm.