Chapter One
The Thing

Holy crap, thought Jonas; though he wasn't in the habit of cussing, what he had just come across was so different from what he was used to seeing on the internet. This 3D printable model was not a monster, nor was it a soldier; these were what he would normally search for and print if he deemed them worthy of the time and risk involved in using his dad's 3D printer without permission.

Jonas had been forced to promise that he'd never use the 3D printer without asking first, but it was so easy to forget and more so now in the second week of the school summer holidays. His parents were both still working and this left him home alone for eleven and a half hours a day, Monday through Friday; plenty of time to print a single model per day. Maybe two, if he printed smaller ones, or made big models smaller.

He had mostly taught himself how to use the printer, the first few hints gathered from watching his dad slicing models and then putting the memory card into the printer and starting it. Oftentimes, Jonas had to reprint a model, two or more times, before he was satisfied with the quality of the print, so many settings existed and while Jonas did try to read up on them, he found there were about as many different opinions of how they should be set as there were articles, blogs and Reddit posts to read about each of them.

So, he had to make his own experiences, and that he did. Two of the shelves in his room were overflowing with the models he had printed thus far, with a new one being added almost daily, although quite a few of them only consisted of their feet and legs, or whatever part of the model's body had been closest to the printer's bed. Whenever a print went wrong, Jonas would shut off the printer, but rather than discard the incomplete models, he made it appear as if they had been wounded in combat or caught by fire and melted.

This particular model that Jonas was currently looking at on his computer screen – that had prompted his unusual curse – was not one he would put up on his shelf for everyone to see. It wasn't a monster from World of Warcraft or Dungeons & Dragons, nor was it one of the characters from Warhammer 40K. Neither was it a grim looking stereotyped soldier from World War II. Those he would search for and print without a second thought.

But not this. No, this was a life-sized version of what Jonas thought must be a medieval instrument of torture.

"Cool!" The single word was said aloud, though there was no one who could hear him but the family cat. She didn't respond, only carried on sleeping on top of Jonas' pillow.

The model comprised of eight separate pieces and Jonas clicked on the pictures of them and quickly scanned the descriptions for each of them. Spacers, he read to himself. Yeah, got to have spacers. For what purpose, he wasn't certain, but he could read – sort of well, when he wanted to – and the description, what he had read of it, said two of these items were required.

Can be printed with the locking pins. This pleased Jonas, because now the complete model could be printed in five jobs; it being Monday, he could have it all to peruse by Friday afternoon. I'll print all of it using Dad's new carbon fibre-reinforced filament, he decided as he clicked on each file and saved them on his computer, thinking a model like this would benefit from something more durable than the brittle PLA, which resembled regular plastic, he would normally print models with.

When he clicked on the first file and opened it, he took note of the dimensions. He used a string and a ruler to compare the dimensions of his own private parts to those of the model and reached a verdict: It's much too big, he concluded, meaning the model, not the private part that it was intended to enclose.

This wasn't a deal-breaker, however; the programme he used to slice models could scale them as well, both up and down, and he carefully tweaked the dimensions of the model, making sure it would fit snuggly around his limp penis while allowing for a little lengthwise growth. Not too much, he told himself. It's a torture device, it's not meant to feel nice for the wearer.

He wasn't entirely sure if he would actually try it on, but just in case, he made sure it would fit him. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, he ejected the memory card and bounded down the stairs to the basement; if he was going to print anything today, he would have to hurry.

He turned on the 3D printer, inserted the memory card, selected the first item of the model and told it to print, then waited impatiently for the machine to heat up and start. It was nearly fifteen minutes until it started to whirr and then sound somewhat like a pinball machine as it began to print the first layer of the model.

As always, Jonas stood, bent over, with his head close to the bed of the printer, breathing in fumes from the melting filament, while he watched the solid strand of plastic-like material being turned into a liquid string of goo that was carefully placed in fine lines on the printer's bed. This never ceased to mesmerize him and it wasn't until half an hour later that he finally heeded the grumblings of his empty stomach and went upstairs for a quick solitary breakfast in the kitchen.

Moments later, he was back in the basement, overseeing the painfully slow process of the printer. While there was nothing Jonas could do to improve the model now it was being printed he wanted to be able to abort the print at the earliest time possible so he wouldn't waste too much of the precious filament. This was a resource which he couldn't easily replace, having no credit card of his own he was unable to place online orders for more; and if he used too much of it, his father was bound to notice that the spools of filament were emptying faster than they should from his own limited use of the printer.

More than once, Jonas had returned from school, full of anticipation and excitement, only to find the 3D printer looking as if a bomb had gone off on the bed. It took little research for Jonas to find out that this was due to missing supports; seeing as the models were printed from the bottom up, if some part of it, like a hand, was not connected to something else that had been printed already, the printer would extrude filament into thin air, making a long serpentine wire that looped around itself like the web of some spider gone mad.

Fortunately, this print hadn't gone wrong while Jonas left it alone, though it was much too soon to tell what it would eventually end up looking like. Jonas knew, of course, from having worked with the model on his computer, but he had not yet seen it in real life, hadn't yet experienced the thrill of holding it in his hand and running his fingers over it.

The crime of using the printer against his dad's orders and, even more so, the forbidden nature of the item being printed, stirred emotions inside the boy, emotions he had not experienced before. It felt as if he had giant butterflies in his stomach, a sensation of excitement, though the nature of the object slowly being transformed from lines of code into tangible matter should have filled him with dread.

Hours later, most of the day gone, Jonas liberated the first piece of the model from the printer's heated bed. He wasn't being careful, it wasn't necessary with this very sturdy piece, and so he ripped it from the bed and then meticulously cleaned the printer. He even remembered to replace the spool of special filament with the standard PLA so it appeared as if he had never touched it.

That evening, after dinner, Jonas sat in his room and studied the first piece of the model he had printed. It was three quarters of a ring, about 8 mm [5/16 "] in thickness and just big enough to encompass the stalk of his penis and scrotum. The gap in the ring was slightly on the small size for Jonas, but he eventually managed to push it over his private parts.

When I've printed the next piece and put them together, they will for sure keep my balls trapped, thought Jonas as he studied the open ring and imagined what it would feel and look like when it was fully encircling his private parts; it would be like a cock ring, though he did not know the term, nor that such things existed.

Again, the unusual emotions stirred in the pit of his stomach, as he removed the ring and hid it in his desk drawer.

Tuesday afternoon, Jonas sat at his desk with the two pieces that he had printed of the model; the ¾ ring and an attachment that would not only close the circle but also enable the remaining parts of the model to be attached to it. Those remaining parts would have to be printed first, yet Jonas sat with his legs splayed wide open as he held the two pieces of ring together; like he had predicted, they left very little room, far from enough to remove them from his balls without taking the ring apart.

Or squishing my balls. Jonas cringed at the thought.

Wednesday morning, after his parents left for their jobs, Jonas returned to the basement. The piece to be printed today was the largest one. The slicer programme had estimated it would take nine hours and fifteen minutes to print this part, the bottom half of a downward-bending tube filled with awe-inducing little pointy spikes; these were what had prompted the frail curse from Jonas when he first laid eyes on the model.

The tube consisted of two parts, the top and bottom, and these would attach to the top part of the ring that Jonas had already printed, by the means of three plastic bolts or pins.

The cock tube, he reminded himself of the name for this tube, as if tasting the forbidden word, while he browsed to the proper file and clicked the button that started the printer. Again, he had to endure a long wait while the printer's bed and nozzle heated to print temperature before anything happened.

Jonas kept watch for only ten minutes, then he went back up to his room and pushed down his shorts and pants, and put the lock ring on. He winced with pain when delicate skin was pinched between the inflexible carbon-fibre reinforced plastic parts and utilizing far more caution he arranged the two-part ring to sit trapped behind his balls and around his penis. This forced his balls away from his body.

I must try it on, he told himself. If only once. I can always take it off and never put it on again if I don't like how it feels.

As he had determined, Jonas sat on his bed Friday just after lunch, with all the parts for the smaller than normal male chastity device he had printed on his dad's 3D printer. All he needed was someone's private parts that it would fit on and luckily he had just such a set right there, between his own legs.

He encompassed his balls with the lower part of the ring, then with utmost care, remembering the pain from days before, he placed the top section of the ring so it forced his penis into the ring joining his balls. He had to wrestle the two pins into their holes, it seemed to him that the holes were a little too small or the pins just a bit too big, but eventually, they snapped into place with a loud click.

For the first time the ring remained in place when Jonas let go of it.

It doesn't feel bad, was his first impression which was enough for him to press on. Gingerly, he started to place his penis inside the lower part of the cock tube, then at the last moment decided to sand away the very tips of the pointy spikes in both parts of the tube. Not too much, just enough to not draw blood, he decided.

Before he could change his mind, he swiftly inserted his penis into the lower part of the tube; by now he was getting hard, which complicated what would otherwise have been a fairly easy task. Not dissuaded yet, Jonas clicked the lower half of the tube onto the two pins holding the lock ring firmly in place around his balls and penis, and, with a bit of work and lots of wincing, he managed to put the top half of the tube in place.

"Ow," he stated, but with the last bit of his determination intact, he started to push the last pin in place. "Damn!" he swore aloud, thankful that his mum couldn't hear him, when he realised this pin was also oversized for the hole it was meant to go inside. He pushed harder, much harder, until his fingertips started to get sore with the effort.

Jonas had got so far and now only 3.5 cm [1.5"] of rigid plastic was preventing him from experiencing what unfortunate prisoners and many victims of torture must have gone through. He walked, half-naked, to the garage where he one-handedly rummaged about in his dad's toolbox, all the while holding the chastity device in place, before he found a pair of vice-grip pliers that were large enough to push the pin into the hole.

Finally, he heard the click, it sounded louder than the two clicks from when he pushed in place the pins holding together the lock ring around his scrotum and penis, and he dropped the pliers with the shock from the sound.

Only now did he notice that his penis wasn't feeling very good trapped as it was inside the tube, the curvature of the tube prevented the erection that had started to form, and the spikes were poking at his skin in so many places that he couldn't tell them apart.

"Ow!" he cried out again and doubled over, but this did not help make the hurt go away.

He gingerly examined the chastity device, paying extra attention to the three pins holding all of the individual parts in place, including his own private ones. To his dismay, he could hardly feel the ends of the pins, they sat flush with the ring, and it felt as if the plastic had been printed in place around his genitals.

"Oh shit," he exclaimed. He had never had to resort to the 'S'-word before, but he knew he was in serious trouble.

"F…" he started, but changed and finished the word silently in his mind: …eck! This was after all the worst word one could utter and he wasn't feeling brave enough to use it even now that he was all alone and in the worst situation he had ever found himself in.

Jonas' sudden fear caused his penis to deflate and the harsh hurting sensations abated to slight stinging.

Even though his penis no longer hurt as much as it had, it was still trapped behind a relatively thick layer of greyish plastic intermixed with strands of carbon fibre. Jonas knew it would have to come off, sooner or later, preferably within the next few minutes, but he couldn't think of a way that would accomplish this without hurting himself in the process. His balls, delicate as they were, were hanging relatively free, or they would have, if not for the thick ring pushing them forward and away from his body. More importantly, they didn't hurt.

But, using a bolt cutter on the lock ring, or a rotary tool type disc cutter, perhaps even an angle grinder, would without a doubt result in searing pain from his balls. I might even cut them off! This was an extremely frightening thought.

Jonas wasn't nearly old enough to worry about having kids, but he would rather keep his balls – and all the other bits and pieces of his body – if at all possible. At thirteen years of age, he had only just discovered the true joys to be had from manipulating his hard penis, but now that joy had been taken away from him. Heck, I can't even get a hardon now!

He didn't think of the long-term effects of being trapped inside a cock cage that was already on the small side; he was still considering the here and now predicament he happened to be caught in. That his penis might grow larger sometime soon – at least, so he hoped – wasn't part of his immediate worries.

For now, all that mattered to Jonas was how he could remove the chastity device without his parents learning about it. Dad will ground me for the rest of my life! He shuddered when he thought of the great many times he'd defied the rules set up for him, the many secrets that would unravel if he were to ask them for help now.

He considered briefly calling the emergency number, as he had been taught to do if he ever found himself in any situation beyond his control, but this was too embarrassing. And they'll probably ring Mum or Dad.

Googling for help led him to Reddit where he saw posts with pictures of grown men wearing chastity devices not unlike his own, but nothing that suggested how he might get it off without harming himself in the process. There was one poster who claimed people could liberate themselves simply by pulling their penis out of the tube, but no matter how carefully Jonas tried to do so, it kept getting caught up on at least one of the spikes and he had to stop.

In desperation he went back to the garage and found his dad's bolt cutters, but even the jaws on the smaller one looked far too aggressive for the task at hand, plus it was so heavy he could scarcely hold it up with one arm, so he dismissed the idea of using them to cut through the ring.

Back in his room, Jonas continued to ponder his problem. He had not found a solution when his parents returned from work and he found it impossible to bring up the subject when he sat and ate dinner with them later that evening.

When he was getting ready for bed and had to sit on the toilet so he could pee – thankfully, the cock tube had a hole at the end, albeit a very small one, for the urine to flow through – Jonas thought he simply would have to tell his dad. However, when he finally found him in the basement, he lost his nerve and merely told him good night.

When Jonas woke the next morning, Saturday, he felt as if he had not slept at all. His penis had tried to get hard when he went to bed and had tormented him for well over an hour before it finally gave up and went dormant. His troubles were far from over, though, his penis started to sweat in the tube, and then started to itch. He tried to scratch it using the tube, but this made his balls sore and also made his penis feel even worse.

Bleary-eyed, he sat at his computer again, now returning to the site from where he had downloaded the 3D model holding his penis hostage. He had used that site before, and now remembered how some of the people who uploaded models to it also filled in their contact details. He hoped whomever had uploaded the chastity device was one of those people.

Bingo! Jonas cheered when he found the page with the model and discovered the uploader had filled in his details. Martin Harder, he thought as he jotted down the name on a piece of paper, followed by the phone number and email address.

He looked up the phone number in an online register and cheered again when he learned Martin lived in the same city as his aunt. I know where that street is, he told himself and wrote the address onto the same piece of paper.

Jonas hurried into a pair of shorts, not bothering with any underwear, couldn't see the point as his penis was already wrapped up in the plastic tube. He put on a polo shirt, stuck his feet into his flip flops and set off for the bus stop.

An hour later, Jonas sat on the door step to Martin Harder's house. He hadn't met the guy yet, but had seen the name on the mail box. Having rung the bell around seven times in total, he had finally accepted there was no one at home so had settled down on the step, determined to wait until the end of the day if he must.

Chapter Two
Asking for Help

Martin returned home from grocery shopping to find a young boy sitting on his doorstep, with his eyes glued to the screen of his smartphone. Whatever the boy was watching, it held his attention in a vice while Martin silently watched him from a distance of only a couple of yards.

Martin owned a smartphone, too, but wasn't addicted to it like most everyone else. He was one of the last of the generation who had grown up without such a device and had not immediately caught the bug when it infected the rest of the world.

He wondered why the boy was sitting on his door step, but decided not to play a guessing game with himself and greeted him with a quiet "Hello."

Jonas was startled when he heard the greeting and quickly looked in the direction from whence it came. He saw a man standing quite close, yet not too close to him.

Jonas disliked people who invaded his personal space, which meant they should stay at least one yard away from him. This included his aunt, who always had to smother his cheeks with kisses and unwelcomed caresses, all because – according to his mum when he had complained to her – she didn't have any kids of her own. As if that were Jonas' fault and he must atone for it every time she lay her eyes, and worse, on him.

The man seemed nice enough, the expression on his face one of curiosity, if Jonas judged it correctly, and so he responded with a very polite: "How do you do?"

"Why are you sitting there?" the man asked. "If you're looking for a job you can spare your speech, I'm not offering."

"Are you Martin? Martin Harder?" asked Jonas.

"I am. Who are you?"

"My name is Jonas," Jonas presented himself and had a quick look around. "Uh, I really need to talk to you, but it's kind of private."

"You don't say? Well, you don't look much of a burglar to me, so I suppose you can come in."

Now, having managed to get inside Martin's house, Jonas had reached the end of his plan. He had not considered how he would breach the subject of his penis being trapped inside a tube supposedly designed by this man and now that he was alone with him he felt too shy to speak.

Avoiding eye contact, Jonas sat on one of the dining chairs just inside the door.

Martin sat opposite the boy, then changed his mind and stepped into the kitchen. "Would you like something to drink?" he offered as he opened the refrigerator.

"Uh… Yes, please," Jonas answered, and cleared his throat. "I'd like a glass of water."

"It's from the tap," Martin informed after putting his groceries away and placed the glass in front of Jonas. He sat and had a quick sip from his bottle of apple cider. "So, what brings you to my home?"

"It's a long story," Jonas said, sighed, then decided to continue before he lost his courage as he had last night when he had tried to tell his dad; Now, Martin was the one and only person who could help him out of his predicament, or so Jonas felt.

"My hobby," he started to explain, "is finding stuff to print on my dad's 3D printer, like monsters, and then paint them. He doesn't know I do it… Well, maybe he does, I mean he must know filament doesn't just evaporate if not used and he's seen the shelves full of my… Oh, whatever, I haven't told him I do it, or asked if I could. So, I've been printing stuff from thingiverse and… Uh, I found this, uhm, thing… Not a monster, but a torture device thingy, for real people, like, right?"

Martin nodded, though he wasn't quite following Jonas' long-winded explanation. He was happy to be speaking to a polite boy for once, but rather hoped he would soon come to the point for his visit.

"It had mean looking spikes on the inside, for torturing, I guess, like. So I thought it looked kind of cool and I downloaded it, then printed it and, uh, and then, I-kind-of-put-it-on."

"You did what?"

"I kind of put it on, right? Like on myself. And now, uh, now it won't come off, it's like stuck. My, ah, I am stuck in it."

"You're stuck? I don't see any restraints on you."

"It's down there," Jonas said and indicated his groin area.

"Oh…" Martin exclaimed. "Well, I think you're speaking to the wrong guy, I've never designed any torture devices for young school boys, however if you want my opinion then I do believe someone should do just that. The world might turn into a better place, then."

Jonas grew more serious. "Your name and phone number, Martin, and your email address was on the page. How do you think I found you?"

"Listen, Jonas. I don't care how you found me, but I can assure you that I haven't…"

"Wait," Jonas said and unlocked his phone. Quickly, he located the bookmark he had made for the page with the 3D model he had downloaded, and which he was currently wearing, and held out the phone for Martin. "See?"

"What is that? Ah, hah, oh I haven't thought about that for a few years now. I'd completely forgot I made it. My brother's wife had a right laugh when I gave it to him for their wedding, though he wasn't nearly as pleased.

"Alright, so you printed that and put it on? But, surely that wouldn't fit you?"

"I am wearing it. I made it smaller."

"Hoh," Martin swallowed his laugh, though he found it very amusing. "So, you're telling me, that:

"A. You downloaded the files to print a male chastity device, fully ignoring the only-over-eighteen warning.
"B. You scaled the parts for said chastity device, making sure it would fit you. That must have involved some careful measuring?"

"Yes," Jonas agreed with a nod, though admitting this to someone else for the first time embarrassed him.

"C. You then went against your daddy's orders, again, I might add, and used his printer to print the parts. That must have taken days to accomplish?" Martin didn't wait for an answer before continuing this time. "D. You failed to read the instructions, but simply stuffed your cock and balls into the device and permanently locked it in place?"

This time, Jonas only nodded; he felt enormously stupid, on top of being embarrassed.

"And now you can't get it off?"

"No."

"Do you want for it to come off?"

"Yes, I do. Obviously."

"Right. Okay," Martin thought for a moment. "I suppose I could help you. However, I'm not sure you would want me to. Perhaps, it would be better for you to just go home and tell your parents and have them take you to the emergency room."

Jonas shuddered with the thought of having to suffer even more embarrassment, first telling his parents and then letting an entire hospital trauma team see his private parts stuck inside the dark grey torture device was something he would go to great lengths to avoid.

He looked up and made eye contact with Martin. "Why would I not want your help?"

"Because my assistance only comes with strict requirements and rules."

"Would you tell my parents?"

"No. I suppose I ought to, but I won't. Not, if you don't want me to."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, I want your help."

"Let me see the 'problem'."

"Here?"

"If you'd rather we went out in the street, then…"

"Oh, no!"

"Then get up on your feet and lower those shorts. I need to see what you've done to yourself before I have any hope of helping you."

Jonas stood and lingered for a moment, undid the clasp on his shorts and pushed them down. In the last possible moment he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it down, blocking Martin's view.

"See, Jonas, I won't tolerate any displays of disobedience, not even the little things like how you're now trying to hide yourself from me. Are you sure you want my help?"

"Yeah," Jonas nodded and, using every strain of his courage, lifted the hem of his shirt up to bare everything below his navel to the man.

"That's better," remarked Martin as he leaned forward for a better view. "What did you print it with? This doesn't look like PLA or PETG," he said naming the two most used filaments for hobbyists.

"It's carbon fibre."

"Really? Boy, you sure meant it," Martin marvelled as he made sure to take in all the details of Jonas' private parts, what he could see of them anyway. "If you were my kid using expensive filament to print something like this I would have blistered your rear end and then hugged you close afterward for deciding to lock yourself away to keep your mini cock from getting you in trouble."

It wasn't until ten minutes later that Jonas was allowed to heft his shorts back up in place. In that span of time, Martin had not just looked at the chastity device – Jonas still thought of it as a torture device – but also examined it with his fingers and taken pictures, both close-up and full figure of the boy.

"You haven't cut off the blood supply to your balls, which was my immediate concern," Martin said as he fondled the items in question. "Good. Put your shorts back on. I have to go through the design and determine the best course of action. I want you to go home, Jonas…"

"You won't take it off now?"

"As I was saying, I want you to go home and I want you on facetime with me all the way there. Show me where you live. I want you to come back tomorrow, at noon precisely. If you keep on your best behaviour, I will try to do something to the lock pins on that tiny chastity device before you leave my house tomorrow."

"Why do I have to do all that? It's kind of your fault, too."

"Stop that thought right there. I'm not to blame. I never told you to download my files, nor did I tell you to measure your little cock and balls and scale my design so that it would fit you, and I certainly did not push those self-locking pins into place! This is entirely on you, Jonas. Blame your childish stupidity if you must, but don't you blame me!" Martin roared.

"Well, excuse me," Jonas said quietly.

"Indeed! Give me your phone number, then begone with you. Don't return until noon tomorrow."

Jonas rattled off his number and Martin stored it on his phone, then the man initiated a facetime session.

"Remember," Martin intoned as he pushed Jonas out the door. "Do not shut down facetime until I say you can. Don't talk to me all of the time, either, I only want you to listen for my instructions."

"Show me that street sign," Martin ordered. He had watched the screen of his phone intently, making notes of the route Jonas took to get home. "Is this where you live?"

"Yes," Jonas confirmed. "Number fifteen," he stated before being asked.

"Okay. I want to see you unlock your front door, then I want you to go to your room. Show me those figurines of yours. Do you remember how much you scaled the chastity device?"

"I had to make it fifty four percent."

"Fifty four?" Martin asked and noted it on his piece of paper. "And that, somehow, didn't tell you that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't meant for you?"

"It was made for a giant!" Jonas objected.

"A giant, hardly! But thank you. I used my cock and balls as template."

"You made one for yourself?"

"Oh no, not for me, Jonas. For my brother, for his wedding, remember? I love my cock and I'd hate not being able to use it whenever I wanted. No, cock cages are for sissies, little wimps like you."

"I don't want my cock in a cage," Jonas said, whispering the word 'cock', after making sure there were no one close enough to hear him. "I'm not a sissy."

"You could have fooled me, showing up on my door step like you did. Anyway, remember, if you are a good little boy, I might let your cock out tomorrow," Martin promised. "Now, don't speak to me again until you are alone in your room," he bade and watched Jonas unlock the front door to the fifteenth house in the street, indicating that the boy had spoke the truth about this being where he lived.

"I'm home," Jonas said as he entered his house, somewhat lower than he normally would announce his return, hoping that neither of his parents would take notice.

"Where have you been?" he heard his mother ask from the living room and he cringed.

"Out, Mum."

"Dinner in an hour."

"Yes, Mum," he said and hurried to his room, shutting the door behind him.

"These are my monsters," he told Martin with a touch of pride and climbed onto his chair so he could get the phone closer to them for the man to see.

"You've wasted a lot of material," he heard the disembodied voice of Martin's in his headset. "But you did a fairly decent job of covering your mistakes. You melted PLA on top of them?"

"Yeah, I used a soldering iron and a heat gun. I tried to use a lighter but it just started to burn and smell really bad."

"You seem to have a creative mind, though there is ample room for improvement. Right, Jonas, I'll let you go now, but remember, be here tomorrow at noon."

"Yes, Martin," Jonas confirmed and heard the headset go dead. When he checked his screen, he saw that Martin had ended the session.

He sighed. Another night with no sleep, he realised. But tomorrow I'll be free and I'll never put my cock inside another torture device for the rest of my life! This was one mistake he would not readily make again.

Martin, having seen where Jonas lived, indeed knowing which bus he would have to catch – if he would ever be forced to give up the comforts of his car – to go see the boy in his own natural habitat, now shut off his phone and sat at his computer.

He downloaded the files for the chastity device he had designed years earlier and studied the details of the locking mechanism. Should only be a matter of drilling lengthwise through the pins, he told himself; he was sure this would deal with the self-locking taps currently holding the three pins in their place.

"I wonder if…" he suddenly said aloud and scaled the model to 54%. "Damn, there's not much to work with here," he mumbled to himself and started to erase lines, adding new ones, altering the design of the three lock pins.

It took all night and long into the morning for one of Martin's 3D printers to print the three new, vastly improved lock pins, leaving him just an hour for post-processing before his young charge would arrive.

Martin had decided Jonas would be his – whether the boy liked it or not – for a time. "It's for his own good, someone has to make sure he is kept out of trouble." And the task of being that someone had befallen to Martin by pure chance.

Chapter Three
Being helped

The next morning, Jonas sat on the toilet and peed, controlling the flow the best he could. The hole in the rounded end of the cock tube was too small for the amount of pee he could push through his urethra, which he had discovered last night when getting ready for bed. Then, his pee had filled up the space between the inner wall of the tube and his semi-limp, sweaty and aching penis, and he hadn't noticed until it had started to drip over his balls; by which time his penis, pubic mound and ball sack were all wet with his pee.

Disgusted, Jonas had been forced to shower, something he loathed almost as much as he hated the torture device engulfing his penis and holding his balls trapped. He despised himself for having succumbed to his curiosity and having put on the device without anyone holding a gun to his head. He didn't want to smell of stale pee, however, and had carefully rinsed away all traces of it, spending more time in the shower than he ever had previously.

Tonight I can make myself feel good again. Jonas looked forward to fondling his penis, to grip it with his first two fingers and thumb, to make it hard and stroke it, faster and faster until… 'Nirvana'. Jonas had no better word for orgasm, the sensation when a few drops of clear liquid would sometimes shoot from his penis.

The anticipation built inside of him and his penis started to react to the sensations.

"Ow!" Jonas cried out, and moaned when he felt what he thought was every single one of the 64 spikes covering the inside walls of the cock tube start to dig into the skin of his inflating penis. He looked at the tube, wanting to grip it and rip it from his groin, but afraid that even the gentlest touch would worsen the discomfort he felt.

His penis seemed to have a mind of its own, however, and unable to register pain, determined to grow into its full potential; the hampering downward curve of the tube it was trapped inside only aggravated it and he felt the surge of blood flowing into his penis as it made another attempt to rise up and flaunt itself.

"Stop!" he pleaded, and finally, near panic, he launched himself from the toilet into the shower stall and turned on the water, making sure the dial was set at the coldest position. "Shi-it," he gasped, and his teeth started to chatter. "That's f-fecking coo-o-old."

Nevertheless, he steeled himself and remained in the shower while a torrent of icy water hit his skin until he felt certain his penis would not try to get hard again any time soon. Heck, it might need resuscitation, he contemplated briefly while towelling before deciding not to give his penis even the slightest attention before the torture device had been removed once and for all, lest it might try to get hard again.

Martin checked on the progress of the last pin for Jonas' chastity device, having decided it would be better to print them one at a time rather than all at once, though this had forced him out of bed twice during the night. This, the third, was about ¾ done, leaving him only the smallest amount of time to file, sand and fit a cheap, but fully reliable brass lock in it, before Jonas would arrive.

No doubt the boy will want it off as soon as he gets here, he supposed. He didn't have any personal experience with wearing a chastity device, but he was certain it couldn't feel good. And he left the spikes in there! They were the reason he printed it, because he thought they looked cool! Martin was surprised and slightly appalled with the boy, and worried if all kids were like him what would the world become.

"Well, I have to give him some credit," he told himself. "He came to me and asked for help instead of telling his parents. If he was taken to hospital, certainly the police would have been involved. Now, I simply have to make sure they never will be."

He worked on the other pins while waiting for the third and when he finally moved that from the printer's bed, he knew exactly where he must file and sand it for the lock to slide in place. Now, he only needed the rest of the chastity device so he might test fit the new pins; based on the time, it should be well on its way on bus number 116.

Jonas rang the bell the second he came close enough to reach it. Unlike the day before, the door was opened, almost immediately, and he was ushered inside.

"You're on time," Martin remarked as he gently pushed the door shut. "It makes me glad that you can follow orders."

Jonas blushed with the unexpected praise. He usually did only what was expected of him and only just enough to avoid being told off by his teachers and his parents. He wasn't among the best in his class, nor was he the dead last, he seldom scored more than 50% on any test, but that was okay. He rushed through homework that he had always seen as a nuisance only invented to keep kids occupied when not at school.

"Shall we see what we can do about your little problem?"

Jonas nodded and started to unzip his shorts.

Martin saw the boy and was about to stop him, when he thought better of it. If he wants to strip naked the minute he sets foot in my house, then so be it. Maybe he is one of those naturists?

"Put them on your chair," Martin said and indicated the dining chair Jonas had sat on the day before. "Then come with me."

Jonas walked with Martin into a room slightly smaller than the living/dining room; it was the old dining room which Martin had turned into his hobby room. The window blinds were down, ensuring no outsiders could look in and see the half-naked boy, for which he was grateful.

"I want you to lie on this table," Martin said. "You need to lie flat on your back and keep as still as you can. If you move while I drill… Well, let's make sure it doesn't come to that, alright?"

"Uh-huh," Jonas willingly agreed; he didn't mind a little extra suffering, not when he was this close to having his penis released from its tight confines.

"That's it, lean your head back," Martin instructed when Jonas lay on the table and placed a folded towel for the boy to rest his head on; it was the only comfort offered. "Now, shut your eyes and relax. I promise I won't hurt you," he reassured and reached for his battery powered drill.

Martin knew he wouldn't have to drill all the way through the pins – he only had to drill far enough into each of them to remove the two prongs that held them in place – still he placed a 3mm [1/8"] thick piece of steel between the boy's irresistibly smooth pubic mound and the chastity device, making Jonas gasp with the unexpected coldness so close to his privates.

It wasn't much of a safety measure, but Martin thought the small plate of steel was better than nothing at all.

"Keep very still," he reminded the boy, grabbed hold of the chastity device and placed the tip of the drill bit up against it. He repositioned it a tiny bit to the left, then started to drill, ever so slowly, into the reinforced plastic.

It was easier than expected and only two minutes after Martin had started, he carefully removed the first of the three pins. Before he moved to the next, he quickly inserted one of the new pins and turned the key, locking it in place.

Jonas remained perfectly still, he was too scared the drill might slip to disobey Martin. He didn't realise that the locking pins were replaced with new ones, not until after the man said he had finished. He was slightly confused because it felt as if his penis was still trapped inside the torture device, and he had just enough time to wonder if it was because he'd worn it for so long. His wonder turned to worry when he reached for his penis and his fingers brushed against the rigid device, and, finally, desperation when he couldn't remove it.

"What did you do?" he asked, fearful now.

"Remember yesterday when I said you probably wouldn't want my help? How I told you I would only help on certain conditions? Well, I've replaced the permanent locking pins with lockable ones. This means I can now free you from your chastity device as I see fit. But it doesn't mean you can free yourself when you want to.

"On the contrary," Martin continued. "When you leave my house, you will always be in chastity until you come visit me again. Well, I will only free you if I think you've earned it."

"Visit, again? Martin, I didn't… Why didn't you say so, yesterday?"

"There's no going back on your word now. You should feel pleased, I wouldn't offer to do this for just anyone, you know," Martin said, coolly. Mainly because most boys wouldn't be stupid enough to lock themselves up in chastity.

"What do I have to do? To get out of this thing?"

"Ah, much better, Jonas. Stay calm and reasonable while I explain. You are now my protégé," Martin said, and noticed the confusion spread on Jonas' face. "You're my apprentice, my acolyte?" he searched for a word that Jonas would recognise and suggested: "My padawan?"

Jonas nodded, he had watched enough Star Wars – both the Lego version as well as the normal motion picture movies – to understand what a padawan was; not that he thought Martin resembled a Jedi, but he understood that the man now saw himself as a kind of teacher and Jonas was to be his student.

"As my apprentice, your single-most important job is to be obedient. When I tell you to do something, no matter what it may be, you will do your best. You will not hesitate, you will simply do as told. You will not question me, though you may ask for further instructions if you don't understand what it is I want from you."

"Why…?"

"Because, if you don't, you will be stuck in that chastity device forever, Jonas. But, if you do, you will learn valuable lessons; you will improve, and perhaps feel better, happier, grow to become more self-assured. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it, in the end. We will be close friends."

"But, I have to wear this torture device?"

"It's a chastity device, not torture. You seem kind of young to see chastity as torture. What are you, twelve years old?"

"I'm thirteen, almost fourteen!"

"Well, still young enough," Martin decided. "You look more like twelve, where it matters."

"It hurts…"

"What? Does it hurt you now? You don't look as if you're in pain."

"Not right now, but when my penis tries to get hard, it hurts," Jonas explained, embarrassed for having to share such private information with an almost stranger.

"Oh, because of the thorns."

"Yes, the spikes."

"If you were older, I would say that making sure your cock remains flaccid is simply one of your tasks. However, I know you are still in puberty and I'm not so old I've forgotten what it is like getting an erection from out of nowhere," Martin said and fell silent for a minute while he pondered the dilemma.

"I will design a new tube for you," he told the boy. "One that will feel better than the one you're wearing now, though I'm sure it won't feel good. It will still have some barbs in it, so you won't be able to pull your cock out of the tube. Again, were you older, I would demand your cock was pierced for a proper cage, but I doubt we'd be able to find someone willing to do that to you now."

"Or you could just take it off me now," Jonas optimistically suggested.

"No. If I did, you wouldn't have any incentive to do as I say. This way, if you ever want to jerk off, you will have to follow my orders to the letter. That's not to say it'll be the only reward, depending on how well you do. But it's much too early to be discussing rewards," Martin decided and sat in front of his computer.

Jonas sat up on the table and let his legs fall over the edge, a quick glimpse at the torture device told him it was much the same as before, only now it had what looked like a miniature keyhole in the middle of each locking pin. These were easily identified, they were like three yellow dots in the otherwise grey material. To Jonas, the metal keyholes, whatever kind of metal it was, looked a lot stronger than the plastic surrounding them.

"Does it really come off if you unlock these?" he wondered.

"Yes," came a curt reply.

"Maybe we should try it, just to make sure?"

"They work," Martin said, decisively.

Jonas slipped off the table and went to stand next to Martin. The man had loaded a 3D CAD programme and was drawing circles and lines quicker than Jonas thought was possible. He kept quiet as he watched and about twenty minutes later, he witnessed Martin connect the last two dots.

"This tube is one solid part, unlike the hinged one you're wearing," Martin said. "That makes it a little harder to get on and off, but also makes it stronger. Tomorrow is Monday. Will you be able to print it then?" he asked, then loaded the new model into Cura 3D, the slicer of his choice. "It will take about ten hours," he informed.

"Ten? Uh, perhaps. I'd have to get it printing as soon as they leave," Jonas said, meaning his parents. "Maybe I can preheat the printer before they go," he reflected. "That wouldn't make any noise and…"

"Right, okay, that will be your job for tomorrow."

"When will you take it off?"

"Asking that question or making more or less obvious suggestions regarding that, will not make it happen any time sooner, Jonas. I will take it off, for a time, whenever I feel like doing so. You may, perhaps, speed up the process by doing your very best to obey my orders, but I will not listen to your begging and snivelling about freeing your cock.

"If you ask me again, I will simply not replace the cock tube you're wearing now with the smoother one on Tuesday. The change of tubes is your reward for following my instructions yesterday and today. You've been a very good boy thus far, now keep it up, Jonas."

"How long will I have to wear it?"

"That's a good question. It largely depends on you. For as long as you are my padawan, you will be in chastity, but how long our relationship will last, well, no one knows."

"I could tell my parents," Jonas deliberated aloud, hoping to trigger an agreement with better terms, preferably the immediate release of his penis.

"Sure, you could," Martin agreed. "But will you? I think we both know the answer to that. You had the chance to tell them yesterday and you didn't. Think of the humiliation you'll face and the questions they'll ask.

"And then, going to the hospital. I wonder how many will have to see your private bits before they find someone who can remove your chastity device. Why, you might as well go home without putting your clothes back on, because everyone there will have seen you naked already. And the news media, oh they'll have a ball, not to mention social media. I think your story might go viral, I'll throw in a couple of the pictures I took of you, so the whole world will know who you are and what you did to yourself."

"Stop," Jonas pleaded.

"I will stop when you stop talking about telling your parents. I know you won't. Here, take this memory card, load it into your daddy's printer tomorrow and print your new cock tube using the same carbon fibre filament you used for the other parts. Bring it with you when you return Tuesday. We will discuss your new schedule then. Go put on your shorts and go home, kid."

Jonas wanted to ask Martin several more questions but the man just waved him off, his focus entirely on the computer screen in front of him.

Two more days of being trapped in this, Jonas told himself. This blasted torture device from hell!

The next morning, Jonas was out of bed at the same time as his parents, a rare incidence that did not go unnoticed by his dad. "Strange seeing you up at this hour," he remarked when Jonas walked into the kitchen.

"Did you forget school's out for the summer?" his mum teased and sipped from the glass of orange juice that was her breakfast.

Jonas did not deign to respond, simply took a deep plate from the overhead cupboard, the box of Cornflakes and the milk from the fridge and joined his parents at the table. He then realised he didn't have a spoon and had to get back up and fetch one from the drawer.

"Why are you up this early on a Monday morning in July, anyway?" his father enquired.

"I couldn't sleep, it's too light out," Jonas replied, though the morning sun had never bothered his sleep before, and hadn't bothered him today either; he had in fact set the alarm to wake him.

It was early, much too early for his liking, holidays or not, but he couldn't very well tell his parents that he was waiting for them to leave the house so he might start the print job. He had already set the printer to preheat – before joining his parents in the kitchen – and now thought he could smell the melting of filament from downstairs.

He poured Cornflakes into his plate, added milk, then started to transfer sugar from the bowl on the table onto the Cornflakes/milk mix. He made sure the sugar was piled as high as it would sit on the spoon and carefully distributed it over his breakfast. Four spoons was the established maximum allowed by his mum and while this wasn't nearly enough to satisfy his extremely sweet tooth it was more than enough to make sure everything in the plate was covered with a layer of sugar before he dug into the cereal.

"Can you shop for me today, sweetie?"

Jonas groaned.

"You can keep the change," she offered, to which Jonas merely winced.

He was tempted, because money didn't fall from trees, certainly didn't fall into his pockets without him having to do some kind of chore first. Shopping was one of the easier chores and far more interesting than for example cleaning the bathroom or any other room, apart from his own, in the house. Keeping his room tidy was still a dreaded task only he did not get any spending money for doing that.

However, he did not feel like going anywhere, not while wearing the torture device.

His dad looked up from the tablet he read the morning news on. "You should help your mother," he said, in his part commanding, part encouraging voice that Jonas knew from experience shouldn't be ignored or it would turn into the disappointed/angry tone, usually accompanied with him being grounded. "You have nothing better to do with your time."

If Dad grounds me, I won't be able to go to Martin's, and then I'd have to wear the spiky torture device for a week or longer, Jonas realised.

"Okay, Dad," he relented with a small grunt. "Fine, I'll do it."

"The list is on the fridge," said his mum and had another little sip from her glass.

The moment Jonas heard the car doors slam shut, he scuttled down the stairs and reached the bottom, even before his mum had put the car in reverse. As he listened to the crunch from granite chips being compressed under tyres as the car was backed out of the driveway, he quickly changed the spool of filament to the carbon fibre reinforced one.

When all was ready, he inserted Martin's memory card, selected the only file on it and told the printer to start printing. Because he hadn't sliced this model himself and hadn't had a chance to really study it other than over Martin's shoulder, he paid extra attention to how the print head dashed across the bed, this way and then the other, leaving behind its thin trail of greyish goo, instantly solidifying.

He was puzzled at first, the printer made a fine flat mesh, much larger than he thought was necessary, then jumped to the next layer up and made a mesh of fine lines in the other direction on top of the first. It did the same with the next two layers, and only then did the first outline of the tube start to appear.

About time, too, thought Jonas, upset with the waste of filament used; apparently it made the heated bed flatter and absolutely perpendicular to the print head, but he felt it was a wildly unnecessary precaution.

He hung around the printer for another hour, then decided to go get the shopping done before too many other people would get the same idea. He hated crowds, especially store crowds, where people would bump into him or reach for stuff right next to him, without any regard to his personal space.

Back home, Jonas took a deep breath before he distributed the groceries into the fridge and cupboards. There had been many more people than he had bargained for, the summer holidays seemed to have brought everyone and their mother – and her mother – out in great numbers and the supermarket was packed to the brim.

I won't be doing that any time soon again, he promised himself. No matter what Dad says or does. The money in his pocket equalled 35.50 DKK [£4.00], not nearly enough for the hour long misery he had just returned from.

With the last of the groceries stowed away, he bundled down the stairs, eager to see how the printer was doing.

What he found dismayed him; the printer was still running and its bed didn't look like a disaster, but it was going about things ultra slowly. He saw the progress bar had scarcely moved while he was away, maybe by one or two percent.

It won't finish in time, he worried, but he did not know what to do about that, other than urging the printer to go faster; when that did not make it go faster, he begged it, then threatened it.

"I'll throw you in the canal," he said with his voice screeching at the wrong time. "Garh!" His outburst came out with the intended low frequency and for a time he was mollified; however, the printer was still creeping on, as if it had all the time in the world to finish the thing it was creating, layer by layer.

Jonas worried so much about the printer finishing before his parents would return from work that he scarcely had time to worry about what was being printed. The tube that was supposed to be placed around his penis the next day was still mostly but a flat circle on the bed of the printer. A circle with a triangular shape attached, and some pretty wicked looking pointy barbs on the inside. But Jonas didn't see the details in the print, worried as he was about it finishing in time.

He sat in the basement all day long, skipping lunch, while he kept watch on the printer. The circle slowly grew in height, as did the triangular shape with its three holes, until the triangular shape abruptly stopped and the circle, now more a cylinder, started to lean away from the triangle. It was almost an exact copy of what his penis was currently trapped inside, only the wall of the tube was thicker, the inner diameter slightly smaller, and more importantly, now completely free of any pointy spikes.

There are only those at the opening of it, he observed. The two rows of spikes there were currently pointing more upward than outward, meaning they would without a doubt bite painfully into his penis if he tried to pull it out of the tube, but probably wouldn't bother him much otherwise – or so he hoped.

I should sand them anyway, he told himself – they looked razor sharp and pointy like arrows, much like shark's teeth – and he would have done so if not for Martin. He'll surely check them tomorrow and who knows what he might do if he sees I've sanded them.

Chapter Four
Being 'Upgraded'

The next day, Jonas returned – as ordered – to Martin's house. He didn't have to ring the bell this time, the man opened the door for him as he approached.

"Right on time, again. Excellent!" Martin said with fake gusto, so obvious that even Jonas couldn't miss it. "I think this proves my theory that if you prevent a male from playing with his cock you will get his full and undivided attention and cooperation."

Jonas blushed; he was embarrassed with Martin somehow knowing he had been playing with his penis before he stupidly locked it away in a torture device designed by the man. Not only did the device prevent him from this very secret, strictly solitary and greatly addictive activity, but it also hurt his penis every time it tried to grow hard – which was quite often, he had learned, and mostly for no apparent reason.

He had certainly never played with his penis as often as it had tried to get hard over the weekend since he had forced the locking pins in place; the last one with a pair of heavy-duty pliers, he remembered with regret.

"On the chair," Martin directed, interrupting Jonas' train of thought.

Jonas took off his shorts and put them on the chair, without protest; he was still disconcerted with his deepest secret having been unearthed and how indifferently Martin had done so. And I blushed! He hated how his face would always turn crimson – until it resembled an overripe tomato – for very little reason. He couldn't help it, much like he couldn't stop his penis from getting hard, but he hated it just the same.

"Cute," said Martin.

Jonas wondered what the man meant was cute, whether it was his fierce blushing, his apparent willingness to undress in front of an almost perfect stranger, that he had followed the order without question – all of which were embarrassing in their own way to Jonas – but he remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the carpeted floor next to the chair.

"Did you bring your new cock tube?" Martin asked and Jonas took it from the pocket of his shorts and handed it over.

Martin studied the print. "When did you last level the bed?" he questioned focusing his eyes on the half-naked boy.

"What do you mean?" Jonas asked and his eyes locked for a second with Martin's, before he lowered them to study the carpet again.

"Adjust the corners of the bed… So the nozzle is at the same distance no matter where it is above the bed. Have you never done that?"

"No." Jonas shook his head.

"Fortunately, I accounted for that with the raft, see just how skewed it is? Well, I guess I will have to teach you how to level a bed sometime. The list grows ever longer, my young padawan. Right, let me see your phone, please."

"What for?"

"I thought you wanted me to replace your thorny cock tube with this new one," Martin said. "It looks much more comfortable…"

"I do!" Jonas stressed, nevertheless he couldn't hide his reluctance as he surrendered his iPhone to the man after unlocking it. I wish you'd just take this one off and let me go home! he wanted to shout, but decided to pout in silence while he intently watched the man's fingers tap the screen of his beloved phone.

"Your parents have trusted you with far too much freedom," Martin commented, as he studied various settings in the menus, altering most along the way; locking them behind a passcode so Jonas wouldn't be able to undo anything, unless he factory-reset the phone, which Martin made sure wasn't possible without a code.

It was five minutes of nerve-wracking waiting before Jonas retook possession of his phone, he only had a cursory glance at it before he looked accusingly at the man. "You babytized it!" he exclaimed, disbelievingly.

"I made it safe for you. Jonas, if you tamper with your phone… If I find out you've so much as tried to circumvent what I've done, I will smack your arse and put your cock back in the punishment tube for a full month.

"From now on whenever you visit me, right after you remove your shorts, you will hand over your phone for inspection. Now, put it away, you won't be needing it while you're here."

"I can't even install apps now," Jonas murmured disappointedly as he placed his once so precious phone under his shorts; he felt that it was next to useless now.

"Speak up, lad. Either you talk so others can hear you or you keep silent."

Jonas kept silent.

"Sit on the sofa," Martin bade. "The chaise longue."

Jonas made his way toward the sofa and stopped a step short. He looked back at Martin and pointed at the chaise longue. "Here?"

"Yes. Climb right up on it and put your legs up."

Jonas was puzzled, Martin's mood seemed to have changed to the better, all of a sudden the man was treating him nicely; yet he kept his guard up as he sat on the sofa, scooted his bum all the way back in the seat and placed his feet gingerly on the soft padded black leather cushion in front of him.

While Jonas was making himself comfortable, Martin walked quickly to the sofa and reached down beside the chaise longue. As the man straightened back up, Jonas' attention was guided toward a low rattling sound next to him. Before he could say or do anything, Martin had snapped a handcuff onto his left ankle and stepped back.

"Hey…!" Jonas cried out and yanked his legs back, out of Martin's reach. The stainless steel ankle cuff was however already locked and he could not budge it.

"There. I will be back in five minutes, do whatever you like, just keep your noise down," Martin said, pointed to the coffee table and winked, then turned his back on the boy and walked toward his hobby room. "I will only ever let you free your little sissy cock when I know you can't run off."

Jonas followed the man with his eyes for a while, making sure he was leaving before turning his focus to the coffee table; on it lay a very small key.

"A little heads up would have been nice," he said, reaching for the key.

"I'm sure a little head will be poking its head up soon enough," Martin responded with a chuckle. "Careful with that key, now, it's kind of flimsy and I only have two of them."

Jonas sat back on the sofa, the other end of the cuff's chain was fixed to something, out of sight, and the length of it didn't allow him to move his foot off the sofa. He inserted the key into the first lock and felt very relieved when he found that he could turn the key and gently wriggle the locking pin out of the torture device. He turned the key back and noticed two sprockets expand at the end of the pin. He removed the key, dumped the locking pin next to him and went for the next.

"Oh, my poor willy!" he exclaimed softly when the torture device fell open after the last of the pins had been removed. His penis looked so small, and soft, and its skin dotted with little angry red spots from where the spikes had bit into it whenever it had tried to grow hard. He massaged it, gingerly, with his thumb and first finger and slid his foreskin back.

His nose picked up the sour odour from the build-up under his foreskin; it was more than a week since he had washed his penis and it had been kept out of his reach locked inside the cock tube for the last four days.

"There's a pack of towelettes on the table," Martin said – still out of sight – from the hobby room. "You will clean your cock real well before doing anything else. There's no telling when you might be able to do so again."

Jonas got up on his knees again, the parts of the torture device spilling from his lap, and he picked up the purple pack from the table. He pulled a couple of wet wipes out of the package and sat back down, wincing when he felt a stinging pain from his right buttock. He dug the upper half of the cock tube out from underneath him and settled down, spread open his knees and started to wipe his penis clean.

Martin sat in front of his computer, watching his monitor closely. On it was the output from two miniature web cameras he had earlier in the day set up for this exact purpose. Both showed Jonas sitting on the sofa – he was slightly hunched over with his knees bent and spread open – cleaning his groin with a towelette. Only one of the cameras had an unobscured view of the small cock and balls, but it caught the very second that Jonas' cock started to swell.

What a beauty, Martin thought. The 4K camera picked up even the smallest detail, every little strand of immature hair, a few longer than others, every bump and spot, vein and crease.

Just a moment later, Jonas' cock was flexing with the boy's heartbeat, as hard as it would get, and Martin checked the time. "Three minutes," he called out and tore his eyes from the monitor after making sure his screen recorder was still active.

Martin turned off the monitor and picked up the new cock tube Jonas had printed. He dulled the barb teeth somewhat and tested their springiness by inserting the first phalanx of his forefinger into tube's opening. When he tried to remove his finger, the barbs immediately dug into his skin. This will do very nicely, he happily concluded, satisfied with how his design was working in practise. They won't hurt his mini cock, unless he tries to remove the tube without the special tool I printed yesterday.

Martin had designed a set of tongs that would slide into the opening of the tube between Jonas' cock and the barbs, and when seated correctly, the boy would be able to pull his cock from the tube. It would be a very tight fit, there was scarcely room for the tongs around Martin's finger inside the tube, but Jonas would only have to endure it for a few seconds at a time.

Martin believed it would be so difficult to push anything into this new tube and disengage the barbs while it was fitted to the lock ring that Jonas would never be able to do so on his own. It's as safe as I can make it now, he told himself and checked the clock again. It was time.

Jonas had switched from cleaning his penis to playing with it; while he had cleaned it, it had turned incredibly stiff and no longer felt sore. Instead he was now – slowly, but steadily – approaching Nirvana.

He had contemplated the risk of being caught by Martin, but the man had not reappeared since he left the room. He doesn't want to see me cleaning myself, he assumed. Who would want to see someone else clean their bits? The very thought disgusted him and he quickly did away with it.

And so, Jonas' cleaning had turned into a pursuit of self-pleasure. His penis was free, at long last, and while he wasn't free to leave Martin's house – he couldn't leave the sofa even if he had wanted to – he was in a room all by himself. Five minutes, he reminded himself, wondering how much of them he had left and hoping he would have enough.

So close! He gasped and forced his hand to move quicker. His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to blot out the unfamiliar rhythmic rattling of the chain affixed to his left ankle. So, so close. Uh…

"Ow!" Jonas whimpered when unexpectedly – amidst all the happy feelings – a harsh pain shot from his balls, and he jerked upright, letting go of his stiff penis as he sat up straight.

"Bullseye!" cheered Martin. "Your five minutes are up, kiddo. Time for you to go back to being a sissy," he said and pointed to the new cock tube he had tossed and so luckily had managed to hit Jonas square in the nuts with.

Jonas quickly hunched back over, cupping both of his hands over his still flexing hardon, hiding it from Martin. "That really hurt," he complained, while he was frantically trying to come up with a more permanent way to shield his private parts from the man. He pulled his feet up under him and dragged his t-shirt down over his knees and legs so it formed a small tent around him.

"I wasn't sure how I should interrupt your wanking," Martin explained. "It looked like you were far, far away. Was it good?"

Jonas felt his cheeks grow warmer and he knew that he was blushing again.

"Never mind," Martin said, casually, then proceeded in a much stricter, no-nonsense type of voice. "Put your chastity back on, sissy. You have two minutes. I don't care how much it hurts your little cock. If all three pins are not locked in place within the next one hundred and twenty seconds, I will have you put on the thorny cage and I will not let you out for a week." He left Jonas sitting on the sofa and went to the kitchen.

Jonas sat for a bit, trying to make sure Martin wouldn't return to see his private parts again. His self-confidence had suffered yet another small blow when the man said his penis was 'little'. He wasn't sure just how big it was supposed to be at his age and development – like all the other subjects, he hadn't paid much attention to the sex education in school – but now he wished that it was bigger.

Only a minute later – when he had finally located all the parts for the torture device – he wished that his stiff penis was smaller – or that it would at least soften – for it was a struggle getting the lock ring in place around the stalk and his balls and keep it in place.

The new lock pins went in from the front – unlike the old ones he had forced in from the back – so he couldn't use them to keep the ring in place and then tackle the new cock tube. He had to spend a moment to reconsider how he'd put the device on.

Finally, intuitively knowing that he was running very short on time, he pushed two of the pins into the retainer on the new tube, forced his still hard penis into the too narrow tube, wrestled the lower ¾ ring in place, and – in the last second – remembered he had to put the two spacers on the pins and had to feverishly search for one of them, before he clicked the lower ring onto the tube and finally the upper part of the ring along with the last pin.

Just as the last pin snapped in place, Martin reappeared from the kitchen and put a glass and a bottle on the dining table. "I'll have that key now," he said to the panting boy as he approached him. "And I will free you from the ankle cuff."

"It's so tight," Jonas remarked; it felt as every last bit of his penis was mashed up against the tube, the curvature bending it out of shape, but it was – finally, and at least a minute too late, in Jonas' opinion – slowly deflating and didn't hurt too badly. This is much better than the spikes, he thought, and while he would rather not wear a torture device at all, his immediate verdict was that he could cope with wearing this.

Jonas handed the small key for his torture device to Martin, who inspected the chastity device and when he was satisfied it was securely in place, he used a slightly larger key and unlocked the ankle cuff.

"Good. Now, go sit on your chair."

Jonas sipped from the glass of tap water; he was sitting on the dining chair – his chair – his shorts and phone moved to the chair beside him.

Martin sat directly across the table from the boy with his favourite apple cider close at hand. He had a notepad in front of him on which he put down shorthand notes while he spoke with Jonas, trying to get to know him better.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Martin asked.

"No."

"Parents?"

"Mum and Dad. And Aunt Megan, I guess."

"You guess? Your aunt isn't your parent."

"I know, but she takes care of me… Used to when I was smaller. I don't like her much."

"Okay. What about friends?"

"I have a few, they are away for the summer."

"And your parents are working, I think you said?"

"Uh-huh."

"So you are alone most days?"

"Yes."

"Good. How do you pay for the bus rides here?"

"I don't. I have a pass, I go to Newhaven Secondary," Jonas explained. His school was in the same ticket zone as his aunt's house – and Martin's – and his school pass was still valid so that he could visit her, though he hadn't so far this summer.

"You do? What do you think of it? I've heard it's a rather shoddy school."

"It's okay. The teachers leave me alone."

"Are you a good student?"

"So-so," Jonas admitted after a slight hesitation. "I'm not the worst."

"But not the best either?"

Jonas shook his head and took another sip of water. "No, but the teachers seem fine with what I do."

That will have to change, Martin decided and made a note. "You're able to come visit every day, then?"

"Yes. Oh, maybe not on weekends."

"No problem, I work most weekends."

"Why?" Jonas asked, he thought it strange that the man would want to work when everyone was off and relaxing.

"It pays better. I only have to work two and a half days instead of five, and I make the same money."

"What do you do for a job?"

"Online videos," Martin said. Not wanting to elaborate, he quickly went on with his agenda. "From now on, you are a shorts-only kid. No matter if it's raining or snowing, when you leave your house to come here, you will be wearing shorts. For the rest of the summer, I want you to come here every weekday at noon…"

"What will we do?" Jonas asked, warily.

"A bit of what we've done today. You'll clean your little sissy cock and I'll let you play with it for a while, if you behave. I'll think of some odd jobs for you to do while you're here. I won't let you sit around being idle."

"Why are you doing this to me? You're treating me like I'm your slave."

"Exactly! I like to be in control of other people, Jonas. That's what floats my boat. I love making people do things they'd rather not. It makes me feel powerful. For years, I've had subs, slaves if you like that word better, so many I can't rightly remember all of them. I've never had one quite as young as you, though.

"I'm not sure just how far I can take things with you, but I will definitely push you straight to your limit and far beyond. You will end up doing things you wouldn't believe if I told you now."

"I don't want to…"

"That only makes it so much better for me, Jonas. I have people, both men and women, waiting in line for a chance to be my slave for a day or weekend. They pay handsomely but I don't enjoy it much because they enjoy it far too much. Now, how's that for strange? Regardless, whether you want it or not, you don't have a choice. You came here, looking for my help."

"I never asked to be your slave!"

"No, but you are! You wearing that chastity device proves it! Oh, you may be wondering how you can remove it, whether you should tell your parents and suffer the consequences you may face for it. You know that would be really embarrassing, but trust me you can't imagine how bad it would actually be.

"You do not want that! I will destroy your life, I will post online messages with your name, address and pictures, or perhaps that movie I recorded today of you jerking your little cock. Men, real predators, will line up in front of your house, waiting for a chance to rape you."

"You filmed me?"

"Certainly. I always record every session with my subs. That's part of how I earn my living. I could be cashing in big time if I sold the footage of you, but I really don't want to share you with anyone. That's real selfish of me, I know, but you're my new toy and I want you all for myself. You can't blame me for that.

"Just to remind you, I really don't care if you like it or not, you are mine until I tire from playing with you. If you defy me too much, I will so make you regret it. Now, I think it's time for you to go home. I'm sure you have some thinking to do. Don't do anything stupid until you return tomorrow at noon."

He filmed me! Jonas thought again, when he sat on the bus. I thought he was respecting my privacy and instead he filmed me playing with my penis! How do I get out of this mess? Should I tell Dad? No, he'd ground me until I'm thirty or so. What about Mum? Crap, no, not Mum. I can't tell her anything about my penis. What about Aunt Megan? She'd just pinch my cheeks and tell me what a good boy I am, like she has since I was four.

Jonas shuddered with a dire feeling of being all alone. He felt helpless and vulnerable, at the mercy of Martin, a man he really did not know anything about. He's a sadistic bastard who likes to see other people squirm with pain, he told himself and imagined that he was tied to a big black cross, like Jesus, while Martin whipped his naked body.

Jonas almost asked the bus driver for help when they reached his stop but he didn't have the courage. As the bus pulled away from him, he felt lost, hopelessly on his own.

Chapter Five
Wednesday

Jonas woke late that morning. Last night his mind had been running in circles, first convincing himself that he must tell someone to get away from Martin, then considering every last person he knew and coming up with various reasons for why he could not tell them, leading back to having to tell someone. It was just like an impossible mathematical equation, a + b = b – a or something incomprehensible like that.

Jonas would have preferred having to solve hundreds of those equations instead of having to tell someone about how he had printed a torture device and thought it was real clever to put it on himself, without ever checking that it could be unlocked first.

That was why he only finally left his bed at half past ten, Wednesday morning. The weather was about as gloomy as his feelings, it was overcast and grey, drizzling with rain, almost foggy.

Jonas felt like crying as he sat at the table in the kitchen, sprinkling sugar over his Cornflakes. He lost count, then decided he didn't care about his mum's stupid rule of max four spoons per plate, and started anew. When he stopped, he had sprinkled half of the content of the sugar bowl on top of his Cornflakes, and the first spoonful he ate was too sweet for even his taste. Still, he finished the plate, instilled from birth with how you must always eat everything up when you fill your own plate.

He was on his way out to catch the bus to Martin's house, having run out of time and not come up with a plan for getting out of the mess, when the front door swung open and almost caught him on the nose.

"Oh, good, you're ready. I'm sorry, I know I should have been here five minutes ago, but there was so much traffic. Shorts, Jonas? Really? It's only fourteen [57F] degrees outside, yes, it's supposed to be summer, but it feels more like fall today. Good thing we will be on a plane next Saturday, right? Going down to the sunny warmth and…"

The voice of Jonas' mother faded out as he suddenly remembered. Somehow, with all the crap that had happened the past few days, he had forgotten all about the upcoming vacation. It all came crashing back to him now, ten days of fun-filled family vacation on the Greek island of Crete with Sunwings/Thomas Cook Airlines. He had been looking forward to it for almost half a year now, ever since he and his parents had sat at the computer and selected the dates, the island, and the hotel.

"Jonas, let's go. Get in the car," his mum urged.

"Where are we going?" Jonas asked. What now? he wondered.

"Didn't you read the note I left for you on the fridge? Sometimes I wonder why I even bother… Oh, I must get back to work as soon as possible. It was a good thing I decided to check your passport last night or we might have been stuck here at home…"

He was supposed to be getting on bus number 116, so that he would reach Martin's house in time, instead Jonas got into the rear seat of the family car.

"Look straight into the camera, don't smile. Keep your eyes open, and… There. Good," said the policeman to Jonas.

After the photograph was taken, Jonas followed the policeman to a desk, where the uniformed man started to fill out a form.

"Your eyes haven't changed since your last passport?" he asked Jonas and looked at him. "No, you still have blue eyes, and auburn hair, that's your natural colour? Heh, I'm only kidding, Jonas. How tall are you now? With shoes."

"I don't know," Jonas said, shyly.

"Well, then. Let's find out. Step over to the wall and back up against the ruler. Stand as straight as you can, your heels, your shoulders and the back of your head must touch the wall. Let's see, one forty nine centimetres [4'10½"]. Let's call that an even one and a half metres [4'11"], right?"

Jonas couldn't help but giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"One and a half isn't even. That would be two."

"Ah. You got me. Well, I can't write that you're two metres [6'7"] tall, my colleagues would have one look at you and not allow you entry on the suspicion that you're travelling with your brother's passport. So, where are we vacationing this summer?"

"We're going to Crete."

"Ow, well then we had better put in one forty nine instead of one fifty. They are tough guys, those Greek passport controllers."

Where is he? Martin wondered. It was fifteen past the hour and Jonas had failed to show up. The two previous times the boy had been prompt, almost to the point of shaming Shinkansen, the Japanese high-speed trains, famous for their punctuality. Yet, there was no sign of him.

Martin went into the street and looked for him, but had to return to his house alone. He sat at his computer and navigated to the 'Track my iPhone' site. He nearly fell of his chair when he saw that Jonas' phone was inside a police station.

Jonas was momentarily feeling happy when he left the police station with his mum, carrying his new passport that wouldn't expire until he was eighteen years of age. However, when he noticed the time on the car's radio, his happiness was replaced with a feeling of concern.

"Mum, can you drop me off at the bus station?" Jonas asked.

"Don't you want me to take you home? You're not dressed for this weather, Jonas, sweetie."

"I need to go to Martin's," he blurted. "I told him yesterday that I'd…"

"Martin?"

"Uh, yeah…" Jonas said and quickly came up with a small white lie. "He's a new friend of mine. He lives near Aunt Megan."

"You know the rules, young man. I need to speak to your friend's mum before you go visit."

"I, uh… Martin's mum? Uh, I don't think… He doesn't have a mum, Mum."

"Oh. Well, then his dad. Have him call me, dear, as soon as possible."

"Yes, Mum. So, can you?"

"I'll drop you off at the school. I'm late enough as it is and this will help me get back on time."

"Thanks, Mum."

"I'm sorry for…" Jonas started but his apology was cut short when Martin grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him over the door threshold.

"What did you tell them?" Martin demanded as he shut his front door and pushed Jonas up against the wall.

"Who?"

"Don't play games with me, kid! I know you went to the police. What did you tell them? Why are you here now? Looking for evidence? Are you bugged?" Martin didn't stop for answers between his questions and he frisked the boy, meticulously, though he was only wearing a rather soggy t-shirt and clingy wet shorts.

"Hey, stop!" Jonas protested and giggled briefly, impulsively, when Martin's inquisitive fingers went into his armpits and down his sides. "Mum took me to have my passport renewed. I'm sorry, I didn't read her note this morning and she just dragged me off when I was about to come here."

"Oh. Fuck, Jonas. You don't know what you've put me through. You could have sent me a text or called. You should have done that. I came this close to posting those messages," Martin stated and held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger millimetres apart.

"Sorry. I was confused… I didn't sleep last night."

"I should smack you, and I will, if you ever leave me to hang for ninety minutes another time."

"I said I was sorry, alright?"

"No, it is not alright. Saying that you're sorry is too easy, it doesn't make up for lost time or concern. Let me see your phone. Why did you need to have your passport renewed?"

"My old one expired," Jonas explained as he handed Martin his phone. "We're going to Crete."

"Crete? When?"

"Next Saturday."

"Oh boy. Flying, I presume?" Martin asked and returned the phone, happy that the passcode hadn't been altered, meaning the boy was still locked out from most of the settings, and most importantly, that Jonas was unable to add, alter or remove any apps installed, including the tracker app, and another app that enabled Martin to activate the camera and microphone without alerting the phone's owner.

"Uh-huh. It's an island," Jonas stated and put the phone back into his pocket.

"I know. I also happen to know you can drive to Athens and go on a ferry."

"Heh, that would take longer than all of our vacation."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Ten days."

"Wooh! Well, I'll survive without your visits, but I think you're in for a hard time."

"Why? Crete is really nice, we went last year."

"I bet it is, although, maybe it won't be so nice this year, what with having your cock locked up for so long."

"You won't take it off me?"

"No. Of course I won't, Jonas. I already told you, remember? Whenever you leave my house, you will be in chastity. You going away on vacation doesn't change that fact."

"But… I have to clean my penis, every day, like!"

"The amount of gunk I saw under your foreskin the other day suggests you aren't exactly a daily washer. I'll teach you how to clean yourself without removing your cock tube. It's quite simple, really."

"What if my mum or dad sees? I'll be sleeping in a room with them."

"Do you normally streak naked around them?"

"Uh, no," Jonas said; it was years since he last ran naked around the garden sprinkler, jumping in and out of the cold spray. That was fun, he remembered, sort of wishing he could do so again, but it seemed childish, not something he could do now as a teenager. "But, they might see me, anyway. We'll go swimming and stuff. What will I tell them?"

"Make sure they don't see you. I don't give a shit about what you do, as long as they don't see your chastity device. Pretend you've grown extremely body shy or something. I've heard that's normal kid behaviour these day. On that subject, remove those wet things and put them on your chair."

"Do you want me to sit on the sofa again?" Jonas asked, not sure if he wanted to or not. "On the chase thingie?"

"Hah, no Jonas. There'll be no playing with yourself. Not today. You scared the shit out of me, so no reward for you."

"Aw." Jonas voiced his minor disappointment. "My mum wants you to ring her," he said as he worked his clingy t-shirt up over his head, now, suddenly, remembering her demand.

"Your mother? What on Earth for?"

"I kind of told her that I've met a new friend and that I was going to see you today and she told me to tell you, uh, your dad, actually, to ring her. I told her you don't have a mum. Sorry, I didn't know what to tell her."

"So I have to talk to your mother and pretend I am my father? Well, that's just… That's not such a bad idea, kiddo," Martin decided. "Take those wet shorts off and I'll teach you to clean your cock while in chastity, then I'll talk to your mother."

Jonas now fully naked in front of Martin followed him into the man's bathroom. Here were a large bathtub and a shower stall, and a very low sink, which Martin called a bidet, it had a hose connected to its spout, but the man went to the normal sink with a mirror above and bade Jonas to step closer.

"When your little sissy cock is locked up, you need to squirt water in through the hole at the end of your cock tube," Martin explained and took out a 2.5 dl [8.5 oz] squeeze bottle with a long thin nozzle. "This is what you will use.

"First you turn on the water, cold water only, Jonas, and make sure you let it run for at least two minutes. While you wait for the water to cool, you will put liquid soap or shampoo into the bottle, fill it up to the first line. Do that now."

Martin watched Jonas carefully; the boy took the bottle, turned on the cold water, unscrewed the cap, started to pump liquid soap from the dispenser on the sink into the bottle and stopped when the soap reached the line.

"How much water do I put in?" Jonas asked.

"Right to the brim. You can do it now, the water gets cold quickly in my house. But when you're in a hotel, you will have to wait until the water can't get any colder or at least two minutes. Careful, don't fill it too quickly or it'll foam too much."

Martin waited for the bottle to fill, then continued. "Put the cap back on. Give it a shake and, now, sit on the toilet and push the nozzle into the hole in your cock cage. Make sure you push it in at an angle so it goes in under your foreskin and not into your piss hole. Turn the bottle upside down and squeeze it, hard as you can, make sure the nozzle stays in place, squeeze it until the water stops squirting."

"Eeee! That's fecking cold!" Jonas gasped, but kept squeezing the bottle as instructed; he did not want to risk being punished, not for such a slight discomfort as cleaning himself. I need to know what to do, I can't go for ten days without washing. I'd only start to stink and then Mum would nag about it and I wouldn't know what to do. Jonas' mum was strict about hygiene, making sure he showered every so often; more often than he liked.

"No treats for sissies, Jonas," Martin said. "You will shower and clean your little sissy cock with cold water only. Right, make sure you've stopped dripping, then go and refill the bottle with soap and cold water. Do that ten times and you're done. I'll go have a chat with your mother now."

"They met online, on some site about 3D printing, if you'd believe it? Kids these days… Anyway, Junior goes to Greenwich… Yes, the private school, oh, I'm by no means rich, but I couldn't leave him to those burnt out teachers at Newhaven… Oh, that's where your son is registered? I'm sorry to hear that," Martin said and faked sympathy with Jonas' mum; he couldn't care less, nevertheless he played the part of a fellow parent as if he was being paid to do so.

He listened for a moment.

"I should have called you the first time Jonas visited, he is such a polite boy, very respectful. I wish Junior was more like him. He is welcome, any time. I'm working from home, so they won't be by themselves. I'm sure you will agree that teenagers need watching, almost more than toddlers… Yes, I'll send him home if he misbehaves, though I find it hard to believe he will. I need to go now, the boys are calling me. Thanks for the chat, you're welcome to call whenever you want. Bye now."

Jonas was on his fourth rinse, his penis already feeling numb – like an icicle – his scrotum had shrivelled up and was pulling his balls hard against the lock ring. He was feeling absolutely miserable when he went to prepare the squeeze bottle for the fifth time. Six more, he told himself. No way. I'm clean enough by now, he decided and squeezed the water into the sink while nervously eyeing the open door to the hall.

He refilled the bottle and again squeezed the cold water/soap mixture into the sink, trying to stretch it so he would leave the bathroom at the same time he would if he had properly cleaned his penis. Finally, after having emptied the bottle for the tenth time and checked that he was dry, Jonas went to the living room where he sat on his chair, waiting for Martin to come.

"So, my little sissy. I just got off the phone with your mother and she has no issues with you spending time here," Jonas heard as Martin entered the room holding a pair of handcuffs. "She rather liked that you are under adult supervision. I think you will have to visit me for at least a couple of hours every day until you leave for Crete. And when you return, we will pick up from where we left."

"I have to come here every day?" Jonas asked.

"You make it sound like it's something dreadful. Fuck! I love it! Oh, if only…" Martin wished he could take Jonas straight to his soundproofed dungeon in the basement, tie him into a tight ball and abuse both of his holes long into the night, but somehow he managed to restrain himself. He's just a young kid. There'll be time for that later, and so much more! He makes me so damned horny!

"Are you clean now?" he asked Jonas. Maybe I won't fuck you now, but I do want to see your little nub of a cock. "Let's make sure you are, put these on. They go on your ankles," he explained and slid the steel cuffs across the table to Jonas. "Lock your left ankle first and pull the other cuff between the chair's legs, then lock your right ankle."

Am I taking the precautions to an extreme level? Martin considered. Ah, it's better to be safe than sorry and it isn't like we're on a strict schedule. Anyway, it is so much fun chaining him up.

"That's a good little sissy," Martin said, shaming Jonas, who was now sitting with his knees spread and his lower legs on either side of the sturdy country-style dining chair; the cuffs chain went through the elaborate framework of the chair's legs, keeping the boy securely in place. "Take your cage off, let's see your little sissy cock."

Jonas took the proffered key, his face screwed up with anguish from the derogatory language Martin used to describe his penis. "I'm not a sissy!" he hissed at the man.

"You are what I tell you." Martin kept his voice calm but firm. "Nothing less and, certainly, nothing more. You are a little sissy until I'm through with you. You might as well accept that. But, please, don't accept it too quickly. Let me have my fun."

"This is not fun!" Jonas spat and unlocked the first pin.

"You haven't got a clue, kid. Calm yourself or I will put you over my knee and give you a good spanking."

Jonas had never been spanked – the practice outlawed since before he was born – and he had no wish to change that fact. He unlocked the next pin and then the last, and the torture device started to come apart.

"Don't let any of it fall to the floor," Martin ordered. "Put the pieces on the table in front of you."

When only the cock tube remained on the boy, Martin handed him the specially crafted pair of tongs. "Push these into the tube, they will pinch your tiny sissy cock pretty hard but don't let up until they seat in place. They will cover the barb on the tube so you can pull it off," he explained.

Jonas gasped with the pain as he inserted the tongs, the tube was already a tight fit around his penis and the tongs drastically decreased the available space while they went over the barbs. When they snapped in place, the pressure let up just a bit. Like promised, Jonas found they enabled him to pull the tube off his penis, albeit not easily.

When the final piece of the chastity device and the tongs joined the rest on the table, Martin walked around it and came up behind Jonas.

"Arms," the man said.

"What?"

"Give my your arms, right one first. Reach behind you and relax your arms."

Martin removed another set of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped one of the cuffs on Jonas' right wrist, then did the same with the other, locking the boy's arms behind his back. "Now we will see if you've cleaned yourself well enough," he said and turned the chair, with the boy in it, ninety degrees.

After making sure the cameras would pick up the action, Martin crouched in front of Jonas and slowly moved his hand toward the boy's little cock. He kept his eyes on Jonas' face, looking for emotions. He wasn't denied; Jonas couldn't hide a feeling of trepidation.

He's going to touch my penis! Jonas realised, and he believed it was the vilest thing any male could do to him. It was worse than letting Martin fondle his balls, which the man had done on the first day when Jonas had asked for help; this Jonas had hated, too.

Only once before had someone, who wasn't his parent, touched his penis. It was when he had started school and been to the nurse's office along with all the rest of his classmates. They had undressed to their underpants in the waiting room, giggling and laughing, before individually entering through the big white door to the inner office. In there were the school nurse and a visiting doctor.

During the ten minute check up, the visiting doctor had, without warning, simply lowered Jonas' pants to mid thigh and carefully slid back his skin, then touched both of his balls, one after the other, before snapping the pants back up into place.

Jonas had felt confused and violated and had, upon first sight, loudly told his mum of the man who touched his private/naughty spots. Her reassurances of it being okay given the situation did not do much to calm him, but when his dad told him the same, Jonas started to relax and see it as a part of starting school, although not a very nice part, and hoped he would not have endure it again.

Now, though, Jonas was all alone, none of his classmates could be heard making a commotion in the waiting room; there was no waiting room nor a friendly school nurse and doctor with cold hands. Only Martin, and the man's fingers were frighteningly close to reaching his wrinkled penis. It really is small, Jonas told himself as he rather absurdly compared it to the size of the man's fingers.

Unlike the doctor, years ago, Martin wasn't being careful.

Jonas winced as the man pinched his small penis with his thick thumb and long forefinger, squeezing down hard and forcefully peeling the skin back until his bluish head popped out into the open.

"See now, Jonas. This is not a little clean sissy cock. It's a little, tiny and filthy sissy cock. Did I not just tell you to clean it?" Martin asked, twisting the object in question.

"Ow! Don't…" Jonas objected.

"It's my little sissy cock! Maybe it is attached to your body, but it's mine to touch and play with as I see fit. I don't like my toys dirty, Jonas. And this little sissy cock is not just dirty, it's disgusting! Look at all that cock cheese. I ought to put this little sissy cock back in its punishment cage and not let it out until after you return from Crete!"

"Please," Jonas begged with tears in his eyes. His penis hurt, Martin was still squeezing down on its head and twisting it and he could smell the foul matter from down there.

Martin finally let go of Jonas' penis and started to put the chastity back on the boy. "I would normally consider this your responsibility, getting back into your chastity, but something tells me I can't trust you, yet. When I've finished, I will remove the cuffs and then you will return to the bathroom.

"You will rinse your tiny, filthy sissy cock another five times and from now on, you will rinse it daily, by squeezing fifteen full bottles of very cold soapy water in through the opening of your cock cage, making sure you move the nozzle to a new spot under your foreskin every time. If I catch you with a filthy sissy cock again, you will not be seeing it for an entire month. Do we understand each other?"

Jonas wanted to tell Martin he had only rinsed his penis four times but confessing to this crime might incur a worse punishment and he feebly confirmed he understood the new instructions. I wouldn't survive a month of my penis being trapped in the spiked torture device. Five days had been bad enough, six times longer than that seemed impossible to bear.

"Good, sissy. Don't push your luck," Martin advised and unlocked the hand cuffs. He unlocked one of the ankle cuffs, pulled the chain free from the chair and locked it back onto Jonas' ankle. "Go clean yourself. And this time, do it properly!"

"Tell us about Martin," Jonas' mum requested; he and his parents were sat at the dinner table.

"Martin?" asked his dad. "I haven't heard of a Martin before?"

"It's Jonas' new friend. He lives near Megan."

"Oh? Well, that's good. Now the money we spend on the bus pass won't be completely wasted. I don't know why I have to keep paying for it when the child obviously has no interest in seeing his aunt."

"Megan loves Jonas and he adores her."

"I do understand if he doesn't want to be around her, your sister is kind of weird."

Jonas' mum made a "Humpf!"-sound and shot her husband a look that Jonas thought might have killed a lesser being.

He quickly stuffed another meatball into his mouth, followed by a forkful of spaghetti, buying himself just a little more time before having to answer any questions, while he energetically chewed the food. I can't tell them the truth! He wished he was able to, then he wouldn't have to go back to Martin's house ever again, but he feared the consequences of having lied to his parents before as well as what Martin had said he would do.

"So, Martin?" His mum's attention returned to him and he swallowed, had a drink of water and decided to tell another white lie.

"He's my age, real nice," he said, as if describing a real boy he had just met. "His dad is super strict, like mega bossy, always ordering me and Martin around when I'm there."

"He sounded friendly, virtually gallant, on the phone," Jonas' mum told his dad, then looked back at Jonas. "I'm glad you aren't alone here at home all day long. It's good to know someone is keeping an eye on you."

Jonas had another drink from his glass.

"If it means you will actually be using your pass, I can't see any problems with you spending time with Martin. Maybe my printer will finally be left alone, too?"

"What?" Jonas spurted.

"I'm not completely dense, Jonas. You've been using that printer far more than me. Sending you to Martin's house sounds like a much easier solution than having to install a new lock on the basement door."

"We're such terrible parents," his mum said and laughed. "Expecting others to care for our offspring seems so snobbish."

"Nothing wrong in that, dear," Jonas' dad claimed. "Other people send their kids off to camp during the summer. We should consider ourselves lucky that this Martin boy hasn't and that he and Jonas are getting along so well…"

Martin isn't a boy and he touched my penis! He pinched it so hard it hurt, Jonas remembered, longing to scream it from the top of his lungs, but because he couldn't predict the consequences from having lied for so long – and having just added to the lying – he kept quiet, though it made him feel even more miserable than before.

Now Mum and Dad wants me to go to Martin's. Oh, feck. I'll never tell another lie for the rest of my life!

"Why are you so sullen?"

"No reason, Dad. I'm just tired."

Aw, darn! I really must improve! Okay, from now on I'll…

"Tired from not having anything to do? Kids these days have it so easy, having everything handed to them, only needing to go to school…"

Jonas had heard the lecture so often that he knew it by heart and he tuned out his Dad's voice and focused on his own thoughts. From now on I'll do everything I'm told, I will listen to what my parents say…

Later when he went to bed, his penis tried to grow hard and wouldn't take no for an answer. The inside of the new tube, in which it was sheathed, was smooth apart from the dual circle of barbs at the very opening; even these did not hurt Jonas, not unless he tried to pull his penis from the tube. The tube did however have the same bend in it as the spiky punishment tube, a 45 degrees downward slope, which Jonas' penis did not. His penis was perfectly straight when hard, or it would be, had it not been for the chastity device he was wearing.

Still, he was feeling really horny, not having had a proper wank for more than a week and having been interrupted by Martin just moments before reaching 'Nirvana' the day before.

Instead of trying to remove the cock tube – he knew it was impossible to remove even when his penis was flaccid – he gripped it with three of his fingers. He moved the tube, ever so carefully, away from his pubic mound, managing to move it all of 5 mm [¹³/₆₄"] before the barbs engaged. Not deterred, Jonas tugged on the tube, reversing the direction, and forced his penis deeper into it.

He cautiously experimented with this new form of masturbation for a few minutes. It feels kind of good, he decided, even though it certainly wasn't as good as what he had got used to when playing with himself. He closed his eyes and carried on moving the tube back and forth, picking up speed little by little, gasping happily.

It was starting to feel much better when Jonas eagerly pushed the tube just a fraction harder against his pubic mound, resulting in his penis going just slightly deeper into the tube. He didn't notice anything was amiss until he changed direction and tugged on the tube. Immediately, the barbs dug into his skin, all around the base of his penis, feeling as if someone was holding it between their teeth trying to bite it off.

"Ow-ow-ow," Jonas said repeatedly, trying to alleviate the pain by adjusting the cock tube. "Ouch, oh fuck!" he swore without ever noticing that he had said the forbidden word. His penis felt as if it was being gnawed on by a piranha, or a small dog, a fox, or one of the make-believe monsters he had 3D printed.

Jonas' first, proper, use of the f-bomb was triggered by his failed attempts to rectify the situation between his legs; while he had been happily masturbating, the tube had moved closer to his pubic mound until it was mashed right up against the bone and now Jonas couldn't move it, not even one tiny little bit, without the barbs piercing into his skin.

"Damn, it hurts," he whispered, trying to keep as quiet as possible, afraid his parents might hear and come to investigate. He didn't have the special tongs required to push back the barbs and they were now constantly engaged, held in place by his still rigid penis.

"Oh god," he said, using that phrase for the first time ever; he could see no way around it, he would simply have to sneak into the bathroom and suffer through a cold shower, and hope his penis would shrink enough for the barbs to disengage and release his skin from their hold. Just before leaving his room, he remembered the squeeze bottle Martin had given him to clean his penis with.

I can make it go small with that, he hoped.

"So he tried to cheat me," Martin mumbled to himself, he was watching the footage from the cameras in the bathroom and saw how Jonas had emptied the bottle into the sink rather than clean his little cock with it. "Well, I hope he'll learn from his mistake, cleaning under your foreskin using a narrow jet of very cold water can't be much fun." But, if he doesn't learn, I will be having so much fun disciplining him.

Jonas wasn't having fun, the cold water he squeezed in through the hole of the cock tube wasn't having the desired effect. Sure, his penis reacted to the cold, losing some of it's stiffness, but when the bottle was empty and the water stopped flowing, it reared right back up again, painfully trying to expand further than the curved plastic cylinder would allow. Every time his penis tried to grow bigger and pushed at the tapered end of the tube, the barbs at the opening dug in with renewed vigour and prevented any outward movement.

He really didn't want to, yet he saw no other option than step into the tiled shower. This had better work, he thought and turned on the water, twisting the knob to the coldest setting possible.

Chapter Six
Modelling

Jonas thought his penis felt as if it had been in a meat grinder when he woke Thursday morning. While he had never come even remotely close to sticking his penis into one he was nevertheless certain this was how it would feel if he did. He was amazed that he couldn't find any traces of blood when he ever so carefully examined the rim of the cock tube, but the skin of his penis felt chafed.

Fortunately, though he certainly didn't feel lucky, his penis wasn't hard when he woke, nor did it try to inflate when he sat on the toilet and started to pee. I'm a sissy, he told himself. I'm peeing like a girl even though I really am a boy. Boys who sit and pee are… Sissies! Genuine, through and through sissies.

He had no wish to be a sissy and so he quickly stopped his slow stream and rose from the toilet. He turned and faced it, standing in front of it like the proper boy he felt that he was and resumed peeing.

"That's better," he said aloud, watching his dark yellow stream of highly concentrated morning urine spurt from the opening of the cock tube into the toilet.

"Crap!" he swore about five seconds later when suddenly the stream turned into a spray and his pee ended up on the toilet seat and the lid before he managed to stop the flow for the second time.

I'm not going to pee like a girl ever again!

Jonas was determined that he wasn't, nor would he ever become, a sissy, no matter what Martin thought or did to him. But, his bladder was hurting, it felt as if the pee he was holding back had turned into red-hot lava, and he had to let it out, but clearly he couldn't pee standing up while his penis was stuck inside the torture device.

Instead of sitting on the toilet as he would if he were pooping – or how girls and sissies would sit and pee – he squatted on to the seat facing the cistern; this brought the opening of the torture device close enough to the bowl of the toilet that there could be no danger of his pee missing it.

It wasn't nearly the same as peeing while standing up, but Jonas thought this was a compromise he could live with.

When he had finished and got up from the toilet – which he found was a lot harder than squatting on it – he surveyed the wet lid, the slippery seat and the spots on the floor. I've got to clean up this mess now. He sighed dramatically and reached for the roll of toilet paper.

***

Jonas' ordeal wasn't over. Even though he had suffered through a cold shower just the night before, he had done so in an attempt to make his penis deflate so the barbs would disengage from his skin. They had, but only after he had stood under the cold spray for what had seemed ages to him, hugging himself tightly. There had been no cleaning involved then.

Besides, Martin had – very specifically – instructed Jonas to clean himself daily, both with the squeeze bottle and by showering, using nothing but cold water and soap; he dared not defy the man again, not so soon.

It was one thing to not pee like a sissy, Martin hadn't said anything about how he should pee and he knew the man couldn't possibly find out how he peed, unless he told him himself. Showering was an altogether different thing, however; Jonas knew it was possible for some people to smell if he didn't shower or showered without using soap. His mum was like a hound dog in that regard with him. He felt it was very likely for Martin to have the same annoying skill, or would somehow check to make sure he had taken a proper shower with soap and everything.

Jonas didn't want to feel the man's wrath which he felt certain would be even worse than showering.

He had never particularly liked taking showers. Bathing wasn't much better, but still, he could at least watch YouTube videos or play games on his phone whilst in the tub, which was impossible in the shower, as he had learned the hard way when his previous phone shorted out during that activity. But, even the dreadful showers were better before he had met Martin.

At least, the water was warm back then, he thought and tightened practically all the muscles in his body, bracing himself, before turning on the water. The thought of using warm water – which Martin probably wouldn't be able to find out about either – never crossed his mind, he only wanted to get it over with. The cold water struck him, like that one time when he was six and his Aunt Megan had dared him to do the ice bucket challenge; only now, the water just kept coming without remorse.

He soaped his hair, briskly, gasping with the cold; ran his hands into both of his armpits at the same time, willing them to move out from the relative warmth and down his sides; picked up the bottle of shower gel and squeezed out another dollop; quickly moved his hand up and down three times in the crack between his bum cheeks; bent over as he let his palms slide down his thighs and legs; and, finally, stood back up and turned off the water.

"Huh-huh-huh," he gasped as if he had just crossed the finish line after a 100 metres [330'] sprint. "Oh, oh. Uhhh." He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around him, rubbing his body through it trying to warm himself as he dried, all the while his teeth chattered in his mouth.

This was about as much suffering as Jonas could take in one setting, so he went to his room and put on a shirt and a pair of shorts, wanting to eat his breakfast before cleaning his penis like Martin had taught him the day before.

He kept postponing the cleaning, half an hour at a time, until he couldn't put it off any longer. He knew that unless he got started right away he wouldn't have time to do all fifteen cycles or he wouldn't be able to catch the bus to reach Martin's street just before noon.

Again, Jonas made sure to follow Martin's instructions to the letter. He had learnt his lesson yesterday when he had tried to trick him. He was worried that if he didn't, his penis would still be dirty. Then he knew Martin would inevitably increase the number of cleanses like he had raised them from ten to fifteen yesterday. He will check it again today, Jonas told himself; he wasn't sure how he could be so sure, but he was. Martin seemed extraordinarily interested in his penis.

***

Martin sat at his computer, reading up on airport security scanners and their ability to detect various plastics and filaments used in 3D printing. One article on a reputable website told him how carbon reinforced filaments – both the PETG and PLA variations – were detected by such a scanner.

Kid just had to choose the most expensive and the easiest detectable filament available to him! Martin felt certain the scanners in even the paltriest of airports would pick up the strands of carbon in Jonas' chastity belt and alert security, which would eventually, inevitably, lead to Jonas' parents learning what their son had been up to.

It won't end there, Martin told himself. He will crack and he'll tell them about me. Then the police will get involved and I will go to… He shuddered when he imagined what jail might be like. No! It will not come to that! I'd sooner give up Jonas… But, the idea of letting go of the young teen didn't appeal to him at all; it would be too much like throwing away an expensive and exotic toy, one that couldn't easily be replaced. He was certain the desire to play with it wouldn't abate.

Can I let him go to Crete without chastity? He considered this for a while. It would be safest, he deemed, but ultimately he removed that option from the list of solutions to the problem. It would be too much like having the same exotic, expensive and exciting toy but not being able to play with it. And, who's to say he'd come back here after the vacation is over?

Martin had some other leverage over the boy, he had the digital pictures and the saved video recordings of Jonas wearing his chastity device, unlocking it, cleaning and jerking his little cock, putting the chastity back on, and he also had the footage from the bathroom. But, he feared even this wouldn't be enough. Out of sight, out of mind. He'll forget everything about me if he isn't reminded all the time. Boys are like that.

No, he must remain in chastity, I'll simply have to make one from something those damn scanners won't pick up!

***

Jonas rang the bell at Martin's house, took a step back and waited for the door to open. He was punctual, he had just seen the minute hand on his wristwatch make the slight jump to the 12 o'clock position and the hour hand had moved to the same position, the exact same time that his iPhone told him when he checked. His penis itched under his foreskin and he hoped that Martin would let him unlock the torture device.

Oh, I'd do anything just to scratch it! Jonas thought and crossed his legs, fidgeting while waiting for Martin to open the door. He wanted to grab hold of the torture device and give it a good shake, figuring this might take care of the itch, but last night's painful experience was still fresh in his mind so he left it alone.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Jonas but was actually only thirty seconds, Martin opened the door. "Ah, you've returned," he said, as if he hadn't expected Jonas to show up at his house.

"Not like you gave me a choice," Jonas replied.

"You have plenty of choices, my young padawan, it's the consequences you need to consider."

"Enough with the Star Wars, okay? You're not a Jedi and I'm not a padawan," Jonas declared and squeezed in through the narrow gap between Martin and the door frame.

"Okay, sissy," Martin granted and shut the door behind Jonas, locking it with a key. "Give me your phone and put your shorts on your chair."

"I'm not a sissy!" Jonas said with quiet determination; yet he handed over his phone and went to remove his shorts.

"You sure don't look much like a man to me, kiddo," Martin said and unlocked the phone, using his private code. "In my world, if you're not a man, you can only be a sissy. Learn to live with it, you definitely won't turn into a man for some time to come."

"I'm not a wimp," Jonas persisted; he played soccer, basketball, at times rode his skateboard with his friends, and he felt certain sissies and wimps would never do any of those activities. Well, I suck at skateboarding… He wasn't any good at any kind of sport or physical activity, though he certainly would never admit that especially to Martin and give him another reason to think he was a sissy.

"Enough. Men have hair on their balls, you haven't a single one yet. Come show me when you get some and I might change my mind. Until then, you are a sissy, slightly wimpy and kind of nerdy, a clear sissy."

Jonas cringed. He knew he had no real hairs on his balls, only a bit of fuzz that might some day turn into real hair, but until now he had never considered his lack of ball hair a bad thing. He thought hairy balls looked nasty, though he hadn't given this part of his anatomy a lot of thought.

He hadn't thought about a lot of the things that Martin seemed to think were important, but now he considered them. Now, he hazily remembered that sprouting hairs on your balls was part of growing up, something he could certainly live without but the rapid growing of your penis was also part of this growing up. It was something he had vaguely hoped would happen some day soon but now he could not wait for it any longer.

So what? I might not be a man, yet. I'm only thirteen. That doesn't make me a wimp or a sissy!

It was clear to Jonas that Martin's definition of sissies and wimps was flawed. But, Jonas was almost naked, save for his t-shirt and the torture device covering his penis, and he was only 149 cm [4' 10½"] tall – whilst wearing shoes, which he had just taken off before removing his shorts – against Martin standing at around 190 cm [6' 3"], fully dressed.

Martin radiated confidence and leadership, things Jonas could only hope to gain some day; he certainly didn't feel confident very often and was much too shy to tell other people what they should and shouldn't do.

Now, facing Martin, Jonas realized that he, actually, was feeling a bit wimpy and he cast his eyes down.

"Good," said Martin, noticing how Jonas was submitting, if not completely, then enough to let him have the final word. "Today, we will design a new cage for your sissy cock. I hope it's clean because I need to scan it."

Jonas looked up again. "Scan my penis?"

"Yes, I want a 3D model of it so I can build the cage around it. You should feel pleased, custom fitting a cock cage is a service I usually ask a lot of money for. I won't ask for money from you, Jonas, but I sure hope you will remember the things I do for you.

"I'll design it today and then you will print the parts for it, one every day, and finally, we'll have a couple of days to make sure it all fits before you're off to Crete."

"Uh, I can't use my dad's printer any more. He found out I've used it and told me not to use it again," Jonas said, though his dad hadn't specifically forbidden him to use it. "He might ground me if I do," he added, again lying, hoping Martin would buy it.

"Really? Well, with all those prints of yours gone wrong, I'm amazed he didn't find out sooner. You've used so much filament and yet only managed to get two or three figurines right."

"Hey, they're not figurines, they're…"

"They sure aren't statues!"

"Whatever, they're not figurines, that's girls' stuff," Jonas stated. "I can't use the printer at home any more," he repeated, getting back to the more important issue.

"That's a problem, my printers are both tied up with jobs long into next week."

"So, I'll just have to go to Crete without wearing a torture device," Jonas stated and couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.

Martin snapped his fingers. "Not so fast, young padawan, I have something that might work," he said and walked to his hobby room. "Come here, sissy!" he ordered, when he noticed Jonas wasn't following him.

He waited until the boy appeared and slapped his hand on a table in the centre of the room. "Park your arse right here while I search for something."

Jonas felt a chill go down his back, the table was the one he had lain on while Martin worked on the torture device, not removing it as Jonas thought he had been promised, but instead replacing the plastic locking pins with some even sturdier ones made from metal.

He didn't know what else to do so he made his way toward the table, turned and jumped backwards and up; hefting himself up on it.

Jonas surveyed the man's hobby room from where he sat perched on the table while waiting for Martin, who was searching for something only he knew. He was looking into different boxes under a long workbench spanning most of the length of the room.

Above the workbench, hanging on the wall, were a number of hand tools, screw drivers, chisels, files; a set of hammers in different sizes, tiny wrenches and larger ones, tweezers and other tools Jonas didn't even know the names of, nor their intended use.

At the end of the room were two enclosed machines. 3D printers, Jonas assumed, though they were far bigger and somewhat different from his dad's at home. These looked industrial and more advanced to Jonas' inexperienced eyes.

"Eyeballing my printers?" Martin asked with a sneer as he dumped a large open cardboard box next to Jonas. "Those are out of your league, little sissy. I think this is more appropriate for you."

Jonas turned his focus to the box and saw a lot of extruded aluminium profiles, many coloured wires, a couple of printed circuit boards, bits and pieces of various sizes, but he saw nothing that even remotely resembled a 3D printer.

"We have to put it back together," Martin explained. "That was my first printer. I started upgrading it and when I ran out of things to improve on it, I bought the next step up and reused some of the better parts on that. Long story short, I now have the two beasts back there and this is obsolete. It should however be complete. We'll find out after I've scanned your little cock."

The man reached under the table and when he straightened back up, Jonas heard a rattling sound that turned out to be a metal chain.

"Slightly cruder than the sofa," Martin said, shrugged, snatched Jonas' left foot and looped the end of the chain around the boy's ankle.

A padlock clicked in place and Jonas found himself locked to the heavy table he sat on.

"Hey…" he started and stopped his outburst when he realised it was too late to react.

"You know my rules." Martin shook his head, annoyed with how soon Jonas seemingly had forgot. "You must be locked in place whenever your little sissy cock is freed," he reminded. "I need to scan it, I can't do that while it's hidden away in its protective sheath."

"The torture thing," Jonas voiced his opinion of the grey tube enclosing his penis.

"It's for your own good," Martin said and handed the small key to Jonas. "Take your cage off, let's see if you've managed to clean your little sissy cock properly today."

"I did what you told me. I squeezed water in there fifteen times." Jonas stressed the number as he unlocked the first pin and removed it from the chastity device. "It's itchy," he added, eagerly inserting the key into the next pin's lock.

"Careful, boy! If you break the key in the lock your cage won't come off."

"Not ever?" Jonas wondered and immediately exercised more caution.

"Well, not for a long while. Would probably feel like forever to you." Martin walked to his computer and woke it from its slumber. He loaded the programme for his 3D scanner, then returned to Jonas.

"Don't let it get hard," he warned. "I need it small and relaxed for the first scan."

"First?"

"Yes. Well, it isn't strictly necessary for your new cage, still, I want a scan of your little sissy cock while it's hard, too. It's kind of like keeping track of your height. Doesn't your mother do that?"

"She's never scanned my penis!"

"I'd hope not. I meant your height. Isn't there a place at home where she's marked how tall you were on your birthdays?"

"On the door jamb," Jonas agreed, remembering the thin lines indicating his height. "My dad does it, though."

"Regardless. This will be sort of like that, although more life-like. I'll print it."

"My penis?"

"A model of it, yes."

That's crazy, Jonas thought. But, he thought it was kind of cool, too. "I don't want everyone to see my penis!"

"I'm not going to let everyone see it. Not that what you want matters, your little sissy cock is my toy and I'll do whatever I want with it."

Jonas unlocked the final pin and placed this and the now split lock ring that had sat behind his balls next to him on the table. His penis was still trapped inside the tube and he looked up at Martin.

"Oh, right." Martin went to his workbench. "Nearly forgot," he said and handed the specially made tongs to Jonas.

"Thanks."

Jonas' meek gratitude secretly thrilled Martin; he kept a straight face while he watched the boy. Apparently, he needed to first build up the necessary resolve to do something he knew would hurt himself.

Martin was about to hurry Jonas along when he abruptly pushed first one and then the other tong into the tube, undoubtedly painfully pinching the tiny cock – at least Martin thought so, based on the groan emitted by the boy – before he pulled on the tube, momentarily stretching his cock, before it came lose and the tongs fell from the now empty shell.

Jonas took a deep breath and placed the small tube next to him. He picked up the tongs and put them with the pieces of the torture device, wishing he would never have to feel it enclosing his penis again.

"Is your little sissy cock sore? It looks a bit red," Martin commented.

"Uh-huh." Jonas nodded, his eyes still on his penis.

"Don't worry about that, the scanner doesn't pick up colours, only shapes. Here, sit on this," Martin instructed and placed a low stool with a narrow seat on top of the table. "Face this way and spread your thighs as wide as you can," Martin instructed.

***

Jonas sat on the hard, wooden and very uncomfortable stool with his feet flat on the table. The stool only supported part of his buttocks. His legs were splayed as wide as they would go, exposing his groin, and he struggled to sit still, trying to keep his left leg from cramping up.

The 3D scanner looked very similar to a large digital camera, Jonas thought, as he watched Martin fetch it from a cupboard.

"Can't use it with the turn table," Martin said while preparing the scanner. "I'd have to chop off your little sissy cock for that. While it is so small you might not even notice that it were missing, I think we should at least give it a chance to grow bigger some day."

He fitted a small tripod to the scanner and placed it on the table in front of Jonas. He turned it on, focused it on Jonas' penis and picked up a ruler. Using the ruler and a protractor, he moved the scanner to sit exactly 25 cm [c. 10"] from the edge of the stool on a 45 degrees angle to Jonas' front.

"Sit completely still," Martin warned, turned off the ceiling lights, and clicked a button on the wireless remote.

Jonas froze in place, afraid to breathe, when suddenly a flashing light emitted from the front of the scanner and bathed his groin in changing hues of red, followed by green and finally blue.

The light disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Jonas blinking, semi-blinded and confused.

"Don't move," snapped Martin's voice again. "You need to sit absolutely still until I've finished the scan."

He moved the scanner, using the ruler and protractor, exactly 10 degrees to the left, maintaining the distance to Jonas' cock and balls, and took a new photograph, bathing Jonas' private parts in the brightly changing coloured light, again.

Martin started anew; he moved the scanner, fiddling with the precise position. "Keep still," he reminded Jonas. "Make sure your little cock is relaxed, this won't work very well if it moves or stretches too much."

Jonas tried not to think about his penis, he tried to ignore how his private parts were the centre of the attention, being photographed from all sides in small 10 degree increments. Well, they aren't very private any longer, he realized with regret.

It was 25 minutes before Martin moved the scanner into the final position, directly below Jonas' small ball sack, and took the final photograph required for the programme to build a model based on the scan of Jonas' groin. Martin started this process on the fastest of his two computers, even so – he knew from experience – it would be a long while before he could study the results.

"Get it hard," he ordered the boy and created a new project in the scanner programme. "I want your little sissy cock pulsing with every heartbeat like it did that day I let you clean and play with it. Then, when it is as hard as it will get, we will scan it."

"You want me to sit like this for another half an hour?" Jonas asked; his buttocks felt numb and his calf, thigh and abdomen muscles were all straining under the effort to keep him from toppling over.

"No, not like that." Martin shook his head. "Your cock must be hard too. You really must pay better attention to what I tell you, one day it might be more important than this small matter."

Jonas widened his eyes. "I have to play with my co… penis while you take pictures of me?"

"No, Jonas. I want you to play with your cock when I reposition the scanner, not while it is scanning. Your fingers would be in the way of the object I want to scan," Martin patronisingly explained as if he were speaking to a much younger, or backward, child. "When I am ready to take another picture as you call it you'll move your fingers away and you will do your best to keep your little sissy cock as hard as it can be while sitting perfectly still."

"But…"

"It's your tiny cock that has my attention now, not your rear end, kid. However, I will direct my focus to your butt if your cock doesn't get hard soon. Maybe a nice hot arse would do the trick? Maybe you are a masochist after all? Getting off on pain…"

"No!"

"Then stop bickering and start wanking. You've moaned about your cock being locked up and now that it's free you're ignoring it like you are some priest sworn to chastity. Do you need an altar boy to lend you a hand? Or perhaps you'd rather he'd suck you off?"

"What? No! I'm not gay," Jonas said, feistily.

"I don't give a shit about what floats your boat, sissy. Wank!" Martin barked the last word and Jonas was too scared to do anything but start to play with his penis.

I'm not gay, he told himself. I'm not. I like girls. He repeated these three lines in his head as his penis, despite his sore muscles, slowly started to react to the attention it was given.

***

"Enough," said Martin when he saw that Jonas was approaching the point of no return; he had seen people masturbate, many people, both men and women, often enough to be able to tell the signs of an oncoming orgasm. The look on Jonas' face was different from most, however. He looks almost… Relieved?

Jonas was indeed feeling kind of happy, though he had been denied orgasm by the man, again, his body felt almost too sore to remain sitting on the low stool. Playing with his penis, wanking, had felt more like a chore than pleasure, especially with Martin fiddling with the scanner so close by. His head is almost between my knees, he realised as he let go of his penis.

"Oh yes, nothing like a young sissy's cock desperate for release, flexing madly, flaunting itself hoping for just a little more attention, just that tiny moment more, so it may shudder in ecstasy. Well, Jonas, not today, but job well done. Now, get into a position you can hold for the next twenty to thirty minutes."

Jonas groaned, but sat up straighter on the stool and spread his knees wider when ordered to. Then thirty seconds followed with his hard penis, still flexing with every heartbeat, being bathed in the differently coloured light as if Martin were trying to hypnotise it.

"One down," Martin said and picked up the scanner.

And a gazillion more to go, Jonas thought. He pinched his penis when told to; he fondled it, coercing it to remain hard and flexing until Martin told him to move his hand for the next scan.

"Good little sissy." Martin managed to make even his praises sound demeaning. When the last picture had been taken, he patted the boy on his head. "Now, tuck that small thing away. Get back into your chastity, Jonas."

"But it's still hard," Jonas said; it seemed impossible that he might get it crammed into the torture device any time soon.

"You have two minutes. And no more playing with it. It looks sore," Martin noted.

Chapter Seven
Engineering

Jonas managed with a fair bit of resolve and determination, and some pain, to shoehorn his penis back into the tube. At first, only the glans would fit into the opening, and this only because his foreskin slid back, but there was no turning back. The barbs bit into his tender skin and the sharp stinging pain soon made his penis shrivel up so he could push the tube into place, encompassing the entirety of his sore member, yet his glans was bared against the inside of the tube.

Martin wouldn't let Jonas off the stool before the device was in place and he waited for the boy to hand over the miniature key before he unlocked the padlock keeping the chain in place around his ankle.

"Get your arse off the table," Martin demanded. "We have work that needs doing. I will work on your new cock cage while you put the printer back together."

"Is it really a 3D printer in the box?" Jonas asked.

"Yes. And some extra parts, too. Like control boards and hot ends. We'll get a working printer out of it, just you wait and see. It won't be anything special, though, but it'll be good enough for printing a new cage for your tiny sissy cock."

"It won't get me in trouble at the airport?"

"No guarantees, kiddo. I only know for a fact that the one you're wearing now would make those security scanners go off like you just won the jackpot on a slot machine."

"But, what would I say…?"

"You say whatever you want. As long as you don't tell anyone about me, I really don't care what you do. Remember, if you do squeal on me, all the videos of you and your tiny sissy cock will be uploaded for the entire world to see. Oh, I'll also make the 3D model of your cock and balls available for perverts around the globe to download and print along with your new cock cage.

"However, I am pretty fucking confident that you will walk right through the scanner without setting it off but no one will know for certain until you try."

Jonas wasn't happy at being told he would be alone to deal with the mess he might find himself in when walking through security. I can only blame myself for it, he realized. I should never have downloaded that torture device. I wish Dad had never bought that stupid 3D printer!

Wishing for things to be undone was futile, Jonas knew this; Martin did not appear to be a guy easily dissuaded from what plans he had for him, plans that hadn't been revealed in full, plans he did not have a chance to fully understand yet. There had only been vague hints about it involving Jonas doing things he never would have imagined doing. I've already done stuff I didn't think I would. Like playing with myself and letting Martin scan my penis!

I won't like it. This was already an established fact; Jonas did not like having to wear the torture device, his glans was already complaining about touching the rough insides of the tube, and he most definitely had not enjoyed sitting on the small stool on top of the table while Martin took pictures of certain parts of his body that were meant to be kept out of sight from everyone but a very select few of the boy's own choosing.

Jonas would give up everything to go back in time and prevent himself from downloading the files for the torture device or to make sure he never put it on himself. Not even just to try it on, he told himself. Failing that, he would have made sure the locking pins had never been pushed in place, at the very least, he would have told himself not to insert the last pin, that he should not use a big wrench to mangle it into the hole.

As he considered the thought further – nurturing the fantasy of going back in time, fertilising it with his childish naivety – he suddenly reached the conclusion that while he would happily go back in time that was not possible and even so he did not want to give up everything for the chance to get out of this situation.

I won't let Martin post those pictures of me, ever! The idea of his stupidity being revealed to everyone in the world was frightening to the point of being sickening. The size of his penis, or the lack thereof, was a secondary concern, yet still added to the sum. He would go to great lengths to keep up his end of the deal offered by the man.

It's quite easy, isn't it? Just do as I'm told and he'll never tell anyone. How hard can that possibly be? Jonas thought. While he was certain he could cope with his part of the deal, it was however not nearly as easy as he would have liked.

"Well, let's see what we have," Martin said and pulled the cardboard box closer, placing it between the two of them. "I think you should take the stuff out of the box and I'll tell you what each part is."

Jonas readily agreed to this plan; it sounded simple, easy and best of all, it would help him forget how sore his penis was; it might make him forget how many times he had been close to orgasm, having been right at the threshold to entering 'Nirvana', only to be denied by Martin, repeatedly, more times than he cared to remember. But, he was also a boy who was interested in all things technical, and unpacking this large cardboard box was like unboxing a grownup version of Lego.

He listened closely as Martin explained, the man was a fairly good teacher despite his constant condescending tone of voice; something Jonas was already growing somewhat used to.

"That's the X axis beam, it holds the carriage with the hot end," Martin explained when Jonas took a 40 cm [15.7"] long aluminium profile from the box.

"It looks kind of like my dad's printer," Jonas remarked. Though he hadn't yet put together any of the pieces he had removed from the box and carefully arranged on the table, he could picture what they would look like once fully assembled.

"Your dad's must be an Ender Three, then," Martin surmised. "Perhaps the so-called 'pro' edition. This isn't an Ender, however, it looks almost identical, but this has much better parts. Ender threes are for sissies, like you and your sissy daddy."

"My dad's not a sissy!" Jonas objected to the vile accusation, putting as much scorn into his words as he could muster. No one was allowed to criticise his father only Jonas himself.

"You are a sissy, Jonas. If your daddy had been more man and not allowed your mummy to boss him around so much, then you wouldn't have grown up to become a sissy. You wouldn't be standing here now, wearing that chastity device like the little sissy you are, if not for your sissy daddy.

"We mustn't blame your mummy; throughout history, wives have always tried to mentally castrate their husbands to better mould them into their docile servants. That only leaves your daddy. So, he has got to be a sissy, too.

"Your parents probably wanted a girl, they expected and planned for having a girl when your mummy was pregnant. When you came out, with that ridiculously small cock and those tiny balls, they had to adapt to you being a boy. I bet they inadvertently treated you like a little girl at first, perhaps they still do, at times, because you are far too timid and delicate to be considered a real boy."

Jonas was close to tears after the long lecture; he was so angry with Martin that he wanted to hurl the box and all of the parts for the 3D printer from the table. He wanted to hit the man, strike him hard with his fists, to hurt him so badly that he'd fall to the floor, crying for mercy and forgiveness. Even then, Jonas would kick the man, once, twice, and a third time, right in his balls, before demanding the key for the torture device. When he got it he would thank the man by kicking him in the balls again.

Instead of doing what he really wanted, but couldn't due to his severe lack of strength and unfamiliarity with the finer aspects of hand-to-hand combat – or any aspects of fighting, really – Jonas stomped his foot hard into the floor. "My… dad… is… not… a… sissy!" he shouted. He recognised it was a pathetic substitute for the violence he felt like dealing out, but standing up for his father made him feel ever so slightly better.

"Spicy little fucker, aren't you? I'm looking forward to you returning from your vacation so we can start having some real fun," Martin said, calmly, not mentioning the nature of the 'fun' he was planning.

Jonas scarcely had time to consider what might be in store for him when Martin bade him to resume emptying the box of its content.

***

When all the parts required to build the printer were accounted for and had been briefly explained, Jonas was given a small set of tools and told to put the frame together. At first, Jonas was too angry to focus on the task, but when he finally did, he made quick progress; it was simply a matter of finding out which lengths of aluminium went together, then mating up holes and putting bolts in them, fastening them and proceed to the next.

The work kept his mind occupied and he soon managed to put aside his wishes to hurt Martin; he knew those wishes were no less futile than his desire to be released from the agreement he had made with the man when he had asked for his help.

Soon, he had assembled the bottom H shape of the printer's frame and placed the left of the two uprights into the cut-out just off the centre beam in the H. He had to slide part of the frame off the table so he could screw in the two bolts from below, then, now feeling more confident, did the same with the right upright.

"Something's not right," he muttered to himself, unable to get the holes in the upper beam to match the threaded holes at the end of the uprights.

"Speak up, sissy," Martin said from where he sat at his computer. He had imported the first scan of Jonas' cock and balls – from when the boy's cock had been flaccid and as small as it would ever be, without the aid of cold water or the likes – into a CAD programme and was carefully shaping a new tube around the outline of the tiny cock on the screen, leaving almost no room for growth between the two.

"It won't fit," Jonas said, now fed up with trying to mate the four holes that were obviously misaligned. Just as obviously, to him, the length of protruded aluminium profile he held in his hand was not meant for this printer seemingly haphazardly put together from parts meant for other, and most likely much better, printers.

"It'll be snug, alright, but it'll fit just the same… Oh, you mean the printer?" Martin got up from his chair, walked the few paces to the table and surveyed what Jonas had done so far. "If you switch these two around, I think you will find that everything fits like a hand in a glove," he said and pointed to the two uprights, then returned to his computer.

If you switch these two… Jonas repeated to himself, mockingly mimicking what Martin had said. They'll fit like hands in gloves, whatever the heck that's supposed to mean. He suddenly realised the man had said something prior to that. "What do you mean it'll be snug?" he asked.

"I'm making your holiday cage as small as I can. Well, naturally, I need to make sure it will keep you out of trouble, that's the main purpose after all, but when that's said and done, I can't make it too much bigger than your little sissy cock or your mummy might wonder about the sudden growth of your bulge. You'll be wearing one of those skimpy swim suits, a speedo, when you go to the beach and the pool, and only that. If you must wear a t-shirt you need to make sure it'll 'accidently' get caught inside the front of your speedos so it won't cover too much."

"Speedos?" Jonas raised his brows. "Martin, I'm not a little kid, those are for four-year-olds! I wear board shorts."

"Not anymore, you don't. Actually, here's what I want you to do: while you are away on vacation, unless you go eat at a restaurant with a dress code or go on tours, you will only ever wear speedos, a sun hat and your flip flops. And plenty of factor fifty sunscreen. Stay out of the sun as much as possible, I don't want you any more tanned than you are now. In fact, I would like your skin to turn much paler, like those pasty white buns of yours. If you go on tours, you may wear a t-shirt and normal shorts."

"Why?"

"Because I say so!" Martin roared; he liked to roar every now and again, it always instilled some fear in his subs, whether they wanted to be dominated or not. Jonas reacted much the same, perhaps even more; the boy was visibly shaken.

"B-but I don't have any speedos or a su-sun ha-ha-hat," Jonas said, quietly, stuttering and his lips quivering. "An-an-and I d-don't know if we have any of that su-su-sunscreen."

"Then ask your mummy to buy it. Ask her to take you to buy three speedos, too. And don't think you can fool me, sissy. You will be sending me daily reports, small video clips, to show you are obeying my orders at all time."

Martin didn't divulge that he loved to see the marks a rough handling, a sound smacking or a good whipping left on the skin of his victims. He still hadn't decided how far he would allow himself to go with Jonas but he was certain the boy's buttocks, if nothing else, would at some point turn several shades darker; not brown, but red.

If he were eighteen, I would have spanked him by now. Possibly, I would have whipped him too. I certainly would have fucked him. Maybe that's just what he needs to understand his position: a good powerful and very long fuck session. Well, don't you worry, young Jonas. You won't have to wait much longer, he silently promised, before turning his attention back to his computer screen showing the many times enlarged digital copy of the boy's little flaccid cock.

***

Jonas was connecting the last few wires for the printer's motors and sensors, when he noticed the time on his wristwatch. "I need to go soon," he informed, it was nearly 5 pm and he needed to be on the bus leaving the stop in fourteen minutes.

"You've nearly finished putting it together." Martin was surprised, the boy had spent less than two hours to get this far and had only asked for help that one time. "I will double check the connectors later," he said. "If you haven't hooked everything up properly the controller board might die when we turn it on tomorrow."

"There's no power supply," Jonas noted. "And there's no case for the controller board."

"It's not the original board, so I don't have a case it'll fit in, but I do have a power supply from an old computer, somewhere. It should have enough juice to run this little sissy printer. It isn't like those two bad boys."

"Can I go put my shorts back on now, please?"

"Go wash up first, your hands are filthy. Your mummy would not be pleased with me if I sent you off like this."

***

"Mum?" Jonas asked at the dinner table about an hour and a half later. They were having Chinese takeaway, Jonas' favourite meal of the week. Though his mum insisted on cooking five days a week, she wasn't a very good cook. "Can we go buy me some speedos before we go to Crete?" Please, say no!

"Why would you want to wear something like that?" his father inquired.

"If the boy wants to wear tight swim wear, we really shouldn't deny him, honey. You've been wearing your shorts an awful lot too, maybe we should buy some more of those as well?"

"Sure, why don't we just buy him a whole new wardrobe he'll outgrow in three months' time?"

"Shush, Peter. I'm not talking to you."

"Whatever, Mum," Jonas said; he never liked when his parents argued, it always put a dampener on the mood and sure enough, the rest of dinner was a subdued affair.

"We'll go on Saturday," his mum said when they cleared the table. "Early," she warned.

"Got it. Thanks," he said without meaning it. Thanks a whole lot. Why couldn't you just say no like Dad wanted? I could have told Martin I couldn't wear speedos because you wouldn't let me, but now I have to. Oh Jeez, they'll make me look like I'm a dork.

***

"Can I have this one, too?" Jonas asked his Mum full of glee, lifting up a one-piece navy blue and white sailor's outfit with a frilly hat, obviously meant for a baby or a small toddler, but mysteriously in a size that fitted him. It even had a long zipper running from the hem of one leg all the way up into the crotch and down to the other leg's hem, allowing for a diaper change without necessitating full removal of the outfit.

He was in a store with his mum, apparently a clothes store, but unlike any he had ever set foot in before, and it was packed full of strangers.

"And a pack of these?" his mum asked, picking up a large box of diapers for toddlers, yet he knew, somehow, that they were his size.

And Jonas nodded, vigorously, as if he knew nothing better than being babied and wearing diapers, when in all honesty he would rather die than submitting to that, now that he was on the verge of entering, if not adulthood, then at least adolescence. His mum put several of the large boxes that had brightly coloured pictures of kids wearing nothing but diapers into the shopping trolley.

And the strangers started to applaud, first only those immediately around them, then more and more, until the entire store were rooting for 'Baby Jonas in his Torture Device.' It wasn't until then he realised he was naked and that his penis and balls were encased in a large heavy block of see-through glass, his scrotum being painfully pulled toward the floor, already twice as long as normal.

He woke, with a jerk, entangled in his bedsheet.

"What the hell?" he wondered aloud and started to free his sweaty body from the soaked sheet.

He worried about having wet his bed, maybe this was what had prompted his strange, nightmarish, dream. More alarmingly, he felt wet between his legs, it felt worse than could be explained by him having sweated, even profoundly, during this very warm night.

The fluid he picked up on his fingertips felt thicker than both sweat and pee, but there was no doubting where it had come from; it was still seeping from the tiny opening in the tube encasing his penis. He felt sore down there, very sore, and suddenly he worried that the fluid might be blood, it felt kind of like that, warm and sticky.

He flicked on his bed lamp and, squinting in the sudden brightness from the light, carefully went over the situation between his legs.

He felt relieved when he saw the fluid had a slightly opaque whitish-grey colour, and therefore couldn't be blood, though it felt very sticky, kind of like blood just before coagulating. But it wasn't red, or any hue close to the colour of blood, which calmed his nerves. Because it was sticky, and opaque, it couldn't be pee either, which was yet another relief, but he was still puzzled.

Is it spunk? he wondered and sniffed at his fingers. They smelled tangy and he wiped them on the sheet. It had better not be spunk, he told himself. He was not ready to face a new chapter of his life with so much on his plate already. Puberty, he decided, would simply have to wait until he had managed to get away from Martin. He cleaned up the best he could, using his sheet and not leaving his bed, before he picked up the duvet he must have kicked to the floor while dreaming and went back to sleep.

***

That was a bloody weird dream, Jonas told himself when he woke again. This time the sun was up, so he knew it was morning even before he looked at his alarm clock. It was nearly half past eight, as good a time as any to get out of bed. Much better than in the middle of the night, he decided and placed his right foot on the floor, then the left. The texture of the carpet felt different, somehow, and he looked down.

"Oh!"

There on the floor, under his feet, lay the sheet that he now remembered having wiped himself clean with during the night. That part of the night had obviously been real, and now he wondered if the rest of his dream had actually happened. If he was now the, not so proud, owner of a sailor's outfit and three large boxes of diapers. Nah. He didn't think so. But, he still checked his closet just to make sure.

The tube seemed unchanged from the night before, there was no mysterious fluid to be found on it, only a few bits of dried up something. Must be soap, he thought and carefully wiped the tube clean with his sheet before taking it to the hamper in the bathroom.

His penis and his balls still felt sore, so something must have happened to them during the night, but he decided it had to be from how long and hard he had played with himself at Martin's the day before.

He checked the time again, and found he had more than two hours to kill before he needed to head back to the man's house.

***

Martin had been up since six that morning, checking on his two 3D printers and was happy to find one of them had finished printing. He prepared the printer for a new job and uploaded the model of Jonas' little hardon and balls to it. He started the printer and went to shave and have a hot morning shower.

***

Now, at nine o'clock, Jonas was getting into the shower as well. It was cold, as per Martin's bidding, and as he had before, the boy didn't linger; he hurried through the motions: get wet, soap up, rinse off, vacate the stall, all as if he were trying to enter the Guinness' World Records for showering using the least amount of time and water.

Chilled, he left the bathroom and went to have his breakfast. As he sat and sprinkled sugar on his Cornflakes he wondered if he might get away with using his dad's printer again, but when he tried to open the door to the basement stairs he discovered it was locked.

He doesn't trust me! Jonas was disappointed that his dad had so little faith in him. He returned to his room, sat on his bed with his laptop and started the web browser. It automatically loaded the front page of thingiverse and he went to the sculptures subsection; it was here he had found most of the monsters now sitting on his shelves.

There were two new uploads and he spent thirty minutes captivated by how detailed and horrifying these two monsters were; they looked scary even without any paint.

Oh, Noah will go green with envy. The thought of finally having something his best friend did not yet have excited Jonas until he remembered the locked door to the basement and he sighed with exasperation. Annoyed, he shut down his computer.

"Oh man!" He groaned aloud when he realised that not only would Noah beat him to printing these two monsters first, again, but he couldn't even catch up with him; he could not print anything until he gained access to a 3D printer again.

Buying a 3D printer was not an option, Jonas did not have any money put aside for one; what little savings he had was earmarked for spending money on the vacation and that small sum wouldn't be enough to pay for one tenth of a printer even if he were to refrain from buying any sodas, ice creams, candy or small souvenirs while away.

"Hell no!" A vacation without candy and only the lousy local drinks offered by the hotel's 'All Inclusive' deal held not the slightest appeal to Jonas. "They don't even have Coca-Cola unless you pay for it."

Martin's already going to ruin my holiday by making me wear the new torture device. I won't make it any worse for myself!

***

"So good of you to stop by," Martin said when he opened his door and found Jonas waiting for him two steps back on the pathway.

"Did you check it?" Jonas asked, pushing past Martin, not caring to comment on the peculiar way the man always greeted him; he was more interested in the 3D printer he had almost completely assembled the day before.

"I did." Martin stepped aside, giving Jonas more room, then closed and locked the door behind the boy. "I haven't powered it on, but I made sure all the connectors are in the right sockets. You did well."

"Wasn't so hard," Jonas said modestly, but beamed with the praise. "I just read the stickers on the cables and stuck them into the plugs on the board that were marked the same."

"Shorts," reminded Martin and was mildly aroused when Jonas obeyed without question; the boy slid off his flip flops, unsnapped and unzipped his shorts, pushed them to his thighs from where they dropped to his ankles.

Jonas stepped out of his shorts, picked them up and placed them on his chair, then looked inquiringly at Martin, hoping the man would take him to the hobby room and the printer.

"Tee, too," Martin said, which made Jonas gulp. The boy's obvious reluctance made Martin's cock jump within his slacks.

"Please?" Jonas did not want to give up his t-shirt; he would be completely naked then, with only the dreaded torture device to protect his modesty.

Martin shook his head. "In my house only doms are allowed to wear clothes, though they may also be naked if they prefer. Subs, however, wear absolutely no clothes, unless ordered to by a dom. Because of your age, your inexperience, your immaturity, I have made your transition easier, more gradual. But, hereafter, the 'no clothes' rule is in force.

"Also, from now, when you come to my house, you will not ring the bell, you will simply open the door, enter and shut it behind you. You will take off your footwear and place them right next to the door, toes pointing toward the wall. You will remove your clothes, where you stand, and fold them nicely while undressing. You will place your clothes in a perfectly square bundle, on top of your footwear.

"Next, until I say otherwise, you will walk, quietly, to the dining table. You will place your wristwatch and your phone on the table, then move over to stand behind your chair, with your hands behind your back, the fingers of your right hand gripping your left wrist. You will stand with your feet approximately twenty centimetres [c. 8"] apart. You will wait for instructions, in that position. You will not move, for whatever reason, until I summon you, which will not happen until I have time for you.

"Do you understand the new arrival procedure?"

"Can't I just take off my t-shirt now?" Jonas asked. "Why do I have to do all the other stuff?"

"Don't start with all your questions, sissy. I asked: 'Do you understand the new arrival procedure.' Yes or no?"

"Yes, but…"

"Good. Show me."

Jonas picked up his shorts. "Why do you have to be so mean?" he asked as he walked back to the front door. "I don't get it."

"You don't need a reason, just show me that you understand your new instructions."

Jonas used his left foot to nudge his flip flops up against the wall, folded his shorts once and put them on top of the flip flops. He looked hesitantly at Martin, just a quick glimpse, hoping the man would be smiling, or otherwise indicate that this was nothing but a joke; a lame joke, alright, but a joke all the same.

Alas, Martin was not smiling. His arms were crossed over his chest and his body language was an epitome of supreme sternness and seriousness that Jonas had not experienced from any other adult before. The boy slid his arms inside his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, turning it inside-out in the process.

Now naked and feeling extremely vulnerable, he quickly folded the t-shirt twice, made sure he was facing sideways to Martin before he bent over and placed the shirt on top of his shorts. He remained slightly hunched over as he made his way back to the table and stood behind his chair. After a few seconds, he remembered the last of the instructions and spread his legs, clasping his hands in the small of his back.

"Sloppy," remarked Martin. "Lazy. No attention to details. You need to improve, sissy, and fast. That is, unless you're yearning to feel pain. This is unacceptable. A seven-year-old could place her clothes in a tidier fashion than that. You will practise for an hour later today, but first we need to get the little sissy printer started on printing your holiday cage."

"What did I do?" Jonas asked miserably.

"You didn't fold your clothes properly and your stature is a show of contempt. Your bashfulness which was kind of cute in the beginning is really starting to annoy me. I want to see your slim and tight sissy body, all of it. I would have made you wear baggy clothes if I didn't care to see it.

"Stand up straighter," Martin ordered and walked over to correct the boy's stance. "Push your chest out. Lower your head, look at the chair in front of you, don't let your eyes drift from it. This is your 'at ease' position." He put his hand on the boy's hip and whispered into his ear. "You have a very nice arse. Don't you dare hide it from me again."

He thinks my bum is nice? What the hell… The last person Jonas could remember having mentioned his rear end was his aunt who had told him he had a cute bum when he was six or seven years old. He had thought it hilarious at the time, but now he was freaked out by Martin's hand moving slowly from his hip down the side of his left buttock.

Is he homo? thought Jonas. He wanted to ask the man yet he feared the answer would be positive and so he kept quiet. Didn't he say something about having both men and women as slaves? That means he can't be…? Oh god. Jonas had suddenly remembered some people were bisexuals and was now afraid Martin was one of them.

He followed in perplexed silence when Martin told him to walk with him to the hobby room. Here the 3D printer – that looked very similar to an Ender 3, yet it was supposedly much better, at least according to Martin. Still, the Ender 3 lookalike was only a sissy printer, again according to Martin.

To Jonas, the printer was a dream waiting to come true; he had put it back together with his bare hands, and a few tools, and he felt a certain level of entitlement to use the printer, following the logic that if Martin thought Jonas was a sissy and the printer was also a sissy, then the two of them must belong together.

He was however very concerned about being practically naked in the company of the fully clothed adult who might or might not be bi, who had not just complimented his bum but also briefly touched it. He didn't feel like he could ask if he might be allowed the use of the sissy printer to print the two monsters he had found that very morning, or, less satisfactorily but still acceptable, only one of them; one would still be a thousand times better than none.

Jonas ended up standing at the work table, on top of which he had sat on a low stool the day before, while his penis and balls had been photographed from all possible angles; a memory he would rather forget, but the details were still fresh in his mind when the man placed a small marble-coloured piece of art on the table in front of him. He was about to ask what it was when he realised he was looking at a life-sized replica of his own private parts.

Stiff private parts, Jonas corrected himself as his face warmed and he wondered if his penis really looked like this when it was erect; somehow, it looked far too small to be real.

"It's a very beautiful little sissy cock," said Martin. "I may have to make one of brass, or silver perhaps; it's so small that it wouldn't cost much more. I just wanted you to see it."

The man removed the printed version of Jonas' groin and placed a modified power supply for a computer on the table in its place. "This one should do the trick. Yellow is plus and black is minus. Hook it up to the board, make sure you tighten the screws well, then we can power 'er up and see what she'll do."

Chapter Eight
Choices

When Jonas had finished wiring the power supply to the printer, Martin handed him a memory card and he carefully placed it in the proper slot on the still exposed controller board.

"Shouldn't we make a box for it, or something?" Jonas spoke softly; the first words he said after asking what error or crime he might have done to warrant the man's harsh and austere behaviour – he still wondered about that, felt certain there had to be something and it must be very bad, though he just couldn't see it himself.

If he won't tell me what I did wrong, then perhaps I can make him forget I did it? This strategy had helped him before, his dad was easily distracted, his mum not nearly as easily and finally his aunt who was super easy to appease. He hoped Martin might be distractible too.

"A box? Nah, we're only going to print your new cage and then this little sissy will be going back into its box. There's no need to make it all shiny for a few days' worth of printing."

"Uh, Martin? If you won't be using your, eh, worthless sissy printer anyway, could I use it? Not all of the time, just now and then…" Jonas' courage petered out and he stopped talking.

"It is a sissy printer, but who said it is worthless? Even sissies have a purpose, Jonas. Well I have to say you have spunk, boy, there's no doubting that, even though your balls are still tiny."

Jonas' face turned fire-engine red in a heart beat. How does he know about that? he wondered, realising that this must be what the mysterious fluid that had came from his penis was, spunk, or semen. Spermies, he thought, but not with pride.

"Well, I'll make you a deal. You must choose, nettles or birch."

"Huh?"

"Stinging nettles or birch," Martin repeated, speaking slowly, stressing each syllable.

"I don't know? Why? What for?"

"You have until next week. If you haven't made a choice by the time I ask you, I will make the decision for you, in which case it will be both."

Both? Nettles or birch? What is a birch, anyway? wondered Jonas, but he wasn't allowed much time to ponder the choice when he saw Martin pull out a spool of filament from an air tight bag. "Oh no!" he blurted. "You must be joking!"

"What?" Martin asked as innocently as he could. "It's either this or glow-in-the-dark neon green. I'm sure the effect would be spectacular, but it might be difficult to explain to your mummy why your little diddle has suddenly become radioactive. She might want to take you to the hospital and then we'll have all the trouble that we want to avoid."

"But, it's pink?!"

"It's Cadillac pink according to the manufacturer, though they are Polish and have probably never sat in a real Cadillac or even seen one up close. It's a damn better choice than neon green, though, not too different from your skin colour, really."

"But it's so…" Jonas halted as he searched for the proper adverb to describe how dreadful he thought the colour was. "Girlish!" he concluded.

"I think the word you're looking for is feminine. It's the perfect colour for a little sissy. There'll be no more arguing about it, these are the only colours I have in PETG, you can see the white and the marble grey are both in use on my proper printers," Martin nodded in the general direction of his two industrial-grade printers.

***

Jonas was contemplating the choice he had been given while he studied how the print head was skirting across the heated build bed, leaving behind a thin trail of pink PETG wherever it went.

"It doesn't smell," he muttered his observation, momentarily swapping from pondering the seemingly impossible choice between something he knew that he didn't like at all and something he did not know what was.

"Say what?"

"This printer, it isn't smelly like my dad's. Uh, my dad's doesn't smell like real bad, but this one doesn't smell at all."

"Get your nose away from the printer, sissy. The vapours may be nearly odourless but I highly doubt that they are as safe as they would like you to believe. You might be sniffing your brain cells away. You can watch from a metre [c. 3'] or so away, you won't miss anything from that distance. It's not your sissy daddy's sissy printer that's smelly, that would be the PLA you've been torturing it with."

"Oh," mumbled Jonas and resumed watching over the printer's doings as he returned to contemplating whether he should choose nettles or birch. It would be easier if I knew why I have to choose one or the other. What will I do with them? What can you do with nettles…? he wondered.

Only get stung by them, he told himself about a minute later; he knew this for a fact, having once vaulted from a borrowed scooter into a bed of nettles, leaving him with little itchy, burning bumps all over his lower legs and lower arms. Mum bathed the bumps with orange juice and they went away, he remembered but this experience was enough to make him despise the green plant that he still couldn't see a purpose for.

This left birch which he hadn't the faintest idea what was. His phone, and Google on it, lay on the dining table, out of his reach.

***

Jonas practised taking off his clothes and folding them into a perfect square, and placing them precisely on top of his flip flops, then sneaking over to stand behind his chair, with the proper attitude, 'self-assured submission,' as Martin called it, for an entire hour that seemed endless to the boy. He had no way to keep track of time, his watch and phone still laying out of reach on the table.

When he boarded the bus he continued to contemplate the choice he had been given. Martin had refused to give any further explanation for what purpose he should choose between nettles or birch, even so Jonas was still inclined to go with birch, simply because he loathed nettles.

The man had however promised Jonas that he would be allowed to print one of the monsters before leaving for Crete and the other one immediately after he returned. First, however, the new torture device must be finished, and while it was somewhat smaller than the one he was wearing now, it would take much longer to print because Martin had made the layers very thin.

"If printed at the right temperature and speed, you can make some very durable things from PETG," Martin had explained. "This cock cage for instance will be nearly impossible to break, though you could crush or grind it open, but your little sissy cock will be right beneath the surface; I sure wouldn't want to risk it."

Neither would Jonas. He was not happy at having to wear the new torture device – nor was he happy with the one he was wearing already – but he had more or less accepted that he could do nothing to avoid putting it on when told to by Martin. He had also, more importantly, decided that no matter how embarrassing and how painful it might be to force his penis into that narrow and dreadfully pink tube, only he and Martin would ever know about it.

It's better than my willy looking like it's glowing in the dark, Jonas thought, trying to find something to console himself with, but he still wasn't pleased with the far too girlish pink colour of the new torture device. I won't let him take pictures of me while I wear that, he declared as he unlocked his phone and tapped the icon for the web browser.

What is birch? he thought as he tapped in the question on the address line. A slender hardy tree which has a thin piercing bark and bears catpins. Jonas read part of the first answer, mistaking some of the words and all of the context, and soon lost interest in the subject. He closed the browser without reading any further, feeling not much wiser than before, though he now knew that Martin wanted him to choose between a stinging plant or a tree with a piercing bark and pins made from cats. It must be some tree, he marvelled.

A barking tree must be better than a stinging nettle, he deduced. At least the tree won't sting. Now, having made up his mind about what to tell Martin when asked, he settled back into the seat, intent on just enjoying being able to rest his legs and feet for the rest of the bus ride home.

***

Early Saturday morning, Jonas was woken by his mum.

"You haven't forgotten?" she queried.

She asked because it wasn't unusual for Jonas to forget stuff she told him and this morning was no different; he had no clue of what he was supposed to be remembering now. Blissfully unaware for a few seconds more, he remained laying face down on his bed until he remembered.

Oh, drat! Today, his mum was taking him to shop for the speedos Martin insisted he must wear all the time while away on vacation.

"I'm up," he croaked, even though he evidently wasn't. His throat felt dry, though his cheek against the pillow was wet, a small patch of the pillow directly under his mouth felt clammy; his middle section was thankfully dry this morning, and the red digits on his alarm clock told him the time was 7:16. He made all of these observations in less than five seconds, then turned his head to face his mum.

"I want us to be at the store the minute it opens," she told him. "It will be packed full of people if we wait any longer. We leave in twenty minutes. I will drag you to the car as you are now if you aren't ready by then."

Jonas grunted acceptance and started to untangle himself from his duvet; luckily his mum left his room and shut the door behind her before she was able to see that he had slept naked. Her leaving spared them an awkward moment where Jonas would have been forced to lay in bed and wait for her to go away so she wouldn't see the torture device.

***

20 minutes later, Jonas sat in the rear seat of the car, stoically accepting he had not yet been upgraded to ride shotgun, even though the front passenger seat was only occupied by his mum's handbag. He had waged war over this matter with her ever since he turned ten years old and felt mature enough to sit up front, but today he didn't feel in the mood to argue; he only wanted to get through the shopping as quickly as possible so that he could return to his bed.

The store his mum brought him to was nothing like the one in his strange dream. They went to a large hypermarket and, despite of the much too early time of day for Jonas' liking, there were already people waiting at the revolving entrance doors. The entrance was blocked by two curved sliding doors that slid open just as Jonas and his mum joined the small waiting crowd.

"Go have a look at the swimwear," his mum said. "I want to see if they have something for myself."

"Aw, Mum. You always take so long," he said, resentfully; his hopes for a quick shopping trip had just been killed.

Jonas heard a chuckle from behind him. As he looked over his shoulder he saw it was an elderly woman having a laugh at his expense. He furrowed his eyebrows and shot her an angry look, hoping to shut her up but she only winked at him and chuckled again.

He shifted his attention back to his mum. "Can't you come back later and shop for yourself?" This seemed a perfectly reasonable request to him but the old hag behind them must have thought differently because she sounded off with a fit of grunt-chuckles immediately after his question.

"Jonas!" his mum said clearly displeased and that was all he needed to understand the matter was not up for debate. He set course for the children's clothing section of the hypermarket, overtaking some of the slower patrons as he strove to get away from the rude old woman whose hoarse chuckling he could hear trailing him.

It wasn't long until he reached the clothing section – it was placed strategically close to the entrance – though he had to search for a time until he finally stood in front of what he thought was a mountain of swimwear. The wire mesh container was square, more than one and a half metres wide [c. 5'], and reached up to his waist as he stepped closer to it.

"Oh bugger," he muttered when he saw that the mesh container wasn't just full of speedos, but also board shorts and girls' swimming costumes; his task had just turned much harder and it wasn't yet nine in the morning.

It's too early for this, he thought as he shifted through the nearest clothes, then decided to dig deeper into the pile.

He soon found a pair of speedos that had lively colours he kind of liked. Sort of cool, he thought and picked them up for closer inspection.

Ah, man! No way I'll fit into these. They were for an eight or nine year old boy, or so the tag claimed. Jonas thought the speedo looked even smaller than that. Surely, you'd see a bit of crack peeking out in the back, he decided and threw the speedos into the far corner of the container hoping he wouldn't see them again.

About halfway to the bottom of the mesh container, amongst many other speedos, bikini bottoms and tops, board shorts and bathing suits he pushed or threw out of the way, Jonas found a fire engine red speedo that claimed to be for a 12-13 year old boy. Even though he would soon turn fourteen and thus shouldn't be able to fit the speedo, he held onto it as he continued his search.

Mum always says size tags are merely suggestions, he reminded himself, though she mostly claimed this when she had to go for something a size bigger than what she really wanted.

Further down into the roughly 50 by 50 cm [c. 20" x 20"] excavation, Jonas happened upon a second pair, also size 12-13. These had dark blue as the base colour with many thin lines – red, white and yellow – zig-zagging across the fabric, almost like multi-coloured lightning. "These are cool," he said. For a speedo anyway. He would have absolutely loved the design on a pair of board shorts.

"Are you joining a swim team?"

Jonas almost groaned aloud when he heard the question being asked in a shaky, old-timer quavering voice. He knew, even before turning his head, that the old hag had managed to find him and was back to pester him.

"No," he said, brusquely, not caring if he was being rude; in fact, he wanted to be far ruder to the old woman so she might take real offence and leave him alone. He did not dare, though, fearing his mum, against all odds, would come and overhear the exchange of words between him and the wrinkled old woman who Jonas now saw was only a long black hat and a mole or two away from being categorised as a genuine witch.

He dug deeper, leaning in over the railing of the mesh container, not caring that he was now showing his bum to the old witch; it was covered by his shorts so his modesty was still safe. He could almost hear how the woman disapprovingly shook her head at him, perhaps brandishing one of her small arthritic fisted hands at him, but his attention was caught by a pair of green speedos at the bottom of the pit he had dug in the pile of brightly coloured nylon swimwear.

When he dragged them out into the light from the overhead fluorescent lamp fixtures he saw they were close to the colour of the filament Martin had advised against using for his new holiday torture device, though the speedo was more nuclear green rather than neon green. There were small triangles of yellow on it as well, but these were limited to the sides, leaving both crotch and bum solid green.

***

Having completed his dreaded task – holding in his hands the three speedos that Martin had ordered him to get – Jonas sought out his mum. She was looking at a rack with summer dresses, all of which he thought looked hideous, but he managed to keep his opinion to himself and simply dropped the three speedos into the shopping trolley.

He decided to go check out the electronics section, with a quick stop over in the toys section just for nostalgic reasons – he felt he was far too old for toys – and had just taken two steps in that direction when he heard his mum's sharp voice.

"Not so fast. Go try them on, we're not going home only for you to discover they are the wrong size," she said.

Jonas rolled his eyes before he turned around and walked back to the trolley. "Do I have to try all of them on? They are the same size."

"Yes. You don't know who sewed them, it was likely different people and since these aren't exactly Hugo Boss quality they might vary in size. For all you know, someone might have put the wrong tag in them."

Jonas nearly rolled his eyes again. His mum disliked this obvious sign of disdain and he knew there'd be hell to pay if she saw him do that, so he waited until she concentrated on the hideous dresses again then rolled his eyes as he picked up the three speedos.

***

The small fitting room, more cubicle than room, was only separated from the other customers and the hypermarket employees by a flimsy curtain. When Jonas drew the curtain in place, he found that it stopped about 30 cm [1'] above the floor and that it wouldn't close up properly against the wall.

In normal times, Jonas would be somewhat concerned about undressing under such conditions. He was used to collective undressing and showering after games and sports classes in school, and though he wasn't happy to do so, it helped that everyone, apart from the teacher, had to go through the same ordeal. But, that was before he had decided to lock his penis inside a dark grey torture device.

Now, here in the hypermarket, he wasn't amongst age mates he knew, only strangers and his mum were around.

And the old witch! He tried to rearrange the curtain again, willing it to stay in place and sighed when it crept back along the rail, only settling when a five centimetre [2"] gap had appeared between curtain and wall.

Better get it over with, he decided and pressed his bum up against the wall where the curtain offered the most protection from any prying eyes that might be trying to catch a glimpse of him.

He pushed down his shorts before remembering he had to remove his sneakers first and ended up doing a little dance with his shorts around his knees while he used the toes on one foot to push off the shoe on the other foot.

Now, shoeless and shorts-less, he found himself naked from the waist down, having forgotten he had got used to going commando; with the torture device holding his penis hostage, he couldn't see the reason for an extra layer of clothing.

There was a sign in the fitting room that clearly told him in writing and with a pictogram, that trying on bathing and swim suits wasn't allowed when not wearing underwear. He ignored the instructions and pulled the cool, dark blue speedo with its many crisscrossing lines up in place, anyway.

Only when he was tugging on the back of the suit to get it out of his bum crack, did he wonder about how many other boys before him had thought the same as he and tried them on without wearing anything underneath.

Maybe tens of thousands of boys, he worried, not realising this was rather unlikely, if only because there weren't so many 12 to 13 years old boys in the region where he lived. Deciding that the speedo was his size – although not a perfect fit, it seemed determined to crawl up his bum hole – he quickly changed back into his shorts and laced up his shoes again.

I'm not putting the other ones on. He did not want to risk catching a bug or maybe getting an infection of any kind from one of all the unknown boys that might have tried on the speedos before him. Instead, he placed the dark blue speedos on the chair that took up half the floor space in the small cubicle then placed the green ones on top of them.

"Same size," he said, quietly, just as he had anticipated. And the same he decided was the case with the red speedos, although he did have to stretch them some to match the size of the dark blue one laying on the chair underneath them.

He waited in the cubicle, sneaky as always, for as long as he thought it would have taken him to try on all three speedos. Only then did he leave and headed straight for the toys section though it meant he had to carry the wretched speedos while he eyed the new Lego sets and the action figures he still thought were cool but that he would rather die than be caught playing with.

Chapter Nine
Little helper

Jonas let himself into Martin's house, it was Monday, just a few minutes before noon. Next Monday Jonas would be in Crete with his mum and dad, but first he must endure five more days of visiting the man who did not behave like any other grownup he knew.

He knew he had to obey the man's orders, though, if he didn't want the secret – that he had printed and locked himself into a torture device that couldn't be unlocked – to be revealed to everyone. Worse, the pictures that Martin had taken and the films he had recorded would be uploaded so the whole world could see them. This, above all, he wanted to prevent, which is why he followed the instructions given and started to undress immediately upon entering the house and shutting the front door.

He placed his flip flops neatly on the doormat with their toes touching the wall as he had been taught, then came the part that he found tricky. Martin wanted him to fold his shorts in an almost military fashion, so that they formed a perfect square, no wider than the two flip flops. The square shape must then be placed precisely on top of the flip flops. Finally, his t-shirt must be folded to the exact same dimensions as his shorts and placed on top of them, perfectly, immaculately.

He did his best, and when he had finished undressing and arranging his clothes, he stepped off the doormat and went to the dining table. He carefully put his phone and wristwatch on the table, strategically placing the watch so he could tell the time from behind his chair on the other side of the table.

As he was settling into position behind his chair, he discovered a small post-it note stuck onto the backrest.

I hope you brought your speedos, sissy, Jonas read inwardly and winced at the designation. Put them on the table.

He had left the speedos in a shopping bag on the doormat so he went back to get them.

All the time he had been in the house, he hadn't heard any sounds nor had he seen anything that indicated Martin was home. The only sound he heard was a low whirring noise from the hobby room which meant at least one of the man's massive printers was running but this didn't necessarily mean Martin was in the house; he could easily have started the printer and gone out for a moment.

Still, Jonas was too afraid to move from the position he had practised taking up so many times on Friday afternoon before being released for the weekend. And, because he couldn't use his dad's printer and therefore didn't have any reason to browse for things to print, he had even practised standing at ease, at home, in his room, alone.

Somewhere inside of the boy, just beneath the layer of concern, was the longing for Martin to let him remove the torture device so he could play with his penis again. Ever since he had the strange dream, he had yearned to fondle his penis. He wanted to whack it until he was well and truly back in 'Nirvana', if only for the shortest while.

But, Martin had to be present before any of this could happen, and now, ten minutes past twelve, there was still no sign of him.

***

Martin sat in his hobby room and watched his monitor. On it was the output from four small video cameras, two of these now only showed the rather low stack of clothes on the doormat.

The stack was significantly smaller than the stacks of clothing that his subs usually left there. But his other subs were all adults, and as such they usually wore coats or jackets, long trousers or skirts, and proper shoes or boots. They never wore shorts or short skirts, nor only a t-shirt, because most of them wanted to hide the bruises that inevitable came with a good round of BDSM before Martin released them.

Normally, there would be a small stack of notes on the table, next to the sub's cell phone, watch and wallet or purse; Martin charged by the hour – never offering discounts, because he didn't need to – and he only accepted cool hard cash for services rendered. He could see his dining table was void of money from the output of the other two cameras on his monitor, though these were focused on the near naked boy struggling to stand at ease behind one of the chairs.

If Martin had been more capable of being sympathetic he might have felt sorry for the trembling boy, but he was mostly feeling rather pleasantly surprised to see him in his living room. His ever present hunger for domineering over others was being slightly appeased, feasting as it was on the nervousness radiating from the boy.

He waited, in silence, watching the monitor and hearing the whirring from his printers, although he would have preferred to hear pathetic sobbing from the living room, denied by the annoying stubbornness the boy still possessed.

When another ten minutes had passed without the boy's resolve crumbling, Martin quietly rolled his office chair back and stood up.

***

"So…" Jonas jolted with the sudden sound of Martin's cold voice. "You've returned."

He watched Martin out of the corner of his eyes as the man walked into his field of vision and stopped on the other side of the table, picking up the phone as if he owned it. He watched, with growing infuriation and an equally growing concern, when his phone was unlocked with a password he did not know.

Martin scanned the phone's activity over the weekend. "You've attempted to hack my code, sissy," he noted. "Several times yesterday. Unsuccessfully, which doesn't surprise me."

Martin clicked his tongue as he looked up from the boy's phone. "You keep displeasing me, Jonas."

"I only wanted to watch YouTube," Jonas said, barely managing to keep his voice under control. "I hate that I can't use my phone like I want. I got it for my non-firmation. It's mine!"

"Non-firmation? You weren't confirmed with the rest of your year? Don't you want to be a good Christian and go to heaven when you die? You don't believe in God, boy?" Martin asked, ignoring Jonas' statement about the ownership of the phone he held in his hand.

"No," Jonas claimed, although he had only decided not to confirm his christening because this required extra tuition from the priest and this took place in the church, not at his school, and he couldn't be bothered with the long trek there and back unlike most of his year mates. Instead, he had sat in the empty home room and chatted with a couple of non-Christians for the two hours every Thursday morning until the rest of the class returned from church.

He wasn't sure whether the Holy Trinity and all of the saints had ever existed and because his parents had promised to throw a party for him either way, he had skipped the weekly trip to church.

"Pity," Martin stated. "You won't be watching the 'tube on your phone any time soon. I hate people always having to watch something to keep themselves occupied." He dropped the phone on the table from a height that wouldn't harm it but was far enough for Jonas to cringe when he heard the 'plonk' it made as it hit the table.

"You will regret it if I catch you trying to hack my password again," Martin threatened.

Martin selected one of the speedos from the table. "Put these on, I want to see if your arse looks good red. If you keep defying me it will end up just as red as these."

Jonas had heard multiple variations of this threat throughout the single week that he had had the bad luck of knowing Martin. Because there had been no real consequences so far he thought it was nothing more than a figure of speech. He was much more worried about the state of his phone than what might potentially happen to his rear end. Still, he accepted the speedos from Martin and started to put them on.

They were tight, much tighter than the blue, and cooler speedos, he had tried on in the hypermarket's fitting room. These red ones hardly covered his front, the contour of the torture device was clearly perceptible under the stretched nylon fabric that also gripped his balls tightly. In the rear, it left about the top one centimetre [c. ½"] of his buttocks in plain view.

"Not bad," Martin commented, stepping close to Jonas and caressed the boy's bum with his hand, enjoying to the fullest how it quivered nervously under his touch. He slid his index finger in under the waistband, following the boy's warm and ever so slightly moist crack down toward the hidden entrance.

Jonas felt violated, the feeling of the finger brushing against his sensitive skin was somewhat ticklish, though he did not feel like giggling or laughing from the disturbing touch. He had no recollection of ever having been touched where Martin's finger was now lightly stroking him and he did not like the feeling, not one bit.

It was just a short time, mere seconds, before Martin removed his finger from the boy's arse crack; had he allowed himself more time, he would have attempted to push the finger into the tightness just a little further below. I will finger him on the very day he's back from vacation, he promised himself, already looking forward to this activity and all of the other things he planned to do with and to Jonas.

Jonas felt the intrusive finger move up and away from his crack and hefted a small muted sigh of relief when it didn't return.

"Not bad," Martin repeated. "Not bad at all. I'm sure you'll attract a lot of attention wearing this speedo. However, you're mine; you'd best remember that."

Jonas wasn't entirely sure what Martin meant. He didn't want to bring any attention to himself, certainly not while he was wearing these, the skimpiest of speedos, that didn't even cover his bum crack properly. Aunt Megan would stick her finger in my crack, too. He was certain she would, given the chance, which he would have to make sure she never got.

I should have tried them on. Why didn't I try them on before deciding they were good enough?

He had wandered the hypermarket for what felt like half the day, after having found his mum still busily checking out the hideous dresses and declaring the speedos were a-ok. There had been plenty of time to search the large mesh container for another pair, one that wasn't so revealing. His mum had only finally left the clothing section after another forty minutes, living up to Jonas' prediction of not buying anything.

I had plenty of time to find another pair instead of the green ones, too. They look like someone barfed all over them!

"Right, take them off," Martin barked. "We have work to do and it would be a shame if you ruined your new swimwear before you had a chance to wear them at the beach."

I'll never wear them again, Jonas quickly swore to himself. He was almost happier being fully naked than wearing the ultra-tight speedos; although, he decided, while wearing the torture device, he couldn't classify it as being wholly naked.

You can't see my penis. Knowing this was a sort of relief, too, though he hoped never to find himself going out in public with only the dark grey tube safekeeping his modesty.

In fact, the grey tube was soon to be replaced with a new tube, allegedly only ever so slightly smaller than his current one, though Jonas thought it looked and felt much smaller than the original. It felt smoother and more refined than the very first one Jonas had printed in the comfort of his home. The real punishment device, the one that had spikes on the insides, and even felt rough around the edges on the outside.

The new tube Jonas now held in his hand was every bit as dreadfully pink as he remembered it to be. It looked like a girl's accessory item, something pretty and girly. It did not appear to be something he would ever want to squeeze his penis into. He had no doubt that it would take more than just your average push and shove to work his appendage into that short and narrow tube, he could scarcely fit his little finger into the opening.

If only I had seen this on Thingiverse, he thought with regret, imagining himself scoffing at the 3D model before moving on to the next. He would never have dreamt about cramming his penis into this tiny thing. And had it been showcased in pink on the site, he would never have printed it in the first place.

"The rest of the parts are the same as those you've already printed," Martin explained. "I couldn't make the lock ring much smaller, or the lock pins, so I've left them as is. You will simply print them now, all at the same time, and hopefully everything will be ready for you to try it on when you come round tomorrow."

Jonas couldn't see any problems with that, other than the more obvious ones he had already pointed out to himself: the size and colour of the new holiday torture device. Trying it on for a short while before leaving for Crete could only be beneficial; after all this wasn't a pair of speedos he could easily take off in exchange for another one.

He was well aware that once he did leave for Crete, his penis would not see the light of day until he returned, ten days later. He did not particularly like this inescapable fact, he certainly couldn't see the reason for it, other than Martin was ruthless, mean, evil, and mad all at once.

Jonas would sorely miss playing with himself, to be able to wank when he wanted and for however long he wanted.

I couldn't, though, he reminded himself. He was going to share a hotel room with his parents where he'd be sleeping on a fold-away cot or on a sleeping sofa; the description of the room didn't specify which of the two applied to their reservation. There was also only one combined toilet/bathroom which further restricted Jonas' privacy, and that of his parents, though he didn't consider that at all.

Naturally, the family wouldn't be together all of the time, there'd be tours his parents wanted to go on that he might not, and that would have been when Jonas could have wanked in private as long as the maid didn't choose that time to disturb him. He remembered they had entered the room with very little warning last year, though he had not thought about playing with his penis then.

So even at the best of times there would've been very little opportunity for him to experiment with his penis, to find out whether the strange dream had been about him crossing the threshold between boyhood and adolescence, to see if he could now goad sperm to shoot from his balls.

Well, I can't now, not unless Martin lets me. The pink tube was smaller, but had the same arrangement of barbs at the opening, so once Jonas managed to get his penis inside of it, he wouldn't be able to remove it without using the special tongs made for this exact purpose.

Jonas decided to make an effort to please the man, rather than say or do things that would lessen his chances of regaining at least some minimal control over his own life. It would be hard to be nice to the man, but, as long as the new pink torture device wouldn't be too much more of a nuisance to Jonas, he thought he could endure this, too.

It's better than everyone knowing I'm stupid and perverted, Jonas decided; this is what he knew everybody would think when they heard of his story, saw the pictures of him or the film that Martin had shot while Jonas had played with himself, oblivious to anything around him. He was certain there was a recording of Martin scanning his penis and balls, too. It seemed to him that he couldn't take two steps without it being recorded.

But again, as long as the video camera and the highly advanced digital camera of Martin's wasn't pushed right into Jonas' face or hovering ten centimetres [3"] from his private parts, he thought he could endure this, too, if it meant he could close his eyes and pretend to be somewhere else while playing with his stiffy. The thought started a throbbing between his legs, so he quickly blotted it from his mind.

Fortunately, it was easy to find distractions in the man's hobby room, such as the 3D printer Jonas wanted to use for his own – and much better – projects, rather than printing the remaining parts of his pink torture device. The other two, larger, printers were tantalizing too, although he wouldn't have known where to start if Martin were to give him the go ahead to use them.

***

"We ought to put some lights on it," Jonas advised about thirty minutes later; he was sitting on a barstool Martin had fetched for him, this brought him up to the same height of the printer which he was referring to now.

The boy did his best to keep his chatter interesting and not push any of Martin's buttons, though the man usually couldn't be bothered to respond, or only with a small grunt from time to time. "I've seen people have them on YouTube," Jonas added after a short silence.

"That's one reason why I removed that stupid website from your phone," Martin said. "If you watched enough clips of people jumping off the edge of cliffs, would that make you want to jump, too?" he wondered aloud, almost understanding why someone might do that, especially if they had such a chatty kid like Jonas around.

Used to spending the majority of his weekdays alone, recuperating for another weekend where he must be on his toes from the moment he took possession of a sub until he released him or her, the young boy's endless comments and attempts at conversing were getting on his nerves. I should gag him, he told himself. Hogtie him and push his small speedos deep into his mouth…

"No, I don't think I would. I'm not entirely stupid," Jonas claimed. "I know it might seem that way because I messed up and put the torture device on without thinking. No, I mean it'd just make it easier to see if something's out of whack."

"I don't think you did that by mistake. However, I do think you need glasses if you can't see whether something is out of whack from where you're sitting, lights or no lights. Go, put on your green speedos, that sissy printer will not work any faster or better with you breathing on the build plate."

Jonas would have preferred to observe the printer, it reminded him of his dad's printer, now locked away behind the basement stairs' door. Still, sticking to his earlier silent resolution, he went and put on the nuclear/barf-green speedos and returned to the hobby room, intending to climb straight back up on the barstool and resume watching the hypnotic movements of the print head.

"In my shed you will find a lawnmower," Martin informed when he saw Jonas return. "Make yourself useful, go mow my lawn."

"What?" Jonas was momentarily stunned by Martin's words, unsure whether the man meant it seriously or not. He gathered his thoughts, uncannily quickly – usually he would have had to take a minute or two to get his mind to work – and made a counter-offer. "Okay, if you let me out of this torture device for fift… Uh, for ten minutes. Alright, five?" He was quickly losing his cool, sinking into the familiar feeling of low self-esteem, helped by the unrelenting, piercing stare from Martin.

"The French window is there," the man informed and pointed it out next to the two large printers.

Jonas went to the French window, which he found was actually a door made almost entirely from one double-layered pane of glass, with a bit of wooden trim, and he rotated the door handle that allowed him to swing it open into the garden.

While he worked the handle, he happened to look at the item being printed by the nearest printer. "Is that a naked kid?" he asked, seeking confirmation that his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"It is." Martin nodded. "In fact, he is rather famous and goes by the name of David. Do you know him?"

"No." Jonas did not know any boys named David, famous or not, yet he was kind of happy that he wasn't the only one who had been scanned without his clothes on.

He did not realise, nor did he wait for the man to tell him, that it was Michelangelo who centuries ago had chiselled the youthful figure out of a single slab of marble that others before him had given up on, and that it was simply a scan of this statue that was currently being printed.

Jonas quickly went out the door and found himself standing on a terrace in a vast back garden with beds of varied sizes and various flowers dividing the big lawn into smaller sections. The garden was secluded from the neighbours by a tall wooden fence on one side and evergreen hedges on the other sides.

He was grateful for the privacy the surroundings offered him, nevertheless he would have liked it more if he was wearing his t-shirt and shorts instead of only his new green speedos; although a much better fit than the red ones they really didn't cover much more of him.

Also, he wasn't quite sure of the whole mowing-the-lawn deal yet. Martin had not agreed to letting him play with himself for even as little as five minutes in return for the favour, and despite the promise he had made to himself about always aiming to please the man, hoping he might ease up, he wasn't sure if this also included doing physical labour.

Opening the shed, when he saw what was awaiting him, Jonas was almost ready to go back and try for a better deal. Unexpectedly, Martin's lawnmower did not have the same kind of gasoline-powered engine that his dad's mower had. In fact, this did not have an engine at all. It was a manual push mower and this was the first time he saw one of these outside of old movies.

He scratched an itch on the back of his thigh while contemplating the new situation. Mowing the lawn in all of its entirety would undoubtedly result in a stroke, either heat or heart, neither of which Jonas was the least interested in experiencing. The itch spread to his bum cheek as he had a quick look over his shoulder, and he absent-mindedly scratched it as he took in the size of the lawn again, just in case he had seen a mirage rather than the real thing.

It is big, he told himself and he noted how immaculate it was. It sure didn't look as if it was in any serious need of a trim.

***

Martin sat and enjoyed the peace, the hum from the printers and his computers was the only sound his ears picked up. The chatterbox that the boy had turned into could be seen in a small window on his computer desktop, busily pushing the mower from one end of the nearest lawn to the other, utilizing bursts of short shoves that Martin knew were far more tiring than if he worked the mower up to speed and kept the momentum going.

Still, he wasn't about to go out and offer advice, the boy was being kept busy mowing the lawn and for as long as he was doing that, he wouldn't be driving Martin nuts with all of his endless questions, seemingly picked by random about anything that popped into his peculiar mind.

Now, Martin had time to plan the next visit from one of his most faithful subs and he would make the little bitch suffer, all the time imagining it was really Jonas who lay trembling at his feet. Although she was blonde and female, and more than triple the boy's age, she was about the same height and almost equally as flat-chested as him. However, though they had their similarities, it would not be the real deal. She would not fear him.

Patience, he reminded himself. It wouldn't do to lose his cool and send the boy off to Crete with a sore arse and an ego too badly bruised. He might think himself safe and squeal to his parents when he is twenty five hundred kilometres [c. 1550 miles] from me. No, I simply cannot hurt him, yet. It was highly annoying, restricting himself like this, but he had no choice.

Soon. Martin took comfort in this simple word and couldn't help but smile at what it promised him.

***

Jonas was not smiling. The mower was more complicated than he had imagined, every time he felt as if he had mastered it, it went and did something else that inevitably caused it to grind to a halt. In which case, Jonas could only walk a few steps back, dragging the mower with him as the reel ran backward and cleared the blockage, before he pushed forward again as if he were shoving all of humankind's problems ahead of him.

Then he could resume his trot, pushing the mower in front of him with the reel revolving at speed and spitting a cloud of small clippings back up at him, until suddenly, no more than a couple of metres [c. 6.5'] after the last breakdown, the mower would grind to a halt again.

He blew a quick raspberry in order to get some of the small prickly pieces of grass away from his lips. He would have wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand if it had not been covered with the same small pieces, as if he were turning into some kind of a furry Hulk, though if he were, it was one without the supernatural physique of the real Hulk.

He looked up, hoping to see the clouds in the sky had turned dark, that an impending rainstorm would force him to abandon the mower where it sat while he sought shelter. Unfortunately, even though it was overcast, the clouds were pearly white. Now, Jonas was no meteorologist but it did not take one to tell that these clouds were not rain clouds, they only provided enough shade to forego the dreaded sunscreen.

I wouldn't need any with all of this crap all over me, either, Jonas thought to himself, surveying the front of his body and noting the dark green clippings clinging to his perspiring skin.

He started to brush them off then realised he'd only get covered again soon. He sighed and gave the mower a swift push that made its reel spin and spit back another cloud of the sticky and prickly clippings.

***

Martin looked up from the notebook he used to plan his sessions. He preferred to handwrite his ideas when thinking creatively. He realised an hour and a half had sped by without leaving much of a trace. He saw Jonas was finished mowing the part of the lawn he had started with, and he moved one of his remote-controlled outside cameras in search of the boy.

He found him still pushing the mower, somewhat more effectively now. It was clear to Martin, by stealthily monitoring the boy via the camera, that he had grown tired. Also – and much easier to tell – he saw the boy was dirty, flecked with grass clippings. He could not let him go home like this.

Martin reached a decision and got up from his comfortable chair.

***

After lugging the mower back to the shed, Jonas looked up at Martin, waiting for further instructions. He was glad the ordeal was over, having feared he was going to have to mow the entire lawn before the man was satisfied.

Now, Jonas only wanted to put on his t-shirt and shorts and go home, regardless of how filthy he was. Judging from the sun's position in the sky, he thought it was about time he should go home, though he couldn't tell the exact time by this method. He was feeling very thirsty and his stomach groaned, demanding to be filled with easy digestible energy in the shape of chocolate bars, Mars bars, preferably, and quickly, too.

When he was told to turn the garden hose on, he instinctively knew Martin was about to tell him to do something he absolutely did not want to; he could see it in the man's eyes. He would have happily drunk from the hose, the water coming from the nozzle when he activated it was cool and smelled fresh, however this wasn't what the man told him to do.

"Hose yourself down," Martin ordered and watched how Jonas started to rinse his feet with the hose.

"Take those swimmers off, I want to see if your balls have been chafed during your light workout."

"Oh my, aren't you one little dirty sissy, Jonas," he commented when the boy pushed down his speedos. There were grass clippings clinging to him, in places normally hidden from sight. "Make sure you wash your little sissy cage well and your arse, too. I can't let you go home to your mummy with grass all over you."

Martin watched while Jonas pushed his speedos down the rest of the way and stepped out of them, then decided to help the boy rather than merely watch him. He seized him by the neck before he had time to straighten up and held him bent over.

"Give me the hose," he ordered. He pointed the pistol-grip nozzle directly toward the arse-end of the boy and pulled on the trigger. The pressure in the hose had built up and the water squirted out in a narrow focused jet, finding a way in between the boy's pushed-out buttocks and striking up against the virgin entrance within.

"Eeek!" screeched Jonas when he felt the water pummel at his bum hole. "No, no-no-no," he pleaded when the pressure did not abate but rather increased, but found he could not move or break the man's grip.

"I'm sure you're filthy in there, too," Martin noted and moved the nozzle closer still, until it was pressed up against the boy's opening, already dilating and yielding to the willpower of the water. He released the trigger ever so slightly, slowing the stream some, but certainly not halting it, when he saw the water starting to make its way into the boy.

I don't want to pressure-wash him, he reminded himself, though enemas, especially high-volume ones, were very high up on his list of things to do to his subs. It was the prelude to any activity in his house, usually immediately taken care of right after him entering his living room and greeting the waiting sub.

"Stop!" Jonas begged, he could feel how the water kept flowing into him, wondering how this was possible, if it was safe. He quickly convinced himself that if something felt as bad as this, it could not be safe and screeched again when something inside of him seemingly broke and allowed the cold water to rush even deeper inside of him.

"There, all full to the brim," Martin commented after about fifteen more seconds had passed by, stopped the flow of water and released his hold on the boy's neck.

Instantly, Jonas squatted and pushed. It felt as if he had the worse case of the runs ever, his bowels did indeed feel 'full to the brim,' like Martin had claimed. He tried not to worry about what might come out of him, his only goal was to get rid of all of the water that had been shot so violently into his rear end by the man.

This wasn't exactly how Martin had planned to give Jonas his first enema, but he was relatively pleased with how it took place. The boy was squatting over a large grate, directly underneath was the pickup line for rainwater which would neatly carry away anything foul that might come out with the water he had squirted into the boy's arse.

So far, nothing had been trapped by the grate, and in any such eventuality, it should be easy to force through with a couple of precise bursts of water from the hose. Should it prove more stubborn, then Jonas would simply have to push it through with his toe.

"Are you done, yet?" he asked the boy.

Jonas was still sitting in a deep squat, holding on to his knees for support, not sure if all of the water had come out yet, though it sure felt as if he had pushed more than just water out through his bum hole. He was winded, gasping, and still trying to understand what had just been done to him, and why.

One second he had been using the cool water from the hose to wash his feet and the next he had felt as if the world turned upside-down and someone had used his bum hole for target practise and shot ice cubes at it, into it, though he now understood that it was water, not ice, cold water, indeed, but not frozen. Still, he felt cold to his core.

"Wh-what did you do?" he asked.

"I cleaned out the filth. Have you finished?"

"I think so," Jonas said, praying that Martin wouldn't do this again.

"Good. Wash the grass off while I fetch you a towel."

***

He stuck the hose up my bum! Jonas tried to replay the scene from Martin's back garden in his mind and he still couldn't get things to add up. He was now certain the end of the hose must have been inside of him, it was the only explanation for why it still ached back there. He shifted in the bus seat, trying to find a position where his butt hole wouldn't hurt, while he tried to analyse the events of the day that had ended with his bum being filled with water. Right to the brim.

He remembered sitting on the barstool, chatting about this and that, trying to find a subject that interested Martin, but how this had only seemed to infuriate the man. I got to stop that, he told himself. Normally he would clam up when nervous, so what was different today? He was still trying to get to the bottom of it all when he exited the bus and started on the short walk home.

I tried to treat him like he was my friend, he realised. That has to be what he doesn't like. He wants to be my boss!

He unlocked the front door and briefly greeted his mum before locking himself in the bathroom. Here he examined his butt hole, using the hand mirror that his mum normally used to check her hair before going out.

He could see no apparent damage.

It looks okay, he decided. He had only seen this part of him once before. Back when he was eleven years old, he had used his old phone to take a picture of his rear end, only to delete it straight after a quick look at the picture. As far as he could tell from looking in the mirror, everything looked normal, or at least very close to what he could recollect. There was no torn skin, no bruises on the outside.

He returned the mirror and pulled his shorts back on.

Chapter Ten
Pre-vacation

When Jonas woke the next morning his bum felt fine, if not completely normal. The experience of his first enema was however not so easily forgotten. The shocking sensation of water so explosively flooding his rectum – and crossing through internal sphincters, he had not known existed, much deeper into his bowels – had been absolutely horrific.

He didn't know what to compare it to, a flu shot or vaccinations were bad, too, but he didn't think the water-in-his-bum experience could be considered a medical procedure. For one thing, it was Martin who did it to him, not a nurse or a doctor, secondly, it had been done with a dirty garden hose; thirdly they had been in the man's garden not a surgery, and finally, it had come with no warning and no reason being given whatsoever.

He cleaned out the filth, Jonas remembered the man's explanation. But, even if his bum had been full of poo – which Jonas knew for a fact it wasn't, because he had gone just before leaving his house to go to Martin's – that would have been easily solved by using the lavatory.

He never asked! Not that Jonas would have willingly agreed to have something so vile done to him, not in a million years, but then at least he would have been able to prepare for it.

Or try to run. Making a run for it was probably the better option, even after all the tiring mowing he had just done. Even if it meant he would've had to run all the way home, wearing only his barf-green speedos, that would still have been better than being bent over and have his bum filled with water.

He vowed to run if Martin reached for the hose again, no matter the consequence. Anything would be better than the sensation of his bum being painfully inflated with water another time.

Only it wouldn't, he realised when he remembered Martin's threats. That would be worse!

Sadly he realised if it came down to him deciding between the one or the other, he would have no choice but to choose the first. I'd have to bend over and spread my cheeks open. The thought was so terrifying that Jonas almost couldn't push himself to leave his house when it was time to walk to the bus. But, his failing to do that, meant Martin would upload all the mortally embarrassing footage he had of Jonas, and so he boarded the bus when it stopped.

***

Martin was sitting in his hobby room where he often sat, now tinkering with a 20 cm [c. 8"] tall 3D print of a naked boy. It was not David, that one had not finished printing yet, but rather an unnamed boy plucking a thorn from his foot.

He looked up when he heard his front door being opened and shut, saw on his monitor that it was only Jonas and resumed sanding the small plastic statue. He was in no rush, the boy did not need to leave for nearly five and a half hours. He was in even less of a hurry because he clearly remembered how the kid's mouth had not stopped moving for longer than a minute at a time yesterday.

Martin turned up his computer's volume when Dire Strait's 'Money for Nothing' came up next on his play list. The amplified speakers were fairly jumping when his fingers left the volume control knob and he started to sing along loudly when the lyrics started.

***

Jonas had just pulled his t-shirt up over his head when he heard the drums start; the sound startled him and for a second he worried if he had entered the right house. The noise from the hobby room was deafening. Is he having a party? Jonas wondered when he had established his location.

He almost giggled when above the torrent of sound waves he heard what could only be Martin's voice crooning along with the song. It did not sound pretty, neither the song nor Martin's singing.

Still, he wasn't sure if he should undress; although he could only hear Martin's voice over the loud and rather distorted music, this did not rule out the possibility of other people being present. Maybe these other people couldn't sing any better than Martin but were sensible enough to not sing along with the band.

They can't sing either, was Jonas' opinion about the band.

He wanted to put his t-shirt back on and leave the house before his presence was detected, the man was turning meaner, and weirder, the more he got to know him, though Jonas couldn't honestly say he knew much about Martin.

The man had not divulged many details about himself, not even what he did for a living; Jonas did not for a second believe Martin earned money by being mean to other grown-ups. He was certain Martin would get beaten up if he tried to squirt water up another grown-up's bum, that he was simply too embarrassed to tell where he really worked.

He's a nurse, no, he's a cleaner at a retirement home, Jonas decided and also decided he had better take off his shorts, too, and get on with his chores.

***

The song came to an end before Martin turned down the volume and went to greet Jonas.

"You keep coming back," he said; he loved to screw with people's mind like this, acting as if they had a choice. Which they do, he reminded himself. Obviously, most if not all of his other visitors came because they wanted to, though some only came because their desire drove them to and couldn't leave quickly enough afterward. They all return. Eventually. If I allow them to.

The kid was different; not just because he clearly did not want to see Martin, did not want to be told what to do, plainly hated having to submit to him. He was pleasing to the eye, Martin had not been joking when he told Jonas not to try to hide his body from him. The same couldn't be said about most of his clients, part of why he charged them money, part so he could get by. The youth's skin was still elastic, void of wrinkles and scars, at least what Martin had seen so far.

Jonas blushed when he realised that what Martin said was true, he did come back, day after day. The way Martin had said it suggested Jonas was stupid, which the boy did not think he was, or that he wanted to be treated like trash, which he most definitely did not.

"Did I strike a nerve?" Martin asked. "You return because now you've found what you've always needed, right? You really do want this, you can't get enough. You know it, kid. Admit it, say you're a little sissy, admit it to me and yourself. There's no shame in owning up to the truth."

Jonas shook his head, demonstratively. "That's not true. I'm not a sissy. I hate coming here."

"I don't understand why you're here now if you hate it so much. I think you need some time to think it through," Martin said and turned on his heel. "You stay here."

"Wait," Jonas said. He couldn't believe Martin would just leave him, but this was exactly what the man did.

Twenty seconds later, Jonas' thoughts were drowned by Neil Diamond's 'Girl, you'll be a woman soon,' blasting from the hobby room.

***

Jonas thought he had descended into Hell, despite the fact that he didn't officially believe in either God or the devil. Varied as Martin's taste in music was, Jonas did not like even a single of the songs he was forced to listen to while remaining standing behind the chair with his eyes fixed on it and his hands clasped behind his back.

His left foot had fallen asleep when finally a song finished and a new one didn't immediately start, which mercifully ended the stream of one bad song after another.

"Come, sissy," he heard the call from the hobby room and he limped in there.

He was certain several hours had passed by and was surprised when he saw the clock on the wall in the hobby room; according to this, only 45 minutes had passed.

"Are you clean?" Martin asked.

Jonas blushed, again, before he managed to nod. "Yes," he said. He had meticulously cleaned his penis the required fifteen times and told Martin this.

"And your arse?"

"Uh," Jonas said. "It's clean, too."

"Inside?"

"Yes!" Although he certainly had not spurted it full of water like Martin had the day before, he had not felt the need to sit on the toilet since that horrifying event and therefore he thought it must be clean. Now, though, he began to worry if his bowels had been damaged, if his insides were slowly being filled with poo and what might happen if that was so.

I should like to put that claim to the test, Martin thought. "Get up on the table," he said instead, "and lock the chain around your ankle."

When Jonas sat on the table with the steel link chain locked securely in place around his left ankle, Martin instructed him to lie back.

"Put your arms above your head," he said and locked heavy-duty leather bracelets around the boy's wrists when Jonas complied.

"You don't have to do that," Jonas said in a small voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

Martin shushed the boy. "I know. I'm going to free your little sissy willy and you haven't earned the privilege to touch it. I'll replace your comfortable cock cage with your new pretty pink vacation cage and I doubt you'll enjoy what I must do in order to fit it on you. Your sissy cock is quite small but I doubt it is small enough for the cage to slip on easily."

"What? It won't fit? What about the hand-in-glove stuff you talked about?" Jonas asked and tried to sit up.

"You stay put!" Martin yanked on the cord he had tied to the bracelet, looped it twice around the table leg and pulled it taut before tying it off.

Now, Jonas lay stretched out with his left ankle locked to the short chain and his right wrist tied off to the opposite corner of the long work table. He came close to panic when Martin snatched his left hand and started to tie this to the table as well. "No, don't," he wailed. "Let me go! I didn't do anything. Please…"

Martin finished tying the knot and placed his hand over the boy's mouth, which instantly turned Jonas' babbling into mumbled protests.

"You need to settle down, Jonas. This will not hurt you." Martin's voice was calm but cold. Besides, he added silently, we're only just getting started. You really should save your screams for later.

He let go of the boy when he sensed he had been calmed sufficiently. "Try not to fret too much, I will only be a moment."

Jonas wondered how things had come to this. Here he was, tied naked to a table, he had no memory of ever having been as helpless as he felt now. If Martin were to leave him tied up, he had no choice but to wait for the man to return to free him.

He won't hurt me. Jonas had no way of knowing whether this was true or not, but he chose to believe it was. He just doesn't want me to touch myself.

Martin returned almost right away, carrying a small glass bowl with water and ice cubes in it. "This should help make things fit," he claimed.

"What will you do?"

"I'll wash your small nuts," came the explanation. "The cold should make your little sissy cock shrivel up just enough for me to feed it into the new tube."

***

Jonas sat on the table, his hands had just been released, and he was trying to make up his mind about what he thought of the new torture device. Everything down there felt tight, the pink ring now sitting around his balls was supposedly the same size as the one Martin had just removed, but it felt more constricting.

The new tube, the ultra pink sausage, was smaller than it's predecessor and the curvature was more convex; instead of bending to a 45 degrees angle like the old, this new one had a bend of 90 degrees, meaning Jonas' penis was curling downwards tightly against his ball sack.

He winced when he thought of what Martin had done to make his penis slide into this narrow, curving tube. The man had first removed the old torture device then splashed some of that icy cold water onto Jonas' bared parts.

When that had not proved enough, Martin had placed an ice cube on top of Jonas' balls. While he held it in place, he had pushed the long arms of a pair of narrow tweezers in through the small hole in the tapered end of the pink tube, and used the tweezers to grab hold of Jonas' foreskin. Dropping the ice cube, he had carefully pulled on the small cock with the tweezers, stretched it from Jonas' body and kept it taut while he guided the tube into position.

Finally, Martin had clicked the lock pins into the lock ring. Those three clicks brought Jonas back to the day when he had struggled to make the original locking pins snap into place, focusing on that task, not seeing the bigger picture of him locking his penis away.

"What did you do?" he asked after the three clicks in quick succession had taken place.

"I locked it in place," Martin had said before standing. "It looks good on you."

Now, that he could see how it looked, Jonas wrinkled his nose. It did not look anything like the old, dark grey torture devices. The old one had looked gruesome, yet very masculine despite its purpose. The new device was holding his penis so tightly against his ball sack that his balls were pushed forward on either side of the tube. The pink madness between his legs made it look as if his penis and balls were one, just a lump of pink flesh with an even pinker tube running smack down the middle of it.

It made him feel terrible, as if he was no longer a boy whose penis was trapped inside a hard plastic tube but rather that he was now a completely genderless person.

"Take it off," he pleaded.

"No," said Martin. "It stays on until you get back from your holidays."

"But, we only had to see if it fitted," Jonas dejectedly told the man.

"It only comes off if it prevents the blood circulation to your balls, otherwise it stays on."

"I can't feel my penis," Jonas fibbed. He could feel it, and he wasn't in pain, but he didn't enjoy the sensation.

"I don't care about your sissy cock. I'm starting to think it would be for the best if it fell off."

"You won't chop it off!" Jonas said, as much a question as it was a statement.

"I won't chop it off," Martin assured. "I might do other things to it, perhaps, most likely, but no chopping."

"Good." Even if Jonas wasn't completely mollified, he was grateful for getting to keep his penis, though he couldn't get to it.

Then it dawned on him. "You mean I won't get to play with myself for another two weeks?"

"Fifteen days, kid. And that's only if I think you have earned it. It could be longer if you aren't an obedient little sissy while you are on holiday."

"It isn't fair."

"Stop your whining, Jonas. You're a little sissy and little sissies can't play with their cocks whenever they want. I hope you'll soon understand that's the truth."

"Why?"

"Because then you can worry about the things that are important." Martin held up his hand and kept Jonas from responding. "Now, I believe you had a sissy figurine you wanted to print on my little sissy printer?"

Jonas sighed with exasperation. "Yes, I want to print a monster."

"Well then. What is your pick? Nettles or birch?"

"Birch," Jonas replied. "I still don't understand why you want me to choose between a tree and a nettle, but I don't like nettles."

"You will understand when you return from holidays," Martin promised. "Much will become clearer then."

Chapter Eleven
Travel day

Jonas was woken very early that Saturday morning. It was so early he still considered it the middle of the night and when he looked up at the newest addition to his collection of monsters, he saw that it really was glowing in the dark just like Martin had claimed it would.

He remembered that when Martin had given him the choice of printing it using the pink or the neon-green filament, it hadn't taken him many seconds to ask for the green.

Martin had then warned that asking for the glow-in-the-dark filament automatically meant Jonas would have to choose both birch and nettles, which he had just accepted without really knowing what was involved.

He still didn't.

I hope he won't make me eat them, he told himself as he slipped his feet out from under the empty duvet case he had opted to sleep with as it had been a very warm night. He vaguely remembered having heard or seen somewhere that some people liked to eat nettle soup, which he could not fathom, wondering how they could stand their tongues being stung by the leaves. Maybe you eat birch too?

He yawned and decided to worry about birch and nettles later. Four o'clock in the morning was much too early for pondering anything and thankfully it was not an hour he was usually up at. He would have been more reluctant to get up at this forsaken hour under normal circumstances, but he only got to go on summer holidays once per year and, mercifully, he was able to slip back into the land of nod only fifteen minutes later after getting into the car and buckling up his seatbelt.

When he was roused again, he found they were parked in the airport's vast long-term parking lot. While he had slept and was transported to this next stop on their journey toward Crete the sun had started to rise. He still felt tired – it was only just past five o'clock – and he dragged his feet as they boarded the commuter bus that would take them to the departure terminal.

Check-in was agonisingly slow, only one Thomas Cook counter was open this early in the morning, even so, or maybe precisely therefore, as Jonas voiced his suspicion to no one in particular, a long line of fellow travellers were already queuing to hand over their luggage to the attendants.

After checking in, they discovered that the only place open on this side of the security check was a bar, but neither Peter nor Susan, Jonas' parents, felt like drinking this early in the morning and even if Jonas might have been rather easily persuaded into having his first taste of alcohol he was still too young to enter this sleazy looking place.

The bistro where they planned to have breakfast before boarding the plane was past the security check so this is where the small family went next.

Jonas was still tired and his weariness took the edge off his nerves. He was more irritated than nervous when he stood at the low automatic gate just before security check and tried to make it open by scanning his boarding card. Finally, upon his fourth swipe of the card against the small window, it let him pass and he hurried into line at the same X-ray machine as his mum and dad, though a young couple had got between him and them.

He emptied his pockets as quickly as he could and – mimicking the young man just in front of him – undid and took off his belt and placed it in a large plastic tray along with his wallet, his phone and his light summer jacket and watched as the security woman placed the tray on the conveyor belt, sending it through the X-ray machine.

Without his belt, Jonas had to hold up his new cargo shorts with one of his hands – Susan had deliberately bought them one size too large, so Jonas would grow into them, in an attempt to appease her husband – while he waited to walk through the metal detector. When the man in front of him cleared it, Jonas hefted a small breath.

Here goes, he thought and walked through.

Immediately the metal detector started to give off a series of shrill beeps. Jonas stopped in the middle of a step, to him it sounded like the machine was trying to alert the entire airport, though it was in fact not a very loud sound.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't me," he blurted, tears starting to fill his eyes. "I didn't want to, it was Martin who…"

"Jonas!" His mum's loud stage whisper told him and everyone nearby that she was not at all pleased with the situation. "Why must he always…?"

"Hey you," said the lady security officer from behind him and her voice drowned out both the beeping metal detector and his mum's voice so he couldn't hear what she asked his dad. "Calm down. Take off your watch and put it here, then step through the scanner one more time."

It took him another couple of seconds to realise what the problem was, then it became obvious to him. Crap! I forgot my watch!

The scanner must have reacted to the metal links in the bracelet on his wristwatch.

He quickly removed the watch and placed it in the small basket the kind woman held out for him, then walked around the scanner and readied himself to walk through it once more. Now, he was certain he had nothing of metal on his body, not even the buttons or the zippers in his new shorts were made from metal, they were all nylon.

The torture device between his legs held everything in a very warm, vice-like grip, he was sweaty down there. His penis filled the curved tube to capacity, straining against its constricting plastic prison, though luckily, it wasn't trying to get hard just now.

His heart thumped when the nice security lady pushed a button on the side of the scanner that stopped the low beeping and gestured at him to walk through.

This time, the scanner kept quiet and he was allowed to put on his belt and watch, and put his wallet and phone back into his pocket along with his pack of chewing gum. He hurried towards where his parents were waiting for him.

"Sorry," he sheepishly said when he got close to them. "I forgot to take off my watch."

"No more of your silly nonsense," his dad gently admonished.

"I didn't do it on purpose."

"Let's go eat before you decide to run off and get yourself lost," his mum said which earned her a roll of Jonas' eyes when she turned her back on him.

Fuck, that was scary! he told himself with a furtive look back at the security scanner. I nearly pissed myself.

With plenty of time to spare before they were called to the gate, Jonas made sure to use the airport's restroom, locking himself inside a cubicle. He wanted to pee in his special non-sissy fashion where he sat facing the back of the toilet and remembered from last year that he would not be able to sit like this in the aircraft lavatory, where there was only just enough room to sit normally, which he had sworn he would never do again.

That's for girls and sissies, he reminded himself as he washed his hands.

On the plane, armed with a small bag of sour hard candy drops and his chewing gum, Jonas was ready to tackle any of the painful shifts in air pressure, although they had scarcely taken off before he drifted off to sleep and sat with his head lolled against the window, snoring lightly.

Three hours later, Jonas heard a crackling static noise from the speaker over his head and he looked up from the in-flight magazine he had found. His iPhone had not been able to provide him with any entertainment value, Martin had removed all of the games Jonas had installed on it. Also the YouTube app had been removed, along with all of the social media apps, except Snapchat, and the web browser wouldn't let him access most of the places he liked to visit. Not that he would have been able to access those in the middle of the flight anyway, but Jonas was still pissed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain again. We are just about to start our final descent to Heraklion Airport. The local time is eleven thirty AM and the weather is sunny with broken clouds, and a very pleasant twenty seven degrees centigrade [80.6F]. I hope you have enjoyed flying with SunWings today and that you will have a great vacation. Cabin crew, please prepare for landing."

When the speaker went off, Jonas heard a bump from under him, followed by a whirring that he both heard and felt. When he looked out of the window he saw the wing slowly changing shape, part of it slid out and down, making it wider and more concave, and he watched in fascination at this transformation, the boring magazine completely forgotten.

"Have you seen how close to the water we are?" his mum asked, leaning in over him to have a better view out of the window. "It's so blue! I can't wait to dip my toes in it."

He was smitten by her excitement and suddenly allowed himself to look forward to the next ten days filled with relaxation and yummy, unhealthy food and sugary beverages; sunny weather and a beach only 50 metres [165'] from the hotel.

And no going to Martin's. There would be no risk of having a garden hose stuck up his bottom, filling him with water from the wrong end, and no risk of being tied down to a table while naked.

Regrettably, it wouldn't be all fun and games. Jonas had his daily chores – although his parents were unaware of these – assigned by Martin, who expected Jonas to send video proof of their completion every night before going to bed.

But, for a few minutes, Jonas pushed the dreaded tasks to the back of his mind and managed to ignore how sweaty and hot he was between his legs.

During their check-in at the hotel, one of the young cheery receptionists placed an orange rubber bracelet around his wrist, inserted its ends into the jaws of a pair of heavy compression pliers and winked at him as she forced them together.

"Now you belong to me," she said, making her voice deep, and opened the pliers again. The bracelet was crimped in place.

Jonas flashed a small smile, only because he knew that this was expected of him, even though he thought she sounded a bit too phoney, like she had said it to thousands of kids before him. Nevertheless, he was happy with his bracelet, this proved he was a member of the 'All Inclusive' club and as such was entitled to complimentary drinks and snacks, and all of the main courses of the day in one of the two hotel restaurants.

He didn't much care for the other benefits, such as having access to the kids' club play room and other activities for kids. He had enjoyed that last year, but now he didn't feel that he belonged with small kids dumped by their parents to be babysat while they did stuff they didn't want their offspring to witness.

Jonas was pretty sure what the parents were doing for the hour or so while alone, yet he refused to consider it further, afraid that his own parents might be doing the same thing when he wasn't around. That thought was just too disgusting to contemplate.

For that same reason he had not looked in either of his parents' toilet bags, he did not want to come across a condom, or even worse a full packet of them and thus know for certain they were still having sex with each other.

For the first time, this year he had packed his own toilet bag, this way he had succeeded in bringing the small squeeze bottle to Crete without his parents' knowing.

When his toilet bag was sitting on the large vanity unit in the bathroom, which he discovered had two sinks, but no tub, only a shower, Jonas self-consciously accompanied his parents to the nearby beach.

He was embarrassed because he only wore his flip flops and the blue speedos that he found fitted him the best, though they were slightly on the small size and, super annoyingly, constantly felt as if they were trying to dig their way into his bum hole. All of his body and his face was covered with a disgustingly fat layer of factor 50 sunscreen.

On his head sat a yellow bucket hat with a wide floppy brim that he thought not only was both uncool and stupid but also made him look several years younger. It was however the only sunhat that he had been able to find in his size – and which he could afford – in the airport's super expensive gift shop while waiting for their luggage. He vowed to find a cooler hat before the end of the holidays, preferably before the end of today, but so far he had not seen any for sale.

The only slightly conciliatory touch to his current outfit was not even a proper piece of clothing, but without this Jonas would not have had the courage to set foot outside the hotel room. Loosely wrapped around his shoulders, he wore a large beach towel that covered most of his upper body.

Despite his embarrassing outfit, Jonas went with his mum to the surf to wet his feet in the Mediterranean Sea. He stood and enjoyed the warm sea water lapping between his toes when suddenly he heard fast and heavy footfalls behind him and without warning the towel was ripped from his shoulders.

"What?" Jonas cried out with displeasure in the same second he was swept up from his feet.

"Dad!" Jonas loudly objected as his dad started to carry him like a small baby about ten metres [30'] into the ocean. "Dad? No-o, daa-ad!" he squealed when he realised what his father was planning to do. "Don't you dare drop me! I'm not a little kid any more. Dad?"

Peter did not listen to his son, he made sure to throw him upward and further out into the sea, as he had done on the first day at the beach every summer since Jonas was four and old enough to appreciate this kind of fun.

Jonas surfaced, spluttering and holding his soaking wet sunhat in his hand. He was ready to kill but was pushed back down under the water before he could end his dad's life.

Jonas spat out a mouthful of seawater as he surfaced again. "Ptthfrr," he sputtered.

"Brighten up," said Peter and flung a handful of water at his son.

"For fuh…" Jonas cried out when he closed his eyes just a split second too late, only barely managing to contain the curse about to slip out between his lips.

"Don't speak like that in front of your mum."

"She didn't hear me," Jonas said after making sure this was the case and splashed water back at his dad, returning in kind what he had just received.

"Oh, you little…" Peter started.

"No, dad. Not that!" Jonas cried out again when he saw his dad preparing to dive. He knew what was about to happen, he knew it very well as his dad had done this lots of times before, but he did not want it to happen now.

Jonas propelled his body forward, wading/swimming the best he could through the waist-high water, using his arms to drag and push his body faster toward dry land and the safety he believed could be found there.

He didn't quite make it.

Underwater, Peter seized his son's ankle in a firm grip.

Jonas lost his footing and felt himself being dragged backward out towards the deeper water as his dad's hands went hand-over-hand up his leg. He closed his eyes, realising the moment he had dreaded had arrived.

Now, he knew, his dad would turn him sideways while his hands searched for places to grip him tightly. One would grasp his bum while the other would brush up against his front and then his dad would use his strong thighs and push the both of them up through the water, along the way moving his hands until they ended up under Jonas' feet for that final upward boost.

Jonas had absolutely loved being propelled upward and backward like this when he was younger, pulling off a full backward somersault before plunging feet-first back into the ocean.

He had enjoyed it last year when he was 12, even. He might have enjoyed it this year, too, if not for the plastic ring and curved tube of the torture device holding his private parts hostage.

He'll touch it, Jonas told himself. He'll touch it and he will demand to see what it is and then he'll ask why I'm wearing it. He'll get angry at me for not telling him and then he'll think I'm a little sissy… At this point, he kicked back at his father like a madman.

"Okay, that's enough!" Peter winced with the pain from his son's heel colliding with his cheekbone. "You could have just told me you are getting too old for this game," he said with sorrow as he withdrew and started toward the shore.

When Jonas found his footing, he stood with little more than his head above the surface and watched his father walk onto the beach. He saw him embrace his mum from behind and he heard his voice as it was carried over the surf.

"I want another son," Peter said. "The one we have has grown old and sullen all of a sudden. Let's make a new one."

"Oh, Peter," Jonas heard his mum say. "Please, I'm thirty four." It did not appear to him that she was completely against the idea and that both frightened and saddened him.

Mum and Dad want to replace me? He was shocked.

Chapter Twelve
Allie

It was Monday morning and Jonas was back on the beach, alone this time and lying on a sunbed. Even though he had made sure to spread an ample amount of coconut oil-scented sunscreen on all of his body, he lay in the shade under a large multi-coloured umbrella that prevented the sun from reaching him. He was again showing off far more skin than he felt comfortable with but was following Martin's instructions to the letter.

He had gone to the beach directly after a quick breakfast with his parents, who he suspected had gone back to the hotel room to work on creating his new brother. He had not spent a lot of time with them since that first day on the beach, they only met up for the meals, a requirement made by his mum.

This morning he had arrived on the beach very early, having learned from the two previous days that arriving early was the only way to secure a sunbed. Even then, most of the sunbeds had large beach towels spread out on them, and as he watched, the very last one was claimed by a bleary-eyed tourist who then staggered back toward the hotel to have breakfast or sleep off her hangover before returning later to bake in the sun.

Jonas shifted his attention back to a younger boy at play in the sand just a few metres from the surf. The boy was building a castle, though Jonas thought he had started backwards by first digging the moat and now trying to fill it with water. The water drained from the moat almost as quickly as the boy could transfer a bucketful from the ocean and empty it into the rapidly deteriorating trench.

Jonas longed to go help the boy build a proper sandcastle, but he looked only about six or seven years old, attired in only a pair of speedos and seemed completely unaffected by this fact. Another thing that held him back was that he didn't know the boy's nationality, though he looked Nordic for sure with his fair complexion and hair that was almost the same colour as the sand on the beach.

His parents wouldn't like it, Jonas decided and besides, he felt that he was too old to play in the sand, even though he sure wanted to. He closed his eyes, drifting into a state of catnapping, reminiscing of a time when he was younger, when he too might've tried to fill a moat with its sides collapsing, not understanding why it wouldn't hold water.

Back then, exactly like this younger boy, he had not worried about what others might think of him and had not tried to appear cooler than he really was.

Jonas found it hard to appear relaxed and at ease with the situation while wearing his dark blue speedos, criss-crossed with thin lines of red, yellow and white. They had looked sort of cool when he came across them in his hurry to get some at the hypermarket, but here on this sunny beach, even in the shade, the dark base colour only enhanced the pale sections of his thighs where his normal, longer shorts had blocked the sun back in Denmark.

His stomach, practically his entire upper body, was in serious competition with the pale skin on his thighs. He hadn't tanned before leaving for Crete, not only because Martin had forbidden him to do so, but because he had never pictured himself being almost naked out in public. Though his arms and lower legs weren't overly tanned they were noticeably darker than his shoulders and stomach.

The large sections of paler skin on his body did not just look pink to Jonas, he thought they looked bright white – as if he had died and turned into a ghost – only slightly dimmed by the cheap, but ultra-cool, aviator-style sunglasses he had bought and wore in an attempt to divert people's attention from his embarrassing lack of colour.

The gentle breeze coming in from the sea combined with the sound of the waves lapping onto the beach were relaxing and Jonas shut his eyes, forgetting for a moment that his skin was a mismatch of colour, even forgetting his near public nudity.

Jonas jolted awake when someone poked him on his shoulder, only now realising that he had dozed off.

"Hey!" he heard before he opened his eyes.

"Allie!" he said, surprised to see his friend from last year's vacation standing next to the sunbed. He had enjoyed spending time with her and was close to devastation when she had left for home without them exchanging Snapchats or other means of communication.

He didn't think of Allie as a girl, certainly did not dare to dream of her as his potential girlfriend. For one thing she was almost two years his senior and, besides that, last year she had behaved more like she was a boy rather than a girl. He was not attracted to her, in the same way he wasn't attracted to Noah, his best friend at home.

He simply thought of her as a friend and he was very happy to see her, but his happiness was short-lived when he suddenly remembered that he was wearing only his speedos. He wasn't sure if he wanted Allie to see so much of his body, she had never seen him wear anything less than his long board shorts and a t-shirt before.

He sucked in his stomach in an attempt to look more buffed, but this only concaved his middle to the point he thought it made him look like he had starved to death and further emphasised the embarrassing bulge in his speedos. Pushing out his stomach wasn't a success either, this only made him look bloated.

From the periphery of his vision he noticed Allie's eyes drift toward his stomach and he quickly relaxed it, hoping she hadn't seen his ill-executed attempts to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime.

"How cute," she mumbled, barely loud enough for Jonas to hear and he sat up on the sunbed, spread his legs and put his feet on the sand on either side of it.

"How long have you been here?" he asked as he quickly gathered the large beach towel he had lain on around him, covering as much of his body as was possible without standing up.

"A few minutes," she said. "I had to make sure it was really you. It is you, Jonas?"

"Yeah," Jonas grinned; now that the beach towel hung from his shoulders like a cape and covered most of his slim body he was able to relax more. "I am me. No, I mean, how long have you been here? Did you just arrive?"

"Oh, no. We've been here a week already."

"Aw, so you're leaving tomorrow?" Jonas had hoped for Allie to be around for the rest of his vacation, not just for a single day.

"No, not until Saturday morning. We're here for two weeks this year."

"Ah," Jonas uttered with pleasure; though he wouldn't be spending all of his vacation with Allie, they at least had the chance to hang out until the weekend. Much better than one measly day, he told himself. "Uh, do you want to sit?" he asked, realising Allie was stooping as she looked in under the large shade and he sat sideways on the sunbed giving her room to sit next to him.

"So thoughtful," she said with a small smile that caught Jonas with surprise. He suddenly saw Allie for what she was, a very beautiful girl, though she wore cut-off jean shorts and a long-sleeved lumberjack shirt with the sleeves tucked up and the shirt tails tied in a knot, and just above that knot, was her navel, pierced with a white gemstone twinkling out at him.

A bit further up her body, he noticed that her chest was no longer flat. Allie's got boobies! he realised, upon that realisation he widened his eyes and felt his cheeks reddening. He had to look away, like a little shy puppy, and he feigned a sudden and massive interest in his big toe.

"How've you been?" Allie asked.

"You know," Jonas replied without looking at her. "Up and down."

"Yeah," Allie agreed. "Up and down."

They sat there side by side on the sunbed, catching up, for about half an hour, during which time Jonas grew more confident and was able to look Allie in the eyes again. Then he realised he was getting thirsty. "Want a soda?" he asked.

"Yeah, okay."

He led the way back to the hotel, wearing his towel as a cape, and they stopped at the pool bar.

"Pós eísai?" he asked the young bartender, using up a fair bit of his knowledge of the Greek language.

"Exochos!" replied the bartender, which Jonas knew meant the guy was feeling great or super. "Miláte ypérocha elliniká," he continued and Jonas had no idea what he was saying.

"Eh, alright," he said after a short delay. "Boró na écho kok, parakaló, for me and my friend."

"She is classy," said the bartender, conspiratorially under his breath and nodded at Allie, as he popped open two cans of Coca-Cola. Her attention was on the people in the pool who were in the middle of an instructor-led pool aerobic work-out and didn't appear to have heard the compliment.

"She's just my friend," Jonas whispered back, really wanting to tell the bartender to stop undressing her with his eyes, instead he placed four Euro coins on the bar and picked up the two cans of cold cola. No tip for you today.

They found a table in the shade and sipped from their cans while listening to the music pumping from the speakers which the pool people were trying to keep up with.

"I'd sooner die," Jonas said, "than do that," he indicated the small crowd of exercisers, "in this heat."

"What?"

"I said, I'd sooner die," Jonas spoke louder now, "than having to do that."

"Yeah." Allie nodded. "They look like fucking wankers and it's way too fucking hot for that shit."

Jonas was used to Allie's far cruder language than his own, she was from a large city where speech like that was normal, or so she had claimed the year before. "A little innocent farm boy like you don't know any swearwords," she had mocked him, and he had, with cheeks blushing, hesitantly and with faltering voice, given her examples of the words that he did know.

Fortunately, he had impressed her, although she immediately let him know that her expectations hadn't been very high from the start.

He was just happy to be sitting and sipping from his Coke in her company, the first two days had been rather dull, especially after the incident at the beach. He had spent most of his time alone, by choice, either in the hotel room where he had watched boring TV or tried to read boring books when his parents were out, or dragging his feet around the outskirts of Chania when his parents were at the hotel.

He was still upset by his father proposing replacing him with a new son and so far he hadn't been able to figure out if the wish – or the threat, depending on how you looked at it – was genuine or not. Jonas did not want a little brother or sister, because he knew that it would be just a baby and would take years and years before he or she grew into something other than a loud and stinky nuisance.

"This sucks," Allie stated after finishing her Coke and crumpling the can. "Want to go to the market?"

"Okay," Jonas agreed. He still had not managed to find a replacement for his silly sunhat and the market was one place he had not tried yet.

"I forgot my money at the hotel. Will you pay for the bus? It was a flipping long walk out here."

"Eh, okay." His assent was a little less enthusiastic this time. I just bought her a Coke, he told himself. Now it's the bus fare. What next? he wondered, hoping she would not find a piece of jewellery at the market that she wanted; that he could ill afford.

He wanted to ask Allie where she and her dad were staying this year – last year they had stayed at the same hotel as Jonas and he had met her in the breakfast buffet line – but she got up from her chair in the same moment he agreed to pay for the bus tickets.

"Cool, let's get out of here, I'm getting sick from watching the whales exercise. And the music is so damn mainstream."

Jonas found himself nodding agreement even though he rather liked the pop music playing from the speakers. After realising Allie was a proper girl, after he saw the contours of her orange-sized breasts, he had become infatuated with her; he worried that disagreeing with her might ruin their friendship.

"Are you going like that?" Allie asked when Jonas led the way through the reception building and walked to the automatic doors to the heavily trafficked road out front of the hotel.

Jonas blushed. Allie had so far not commented on his outfit for which he had been grateful. He still hated that he could only wear his too-tight speedos and the silly sunhat, unless he was going on a tour or having a meal in a restaurant with a dress-code.

"Do you mind?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't. Though a trip to the market might qualify for a tour, he knew his parents were in the hotel room and he feared what he might walk in on if he went up to change into something more appropriate. "I can wrap the towel around my waist?" he offered.

"It's this, fool!" she exclaimed and ripped the sunhat from his head. "You look like a flipping little kid wearing it."

Jonas' face was already crimson, the heated colour reaching halfway down his neck. It didn't spare him from feeling extra embarrassed now.

I knew it was a bad idea buying that stupid hat! he told himself again wishing he had not spent the 14.99 € it had cost him. I should've bought the Aussie leather hat instead. That would have left him moneyless for all of the vacation, a fate that now seemed so much easier to bear than facing ridicule from Allie.

He wanted her to… like him. He wanted for her to be his best friend, no, more than that. Not going to happen now. He swallowed hard and reclaimed possession of his hat, folded it and stuffed it into his sweaty armpit.

He didn't say a word to Allie, he simple turned and went through the doors he had held open, and started walking toward the bus stop.

"Wait up," Allie said, hurrying after Jonas and falling into step next to him. She gave him a small good-natured shove that sent him a couple of paces veering toward the steep edge of the sidewalk. "Sourpuss."

"I'm not," Jonas started and gave his friend a grumpy look. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the traffic on the road, a large truck was quickly approaching in a cloud of black diesel exhaust, closely followed by a bus. "Look, there's the bus," he cried out and quickly waved his hand in the air, trying to catch the attention of the driver.

As he raised his arm, his sunhat dropped toward the ground and was caught by the draft from the truck, pulling it into the street.

The truck kept moving and Jonas could only stand and watch his hat first get run over by the double rear-wheels of the truck and then vanish from sight under the bus as it came to a full stop in front of them.

Allie went up the stairs as Jonas hunched over and tried to look in under the bus to locate his sunhat so he might retrieve it.

"Come on," she said with a touch of irritation in her voice. "Forget that stupid thing, it's dead now."

Jonas hated the hat, but still, it represented one fourth of his holiday savings and he had bought it less than three days ago. He wasn't willing to part with it so quickly, yet he knew that he couldn't very well crawl in under the bus with its engine still running to recover his hat and his quick, desperate, pleading look up at the driver was met with only a starched, bored look.

"Fuck!" he swore under his breath and scaled the two steps up into the bus. He had scarcely entered before the driver shut the door behind him and took off as if he were driving a race car instead of a commuter bus.

Jonas spread his legs wide, struggling to keep his balance as he fumbled with his new waterproof wallet that held both his iPhone and his money. He had strapped the wallet to his right wrist and had to use his left hand for the unfamiliar task of unzipping it and picking out the proper coins to pay for the fare.

Finally, he went tumbling along the aisle to the wide backseat, following Allie. Just as he reached the seat, he looked out the rear window and caught a quick glimpse of his sunhat lying in the street, immediately run over by a taxi and several more cars behind it. In the short span of time he had been able to see it he had noticed it was no longer bright yellow.

"Good riddance," said Allie, looking over her shoulder.

Jonas sighed and flopped down on the seat next to her.

The market was not exactly what Jonas had hoped it would be. He had imagined it to be somewhat more like a shopping centre, with small shops selling electronics, shoes and clothes, jewellery and phones, and hats and sunglasses. While there were a few regular shops inside proper buildings, the market mainly consisted of small outdoor stalls, selling local produce, fish and seafood.

He hated fish and wasn't fond of seafood either, once having eaten spoiled shrimp that resulted in a day spent in close vicinity to the toilet. He wasn't much interested in lemons or oranges either, only those two Allie was hiding underneath her shirt and the red bikini top she wore under that.

He wondered what Allie's breasts might feel like, whether they were soft or firm, if she might take offence if he asked her that, or much better yet, if she might let him touch them so he might find out for himself. He dared not ask her lest she shunned him; he was acutely aware of the differences setting them apart and not just their age.

Jonas thought Allie was much cooler than him, convinced she would not have spared him a second look if they had met back in Denmark instead of meeting in a hotel restaurant in Crete.

When he caught a glimpse of himself, reflected in a store window, he regretted his earlier decision to not go and get changed before venturing into the city centre with Allie who had so quickly become the girl of his dreams. Even without the loathsome sunhat he still looked years younger than he was; his lack of height and muscle definition, the tight speedos, even the towel draped over his shoulders and the flip flops on his feet, all added to this image.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely out of place, even if he wasn't the only one who looked as though he had mistaken the market for the beach.

Allie had not come across anything that she longed for at the market, nor had Jonas, when he boarded the bus going back toward his suburban hotel. Allie did not come with him, sparing him the expense of paying her fare.

He felt somewhat more vulnerable travelling alone on a bus in a foreign country surrounded by foreigners who all spoke languages unknown to him. He heard a familiar word every now and then but not enough for him to understand any context.

He kept alert, paying close attention to the scenery on both sides of the bus, making sure he didn't miss his stop. The end stop wasn't until the town of Kissamos, some 35 km [22 miles] west of Chania, a journey far longer than his ticket covered. He did not want to run the risk of being fined, or beheaded, or whatever other punishment might be dished out for riding the bus without a valid ticket.

He pushed the stop button as soon as he saw something that looked familiar and was happy when he finally reached the hotel after a ten minute walk along the bumpy and potholed sidewalk.

Tomorrow I will get off the bus closer to the hotel, he told himself. He was going back to Chania to check out the harbour with Allie who had asked him to meet her there just after lunch.

Chapter Thirteen
New Mission

When Jonas entered the hotel room he shared with his parents he did not walk in to find them copulating in bed as he had feared. They were sitting on the balcony, his dad reading a book and his mum doing a crossword puzzle. There were no signs – that he could tell – of them having had sex while he was out.

He ripped the wrist wallet of his arm, then turned on his phone. He hoped it would remain dormant, that there would be no new messages in Snapchat, the only social media app that Martin had left on his phone. He watched as it connected to the Wi-Fi network, waited, almost afraid to breathe, ventilating his lungs with only the bare minimum of air required.

Twenty seconds later, the phone vibrated, quietly snuffing out his hope of being left alone. Normally he would have been thrilled to receive a Snapchat as this meant he had friends who cared about him enough to keep in touch. He wasn't thrilled now, though. All of his real friends from school had been removed from the app by Martin.

The only 'friend' left on his contact list was no friend at all. Martin, the single entry on his list now, was portrayed by a boy close to Jonas' age. He had no idea who the kid really was, he bore no resemblance to the real adult Martin. Nonetheless, Jonas had come to hate the unknown boy.

The messages he received on Snapchat from Martin were not kind, they were short orders, instructions for what he must do. So was the one that had just appeared on his phone.

'Clean your arse. Squeeze 3 bottles worth of
water inside, hold for 5 mins and let it out.'

Jonas read the message, gasped, and managed to read it once more before it automatically vanished from the screen.

The first evening, Martin had ordered him to take a shower, the next day to clean his penis. This he had done without too much hesitation, showering was after all something he had to do, as was the cleaning of his penis with the squirt bottle. If he failed to do that, his mum would certainly notice and complain about it.

Martin had told him that he must film himself carrying out the orders received and send the footage via Snapchat to the man afterwards. It was part of the instructions given before Jonas had left for Crete. This was pretty much all he used his phone for now, only taking it with him on his small excursions from force of habit and in case of emergency.

He scrunched up his nose at Martin's newest order, having his bum filled with water the first time had been a horrible experience and something he had hoped would never happen again.

Oh no, he thought. But, he could not think of an excuse – not one that he thought Martin would accept – for not doing it. He'll send the pictures and movies to everyone in the world if I don't do it.

Jonas longed to tell his parents about the things Martin was forcing him to do, but he thought it was far too late to do that now. I should have told them about the torture device before I went to Martin. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious to him.

They can't help me now, he told himself, dejectedly. And if I told them, it would only give Dad another reason for wanting a new son instead of me. He was certain his parents would be disappointed in him, and rightly so, he figured. Perhaps they will think I'm a little sissy like Martin does.

Jonas checked the time on his wristwatch, it was just before four in the afternoon, plenty of time to carry out Martin's dreadful order before dinner. Best to just get it over with, he decided, this way he'd have the entire evening to dream about Allie, and he went into the bathroom, locked the door and removed the squirt bottle from his toilet bag.

He turned on the faucet, twisting the lever all the way over to the cold setting. It wasn't long until the sound of the running water triggered a need to relieve his bladder.

Having finished peeing in his adapted, entirely non-sissy, fashion, he turned his attention back to the squirt bottle.

Do I add soap? he wondered. The instructions from Martin had not mentioned soap, however the message had definitely told him to clean his bum.

Jonas knew that if you want something clean you must use soap. This had been drilled into him since before kindergarten when he was taught how to wash his hands. That he didn't always wash his hands – with soap or otherwise – after using the toilet was a whole different story, especially because he had never filmed himself in the bathroom.

He really did not want to fill himself with soapy water, but he worried about what Martin would do to him if he did not clean his bum properly as instructed. He might use the hose on me again, he thought and shuddered when he remembered how horrible that had felt.

He placed his phone on the counter top, resting it against the faucet of the other sink, and made sure to film himself squeezing a bit of shampoo into the squirt bottle. He added water, slowly, as he had been taught by Martin and screwed the lid with the long thin nozzle back onto the bottle.

"How the feck am I supposed to do this?" he muttered. He knew he must push the nozzle's tip into his bum hole and this had to be done so the camera on his phone would capture it. He didn't worry about the humiliations he was about to suffer, his thoughts were strictly focused on the practical matters.

First, I have to aim the phone in the right direction, he told himself as he considered the layout of the rather spacious bathroom. The double sinks were at the end wall and a large mirror extended from the table top almost to the ceiling, making the room feel even larger.

The entrance door was at the other end wall, with the shower stall next to it. The toilet stood in the middle of the lengthwise wall, between the shower and one of the sinks.

"Make sure you use the back camera and get as much of your body in the shot, your face must be clearly seen," Jonas remembered Martin's instructions that made everything so much more difficult as he found out when he tried to hold the phone in his hand and film his reflection in the mirror.

"Shit!" he stated and immediately felt his cheeks warm up from speaking the forbidden word. I'll have to put it on the counter, he deduced and used a folded, and dry, washcloth to prop up his phone. He watched it for a moment, teetering on the edge of the counter, ready to catch it if it should tip over.

When he felt certain his phone would stay put, he gently nudged it into its final position where it would film him at the toilet.

That's the phone done. He was mildly proud of himself for having come up with a solution to his first problem. So, how do I do this? he asked himself and looked at the full bottle laying in the sink.

He ended up facing away from the sinks, and his phone, with one of his knees on the closed toilet lid. This allowed him to move his legs apart which also spread his bum cheeks a bit, enough that he could see his hole when he looked over his right shoulder into the mirror.

Leaning over, he held the bottle in one hand and used the fingers of the other hand to guide the nozzle in place. It slid in with a minor burning sensation from the friction and Jonas was now ready to squeeze the bottle.

He paused, looked back at his phone, could see the camera light was still on and part of the screen reflected in the mirror. From what he could tell at this distance, the aim was almost bang on, his bum a bit off centre and pointing slightly away from the camera, yet it was clearly visible as was his face when he kept his head turned in the proper direction.

Slowly he applied pressure around the bottle, compacting it with his fist. He didn't feel any bad sensations from his bum and he squeezed harder, now wanting to just get it over with. Almost immediately he noticed the coldness spread from within; the more water going into his bum, the colder it felt.

Though it didn't feel great to force cold water into his rear end, Jonas was pleased that it didn't feel anywhere as bad as when Martin had done it to him. The water went in much slower and he was in complete control of the process, when he needed a short pause, he only had to let up the pressure on the bottle.

Jonas had just emptied the second bottle when an abdominal cramp hit him hard. He stood hunched over for a couple of long seconds while the agony seared through his bowels.

"Darn! That was bad," he muttered when it had passed. His bowels gurgled and he worried if he could squirt another bottle worth of soapy water into himself without having an accident. I have to hold it for five minutes, too, he reminded himself.

He exercised far more caution when he squeezed the last bottle into his bum, he found that if he squeezed too hard on the bottle his bowels would respond with an immediate cramp. Also, the nozzle kept wanting to dislodge from his soap-slicked anus and he had to hold it in place with his other hand.

When the last of the soapy water had vanished inside of him, Jonas dropped the bottle to the floor. The cramps were now regularly ravaging his bowels, the time between each cramp shortening while the intensity increased. He kept track with his watch, counting out loud the elapsed time for the benefit of the camera.

"One minute and, ugh-oh, fifteen seconds," he said, just loud enough for his phone's microphone to pick it up, hoping his parents wouldn't hear him and come to investigate. That would really suck! he realised. I'd have to stop and then do it all over again later.

He groaned when another cramp hit him. "Orh, fe-eck! One minute fifty seconds," he informed the phone, looking over his shoulder, making sure it was still recording.

At long last, Jonas was able to sit on the toilet and expel the liquid from his bowels. It came out with explosive intensity, not unlike the time Martin had filled him up with water from the garden hose. It kept going for longer, the bowel cramps only settled after he had sat for nearly fifteen minutes.

When he sensed that he could stand for long enough, he quickly went and picked up his phone from the counter. Remembering his instructions, he forced himself to smile at the camera and state: "That was for you, Martin," before he ended the recording.

He started Snapchat, attached the nearly 24 minutes long video to a message, hit the Send button and put his phone back on the counter top where it happily split the video into one minute chunks and sent them to Martin. While it did that, Jonas sat back on the toilet and gingerly wiped his inflamed bum hole. I fucking hope he won't tell me to do that, ever again.

Chapter Fourteen
The Rebellion

The next morning, Tuesday, after breakfast, Jonas went on the bus back to Chania. His parents were off to visit an olive plantation or a winery, he wasn't quite sure which and he wasn't particularly interested in either of those products, deemed too young by his parents to drink wine and did not care for the salty taste of olives.

I'd much rather spend the day with Allie than see how olive oil or wine is made, he thought as he sat on the edge of the seat, itching to see his friend again.

This time he had brought most of his remaining money, he must find a new sunhat to replace the one he had lost the day before. He didn't think he needed one, but Martin's instructions required him to always wear a sunhat, there were no exceptions to this rule.

Jonas was determined that he'd find a new hat on this trip into the city. It'll be a hat that Allie will think is cool. This was most important to him.

Jonas saw Allie waiting for him at the central bus station and he met up with her. He saw her check out his attire again and braced himself for a rude remark. He was wearing his dark blue speedos, these he disliked the least because they fitted him the best out of the three he had. They still had a tendency to gnaw at his bum hole, forcing him to reach back to discretely pull them out of his crack every now and then.

Rather than bring a towel, he had opted to wear a t-shirt, not exactly in accordance with Martin's rules as he wasn't officially on a tour, but he thought the towel simply made him look too silly, especially here in the middle of the city, far from the beach. Besides, I would have been on a tour if I wasn't here, he thought, and that was as good an excuse as any he could think of.

He was however obeying the rule for wearing a t-shirt with his speedos; he had tucked the front of the t-shirt in under the tight spandex, doing his best to make it look unintentional. Maybe that's what she's wondering about, he guessed.

He had noticed Allie's eyes occasionally drifting down toward his middle and linger there for a few seconds at a time. She only looked when she thought he wouldn't see.

Her attention was making Jonas uncomfortable, he didn't know what he could do to stop her; finally, he decided to casually adjust his t-shirt as if he had only just discovered it was caught on his speedos. His t-shirt was long and reached below his speedos, making it look as though he was wearing nothing underneath.

Like a girl's dress, he realised to his dismay. He only had two options though, either he showed off his stuff as if he were proud of it or he had to hide it under his dress, like a sissy would. I'm not a sissy! he reminded himself, but, he was not proud of the lump in the front of his speedos, either. On the contrary, he was extremely annoyed with it. It's hot and itchy.

Hiding the lump seemed more important now than ever, much more so than upholding his self-proclaimed status of not being a sissy.

"Hey, they have hats here," he exclaimed, happy for the chance to divert Allie's attention, and pointed to the rack of baseball caps and other hats on display in front of a narrow shop.

When they left the small store, Jonas was wearing a new sunhat, this time one made from blue canvas that Allie had picked out for him. It had a wide brim and a strap that the store owner had helped Jonas adjust so that it now sat at the nape of his neck instead of under his chin. His new hat made him feel older, especially when he put on his aviator sunglasses.

"You still look like a wanker," Allie told him. "But much better."

Her praise felt good.

"I'm fucking thirsty," she let him know. "Wait here, I'll go buy us something to drink."

He watched her enter a bar. She asked the guy behind the counter for something, which the guy declined with a shake of his head. She asked for something else and the bartender nodded.

Allie exited the bar carrying two opened glass bottles.

"Oh, sweet!" Jonas said. "Fanta!"

"Uh, no." Allie showed him the sticker on one of the bottles.

"Breezer?" he asked, dubiously eyeing the bottle. "Is that a local brand?"

"It's orange, do you want it or not?"

He could hear the irritation in her voice and quickly accepted one of the bottles. Despite his lack of trust that any locally produced beverage could taste good, he found that he quite liked this Breezer stuff. Much too soon, as they carried on walking, he realised there was no more left of the tasty orange-flavoured drink in his bottle.

Aw, he thought with a touch of regret as he followed Allie's example and dropped the bottle into a street bin.

"Come," Allie invited, grabbed his hand and lead him into a narrow alley that led around the back of the shops in the street, full of garbage containers, pallets and other stuff that was of no interest to either of them. Allie guided Jonas around a high stack of pallets, behind which was a smaller stack where she sat and pulled him down next to her.

Jonas felt a bit giddy, he was sitting closer to Allie than ever before and it was because she wanted him near. He had a quick look around, the stack of pallets serving as their backrest also partly blocked them from anyone's view, though no one was around to see them. The noise from the city was but a low hum, easily ignored, especially when Allie started to caress him in the nape of his neck.

Allie's touch felt electrifying to Jonas, yet it was most welcome. He turned his head and looked shyly at her, questioningly, trying to figure out her intentions without the use of his voice. He did not trust his ability to speak in this very moment.

Still, her fingers toyed with the short hairs of his nape and she leaned closer, turning her face toward his, getting closer and closer.

Jonas was afraid to breathe, afraid that he might break the spell, afraid that he was dreaming and he'd wake any second now. He felt Allie's hot breath on his mouth, smelled the faint fragrance of orange on her breath. He closed his eyes just moments before he felt a soft moistness touch his upper lip.

She's kissing me! He could scarcely believe it, yet the touch grew firmer, spread to include his lower lip. Something touched his cheek and he couldn't quite understand what it was and risked opening his eyelid a crack, peered through his lashes. Oh, it's her nose, he realised.

Allie backed off after another half minute had passed. "Don't just sit there like some damn muppet," she chastised. "Kiss me back," she ordered and came back in for a second kiss.

Jonas was starting to believe it wasn't just a dream and licked his lips once, then pursed them just in time to meet Allie's.

"Oh, your cock's so hard," Allie whispered and snuggled closer to Jonas. She wrapped her arm around his neck, holding his head stationary as she began to kiss him with more fervour, her moist lips skirting over his, the tip of her tongue gaining entry and going deep inside of his mouth, brushing against his tongue through the narrow gap between the front teeth in his upper and lower mouth.

Jonas' penis was hard, he realised; it was doing everything in its power to grow bigger and firmer, fighting the inflexible plastic encasing it on all sides. He felt it as a slightly painful throbbing that only grew increasingly worse the more Allie kissed him.

He had never been kissed like this before; Allie's passion was tangible, stimulating, infectious. Jonas wanted it to go on forever, he was kissing the girl of his dreams, an older girl with so much more experience than himself, which he was really happy for as he would never have dared to make the first move, wouldn't have known what to do.

Suddenly, he wanted more, his hands were still hanging idly down, he had been gobsmacked, powerless, when Allie suddenly without warning had started to kiss him. He wondered what he could do, what Allie would let him do to her, what would be welcome, acceptable to her.

He wanted to touch her in the same manner she was touching him; her hand was stroking his cheek, his ear, his bangs under the brim of his hat, and in the nape of his neck, this touch he liked more than anything, this slightly ticklish feeling, that did not call for laughter or giggles.

The sensations he felt, the emotions running through him, all of it, increased the efforts of his penis to become erect. This resulted in more pain from his groin, which merely added to his excitement rather than subtract from it.

Now, Jonas knew what he wanted most of all, he wanted to touch Allie's breasts, like she was also stroking his chest through the neck opening of his t-shirt. He wanted to feel them, weigh them in his hands, gently knead them like a roll, kiss them, lick her nipples.

"Oh," Allie gasped and moved her hand downward between them, kissing Jonas again. "I've made you so horny," she whispered. "Your cock's rock solid."

It is, Jonas silently agreed, even though his penis wasn't standing upright, it had filled the curved tube to its maximum capacity and was now trying to push it upward, painfully hindered by the lock ring behind his balls. Wait, how do you know? he wondered, quickly sobering up.

"What's this?" Allie asked, pulling her head away, making room to look down between their bodies. "What have you put in the front of your speedos?" She tugged at the bow Jonas had tied, undid the waist string and pulled out the front of his speedos before he had any time to react.

"No!" he wailed, clasping his hands over his groin and blocked the pink torture device from Allie's view. Too late.

"Oh… my… God," Allie whispered, shocked. And she started to laugh. "What is that?" she managed to ask before succumbing to more uncontrolled laughter.

All of the excitement Jonas had felt was now gone, leaving only the pain from his groin and his broken heart. She's laughing at me! he told himself and scrambled to his feet. He took off, running from the alley as quickly as he could, Allie's lilting laughter stopped.

"Wait!" he heard her shout but he only wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

Allie laughed at me! he told himself again as he ran without knowing where to go. She saw the torture device and she laughed at me! He wanted to find a hole he could climb into and hide himself away from everyone, but there were no such holes in the busy pedestrian street.

Jonas had been running for five minutes but he could no longer ignore the painful stitch below his ribs. He furiously wiped the tears from his cheeks, wanting to appear normal to the people around him even if they were all strangers to him. He was still feeling miserable but he did not want anyone to notice his turmoil.

They'll only ask what's the matter. He did not know where to begin if someone should ask him. Then he realised. There was someone who he could blame. Someone was behind all of his misery and he ripped his phone out of the wrist wallet.

'I HATE U' he typed in a Snapchat message to Martin, all in capital letters, and pushed the Send button.

'I wish you was fuckin DEAD,' he wrote in another message and sent that too before he quickly turned off his phone and fumbled it back into the wallet strapped to his wrist. It did little to calm him, but the pause meant he was able to resume his journey back to the hotel. He went along the beach, not caring to get on a bus.

An hour and a half later he entered the hotel parking lot just as his parents exited the tour bus. His anger at Martin had not decreased nor had his broken heart stopped aching but he pushed his feelings aside and forced himself to appear happy. They can't know, he thought and flashed a toothy smile at his mum, hoping she wouldn't notice the puffiness of his eyes.

The next morning, Jonas felt pangs of remorse.

He had lain awake for several hours after his parents had fallen asleep, listening to their snoring while contemplating his clandestine encounter with Allie behind the pallets in the filthy alley. Everything had been fine until she noticed the torture device and started to laugh.

Though it hurt him, he analysed the scene, time and time again, until it struck him. Maybe she didn't laugh at me?

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that there was a chance she had not laughed at him. Why would she stop laughing and ask me to come back? He pondered this all through breakfast, his absent-mindedness noticed by his parents but who fortunately let him be and talked quietly between themselves on the other side of the table.

He decided to give her the benefit of doubt. He'd go back to Chania and find her, even though this meant spending another 5 € of his pocket money on bus fares. He had less than 10 € left, he realised when he counted them.

I'll explain the torture device to her. Yeah, I'll even tell her about Martin, he encouraged himself. I'll tell her the things he made me do, well, maybe not all of them. There were things he would never tell anyone. Maybe I won't tell her how I cleaned my bum. She probably wouldn't understand why I did that.

He decided he would tell her just enough to make her understand his predicament and he hoped she would be able to help him find a way out of Martin's grasp.

He spent the entire day walking the streets of Chania, ever searching for Allie. He did not know which hotel she and her father were staying in, he didn't even know if the hotel was in Chania or in one of the suburbs.

Eventually he gave up and went back to his hotel, downcast, cursing himself for not having asked Allie for her phone number. I don't even know her last name! The realisation came as a shock. Why would she want to help me anyway? I'm just a clueless little boy who happily locked up his own penis.

The next morning Susan told Jonas that he needed to accompany her and Peter on a glass-bottom boat trip. "We haven't done anything as a family yet," she told him.

Not true, Jonas wanted to say but held his tongue. He wanted to remind her of their trip to the beach on the first day until he remembered how he had kicked his father in the face. Maybe it's better I don't remind her of that. He feared if he reminded her of the trip, it might also make her remember his father's wish to create a new child.

"The tour allows us to swim and dive from the boat in one of the bays we'll visit on the trip," she continued. "Why don't you wear your red swimwear today, Jonas? I've always thought you look great in red," she said. "You can wear them under your shorts instead of underwear."

Jonas had stopped wearing underwear the day he put on the torture device but his mum didn't know this and he wasn't about to tell her that. Nor did he want to tell her the red speedos were the smallest of the three he had, that they were in fact all too small for him. Telling her would undoubtedly result in a reprimand for not trying them on for size, and for ignoring the slight tightness he had experienced when he had tried on the blue speedos.

He did not want to tell her that he hated the colour red, almost as much as he hated pink. Nor did he want to let on that Martin had seemed to like the red speedos the most which in turn had made Jonas hate them so much more.

He only sighed with the despondency he felt for not being able to come up with a reason as to why he couldn't go on the boat trip with his parents and why, if he truly must accompany them, he certainly couldn't be wearing his fire-engine red speedos. Since he didn't have any reasons that he felt he could share with his mum, he had to follow her bidding.

"You've been wearing your blue speedos every day since we got here," she told him. "They are starting to smell rather pungent so I'll wash them tonight. Why don't you give them a rest for a few days? You can wear your other ones."

He groaned inwardly. This was just what he needed to make the rest of the holidays even more a living nightmare.

Chapter Fifteen
The return

Jonas never saw Allie again. He went back to Chania twice more before the end of his holiday, but both times he went with his parents who paid for the bus and dictated the trips without much regard to his wants or needs. The last time into the city was Sunday, a day after Allie must have returned to Denmark, but Jonas couldn't help but look for her anyway.

At least, because he no longer lived by Martin's rules, he only had to wear the skimpy speedos to the beach for the remainder of his vacation. Still, this was enough for his dad to notice and share his thoughts on how he thought his son's swimwear were too revealing in the rear.

"Shush," his mum had hushed his dad. "It's just a fashion statement, dear," she explained which made Jonas furrow his brows as he wondered if she seriously thought that was the case or whether she was just trying to come up with excuses for him, in which case he would rather have tried to come up with one of his own.

I could think of something that doesn't sound so daft, he thought, but before he could, his dad started to talk.

"So, you're telling me Jonas wants to be a bricklayer like my dad? Whenever my dad was working, he showed off about as much cleavage as Jonas does now. Mind you, my dad's old saggy arse was quite a lot hairier than Jonas' little pert pale one. When I was a small boy I often found myself speaking to the wrong end, mistaking the hair on his arse for his beard, though the smell ought to have…"

Susan gasped. "Don't speak like that in front of our son."

"Oh, please. He must've heard worse language than that."

"Maybe, but he doesn't need to hear it from his father."

Jonas rolled his eyes as he tried to hike up his speedos, but that only resulted in him giving himself a serious wedgie.

They spent all of Tuesday on a revisit to Knōsos, the ancient city and palace, where the fabled Minotaur was allegedly imprisoned in a labyrinth no one had ever managed to find.

The year before, Jonas had been awed when he first heard the tour guide recount the story about the Minotaur; the freak son of a human queen and a big white bull, which had made him wonder how exactly the impregnation had taken place, but there had been no explanation offered and he had been too shy to ask. The freak then grew into a giant beast of a man with a bull's head and tail.

As far as Jonas understood, the Minotaur was lured into the massive labyrinth which he couldn't escape from and this had really pissed off the Minotaur, something Jonas sympathised with. The ancient Athenians had been forced to send him seven boys and seven girls every year to keep him appeased and the kids were mutilated and eaten by the beast, and this Jonas did not approve of at all.

Then entered the hero of the story, some young strapping guy named Theseus, who didn't believe in sitting idly by while young kids were sent to their deaths once a year. He ventured into the labyrinth, carrying a giant ball of string that he unrolled as he went, so that he would be able to find his way out again after killing the monster.

It went as planned, Theseus found the Minotaur and slayed him with his little sword and he left the labyrinth by following the string.

Jonas had been infatuated with the story and the Minotaur was naturally part of his collection of monsters at home.

That was last year, though. This year, Jonas wasn't interested in the old ruins or the ancient wall paintings, and this new, nervous, tour guide didn't tell the story as well as the other guide had. Oh, and his heart was still aching for Allie.

Upon returning to Denmark, Jonas was certain his speedo-wearing days were completely over.

It rained when they landed in Copenhagen Wednesday afternoon and it was still raining when Jonas pulled open his curtains on Thursday morning.

Won't it ever let up? he thought as he saw the rain pummel his window. It looked to him as if it had rained continuously through the night.

While he had breakfast with his parents, now back to his usual Cornflakes with four carefully measured spoons of sugar on top instead of the full continental breakfast he had enjoyed every morning during their vacation, he listened to the weather forecast on the radio. It promised rain showers every day for the upcoming week, with high probability of it continuing into the week following that.

Bummer, he thought, resigning himself to spending the rest of his summer holidays indoors. This was not what he had looked forward to, not after the crisp sunny days of Crete.

He had however an important thing to do, something he couldn't have done outside even if the weather had been fair. I must get that torture device off!

He knew his best friend Noah would be returning from summer camp by the end of the weekend and he was looking forward to spending time with him again, but he didn't want Noah to notice the constricting device locked around his private parts.

Allie saw it and she laughed at me, he sadly remembered. I don't want Noah to see it and laugh at me, too.

Besides not wanting to risk his friendship with Noah, Jonas wanted the device gone so that he could wank again. His first night back in his own bed had seemed to make his torture even worse. Finally having the privacy to do what would have been impossible during the vacation when sleeping on a sofa in the same room as his parents, somehow made the chastity device preventing him from stroking his hard penis even more frustrating.

Hell, it can't get hard, even! he thought and tried to remember when he had last had an orgasm. He couldn't remember. Has it been more than a month, yet? he wondered. It felt like a year had passed since the last one, he could hardly remember the feeling now.

The girlish pink-coloured torture device he wore was miniscule – in comparison to the one Jonas had printed on his father's 3D printer – and had been printed in PETG, almost the same material as most plastic beverage bottles. So, it should in theory be easier to break open than the reinforced one he had started out with, but because it was so small, it was quite hard to find a place to attack it to pry it apart.

Jonas had spent an entire afternoon in Crete – after his final Snapchat message to Martin – trying to pull out one of the lock pins using only his fingernails as there had been no tools available to him in the hotel room. All three pins were still securely in place while the nail on his index finger had painfully split down the middle right into the flesh.

Bleeding from his finger, Jonas had suffered the mortification of having his mum trim all of his fingernails as if he were a small boy who couldn't do this himself. She cut them so short I can't even pick my nose now, he thought with extreme displeasure.

But, now back in his own house, with access to his dad's toolbox, Jonas thought he should be able to break open the device relatively easy. Or so he had hoped when he sat on his chair with his shorts pulled down far enough to work on the device. Though no further than absolutely necessary so he would be able to quickly pull them back in place if either of his parents should enter his room unannounced.

He ignored the locking pins, the heads of which were recessed and sat flush with the base of the curved tube that his penis was trapped inside. He knew Martin had drilled through the original self-locking permanent pins, back when the man had replaced them with some that could be unlocked with a key, but Jonas did not feel brave enough to try his luck with a power drill so close to his important bits.

Instead, he focused on the ring that went behind his balls. It was the same two-piece design as the original, and he could just about tell where the pieces overlapped and were held in place by one of the lock pins.

If I can push a screwdriver in far enough, I can twist it and the ring will snap open. This first part of the plan seemed simple, though it wouldn't solve all of his problems. He did not know what he would do with the tube if and when he'd got rid of the ring – the barbs at the opening would still prevent him from pulling his penis out of the tube, even with his balls freed – but he figured he'd deal with that problem when he got to it.

Yet, as simple as his plan sounded, it was not so easily executed. His fingers became sweaty from the effort and the tip of the blade of even the smallest screwdriver wouldn't go into the hair-thin crack between the two pieces making up the ring.

The position he was forced to work in didn't help either. He was hunched over on his chair, with knees splayed wide, one finger pushed in under the ring holding it as far from his delicate skin as was possible, sweating from the effort as the screwdriver's sharp tip kept slipping on the surprisingly smooth surface of the ring.

He was constantly forced to pause, to wipe his fingers and give his spine a short rest, and restore the blood supply to his balls before he crammed his finger back in under the ring and went to work for another short while.

He had struggled with the screwdriver for almost an hour when he decided more force was necessary. Jonas gripped the screwdriver firmer and pushed the tip harder against the extremely narrow crack between the two parts of the ring. Suddenly his sweaty fingers slipped on the handle and the sharp tip of the screwdriver skidded along the crack, narrowly missing his finger and his unprotected right testicle.

The tip of the screwdriver pierced the skin of his thigh, which would have been bad enough on its own, but the pain from the edge of his hand squashing his ball overpowered the piercing pain from his thigh.

Jonas gasped as he doubled over, the screwdriver falling from his hand to the floor. He felt sick and twice he had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.

The unsuccessful and painful attempts to pry open the torture device with the screwdriver forced Jonas to rethink his situation. The lock ring seemed much too thick to cut open with the side-cutting pliers he found in his dad's toolbox and he chose not to even give it a try.

He considered asking his parents for help; the risk of great ridicule and mortal embarrassment from Martin publicising the pictures and videos was almost worth the chance to go back to being himself again.

I'd be able to wank whenever I want instead of waiting for Martin to let me. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be able to wank while reminiscing the day, those minutes, that magnificent moment when Allie had kissed him, when the tip of her slightly orange-flavoured tongue had entered his mouth.

"Ow," he breathed. His penis was straining to get hard and he had to divert his thoughts from Allie. Yeah, I will tell them, he decided.

So, how do I tell them? When? He sat for a time, not able to find the answers to his questions and slowly his certainty turned into worry. What would they say if I tell them?

The worry turned into fear.

Dad will be mad and Mum will be disappointed. He knew his parents well enough to know these reactions were a dead given.

But, what will they do if I tell them? He remembered how his dad had said he wanted a new son. If I tell them, maybe Dad won't take me to the hospital. Maybe he'd just kick me out and give my room to their new son.

His bravado slowly drained out of him like the air from a deflating balloon. He no longer wanted to tell his parents, instead he wanted to keep his secret. However, if he did not tell them, his penis and balls would still be trapped in the tiny pink contraption from hell, waiting for Noah to spot it during one of their sleepovers.

Or everyone in my year seeing it in the showers after Gym and Games classes! Jonas blanched with the mortification he felt just by imagining the scene.

That wasn't even the worst that could happen, Jonas realised. He did not need much of an imagination to predict what would happen if and when his private parts at long last started to grow with nowhere to go.

Squish! he thought and winced at the mental picture of his scrotum ripping open, his balls spilling out in a gush of red blood, his penis elongating with the barbs just inside the opening of the plastic tube shredding his sensitive skin and cutting deeper into the meat, the blood mixing with that from his severed balls… Jonas punched his thigh so hard it brought tears to his eyes, but the pain forced him out of his nightmarish imaginings.

He pondered his options while he gently nursed his smarting testicle and from time to time wiped the dollop of blood that kept reappearing on his thigh with the tip of his finger and absent-mindedly licked it clean.

He was so used to being able to ask an adult when in need of help, usually one of his parents or a teacher – though he would never ask Aunt Megan for anything – but now, when he needed it the most, he couldn't think of anyone that might help him without stirring up a lot of extra trouble.

"I got it!" he uttered after a while, realising there was someone who could and should help him. Martin has got to help me, he thought. He got me into this crap. If he won't take it off then I'll force him, I'll… I'm going to tell him to help me.

He turned on his phone for the first time since having turned it off on the day when Allie had kissed him; the day that had turned out to be both the best day in his life and the worst. It vibrated in his hand, letting him know there was a message waiting.

'Come to my house on a weekday at noon.'

Jonas read the short Snapchat message three times before it vanished from the screen.

That's it? he wondered, having anticipated several angry messages telling him off. The unexpected neutral message was sort of a relief, nevertheless it also left him with a feeling of foreboding that everything was not alright.

Still, if he could force Martin to remove the torture device then there would be no need to tell his parents about any of it and no risk of Noah or anyone at school seeing the torture device.

I'll tell him I'm going to tell Mum and Dad if he doesn't take it off, he decided. Then, if he still won't do it, I will find a way to tell Mum and Dad.

I have to go there today, it's Friday and Noah's coming home on Sunday.

He looked at his wristwatch.

Ten o'clock. I have just enough time to shower, he realised, deciding he had better clean his penis, too, as he had not done either of those dreadful chores in the past three days. He had wet his hair, and sprayed deodorant under his arms, and his mum had not noticed anything, but this was different.

I shouldn't show up at Martin's house with a dirty and smelly penis, he told himself, thinking this would be rude since the man would undoubtedly have to get very close to his private parts when removing the torture device.

Jonas did not look forward to visiting the man's house again but thought of it like a visit to the doctor's office, or the dentist, something very unpleasant, awful even, that simply must be done for things to get better.

Jonas got off the bus at the stop nearest to Martin's house, fully convinced that this would be his very last time of doing it. He walked to the man's house, stood indecisively for a moment on the doorstep, wondering if he should ring the bell, whether the man's instructions to simply enter the house without announcing his presence still stood.

Suddenly, it seemed to Jonas as if it had been ages since his last visit to Martin's house, that more than just two weeks had passed since then.

So much had happened yet nothing had really changed, he realised. I'm still wearing this blasted torture device! Because of that, he pushed down the door handle and opened Martin's front door.

Inside the house, with the door shut, Jonas paused again. Taking off his clothes would be like he was acknowledging Martin's superiority and that might be counterproductive in regard to his demand to be released from the torture device. Still, it wouldn't do to start off on the wrong foot.

It might piss him off if he sees me with my clothes on, he thought.

I would need to take my shorts off, anyway, he concluded so Martin would soon enough be seeing his penis. Again! He's seen all of me before, he reminded himself. He could see no real gain from not getting naked so he undressed where he stood on the doormat, and – just as he had done when he last had visited Martin's house – he placed his clothes in a fairly orderly pile.

He went to his chair and took up his position behind it, clasping his wrist behind his back. He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes, focused on the top of the chair's backrest. This does not mean I'm a sissy, he thought as he waited for Martin to show himself.

"So," Jonas jolted at Martin's sudden and powerful outburst, the man had snuck right up behind him and spoken into his left ear. "With all that you've done, you've decided to come back, after all…"

"Yes," Jonas squeaked and cleared his throat. "I want you to…"

"But, Jonas," came Martin's most condescending voice into his right ear now. "I don't care what you want. I already know that you hate me and want me dead. You made that perfectly clear in your messages."

Jonas gulped; this wasn't going as planned.

"I have news for you, kid," Martin continued, straightening his back, his tone turning to ice. "I won't stand for that kind of insolence from any of my subs and that includes you, my newest little sissy."

"I'm not a little sissy!" Jonas spat out the words. "I'll tell…"

"No arguing! You broke the very simple rules I gave you before you went on vacation. I told you to leave your phone on at all times which you did not. You did not send any videos or pictures of yourself for more than the last half of your vacation! Finally, your hate message…

"Oh, you've asked for this, kid. Several times, in fact," Martin finished and grabbed Jonas by the neck, his thumb and index finger digging painfully into the soft flesh just below the jaw. He dragged the boy along to the stairs to his basement, ignoring the sounds of protest coming from his young charge as they began their descent into the gloomy darkness.

Jonas clawed unsuccessfully at the fingers gripping his neck tight and then tried to scratch them instead. He mewled with despair when he realised this had no effect whatsoever because of his mum having cut his fingernails so short and filing them so smooth. He tried to kick back at Martin's legs but the man held him at arm's length and forced him down yet another step, and another.

"Ow! No! Stop! Let me go," Jonas cried. "Help me!" he shouted, which earned him a swift punch to his kidney and he moaned loudly, wincing with the pain, as he was forced further down.

At the bottom of the stairs Martin mashed Jonas' face up against the wall while he quickly entered the key code for the heavy steel fire door to the almost completely soundproof dungeon that he over the years had turned his ordinary basement into. He held the boy tight as he dragged him across the threshold and let the door slam shut behind them.

Martin guided Jonas towards a chair and sat on it, pulling the boy face down into his lap.

"Since you are behaving so childishly, I will punish you accordingly," Martin said, raising his voice to be heard over the boy's relentless sobbing. He trapped the boy's flailing legs with one of his own, grabbed Jonas' right wrist and forced the boy's arm high up on his back, eliciting a scream of terror from him.

"Keep the noise down, I'm not deaf!" Martin shouted as he raised his right hand, as far as it would go, and hit the boy square on his bare buttocks with a resounding slap.

Jonas went absolutely still for a split-second as his brain tried to comprehend what had just happened. Then he registered the pain and he let out a shrill shriek as he tightened all of the muscles in his body. He didn't notice Martin lifting his arm and smacking him again until the sound of the impact reached his ears, at almost the same time he registered the new pain shooting from his bum cheeks.

"Eeee-eeh!" His scream filled the room as he tried to reach back with his hands and curl up his legs to defend himself.

Martin wished he had gagged Jonas before he started to punish the boy, unlike most of his subs, the boy held nothing back as he cried out his pain. "This must be your first time being spanked?" he asked between two smacks. "Well, now you know some of what might happen when you disobey me, sissy!"

He struck the quivering buttocks again, as hard as he could, and grimaced at the pain he felt in his hand. Next time I spank him, I'll wear earmuffs and use a spatula, he thought and shook his hand for a few seconds before slapping Jonas again. And I must turn on the stereo in the living room, too.

Jonas had never screamed so much in all of his life nor had he felt so much pain before. The skin on his bum cheeks felt as if Martin had poured petrol on them and set it alight.

He could not prevent the resounding slaps from the man's big hand, each of them adding to the pain. Every time he sensed another smack was about to come, he tried to reach back with both of his hands to guard his smarting buttocks, and every time he did that, his right shoulder felt like it was about to pop out of the socket when Martin pushed his arm just a bit higher up toward his neck.

Jonas screamed when he felt the ligaments in his shoulder strain again just before another blow landed on his burning bum.

"Stoo-oop!" he wailed. "Please!"

But Martin did not stop, the palm of his hand connected just as painfully with Jonas' buttocks six more times before he swiftly pushed the boy off his lap and held him by his wrists as he tried to steady him on his feet.

Jonas' body was slack, all of his energy had left him, blow by blow, while he was beaten by Martin. He only wanted for the man to leave him so he could curl up on the bare concrete floor and cry without restraint while waiting for the searing pain in his buttocks to abate.

"Stand up straight, sissy," Martin ordered. "Look at me."

Jonas' legs felt like Jell-O, there was no strength in them. It took a massive effort to lock his knees and stand, even with Martin holding him up by his wrists, and he only succeeded when the man slapped his thigh.

"Ow!" howled Jonas, although this slap was considerably less painful than those delivered to his rear end, but he looked at Martin.

"The spanking you've just received was your punishment for defying me while you were on holidays. I hope you will think twice before breaking any rules again. If you do, you will be punished, no exceptions."

"I'll tell," Jonas said, nasally, and he sniffed hard to clear his nose. "I'll tell on you," he repeated, the words coming more clearly, followed by another sob.

"Oh dear," Martin blurted. "Not that old song again. 'I'll tell,'" he snarled in a high-pitched voice. "Boo-hoo, 'I'll tell…' Fine, sissy. Let's do it, let's go tell mum and dad exactly what you've been up to. Let's see… I'll start, then you can fill in the blanks…

"Jonas was sitting on my door step when I came home one day. He told me he wanted to show me something in private and I let him into my house. There, in my living room, without warning, he pulled down his trousers and to my absolute horror I saw how he had locked his private parts inside a chastity device…"

"Not true!" Jonas interjected, but Martin ignored him.

"He pleaded with me to become his master, told me that I should treat him like a slave, that he was a little sissy. He told me how he had found the files for the chastity device, I designed years ago for a fully grown man, explained how he had made the parts smaller so they'd fit him and then printed them on his dad's 3D printer and put the device on…"

"You're lying!" Jonas shouted. "I never wanted to be your slave!"

"I tried to tell him how I thought he was much too young for a BDSM relationship and that it is against the law but he was relentless. He told me how he loved the feeling of his cock, sorry, his penis, being locked away, how he had longed for someone other than himself to be in control…"

"I hate that!" Jonas sniffed again.

"I told him to leave my house at once, and never to return, but he showed me how he had permanently locked the chastity device in place and told me that he would never remove it. That it would be my fault if he was hurt from it and how he would tell the police that I had forced him to wear it…"

"You did," Jonas said, his sobbing that had nearly stopped was restarting.

"Did I?" Martin asked. "No. You put the first one on yourself."

Jonas stopped in the middle of a sob as he remembered. "Er, yeah, but the rest…"

"Right, the rest of the explanation: I'm so extremely sorry, but I just couldn't see how I could possibly turn Jonas away, he kept threatening me with telling you and the police. His demands of what I should do to him just kept getting worse. I… I didn't want to, honestly, but his threats…"

"I've…"

"I'm very sorry about all of this. I will go turn myself in to the police, I will take my punishment like a man. However, though it hurts me so to say this, I do really think Jonas should get some kind of help to control his perverted needs so he doesn't…"

"I do not have perverted needs!" Jonas hissed the words; he was now so angry with the man's false accusations that he completely forgot his feeling miserable.

"Let's see what your parents think when they watch the videos you sent me while you were vacationing. If those won't convince them, I have many more videos of you enjoying yourself while naked. Well, almost naked," Martin said and flicked a finger at the plastic-wrapped end of Jonas' penis.

"Don't ever threaten me with your parents again, sissy," he continued. "It will not do either of us any good. I've edited all of the videos so it looks like you enjoy it. All but one, the one with you sitting on the chaise longue playing with your little sissy cock didn't need any adjusting. Anyway, if I go down, all of those videos will appear on the internet."

"But," Jonas said. "Wait. What about school, then…? Sleepovers?" he asked, stupefied. "And A…" he almost asked about Allie, but his heart was aching almost as badly as his buttocks and he couldn't bring himself to mention her name.

"I don't see the relevance, really. Being my little sissy won't get you out of school. As for sleepovers, you won't be spending much time here on weekends, if any, so I can't see a problem."

"We shower after sports," Jonas explained. "People will see this!" he pointed to the pink plastic. "Noah might see it when we sleep over."

"Noah? Oh, your little friend. Well, unless the two of you hump each other before bed, I can't see any cause for alarm. Much as I hate them, you can wear loose-fitting boxer shorts or pyjamas to bed. Get changed in the bathroom and he will never see."

"We don't hump…" Jonas started, then remembered a certain moment when Noah and he were nine years old and he blushed with the memory. Well, not any more, he added silently.

"Anyway, what about school?" he asked, getting the conversation back on track. "Showering after sports? There are no stalls or partitions, everyone will see. The teacher, too. He makes sure that everybody showers properly…"

"And indeed he should, I don't want you reeking from sweat after sports class. I'm not completely stupid, boy. Don't you think I've considered all of that? You will not be wearing that cock cage for much longer."

"Oh good," Jonas said, feeling massively relieved. This piece of news was almost worth the spanking. Almost!

"While you were having fun in Crete, I received an order for a custom-made cast iron cock cage and since I had the small foundry out anyway, I made one for you, too," Martin explained and Jonas' buttocks suddenly felt much more bruised as he contemplated what this meant.

"It is far more durable than those flimsy 3D printed ones and it only needs one lock. You will unlock and remove the cock cage just before your sports classes begin and you will put it back on immediately afterwards. If not, well, you'd be lucky to walk away with only a spanking from breaking that rule."

"What if I meet a girl?" Jonas finally asked, making it sound like he had not already done so. He wasn't interested in recounting his experience with Allie. But he did not want to end up in the same mess again should another girl fall for him, no matter how unlikely that seemed.

"You should know I'm not a big fan of open relationships, Jonas. I'm actually very jealous. I don't want you messing around with anyone but me. Not even yourself. Why do you think I've made you a new chastity device? Just because I want to be mean to you?"

"Eh, yeah."

"That's not why. No, you see, Jonas, for as long as you're my little sissy friend, you will only be intimate with me…"

"I'm not your sissy friend. I'm not your friend at all."

Martin went on as if Jonas hadn't said a word. "… You will not be dating any girls. Nor boys, for that matter."

Jonas scrunched up his nose at the foul suggestion he might want to be intimate with a boy. He imagined himself kissing Noah's mouth full of braces and he felt sick.

"Your little cock belongs to me, as does your arse, along with the rest of you," Martin said, then noticed the look on Jonas's face. "Don't," he warned. "Don't put on that face. In fact, since we are down here, anyway," he continued and rose to his feet. "You might as well get an idea of what being my sissy friend entails."

Chapter Sixteen
Being a sissy

Jonas was dragged into another room by Martin, who turned on the lights as they entered. Jonas blinked with the sudden brightness and gasped when his eyes adjusted to the light and allowed him to see what was inside the room.

What is this? he wondered.

It was a bedroom, but unlike any Jonas had seen before. This could be the Devil's bedroom, everything in it was black; the sheets on the king-size bed, the walls, the ceiling, even the floor was covered with black linoleum, he noticed as his eyes darted around and took in the details.

He saw a large three-door cupboard in the room, then his eyes were drawn to one of the walls where he saw chains and ropes and items made of black leather with silvery rivets and pointy studs, all neatly arranged, hanging from pegs.

On the far side of the bed stood an old-fashioned pillory made from big wooden planks with holes for the neck and wrists, lined with black leather which looked rather worn.

He saw the first spec of colour when Martin first turned on the two lamps on either side of the massive bed's headboard and turned off the bright fluorescent ceiling lights. A dark red light spread out from within the lamps' burgundy-coloured shades. Again, while Martin went over to the cupboard and opened its middle door, Jonas's eyes were forced to adjust to the lighting.

"This should do nicely," the man muttered, picking up something from within the cupboard and walked over to stand behind Jonas who was just now able to see in the gloomy light from the weak wall lamps.

Jonas panicked when he felt something quickly encasing all of his head, but before he could decide what to do, belts had been tightened and buckles done up, locking the mask firmly in place. His hearing was somewhat impeded when he heard Martin's voice ordering him to open up his mouth.

Instead of complying, Jonas shook his head and locked his jaws tight as he reached up with his hands to find a way to get rid of the constricting and blinding mask.

"Fine," Martin said and grasping a wrist, he affixed a leather cuff to it and hooked it onto a ring on the collar of the mask just below the boy's chin. He did the same with the other wrist, taking advantage of Jonas's blindness, and repeated the order. "Open your mouth, sissy." He followed up the command with another smack to the boy's arse.

"What are you doing to me?" Jonas wailed, trying in vain to free his hands from the soft leather mask, frantically searching for the ends of the small belts that he could just about reach with the tips of his fingers. The wail abruptly ended in a choking sound when a firm rubbery object was inserted into his mouth and pushed quite far in before it was locked in place with the sound of a zipper being closed.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you," Martin said, nonchalantly. "I've been wanting to fuck you since the day I saw you sitting on my front step and now the time has come. Oh, you can try to fight me but I'll fuck you all the same." He pushed Jonas toward the bed and the boy stumbled a step forwards.

"When you leave my house, it'll be with my sperm shot so far up your arse you won't be able to expel all of it, you will never get rid of me," said Martin with unmistakable delight, as he gave the blinded boy another shove.

Jonas's shins collided with the bed frame before he had the chance to consider Martin's statement and he felt himself topple forward with nothing but his elbows to break the fall. He tried to scream around the rubbery object in his mouth but nothing more than a stifled groan could be heard as he landed hard on the mattress.

Almost immediately, Jonas pulled his knees up under him, preparing to lurch forwards and out of Martin's reach when he felt the man's hands latch tightly onto his hips.

"Careful now, one might think you've done this before, you certainly seem very keen to get into position so we can get started," Martin commented and pulled harder on Jonas's hips, bringing the boy's arse back closer to the edge of the bed.

I want to go home! Jonas thought. I don't want this…

Martin bent his head and spat between the pale buttocks in front of him, which interrupted Jonas's thinking, then began massaging his spittle into the boy's arsehole with his thumb.

Please, Jonas silently and desperately pleaded. Stop! Ow, you can't…

"You feel nice and tight, boy, just what I enjoy the most," he said and spat again, lubricating the tight orifice as he kept working the tip of his thumb in and out of the resisting muscle, taking care not to expand it too much while he held the boy's hips stationary as best as he could.

Ow, it hurts! Jonas winced with the pain shooting from his butthole when Martin's fat thumb went deep inside of him. He bit hard into the piece of hard rubbery material stuck in his mouth while he clenched his hole tighter and tried to expel the finger from his bottom. He bucked his hips back and forth, and from side to side, but Martin kept forcing him back to the starting point with a little shove or pull.

"Almost ready," the man deemed about a minute later and let more of his spit dripple from his lips into Jonas's arse crack one last time.

I'm not ready! Jonas thought resolutely, he was not about to let Martin stick his penis into his butt, he seriously doubted that it would fit, thought it was impossible, however the man seemed certain it would. Jonas bucked his hips again, more violently than before and managed to get his feet up onto the mattress and straighten out his legs. His shoulders were still pushed into the mattress, taking most of his weight; it was not a very stable posture but he had got away from Martin's grasp.

Martin quickly closed his right fist around Jonas's chastity device, tightening it just enough to let the boy know he was now holding him by the balls, as well as his little cock. He tugged hard on the package, backward and downward.

Jonas hissed through his nose when he felt the pain from his nuts as they were being squeezed against the torture device, and he let himself fall back down on his knees and raised up onto his elbows in an attempt to lessen the pain.

"Just like that, yes. That's the perfect height. Well done, little sissy," Martin sarcastically praised. "Now, hold tight," he bid as he pulled open the fly of his jeans and wrestled his engorged cock up over the hem of his underwear and out into the open while he still held onto Jonas's little plastic-wrapped cock and balls.

No, no-no-no! Jonas pleaded, wanting to shout the words and jump from the bed, when he felt something big and rounded nudge up against his perineum and start to slide upward toward his bum hole. The end of Martin's penis, as that was what it must be, felt very warm and slightly spongy, but Jonas was far more concerned about the size of it as it neared his spit-slickened hole. Someone, help me!

Jonas's pleas were silent but would have fallen on deaf ears even if he had been able to shout.

Martin slowly, but determinedly, guided his hard cock along the short stretch of the boy's perineum. He squeezed his cock tight, making it harder, and let go of Jonas's balls and moved his hand up onto the small of the boys back. He spat one last time at the upturned arse and pushed down hard.

Jonas tried to scream out his anguish as his bum hole was abruptly splayed wide open by the huge rounded mass entering it. Even though the pain was unbearable he redoubled his efforts to clench his buttocks tight, to seal up his bum hole like the times he had tried to stop himself from pooing. Despite all of his efforts, the enormous cock slowly and inexorably crept deeper inside of him. Gasping with the pain, he pushed down harder still.

"Oh yes!" Martin stopped where he was and groaned aloud. His cock had just speared in through the wide band of Jonas's sphincter and was now being clenched tighter than he could remember it ever having been.

I've got to find me some more virgins, he told himself as he relished the very unique feeling of an undulating sphincter muscle clasping all of his cock head. None of his subs had ever worked their arseholes nearly as much for him as the teenaged boy unwittingly did now.

He pushed down harder on the small of Jonas's back and forced the boy to arch his back further, to jut his arse further upward while Martin slowly pushed his hips forward. He gasped as his cock went further into the constricting hole, the intense heat inside the still struggling boy was almost as enthralling to Martin as the fight Jonas put up against the forceful entry.

Jonas whimpered piteously; he was starting to realise that his fight against Martin was hopelessly ineffective. The futility he felt was almost worse than the stinging pain from his spanked buttocks as well as the agony that shot out from his butthole as Martin forced his long fat penis ever deeper inside of him.

At first he had tried to move away from the man but his wrists had somehow been locked to his neck and he couldn't reach the clasp or hook or whatever it was that secured the wide leather shackles around his wrists, nor the link between them and the rigid collar that sat so tightly around his neck that it felt like he was choking whenever he tried to swallow too hard.

He had been blinded by the itchy leather mask tightened so much around his head that it was putting uncomfortable pressure on all of it. Worse yet, the mask also prevented him from spitting out the foul-tasting rubbery object that Martin had pushed into his mouth to keep him from crying out. Even with his mouth splayed as widely open as the restricting mask would allow, the blunt cylindrical object filled his mouth to near capacity.

His tongue was pushed flat against the floor of his mouth by the rubbery item, which felt awful though much better than when he relaxed his jaw muscles and the object pushed up against his palate and triggered his gag reflex. He had to fight the urge to puke, so that he'd keep his lunch in his stomach, as much as he fought to keep Martin's penis from going in deeper, if not more.

If I retch I'll die, he thought, acutely aware that there was nowhere for his sick to go, and he let go of another drawn out whine, which was cut off by another gasp immediately followed up with a new throaty retching sound.

Please, make it stop, he silently begged when he was finally able to breathe again.

Martin had no intention to cut short this his first venture into Jonas. He was dribbling spit every so often, continually lubricating the next short stretch of his cock about to enter the tightest arse he had ever encountered, so as to keep the friction at a tolerable level.

Should I get out the oil? he wondered for a brief moment until he realised this would require him pulling out of the boy and that seemed like an unbearable task. There was no other place in the world he would rather have his cock just then.

Well, it would be better if… He pushed harder, determined to feel Jonas's tight, quivering arse hole around the very root of his cock as quickly as possible, no matter how far up the boy's hot bowels the tip might end up and regardless of the young boy's suffering.

"Take that, sissy!" he barked and thrust hard forward. "And this!"

More than half of Martin's fully engorged cock now impaled the boy and he knew from past experiences that he could now let go of it and still be able to push the rest of it inside.

His cock slipped out a bit, accidently, as he repositioned his feet closer to the bed. He moved his hands and grasped Jonas's narrow pelvis tightly with his big hands, his thumbs dug in on either side of the boy's spine.

Jonas felt the sharp pain in his lower back and was forced to react to it as it grew more unbearable. He shifted his hips backwards, arching his back much like a cat stretching its limbs. He felt the large mass in his bum move painfully inward again and immediately, reflexively, he tried to move away.

Jonas grunted with the exertion as he writhed like a fish out of water, his elbows and knees sliding on the slippery bedsheet, unable to find the traction required to get him out of Martin's hold.

The man held him tight by the hips, almost completely stationary, seemingly with ease, and then Jonas felt the mass move again, deeper it went into his body, where, he remembered Martin telling him, it would deposit the man's sperm, tiny pieces of the man he had come to hate the most, and these small bits would be soaked up by his body to become part of him.

Then – although Martin had not actually said this – Jonas knew he would turn into a sissy.

Nooo! he desperately thought, striving harder, the sheet starting to bunch up behind his elbows as he tore it from the bed. He kicked back with one leg, then both at the same time, kicking back as if he was breaststroke swimming, taking advantage of Martin holding him up by his hips. He felt his heels painfully collide with something solid.

"Ouch, you little fuck, those are my knees!" Martin swore aloud. "Settle down, you crazy nutter, you're only being fucked, I'm not bloody killing you," he muttered and struck Jonas' quivering right arse cheek with a retaliatory blow that by far surpassed the ones he had dealt out earlier when punishing the kid.

Jonas's attempt at a loud yelp made him push the rubbery item lodged in his mouth hard up against his soft palate and he started to gag again. He was forced to abandon the fight against Martin as he concentrated all of his efforts to fight the urge to be sick.

Martin heard the retching sounds the boy made and felt the tremors going through the now considerably more limp body, even Jonas's arsehole didn't feel quite as tight around his cock as moments before, and he took advantage of this lapse in the boy's defences. He pushed in, hard, quickly sinking the remaining half of his cock, which had lost none of its rigidity during the struggle, into the gasping boy's hot innards.

Abandoning his grip on Jonas' hips, Martin climbed onto the bed while he pushed the boy forwards, his cock still embedded to the hilt in the boy's flexing arsehole. As Martin got into position and kneeled with his knees spread wide on either side of the boy, he leaned over him and pushed the frail shoulders hard into the mattress with his lower chest.

Jonas made a squeaking sound as the air was forced from his lungs by the heavy load on his back. His perception of the world had been reduced to his own suffering, fragments of thoughts passed through his brain at reckless speed, each time he tried to stop the train of thoughts so that he might consider something in more depth, a new sensation of pain shot through his body which pushed aside the thought.

He lost all track of time, until only one recurring thought kept passing through his head. No! If he had not been gagged, he would have muttered the word with every violent stab of Martin's huge penis deep into his very sore little butthole; even if he had been able to scream, he no longer had the energy to do so. His tears soaked the inside of the leather patches zipped on the mask in front of his eyes. No, no, no, no…

Martin couldn't help but notice when Jonas stopped fighting him. The boy's arse – while still wonderfully hot and acceptably tight – was no longer clenched as tight as it had been in the beginning and it now felt more as if he were fucking a warm human-like sex doll than a living boy.

Even though it had not lasted very long, the struggle put up by the lad had been a most refreshing experience, so unlike his usual bed partners who never could hide their enjoyment very well while he tried to make them suffer enough to glean a tiny bit of pleasure for himself. More often than not, he had to make do with just the money he charged them.

Now, though, with Jonas having worn himself out, it felt as if all fight had left the boy and Martin considered pulling out before he climaxed. I really ought to save myself for tonight, he deliberated, his most generous client would arrive within the hour. Ah, he's always so passive, just accepting everything I do to him. So very dull. And I made a promise to Jonas…

Anyway he knew how much the boy would hate him delivering on his promise – a full complement of the man's potent sperm swimming around in the boy's bowels – Martin sped up his movements as he worked toward his climax. The ravaged boy responded in kind with renewed throaty grunts that sounded very much like a long series of no's.

Although Jonas no longer fought him physically, the boy's defiant grunts finally pushed Martin over the edge. He drove his cock as far up the boy's arse as he could, which was rather more easily done now than it had been just moments before, and there, deep inside of the boy, he began to let go of nearly a full week's build-up of sperm.

Jonas first felt Martin's final inward shove, he heard how the man puffed for breath and then registered how the large penis pulsed in his butt. With the third powerful throb he felt a peculiar wet sensation inside of him but it wasn't until the fifth pulse that he realised what it meant.

He's doing it! He widened his eyes, still seeing nothing but impenetrable blackness before him, as he understood that his body was at that very moment being invaded with an army of miniature Martins.

In his mind, the tiny sperm cells that were launched into him had arms and legs, and skull-like heads, wielding weapons of all sorts, modern and medieval, real and fantasy. Some held rifles, machine guns, others had pickaxes and scythes, some waved magic wands in the air, as they landed inside of him and quickly got to their feet, removing their parachutes as they formed up in small groups and started to march.

There were no defensive troops waiting to fight these invaders; Jonas hadn't paid much attention to what the teacher had said about protection during sex education, he had been too busy checking out the pictures in the textbook like most of the boys in his class, and he did not know what, if anything, could repel this strange and horrific army on the march.

He did not know where exactly inside of him the invaders were headed for either, but he believed that if they managed to get to their destination, then this would surely start his transformation into a sissy. And there was nothing he could do to stop them, trapped as he was under the heavy weight of Martin. He whimpered with the realisation.

While considering all of this, Jonas had tightened the muscles in most of his body, he was not going to just lie there and let himself be invaded by an unknown number of miniscule Martins, no matter how infinitesimal they might be. He tried to dislodge the real Martin but he couldn't budge the large heavy man who was smothering him while his big penis pumped again and again, adding to the wetness inside of Jonas.

He managed to free one of his legs and he kicked out with it, fiercely; all of his anger, frustration and hopelessness put into that single kick. His foot struck something, hard, unyielding, and he hissed with the pain from the impact.

Martin cried out too, and quickly trapped the loose leg under his own, however he did not remove his cock until he was certain his orgasm had finished. As he slowly sat up on his knees he squeezed his cock with two of his fingers while he slowly extracted it from the boy, making sure to leave as much of his sperm inside of Jonas as was possible. Just before his cock head popped free, he spoke up.

"Clench your soppy hole tight now, sissy. Don't lose a single drop of my spunk or I'll give you a spanking that will make your last one seem like nothing more than a few birthday pats."

Jonas had no memory of ever having been smacked on any of his birthdays, however he did not wish to have his bum smacked again, not with his first beating so freshly in his mind, and he clenched his butthole as tightly as he could around the now rather spongy cock in his hole.

"There," Martin said, withdrew fully and got up on his feet. "You're no longer a virgin, kid. You should thank me for ridding you of your innocence. Don't relax that hole yet!"

Jonas was not in the mood to thank Martin, he wasn't in the mood for much of anything, really. He wasn't sure if he could face up to what life had in store for him now that he was slowly being transformed into a sissy by all of the slime Martin's cock had injected into his bum.

He scarcely registered when the man none-too-gently pushed a wad of paper towel into his hole.

"That'll keep the stuff in where it belongs. Listen closely, Jonas. I want you to leave that tissue right where it is until just before you go to bed tonight, or even better, until you wake up tomorrow morning."

Martin ended his instruction with a light slap to the upturned arse, the cheeks of which he knew must still be glowing with an angry red hue, but he couldn't tell in the faint light. He went over and turned on the overhead lights, and when the fluorescent tubes had flickered on, he saw that the seat of Jonas's pale arse was indeed fiery red.

I couldn't have done that much better even with a spatula, he congratulated himself.

"Get up, kid. You can't stay much longer. I have a client arriving in about fifteen minutes."

"I want you back here on Monday, just before noon," Martin told Jonas as he pushed the boy out of his front door. "And remember, keep your mouth shut, or else!" he warned and shut the door.

Fuck you! I'm going to call the police when I get home! Jonas thought and turned away from the door. I'm never coming back here!

Jonas started walking, with a bit of a limp in his step, the ball of paper tissue stuck in his bum was irritating, his bum hole felt bruised and all dried up around the paper ball. His foot hurt, too, so much that he feared he might have sprained it when he kicked out at Martin in a last-ditch attempt to get the man to stop hurting him.

Worse of all, however, was what was taking place inside of him: the invasion of Martin's army of sperm cells destined to change him into a sissy. So far, Jonas had not detected any noticeable changes to his body, nevertheless he wanted to rid himself of the man's sperm as soon as possible and hopefully this would prevent his manliness from sustaining irreversible damage.

He limped along the sidewalk on Martin's street, the bus stop was only about 300 metres [c 1000'] away, normally just a short walk, now it felt almost like a never-ending trek to him.

There's no way I'll make it there in time for the bus, he thought, unable to walk any faster. Usually, he would not have been too ticked off for having to waste half an hour waiting for the next bus, he would have just browsed YouTube until it arrived. Now, though, that option no longer existed, the app removed by Martin, and after having been subjected to the man's abuse, the rape and the spanking, Jonas couldn't get home quickly enough.

He limped on, pondering what he should tell the police, how much they would need to know to deal with Martin, to make certain the man would never be able to harm him again. The less he'd have to divulge the better, it was all so very humiliating to him, the foolish things he'd done to get set up by Martin were inexcusable.

I've been acting like a little kid! The realization was a big blow to his self-esteem; he was nearly fourteen years of age, but had had the gullibility to match that of a four-year-old's.

And just then, he saw a uniformed policeman turn the corner at the end of the street and walk toward him. As he came closer, Jonas considered simply asking him for help instead of calling the police station from home.

I don't care what Martin does, Jonas told himself and came to a stop. I never want to go back to his house again.

The policeman drew nearer and Jonas breathed deeply, once, twice, thrice, attempted to calm his nerves and clear his mind. Something's not right, he realized just as he was about to address the man.

He's not wearing his gun belt! This meant, Jonas knew, that the policeman could not be on duty. The police had visited his school just before the summer break and he had for once paid attention to what was said by the two uniformed officers, one male and one female, and one of the things was that all officers always carried their service pistols.

"It's all part of the uniform," the woman had said, pointing to her hip where the gun was holstered, he remembered now.

The policeman nodded to Jonas with a small smile as he walked past, never breaking his stride as he went on.

Jonas turned to watch the policeman. He scarcely heard his bus as it drove by the end of the street, he simply stood there and watched the policeman as he went further down the street, finally turning into Martin's front garden and letting himself in the house.

"What?" Jonas uttered in disbelief; he was dumbstruck by what he had just witnessed. But I didn't call them yet, was his first thought. I never told him…? Oh… Oh my G…

Is he a friend of Martin's? Jonas wondered. If Martin has friends in the police, then… Oh, what if that man is the client Martin was waiting for?

There was only one way to find out, Jonas had to linger about to see if the policeman would leave Martin's house and another person would enter. If so, the other person must be the client. But what would that make the policeman?

Jonas couldn't think of an answer, couldn't come up with anything that would help him. It did not really matter whether the policeman was a friend or a client of Martin's. Still, he decided to stick around for another few minutes; if the client was not the policeman, he or she had to be arriving soon. Or Martin will surely smack their bum for being late.

Jonas checked his watch again; twenty minutes had passed since the policeman entered Martin's house without knocking or ringing the doorbell. He was cold and wet. The light drizzle had overpowered the outer shell of his old fleece hoodie not long after he was pushed outside by Martin.

Jonas was shivering when he finally decided the policeman must be Martin's client.

He didn't look like a loony, he thought as he resumed his trek toward the bus stop, determined not to miss the next bus. He looked normal. Just another copper.

Only he wasn't. Jonas could not imagine anyone, let alone a policeman, subjecting themselves willingly to Martin's torture. And pay for it, least that's what Martin said.

Jonas thought it was absurd – so bizarre and so alien – that adults would want to do such things, being old enough to do anything they'd like. He decided he would have to do some research before making his next move.

"Well, I'll do that right after I've shat out the nasty paper," he muttered. And Martin's foul sperm!

Chapter Seventeen
Studying

Having reached the bus stop in time to flag down the next bus, Jonas sat in one of the rearmost seats – doing his best to keep from squirming too much – while he stared out of the window. He was trying hard to avoid bringing any attention to himself from the daily commuters on their way home from work. His rear-end was pure agony but the bus was only about half full and he had opted to sit and suffer rather than being the only passenger standing.

His buttocks still felt as if they were ablaze and his bum hole was not at all happy with the paper ball stuck inside of it after the maltreatment done by Martin's huge penis; even so he sat almost perfectly still in his seat. His slight flinching from time to time, particularly when the bus lurched through the gear shifts, gathering speed after stopping to let passengers on and off, were so discreet that none of his fellow travellers noticed them.

His head was still partially covered by his hoodie, now soaked through and he felt wet to his skin; water ran in thin rivulets from his hair down his neck and his cheeks, quiet tears mixing with it, as he sat staring out the window without seeing anything. He was deep in thought.

I can't tell the police, he realized. So, I can't tell Dad, or Mum, either. They will call the police who will demand I tell them who hurt me and when I tell them it's Martin, he'll tell them all of his lies and show his videos and pictures and everyone will believe him and think I'm lying.

Jonas could easily foresee what would happen, somehow he would end up with all the blame, he was certain.

Martin said that I tempted him because I pulled down my pants and showed him how I had put on the first torture device. That I put it on because I wanted him to be my master. Because I wanted to be his little sissy…

Jonas felt certain that wasn't why he had put on the torture device; he had only put it on so that he could…

So that I could what, exactly? Feel what it was like? He pondered his actions, wondered what had inspired him to print the torture device and then put it on. He was inclined to blame his curiosity but that would imply he was either naive, reckless or childish, all of which clashed with his wanting to be treated like a very responsible teenager about to turn fourteen, virtually a grown man.

However, he felt absolutely certain that he hadn't put it on because he wanted to become a sissy. Being a sissy means I'm supposed to like what Martin did to me, doesn't it? he asked himself. He had not liked any of it, not one tiny little bit.

I hated it! All of it! So, since I didn't like it, I can't be one… Can I?

Not that it matters to him. Jonas shuddered. He wouldn't listen when I told him no, he just kept hurting me!

Martin hadn't listened, not even when Jonas had screamed at the man to stop.

Why should he listen to a kid like me, anyway, when he can do that to policemen? Jonas couldn't imagine the policeman lying tied-up and naked on his knees on the bed in the black basement bedroom while Martin forced his big penis into him. Letting himself be turned into a sissy by Martin. Like he did to me.

The policeman was tall and had appeared strong and masculine to Jonas. It just doesn't make sense!

Jonas wished he had someone he could talk to about all of it, someone who would tell him what he should do, someone who would keep his secret and not insist on involving either the police or the emergency services. While his bum still hurt quite a lot, he didn't think it was so bad that it required to be looked at by a nurse or a doctor. Oh, how humiliating would that be, on top of everything else?

Jonas went directly to the bathroom when he came home and sat on the toilet. The wet ball of paper towel shot out of his bum after a fair bit of pushing and along with it came a tiny bit of smelly, pink-tinted frothy fluid. He was not happy when he looked into the toilet bowl between his thighs and saw just how little had come out after his exertion.

He shot my bum full of that, he thought as he studied the frothy liquid floating on the surface and remembered the wet squishy feeling just before Martin had yanked his large penis out of his battered bum hole. Where did the rest of it go?

Jonas strained again and again with the same unsatisfying result, only a very small amount more of the pinkish slime came out of him, barely enough to warrant a wipe.

Is it already too late? he worried as he looked at the folded sheet of toilet paper with a little blotch of smelly slime smeared into the centre of it. He wasn't sure when his transformation into a sissy would start, if it only took one injection of the foul matter into his bum, or several; Martin had not mentioned this extremely important piece of information.

Leaving his shorts and underwear next to the toilet, he went over to the cupboard under the sink and dug out his toilet bag. From it he retrieved the small plastic squeeze bottle, already dreading what he must do to rid his bowels of Martin's sperm.

I seriously do not want to be a sissy! he reminded himself as he filled the bottle with cold soapy water and screwed the cap in place. He emptied the bottle into his bum as quickly as he could squeeze out the water, refilled and emptied it twice more.

When the first cramp set in, Jonas smiled in spite of the discomfort, but he was not yet done; for good measure he squeezed another one and a half bottles of the soapy solution into his bum. This was as much as his bowels would hold before another cramp set in with a long loud gurgle, painfully surging upward through his body.

He quickly dropped the bottle into the sink, and felt a strong desire to belch as he staggered back onto the toilet and barely had time to brace himself before his sore butthole opened in an explosive-like fashion.

This had better work, he thought desperately when another cramp wrecked his body and his bum hole opened to let out one more gush of the soapy water.

When Jonas finally emerged from the bathroom – freshly showered, yet still feeling dirty – he went to his room and put on a clean set of clothes. He lay on his stomach on his bed and quickly forced the memory of what had happened to him earlier that day to the far back of his mind, refusing to deal with that scary thought now.

All I've got to do is to forget, Jonas told himself. Then it will be like it has never happened. He thought he had an advantage: his memory was very much like a sieve, he tended to forget stuff almost as quickly as he was told them.

Besides, he had more important things to do than worry about something he couldn't change anyway; he had to somehow find the answers to a very long list of questions. Whatever he'd discover would dictate how best to proceed to persuade Martin to remove the torture device and to stop hurting him.

First of all, what is a BDSM relationship? he asked himself and started typing on his laptop's keyboard. Martin had mentioned this and Jonas remembered it now. And why would I be too young for that? The man had said that, too, but that hadn't stopped him from hurting Jonas.

He clicked the first link served by Google and hefted in a deep breath when he saw how much text about the topic there was on the Wikipedia page; reading was not his favourite pastime. Launching another browser tab, he went to YouTube and searched there as well, quickly deciding that learning by reading would be better in this particular case.

What a bunch of loonies, he told himself after having quickly scanned through the video previews; the videos were all made by creepy adult people wearing strange clothes, including some who wore leather and rubber outfits.

Jonas thought Martin – even with his dark and evil soul – seemed almost perfectly normal compared with those YouTubers.

So, he went back to read what Wikipedia had to say about BDSM.

"Is this for real?" he wondered softly, unaware that he was muttering to himself. "Why would anyone do any of that?"

He could sort of understand why someone would want to play the dominant role – as that was what the page told him BDSM was: a roleplaying game for grownups – but he couldn't see why anyone would like to be the submissive part.

What he had experienced so far with Martin had been both extremely painful and humiliating. Not to forget the exasperation of being unable to touch his own penis, which was particularly frustrating just before going to sleep and right after waking up; Jonas had discovered this was when his penis was most active. None of that had been even remotely exciting to Jonas.

He read about the various types of games with a growing sense of concern, 'cock and ball torture' did not sound like anything he'd want to be on the receiving end of; as he read about it, his right testicle seemed to throb anew with the pain from when the screwdriver had slipped during his unsuccessful attempt of freeing himself from the pink torture device and he cringed with the memory.

When he reached the subject of Golden showers, he started to feel sick and had to stop reading for a while. Dinner commenced during his study break and he reluctantly picked up his reading after loading the dishwasher.

He read about safe words, special phrases that told the dom to ease off or completely stop if used by the sub. He intuitively understood Martin would never abide by words like those, remembering how he had been gagged earlier in the day by the man. No, I mustn't think about that, he reminded himself and focused on the web page again.

He gawked at a paragraph about 'professional services', read it with his mouth agape, scarcely understanding the words although their meaning was not entirely lost on him.

It's real, then! Martin is getting paid for it! He tried to picture the tall, beefy policeman in Martin's basement dungeon and wondered if he had been wearing a torture device like his own when they passed in the street.

He shut down his computer, his understanding of the world changed.

Do Mum and Dad play like that, too? he wondered as he went back to the bathroom, suddenly feeling the need to cool down his spanked buttocks in a cold shallow bath.

Does Mum smack Dad? For some reason, he assumed this was the most likely scenario, if in fact his parents did play BDSM games with each other.

Well, I'll never know, he supposed with a sense of relief. Not unless I ask. Which he never would, quickly deciding that some things were best kept secret. Like what Martin did to me.

Though the cold water made him shiver, it also helped cool down his burning buttocks. He quickly bade his parents goodnight and went to bed. His mind stubbornly kept wanting to recall the events that had taken place during the day in Martin's basement and just as obstinately, Jonas kept diverting his thoughts and tried to remember how Allie's lips had felt against his own.

If he could have paused his life at any one point in time, he would have stopped it at the very moment he had felt her slippery tongue push between his lips. He would have happily spent the rest of his life with that strange and glorious feeling in his chest, his heart fluttering against his ribs, as he had his very first taste of what true love must be.

Sadly, Martin kept intruding into Jonas's happy thoughts, the sound of the man's hand smacking his bum; the blinding pain when his butthole had been forcibly spread open; the pain deep inside of him when the man's long penis had reached depths he still couldn't fathom.

Please, Jonas begged. But he had lost control of his mind and could only sob as helplessly as he had in the basement, until finally he cried himself to sleep.

He was still feeling miserable when he woke the next morning, even so he decided to learn more about BDSM. He skipped the links to pages with videos and pictures, thinking that looking at these would be too much like watching horror movies – he hated those – and so he was forced to continue to read about the subject.

Terms he didn't understand were carefully googled and he learned quite a lot over the weekend, much more than he had ever learned about sex in general during the combined six weeks of teaching on the matter he had received during his school years.

But his current studies were so much more important and concrete, they weren't about some arbitrary topic that might happen someday if and when a girl might find it in her heart to take notice of him again – topics like STDs and how to protect himself and a potential partner against them.

No, the BDSM game was happening to him right now, even as he sat in front of his computer.

The torture device felt hot around his penis while he read about its intended purpose. He was astounded when he read that it had originally been invented not to torture its wearer, but to keep him from playing with himself and thereby prevent him from spilling his seed; something that someone back in the olden days had believed was a valuable, and depletable, resource.

Jonas was relieved when he read that sperm wasn't exhaustible, that once a boy started to have wet orgasms, he would continue to have them until his death; unless, of course, something happened to his balls in the meantime.

Although he had planned to not look at any pictures during his studies, he couldn't help but glance at the pictures of real chastity devices from olden times; some had a cruel adjustable metal collar brandishing razor-sharp teeth designed to cut into the glans if the wearer's penis engorged past a certain point.

Now, that has got to be torture! Jonas thought and experienced a fair bit of anguish of his own when his penis just then tried to grow hard inside the unyielding curving plastic tube. "Stop that," he quietly chastised it. "I'm not turned on by being tortured!"

I'm not, he told himself, however with some uncertainty; his penis certainly seemed to be of a different opinion as it kept trying to grow bigger and firmer than the tube would allow.

Sunday evening, Susan rapped on Jonas's door, interrupting his self-imposed studies.

"It's time to wind down," she informed her son. "School's starting in two weeks."

"Don't remind me," Jonas said. Although the summer hadn't been very nice, particularly after he met Martin, he wasn't excited about going back to inflexibly scheduled days with limited free time and the dreaded schoolwork that he supposed would only increase now that he was starting year eight.

And we'll get marks, too, now, he thought, uneasily. This meant he would have to put more effort into his schoolwork. Or I'll end up a bricklayer like grandpa, with a hairy butt crack that shows while I work. He contemplated the idea and wondered if Martin would still think he was a sissy if he ended up with a thick forest of hair in and on his butt. Maybe being a bricklayer isn't such a bad thing, after all…?

"Bedtime," Susan said and knocked sharply on the doorframe when she noticed the dreamy look on her son's face. "And tomorrow it'll be five minutes earlier."

"I know!" Jonas stated. It had been like that for the past three years at the end of summer. The long summer break from school was the only break that his parents didn't enforce his bedtimes. Five weeks of having no bedtime had now come to an abrupt end and as always it felt much too soon to Jonas.

Every night from now, during the last two weeks of his break, his bedtime would come sooner than the day before right until he would be back on track and in bed, with the lights out and his eyes shut, at nine pm [21:00], sharp.

Now that he was a teenager he felt it was much too early to go to sleep at nine in the evening, but he could not budge his parents' decision. Staying up past his bedtime was risky business; either of them might check up on him, silently opening his door to peek into his room and if he was discovered awake, he'd be in serious trouble. At the very least he'd be given a long and boring lecture of why it was important he'd get enough sleep.

All because Marianne had to tell them my poor results could be from lack of sleep! He could still recall the parent-teacher meeting back in year four when his teacher made the vile suggestion to keep a closer eye on his bedtime rituals, of which going to bed at a fixed (and much too early) time was but one of them. His results hadn't improved much but he had found it impossible to make his parents call off the rules.

Jonas shut down his laptop while Susan watched him, then turned off his phone and handed both to her for safekeeping until the next morning. No electronics and no TV for the last half an hour before bed were also part of the rules which he felt were grossly unfair.

"Go brush and then straight to bed. No moaning," she warned. "And remember to set your alarm."

He nodded, grudgingly accepting his fate and went to get ready for bed. When he re-emerged from the bathroom, he set his alarm clock for seven in the morning, then picked up one of his dad's tattered old comic books and started to read. He had half an hour before the light was to be turned off and he planned to only turn off his lamp at the very last second.

Chapter Eighteen
Monday

Jonas went on the bus again Monday morning shortly before eleven. He had hoped for a strike of courage that would allow him to tell his parents about the evilness Martin had done to him, no matter the consequences. But he had hoped in vain.

He knew more about BDSM now, a lot more, yet his knowledge did not put him at ease. On the contrary, he was more afraid of what the man might do to him than he had been before.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to read about it? he wondered, furious with himself. Martin had spanked him, his buttocks still bore the bruises from that, and the man had fucked him in the butt, which Jonas thought was quite bad enough. But he can do so much more, even worse stuff to me.

Again, he considered simply returning to his own house and waiting for his parents to come home from work, and then tell them. Tell them what, exactly?

He could see his parents' faces before him, the perplexity his words would cause. No doubt I'd have to tell them more than once.

He wondered if they'd believe him; before Friday, before it had actually happened, he never would have thought that Martin would want to force his colossal penis into his scrawny butt after beating it to pulp. But the man had done exactly that.

I could show them the bruises if they won't believe me when I tell them, he realized, yet he couldn't see himself pulling down his shorts and underwear and flashing his bum at his parents. They hadn't seen it naked since… Since when? Jonas pondered. Since last summer, in the hotel room, when I forgot to lock the bathroom door and Mum barged in on me.

He had been mortified then, though by sheer luck he had been turning away from the door at the exact moment his mum had opened it and she never saw his front.

If I show them my bum, I'll have to show them the torture device, too. But then they'll see how tiny my penis and balls are. Maybe Dad will say I have a little sissy cock, too, just like Martin, Jonas thought.

His actions today, getting on the bus, so that he could go back to his tormentor, reinforced his feeling of being a coward, a little pansy.

Maybe it's already happened? Am I a sissy now? He considered this scary thought. Maybe I was too late and Martin's slimy sperm has already started to work.

He had cleansed his bum both Saturday and Sunday mornings, and Saturday evening as well; he would have done it Sunday night, too, but was prevented from doing so by forgetting his bedtime, and instead he had cleansed it twice this morning. But maybe he had suffered through all of those cleanses for naught.

Well, he told himself, even if it does turn me into a sissy, I'll never like what he does to me, he vowed.

It was a cold day, the sky was steel grey, overcast and murky, though it stayed dry until Jonas let himself into Martin's house.

"You just keep coming back for more," Martin dryly commented while he watched Jonas standing on his doormat, shedding his clothes. "You are a very obedient sissy even if you claim you hate everything I do to you… Ah, I think that shirt could be folded up better."

Jonas frowned. Why don't you do it then? he thought, but picked up his hoodie sweatshirt and folded it more carefully before putting it back on top of his shorts on the floor. He stood up fully naked, feeling slightly cold, and scampered over to stand behind his chair at the dining table.

"Has the cat got your tongue?" Martin asked and walked, at a more leisurely pace, over to where Jonas had assumed the at-ease position. "I sure hope not," he whispered and put his hand on the boy's arse. "I have plans for that, later."

"The cat?" Jonas squeaked, nonplussed; he had never noticed any kind of pets at Martin's house.

"Don't be silly, boy. I know you can't be as daft as that. I have plans for your tongue," the man said while he relocated his hand on the boy's arse, ending up with his middle finger in the cleft between the buttocks. He pushed deeper, sliding the plum of his finger against the very bottom of the vale, felt how the boy's skin gradually became warmer and clammier nearer to the opening.

"Don't," Jonas whispered quietly, almost inaudible. "Please, stop."

"How's your arse holding up?" Martin asked, ignoring the objections, and poked into the opening with his dry finger.

"Ow!" The outcry was somewhat louder, though still soft, and Jonas clenched his buttocks firmly together.

"None of that now!" The sharp order was followed up with a tap to the boy's arse.

The slap stung and the sound reminded Jonas of his first spanking. Trembling, he relaxed his bottom again.

"Better," Martin praised and held his hand up in front of the boy's face. "Lick my finger," he said and moved it close to Jonas's mouth.

"What? No!" Jonas could smell where the finger had been only moments ago and he clenched his lips as tightly as he had clenched his bum.

"Lick," Martin repeated. "Suck my finger or I'll jam it up your arse bone-dry. I don't care, kid, it'll just go in more easily if you get it good and wet first."

"Why are you being so mean to me?"

"Mean? I'm trying to be kind by letting you wet my finger."

"Try harder…" Jonas said, meaning that Martin should try harder at being kind.

"Well, alright," Martin acquiesced and worked his finger in under Jonas's upper lip and rubbed the plum against the boy's teeth. "Open up," he ordered, smacking the back of Jonas's head with his other hand. "And don't you dare bite me," he added when Jonas finally relented.

Jonas felt Martin's finger push further into his mouth, almost all the way to the back, and he thought he was going to be sick. The taste… he tried to blot out the knowledge of where the finger had been, tried to imagine he wasn't tasting his own butt, though he thought it tasted rather more of soap than poo, still there was no mistaking where it had been… Suddenly the finger was withdrawn, and he felt it again, trying to gain entry to his rear-end again.

"If you'd stop clenching your arse cheeks for a few seconds, things would go so much smoother," he heard Martin's advise, but he didn't heed it. He remembered all too well how it had felt having something forced into his butt, even after having done his best to pretend that it had never happened.

"Please," he wailed. "I really don't like this game."

"Game?" Martin was caught by so much surprise that he let his finger slip away from the boy's tight hole. "Who told you this is a game?"

"I googled it," Jonas explained. "It said it's a game… BDSM."

"You shouldn't trust everything you read on the internet. Although, some might think of it as a game they play, perhaps," Martin said. "To me it's a style of life, boy. You do what I tell you or I will find ways to make you do it, sissy. That's the only sport involved. Fair piece of warning, I always win, kid. Now, your arse… Relax it!"

Jonas was shocked; his buttocks unclenched on their own as he started to ponder what Martin had just told him. He never felt the man's hand as it made contact with his bum again and he only winced when the finger began to relentlessly wriggle its way back inside of him.

But it said it was only a game, and not just Google… All the sites said it was a game to be played by consenting and equal grownups, and that the dominant one has to stop when the submissive one says so…

"Ow," he cried when a sharp sensation in his butthole told him the first joint was pushing in through the narrow opening and he sucked in a breath when the finger was abruptly pulled back out and brought up to his mouth.

"Open," Martin ordered. "Get my finger nice and wet with your spittle, little bitch."

"Stop!" Jonas tried once more. "You must…"

"I don't take orders from you, kid," Martin snarled. "You don't even have hair on your tiny balls. Keep those hands behind you, I haven't told you to move them."

Jonas wondered why the lack of hair on his balls meant that Martin didn't have to listen to his pleas to stop; not for the first time he realized the man was very different from the adults he had dealt with so far in his life. Nevertheless, he remembered the vicious hiding he had been subjected to and quickly opened his mouth when Martin made to pinch shut his nose.

He felt sick all the way to his stomach when he tasted the man's finger again, it now tasted much more like he thought a butt should and less of soap. He worked up as much spit as he could in the shortest time possible and tried to make it stick to the finger without touching it with his tongue.

"More," Martin said and wiggled his finger across the tongue. When he was satisfied that the boy was left with a good taste of his own arse, he swiftly plunged the finger back up the boy's rear end; this time he didn't stop until all of it was hidden from sight.

"Nice and tight," he observed. "Oh, I'm sure you can't wait to feel my cock up here again, sissy. I can sense it."

Jonas stood on the very tip of his toes and his right hand clasped his left wrist so tightly that his fingers were tingling. The backrest of the chair in front of him prevented him from leaning further over in his attempt to get away from the probing finger in his bum.

"Urgh," he groaned, straining to keep himself from clenching his buttocks, wishing that Martin would stop soon.

"I bet you loved the idea of my sperm cells swimming all over your insides, eh, my little slutty sissy bitch?"

"I hated it!" Jonas retorted, fed up with the man's taunts. "I shat them out the second I got home," he explained angrily. "And I rinsed my bum, too. Several times."

"Oh, you did? What a pity. Hmm, when we first met, I didn't take you for someone who loves being punished, but I guess I should've known. You presented yourself to me in chastity, after all, yet I didn't see the obvious. Well, Jonas. Let me put it this way: unless you're itching for another spanking, or worse, you will not clean your arse except when I specifically instruct you to do so.

"So, let's see if we can't cure you from your obsessive cleaning rituals. From now on you'll use only three sheets of toilet paper after using the toilet."

"That's…" Jonas started. "That's sick! I can't wipe with just…"

"Max three sheets," Martin reiterated, withdrew his finger and briefly inspected it. "You won't die from being a little messy back here," he said and pushed his finger partway back into Jonas's hole before he removed it again.

"I know you can't wait to feel my cock in your arse again, but it won't happen for a little while longer," he said. "Don't you worry, though. I'll screw it once, at the very least, before you go back home today. Come with me, sissy."

"I don't want you to screw my bum," Jonas objected resignedly as he followed Martin into the man's hobby room.

"You're clearly confused about what your body wants. That's quite alright, you're still young and need help figuring things out. That's what I'm here for," Martin declared and slapped the surface of the work table in the centre of the room. "Park your arse up here."

"You aren't helping me." Jonas hefted himself up to sit on the table with his lower legs dangling off the side of it. "You're molesting me," he pointed out.

"Oh please, kid! Can you molest the willing?" Martin said, gathering tools from the workbench running the span of the room. "You keep coming back for more and either that is because you love being around here so much that you don't care about what I do to you, or because you enjoy the things I do to you, some of it, at the very least."

"I only come here because you won't let me out of the tortu… chastity device, and you'll spread those videos of me so everyone will know how fecking stupid I was."

"And don't you doubt that for a second, sissy. I will print screenshots and plaster your school with them; when you walk the streets kids will be snickering at you and rapists will try to snatch you. If you think I'm giving you a hard time… Oh boy. I'd never kill you or hurt you more than you'll heal from without lasting marks. You'll be able to keep our relationship completely secret from everyone…

"… just as long as you keep coming back here for more abuse," Martin finished with a grin and a small shake of his head, and he placed the tools on the table next to Jonas. "Now, lie down. I need to drill out those plastic studs, like I did with the first cock cage."

"Promise you'll be careful?" Jonas timidly asked, he dreaded this part.

"I promise," Martin said and reached for the steel chain hanging from the table's leg.

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm not sure you can be trusted that much, yet. You might get a foolish thought and try to run off," Martin said as he looped the chain around Jonas's ankle while the boy leaned back, propped up on his elbows. "No, lie back, all the way. I don't want you to watch," he insisted as he snapped shut the padlock.

"You won't trick me, like you did before?"

"I'll only remove this," Martin said and tapped the small pink tube encompassing Jonas's cock with his fingernail.

"Okay," Jonas relented and lay back with his hands under his head.

"You look surprisingly comfortable for someone being abused." Martin saw Jonas's cheeks turn pink and chuckled with delight.

"I don't like it," Jonas maintained.

"I think you do. You just won't accept that you do."

"What's the difference, anyway? You'll do whatever you want to me. It doesn't matter that I hate it."

"That's right. You're an intelligent kid, sissy."

Jonas had never been called intelligent by anyone before and he didn't know what to think about the compliment. He was still considering his response when he felt Martin grab hold of the torture device and start to drill into it.

"Well, you hating it only makes it better for me," the man mused aloud.

"There," Martin said after five minutes had passed. He had just drilled through the last plastic pin holding the device in place around Jonas's little scrotum and the split ring fell apart, leaving just the curved plastic tube around the boy's little stalk.

He walked back to the workbench, taking with him the power drill and the thick steel plate he had used to protect Jonas's delicate skin in the event of an accident. The protection had not been necessary this time.

"You can sit up now," he told the boy, and handed him the two tongs needed to compress the tight tube's barbs so that it could be removed without damaging his penis. "Here, you take it off yourself, I need to fetch something from the kitchen."

Jonas slid the tongs into position, felt how they pinched his penis very tightly until they slid past the barbs and he could tug the tube off.

It was the first time in weeks that he had laid eyes on his penis.

It looks so pale, he thought as he took it in; the veins seemed bluer, more profound, criss-crossing the whitish skin. He pinched it, carefully, between two fingers and lifted it so he could see the underside of it. Then, gripping it tighter, he slid the foreskin back, as far as it would go, so he could check his little bluish-purple glans.

"Leave a naked boy alone for a minute and you can be certain he'll be playing with his little cock when you return," Martin observed drily when he came back from the kitchen with an empty glass in his hand. "My nephew is five and he's like that, too. His little cock is about the same size as yours, come to think of it."

Jonas froze and quickly let go of his penis that was slowly on the rise.

"Oh, don't mind me," Martin said. "You never know when you might be able to play with yourself again. Now, boy, would you like to cum?"

"Uh, wha-what?"

"Do you want a moment to wank your little cock until you cum?"

"You won't stop me?" Jonas asked, sceptically. "Like you did last time, on the couch?"

"No. I'll let you wank until you squirt, well, if those tiny balls of yours make sperm yet."

"Yeah." Jonas nodded. "They do."

"So, do you? Want to wank for me?"

"You'll watch me?"

"Yes. I'll film you, too."

"You've been filming me all the time, I bet," Jonas stated, matter-of-factly.

"Naturally. I like the way you look, your tight body, those slim arms and legs. That you have no real muscle definition yet, makes me so incredibly horny. You can't be much into sports."

"No," Jonas admitted, freely.

"Like a perfect sissy. I want you to stay weak, kid. You won't be doing any sports apart from what you have to in school. I want you to do only just enough to keep out of trouble in gym classes."

"Okay," Jonas agreed; this was music to his ears, except for having been called a perfect sissy.

"You won't build up any muscle mass, but I don't want you to grow fat on me, either. If you start putting on weight, I'll have to put you on a strict diet. That means no sweets or crisps."

"Aw man," Jonas exclaimed; he didn't want to grow fat either, but having to go without his Friday nights' sweets galore would be almost as torturous as wearing the chastity device.

"Well, there you have it. Anyway, if you want to wank, you'll have to drink from this," Martin said and held up the glass.

"There's nothing in it?"

"Not yet, no. However, there will be, after. So, are you game?"

"Eh…"

"You won't be getting many chances like this, kiddo. It could be months and months before your next shot at wanking comes up," Martin claimed. "Pun intended," he added and nodded toward Jonas's groin.

Jonas looked down and saw his penis flexing proudly as it jutted from his groin and he quickly covered it with his hand, shielding it from Martin's eyes.

"You're all ready to go," Martin asserted. "So, a quick wank and a drink, or no wank and being put straight into your new cock cage without knowing when you might get the chance to cum again?"

"Is it anything nasty?" Jonas asked, wondering about the nature of what he must drink if he agreed. He wanted to wank; every fibre in his body told him to begin already and worry about the consequences later. "It won't be coffee?"

"No," Martin said and laughed. "It certainly won't be coffee. It'll be lukewarm, but not coffee."

This puzzled Jonas, but his fingers were already toying with his foreskin and he quickly pushed his doubts aside. "Okay," he said.

"Wait until I get everything ready," Martin instructed and put the glass next to Jonas on the table. "I won't be long."

The man returned with a bag from which he pulled a very complex and expensive-looking DSLR camera. Jonas gaped while Martin attached a lens to it, then loaded a battery into the bottom of the camera and powered it on.

"Wow," Jonas breathed.

"Well, there are four cameras trained on you right now, but to capture this properly, I think we need the good stuff," Martin said and winked.

"Because my willy is so small," Jonas supposed.

"No, not at all. It is small, but no, I just want to film this in the highest quality possible. I'll be able to zoom right in on the action without needing to get up close. If you close your eyes you won't even notice me. Make as much sound as you like, just don't scream out, this room isn't soundproofed like the basement."

Jonas was finally wanking again; he could not remember when he had last held his firm penis with three of his fingers, stroking it slowly, savouring the feelings this generated, the tinkling sensation.

He tried to forget that he was reclined on top of a hard wooden table; his head propped up on his lower arm, lolled to the side. He was keeping his eyes firmly shut, lest he might see the large lens Martin must be pointing at his groin; this would without a doubt kill the moment, it would be like having a bucket of cold water thrown on him.

He focused all of his thoughts on one single memory, Allie kissing him. Soon he started making things up, adding to the memory, now Allie wasn't just kissing him, her hand was in his speedos fondling his erection, voicing her appreciation.

His fingers sped up on their own, the stroking action became more laboured and he started to quietly gasp with the exertion.

"Oh!" A sudden peak of delight made him moan and he slowed for a second, afraid to end it too soon, and the moment was lost. He firmed up his abdominal muscles and his buttocks as he put in the extra effort needed to get back into the narrow window where his pleasure was building but where he approached the peak at a slightly slower pace.

Allie was stroking him now, kissing him more fervently, her tongue slipping in and out of his mouth, tasty from the orange brew she had just finished.

He panted again, his hand but a blur now, desperate for release.

"Oh, oh-oh-oh," he moaned, and then, suddenly, his body convulsed. He felt his thumb bang into something cold and solid, but he ignored it as he made sure to give his penis a couple of extra, slower, strokes while he pumped out his meagre amount of cum.

When it was all over, he slumped back, his fingers clutching his still stiff penis, gently and leisurely stroking it up and down while he enjoyed the post-climax sensation of relaxation that had spread in his body.

Chapter Nineteen
New chastity device

"Hmm," Martin made a noise and Jonas squinted at him. The man was holding the glass up into the light from the ceiling lamp. Jonas thought it was still empty and couldn't understand why Martin was studying it so intently.

"It's very watery," the man said, then noticed Jonas looking up at him. "You were halfway right, you can cum, but there's hardly any sperm in this, if any," he explained. "I doubt you'd get a girl pregnant if you could find one to fuck."

"So, I won't need a chastity device?" Jonas asked, tiredly and hopefully.

"Nice try. Alas, there's the little issue of my lack of trust in you. Also, I don't want you to wear yourself out. I'm surprised you didn't hurt yourself just now," Martin said and went back over to the long workbench and brought back something shiny he put on the table between Jonas' thighs.

"Right," he said brightly, as he kept filming, "your new cock cage is made entirely from metal, I've chrome-plated it so it's completely safe and won't rust. It's somewhat different from those plastic ones you've worn so far in that it is completely smooth and doesn't have any barbs to hold it in place."

This information made Jonas's lips curl upwards ever so slightly.

"Instead," Martin proceeded, "it relies on a catheter, a long tube that goes into your urethra, so you won't be able to twist the cage down and pull your little cock back out of it."

Jonas's smile faltered at once. "A what goes where?"

"A catheter is this." Martin held up a long and narrow clear hose with a small yellow funnel attached to one end, still wrapped in a protective sleeve. "It goes into your cock, into the piss hole."

"No, it does not!" Jonas quickly said and grabbed his penis to protect it.

"You have no choice. And you need to learn how to do it yourself, so here," Martin said and held the catheter closer to Jonas. "Take it. I'll spank you again, right here and now, until you push this catheter into your cock."

The boy reluctantly took the proffered catheter and gave it a cursory look. It didn't look any less frightening to him close up, though he wouldn't have known its purpose had Martin not just told him.

"Here, you'll want to use lube for this," Martin explained and handed Jonas a small pump bottle with a short, pointed tip. "Pump it once then stick it into your cock, and pump two more times."

"Fuck!" Jonas exclaimed when he did that. "It's cold!"

"Stop complaining. You'd rip the sides of your urethra if you tried to do this without lube. Now, take the tube out of the sleeve and start to feed it into your small cock. If you squeeze your head a bit, it'll open your tiny piss hole… Yes, like that. Now, push it in," Martin ordered and moved the camera back and forth between the boy's little cock head and his face, until he decided to keep it focused on the cock. The other cameras will capture his facial expressions.

Jonas moved the rounded end of the catheter closer to his penis, then stopped just as it was about to enter his pee hole. He looked up at Martin, trying to see if the man was being serious.

"The longer you wait, the harder it will be to get it done," Martin advised.

"I really don't want to do this," Jonas said and sobbed.

"But, I do want you to. Remember, that's the only thing that matters. Feed it into your sissy cock."

And Jonas did. He pushed the end of the catheter into his penis, screwing up his face as he felt how his urethra was being expanded by the plastic tube and then when it started to go deeper inside of his body.

"How far?" he asked when half of the slim hose had disappeared into his penis.

"Until I tell you to stop," Martin said and briefly moved the camera back up to Jonas's face.

"It burns."

"I can imagine. Don't stop yet. You should be almost there." Martin moved the camera back down.

The catheter hit something, deep inside of Jonas's body; it was suddenly much harder to push it in, and Jonas looked up again, only to see Martin nodding him onward from behind the massive camera.

"Ow," he whimpered when he pushed harder and it went further in, past the constriction deep inside of him and suddenly, without warning, a stream of pee shot from the yellow funnel.

Martin quickly moved the glass over and held it under the funnel, and they both watched the glass rapidly fill with Jonas's pale-yellow pee.

"Right, slide the catheter back out until you stop pissing," Martin instructed.

"I'm not peeing, it's coming out by itself," Jonas said, perplexed.

"Because the end of the catheter is inside your bladder now. Don't they teach you anything in school?"

"Oh," Jonas exclaimed and just like Martin had predicted, the flow of pee stopped when he pulled on the catheter, just as it was about to spill over the rim of the glass.

"Good. That's where we need to cut it," the man said and pinched the catheter right where it emerged from Jonas's piss slit. Without further ado he pulled it out of the boy in one continuous motion, which made Jonas shriek.

He wiped it off with a piece of paper towel and used scissors to cut it. The shortest piece with the plastic funnel went into the bin and Martin moved the full glass out of the way, while Jonas was still voicing his complaints for having had the catheter removed so briskly.

"You just yanked it out like it wasn't inserted into my willy and all the way into my bladder!" he cried as he cupped his smarting private parts with both of his hands.

"It wasn't in your bladder when I pulled it out," Martin replied calmly. "If it were, your piss would still have been coming out of it." He attached a small stainless-steel coupling to the cut end of the catheter.

"Now, watch," he told the boy. "You take this ring and work your balls through it, one at a time, then your little sissy cock. Do that now." He picked the camera back up and pointed it toward Jonas's middle.

"That's much too small," Jonas stated, nevertheless he picked up the ring and went to work. It took some doing, but finally, both of his smarting balls had been pushed through and his penis too, and the ring sat squarely up against his hairless pubic bone.

"Now, the catheter. Add a bit of lube again, then push it all the way in until only five centimetres [2"] remains."

Jonas winced, but started to push the lubricated catheter back into his pee hole.

"Good, now, if you watch the end of the catheter, it now has a metal piece on it that has a thread like a screw. Here's the cock cage, put it over your cock and push the metal piece into the hole in the cage, then screw this cap onto it, until it locks in place."

Jonas took the small rounded metal cap; it had a small hole in it. He put it between his spread legs and picked up the short, curved metal tube that soon would be holding his penis trapped. In the end, that was shaped somewhat like a normal glans, was a hole that the metal coupling fitted into. He fed it in and screwed the cap in place.

"Good sissy. Now, all you have to do is push the cage on your cock into its final position, make sure it goes into the slot without pinching your skin as you won't be able to fix that once you lock it." He handed a small brass locking mechanism to the boy. "Push that into the hole on the side and turn the key counter clockwise."

Jonas was not happy when he turned the key and handed it over to Martin. His new chastity device felt cold and raw. It was much heavier than the pink plastic one he had gotten used to. His penis burned on the inside, the idea of having a catheter lodged inside of him was horrible and it felt positively strange to him.

"How am I supposed to pee with this on?" he wondered aloud.

"Easy. You sit on the toilet and piss. Oh, you may drip for a while when you've finished until the catheter empties. You should probably line the front of your pants with some paper so you won't stain them."

That'll be like I'm wearing a fucking diaper! Jonas realized.

"I can't clean myself with this on," he grumbled, as he studied the metal tube fully encompassing his penis. There were no holes in the metal, except in the cap he had screwed onto the end of the catheter to allow his pee to come out.

"No, which is why you will make sure you wash yourself, properly, whenever you have the chance. Like after gym classes…"

"After gym? At school? But, nobody ever washes properly, they'll think I'm a…" Jonas didn't know what the other boys in his year would think of him, but he knew it was unheard of to spend more than the absolutely minimum of time in the communal showers. Which usually meant that everyone scarcely had to towel off when emerging from the shower and therefore didn't have to be naked for very long before they could put back on their clothes, consequently allowing them a longer break before the next class. Unless, of course, they were in too much of a hurry and their gym teacher told them to go back and shower properly.

"They'll think you are a little sissy who cares about his personal hygiene. That's okay with me if they do."

It isn't okay with me! Jonas pouted. I'm not a sissy!

"Speaking of that, when you remove your cock cage, make sure you keep the catheter as clean as possible. Wipe it off with some tissue and slide it into the protective sleeve. After gym, when you need to put it back on, make sure you push some lube into your piss hole like you did just now."

"How can I take it off if you have the key?"

"You will stop by here the day before you have gym and I'll give you a key for it. In the break just before gym, you'll go to the loo and remove the cock cage. Then, in the break immediately after gym, you'll put it back on. When school lets out, you'll stop by my house and give me back the key before you go home. Easy as that."

"Oh." Jonas couldn't find any flaws in Martin's plan; if he locked himself inside a cubicle with his schoolbag, no one would be able to see him remove the chastity device if he put it in his bag. After gym, he'd slip into a toilet, and put the device back on. Nah, I'll wait until after school, just before I go to Martin's.

There might even be a bonus in it for him. If I get the key the day before, then I can wank before Mum and Dad gets home from work, and in the evening before bed, he thought, making sure to keep his face completely expressionless. He mustn't find out or he'll do something so I can't wank anyway.

"Right, I think that concludes this lesson. Oh, there's just the tiny matter of what you agreed to before you started your self-abuse," Martin said and picked up the glass full of Jonas's pee and cum, and placed it next to the boy. "Drink up, kiddo."

Jonas eyed the glass warily. "You want me to drink my piss?" he asked incredulously.

"It's only piss, sissy, and your own, too. It won't harm you. Bottom's up or do you want me to smack your bottom first? I'll gladly smack you if that's what you need but I don't think the new bruises will have time to vanish before you return to school."

"Please, don't make me drink it," Jonas begged pitifully as tears welled up in his eyes, captured by the camera Martin had trained on him.

"There's less than two and a half decilitres [8.5 fl. oz.] in that glass," Martin impatiently informed the boy. "You'll hardly taste it before you've finished it. Oh, lay off the waterworks; crying has never once made me change my mind about anything."

"You're such an arse!" Jonas said, switching strategies. He would sooner take a beating than drink the pale-yellow fluid in the glass. He figured that if only he insulted the man enough, he might forget all about the piss-filled glass.

"Last warning." Martin was having fun tormenting the lad, still he kept the stern look on his face. "I'll lash the back of your thighs until you beg me to let you drink your piss. If you force me to walk you all the way down to the basement I'll whip you at least fifteen times before I'll stop. Maybe I'll lash your calves too, it hurts a great deal more and your shorts won't be able to hide the marks from that."

"Why are you doing this to me? What have I done? I really don't get it."

"Right, then." Martin grabbed hold of Jonas's upper arm and clenched it tight. "Seems you're in need of a thrashing and…"

"No, please!" Jonas wailed. "Don't…"

"You'll drink it?"

"Y-yes," the boy stuttered. "Ow, please, you're hurting me!"

"Tell me. Beg for it, sissy," Martin said sternly, letting go of the boy's arm and focused the camera on his face.

"Oh God! Please, Martin, I want to drink my pee," Jonas said, wincing with the pain from his upper arm; the man had held it so tightly that it was still smarting.

"Oh… Well, alright then, if you want it so badly. But, you must drink it slowly," Martin directed. "Small sips only. I want you to relish the flavour."

Jonas wrinkled his nose. He could not hide his feelings about having to drink piss; that it was his own did not soothe him in the least.

It's waste, it should go into the toilet… I shouldn't drink it! he thought, yet he picked up the glass full of the light-yellow fluid that had been processed by his body once already and lifted it to his mouth. Oh God, it stinks!

"Remember, as tempting as it is to drink it all in one go, you must sip it," Martin said, zooming in closer, capturing the very second that the rim of the glass touched Jonas's quivering lower lip.

"Oh God!" Jonas exclaimed again. "I can't," he said and moved the glass away. "It stinks so bad! It'll make me sick."

"No, it won't," Martin insisted, yet he quickly checked to see if his paper bin was where he thought it should be. Just in case.

"Do I really have to drink it?" Jonas asked miserably. He could think of nothing that would be worse, not even the super organic (and super vile) cough syrup his Aunt Megan had made him drink when she had minded him once when he was ill.

Martin merely nodded this time.

"But why?"

"Because I want you to, kid. You're not leaving until you do. Drink it now, or we'll go into the basement where I'll spank and fuck you hard, before I'll tell you to drink it again. If you keep resisting, I'll spank you harder and then fuck your arse harder. Look, sissy, just talking about it has given me such a hard-on."

Jonas glanced at the front of the man's track bottoms and his eyes went wide; the thin material was pushed out obscenely. He pounded my bottom with that? Suddenly, he knew why his bum hole had burned so badly; the man's ill-concealed erected penis was huge!

Almost without another thought Jonas took a quick gulp from the glass, the idea of being raped by Martin again was too terrifying for him to continue to refuse drinking the lukewarm fluid.

It could be worse, he tried to convince himself, remembering his weekend studies. He might have told me to drink his piss! He had scarcely finished the thought before he picked up the sordid taste in his mouth and nearly gagged.

"I told you to sip it," Martin said. "Don't be so greedy, kid."

"Oof," Jonas voiced his disapproval before he forced himself to take another drink from the glass, much smaller than the first and winced as he swallowed it. The smaller quantity didn't taste any better and he wondered if he was able to empty the glass before being sick.

I could drop it, make it look like an accident. The sudden inspiration was tempting, if only for a split-second. He'd only smack me again if I did, he supposed as he took another drink, slightly more than the one before.

"Ughh!" Jonas groaned as he eyed the glass to see how much more he'd have to drink before his ordeal would be over. "It's revolting!" he croaked, feeling discouraged when he realized the glass was still more than half full.

"Drink," Martin said encouragingly, keeping the camera trained on the boy's face, capturing his every expression, the evident reluctance as he moved the glass back up to his lips; how he closed his eyes as he tipped the glass and opened his lips just a fraction, sucking in a small sip of his own piss. The movement of the still mostly undeveloped Adam's apple as he swallowed and the downward curling of the lips as he frowned responding to the bitter taste before he did it all again.

Jonas reopened his eyes, checked his progress, coughed pitifully and looked pleadingly up at Martin.

"Don't give me those sad puppy eyes, sissy. You've less than a quarter to go. You should be grateful that I didn't grab one of my big beer mugs for your first time."

Jonas finished the glass in one last gulp, which earned him a slap to the nape of his neck.

"Ow!" he cried out as he put down the glass with one hand and used the other to rub his neck. "What did you do that for? I drank it like you told me…"

"I told you not to be greedy! There were at least two swallows left in that if only you had restrained yourself."

"It was awful," Jonas stated.

"So you've told me a number of times already. Now, let me free your ankle and we'll go down to the basement…"

"But why?" Jonas managed to ask before a sob interrupted his speech. "No!" he said with all the firmness he could put into his voice. "I don't want to, never again. Please!" he wailed.

"Keep your voice down, kid. I haven't got time to both teach you how to blow my cock and fuck your little arse today," Martin said and unlocked the padlock that held Jonas secured to the table. He grabbed Jonas by the arm and dragged him off the table, carrying his camera in his other hand. "Stop your squirming, sissy, or I'll throw you head-first down the stairs."

Jonas gave it everything he had to stop the man from hauling him to the stairs leading down to the basement; Martin had to put down the camera and pry the boy's fingers from the doorframe to the living room which he clung to as if his life depended on it.

The carpeted floor offered quite a lot of resistance, but it didn't stop Jonas's feet from skidding across it while he grunted heavily with the effort of tearing himself free from the man's grip. When the soles of his bare feet felt as if they were on fire, he grudgingly started to walk, though not as quickly as Martin.

"Stop!" Jonas begged.

"I'll let you go in twenty minutes," Martin assured as he dragged the boy three more paces toward the steps. "It'll all be over before you know. And then you'll be wanting more but you'll just have to wait until tomorrow for that."

"I don't want more!" Jonas said, raising his voice, growing ever more frustrated and frightened the nearer to the stairs they got. Still, he managed to keep himself somewhat composed. Certainly, he wanted Martin to let him go home without going to the basement for whatever torture awaited there first, but he did not want to alert some passer-by or neighbour who might see him naked wearing a small shiny metal tube around his penis. "I don't want anything from you!"

"Well, you're going to get it." Martin snorted as he finally wrapped his arm around Jonas's middle and lifted him off the floor. "Whether you want to or not. If you keep squirming I might drop you," he warned.

"No, no-no, no!" Jonas cried as Martin reached the first step and started descending the steps. He hung almost horizontally under the strong man's arm, his feet banging uselessly against each stair tread.

Like he had on the day before, Martin dapped in the code on the door, pulled it open, entered the basement and dumped Jonas on the floor just past the threshold.

The heavy door fell shut with a click even as Jonas rolled onto his stomach and tried to get up.

Chapter Twenty
New horrors

"Stay down there," snarled Martin. "Crawl to the bed, you little slut. On your hands and knees," he instructed and went ahead, walking on his two legs.

Jonas looked longingly one last time at the shut door with its glowing keypad, noticed a little red LED light was lit and correctly presumed the heavy steel door was securely locked.

He didn't want to crawl anywhere, I'm not a baby or a dog, and he certainly did not want to go near the big black-framed bed where he had been so severely raped scarcely 72 hours prior. There was however only one way out of the basement: through the locked door, that only Martin could open.

He'll beat me again if I don't do it, Jonas supposed and he didn't want to be beaten by the evil man again; his backside still smarted from his first ever hiding and while he wasn't sure having his thighs and calves lashed could possibly hurt more than that, he wasn't in any hurry to find out for sure.

With a small sob stuck within his chest, Jonas began to crawl.

Martin was shifting through stuff in the middle cupboard when Jonas entered the bedroom with the black floor, the black walls and the black ceiling. And, exactly as he remembered it, the large four-poster bed with its sturdy black wooden frame.

Jonas slid his knees almost silently across the linoleum as he crawled slowly toward the frightening bed. He trembled with the fear of the unknown, he was scared of what might happen to him when he reached the foot of the bed and his fear was made so much worse by not having anyone to comfort him.

"I'm s-so sc-scared," he said in a tiny quivering voice, hoping for Martin to say that it would be alright – like when the school nurse had calmed him when it was time for the third and final of his childhood vaccinations – or even better, that the man would take pity on him and let him go home.

"Good!" Martin felt elated, his hard-on straining against his track suit bottoms, thumping with his heartbeat, as he finally found the item he had been searching for.

Jonas let out a soft whimper, the man's response was so far from what he had hoped for, the direct opposite of what he had anticipated. Martin sounded happy and Jonas couldn't understand why when he felt so miserable. I want to go home, he begged of the god he had turned his back on not so long ago. I'll even visit Aunt Megan and I won't make a fuss about it, just let me go home.

Martin shut the cupboard and turned to face Jonas. "Sit up on your knees and open wide," he said in a commanding voice.

"Wh-what's th-that?" Jonas asked, eyeing the black rubbery thing Martin held in his hands.

"This? It's only a harmless mask. Don't worry, it won't hurt you, it'll just help you keep your mouth open. Now, be a good little sissy and do as you're told without complaints. You know what I'll be doing to you if you don't."

"You'll sm-sm-smack me."

"Exactly, and when I'm done doing that, I'll ask you to open your mouth. And if you still won't do it, I'll smack you some more. I don't care how much I'll have to beat you, I won't stop until you open your mouth wide and…"

Jonas opened his mouth as wide as he could; he felt embarrassed and shameful for giving in without putting up more of a fight but he was sick and tired of Martin and only wanted to go home. He'll never let me go before he gets me to wear that thing, Jonas presumed and he didn't want to be spanked for no good reason.

I'd let him spank me if it meant I'd get to leave after. Jonas almost made the suggestion but by then it was too late; he felt Martin stuffing something large and rubbery into his mouth. It had an awful smell, almost like the red heavy-duty rubber gloves his mum wore while cleaning the bathroom, and the taste was as bad as he imagined they would be.

The rubbery oval bit slid in deeper and caught behind Jonas's front teeth when Martin pulled harder on the mask and made it slide fully over Jonas's head, leaving only the boy's nostrils open.

"I knew you had some sense in you," Martin praised as he quickly caught the boy's searching hands before they could reach the mask and rip it off.

Jonas was panicking when he felt the man wrestle his arms down and behind his back where they were secured with a zip-tie around his wrists. He could see nothing, the black rubber mask was pushing against his eyelids; he couldn't hear very well with the mask over his ears, pushing them flat against his skull.

The fumes from the rubber made him queasy as he breathed rapidly through his partly blocked nostrils, snorting up his runny snot with every intake.

"Try to relax," he heard Martin say in a muffled voice. "You're hyperventilating. Breathe slower, we don't want you to faint."

Jonas felt Martin's hand on his naked shoulder, a gentle touch, stroking his shoulder up to his nape and back again.

"Snap out of it, kid," Martin said, louder this time. He had not seen anyone react so strongly to the rubber mask before and he was growing slightly worried. Fortunately, the compassionate touch seemed to help; Jonas's breathing was slowing, although the boy was still breathing hard through his nose.

Martin pulled the rubber plug from the mask which had been blocking Jonas's mouth until then.

Jonas felt the pressure between his jaws ease up and found he could breathe through his mouth; greedily he sucked in a lungful of air, another and a third. His racing heart slowed as he understood that Martin wasn't going to suffocate him. Tentatively, he bit down on the rubber covering his front teeth and he found that he could nearly close his mouth completely; but as soon as he let up some of the pressure, the bit forced his mouth wide open again.

"Well done," Martin said and stood up straight. He undid the drawstring in his track suit bottoms and pulled them down to mid-thigh. His cock vaulted out; it had lost none of its firmness during Jonas's distress. His foreskin was slick with pooled-up precum, there was a copious amount hiding underneath it as well.

Martin used his precum to lubricate the rubbery opening in the mask, adding to the boy's spittle oozing from within. He placed the tip of his cock so it rested on the lower edge of the opening, grabbed the back of Jonas's head and thrust his hips forward as he held the boy's head stationary.

Jonas jerked his body when he felt Martin grab onto his head, then the air suddenly cut off and something large splayed his mouth wide open as it came rushing in through the rubbery bit.

Simultaneously, Jonas did three things: he tried to pull his head back, he tried to get his hands up in front of him so he might push Martin away, and he tried to bite down hard to stop whatever was poking into his mouth through the awful tasting rubber from getting any further in.

He whimpered when he found it was all useless. His head was grasped tightly by the man who was so much stronger than himself; his awkward position wasn't helping either. The zip-tie was extremely durable and Martin had pulled it so tight that Jonas's fingers were tingling; he could not work it loose, no matter how much he strained.

Biting down hard felt much like he was biting into a dog's chew toy – he'd had fun doing that pretending to be a puppy when he was younger, before his mum had stopped him – but biting down didn't stop the unknown object from pushing further into his mouth. A salty taste mixed with the taste of rubber as something spongy slid across his tongue.

Martin moaned loudly when his cock pushed through the mouth hole in the rubber mask. It was essentially a five centimetres long rubber tube with flared ends and a soft lining made from medical grade silicone that made it feel very much the same as when he had pushed into the boy's arse. The circumference of the short tube lodged between the boy's teeth was slightly smaller than that of his cock. When Jonas bit down it didn't hurt Martin, it only increased the pressure around his cock and Martin groaned again and pushed harder.

The sponginess in Jonas's mouth grew firmer as it suddenly pushed further inside and flattened his tongue against the bottom of his mouth. His entire body convulsed when the spongy firmness pushed past his uvula and smashed into the rear of his mouth.

Jonas's dry-heaving didn't bother Martin in the least; as long as the boy didn't start to vomit for real, he could make as many retching sounds as he wanted to. The struggle put up by the boy was pathetic, easily managed by the athletic man as he casually moved his hips back a bit, allowing the boy a short respite.

Jonas gasped for air; not being able to breathe had almost been worse than the sickening feeling of having something take up most of the available space in his mouth. The something was still in his mouth and he could feel Martin's hands on the back of his head; it didn't take him many seconds to realize what the thing was.

It's his penis! That's the head touching my tongue right now! He dry-heaved again, bitter-tasting bile adding to the flavours in his mouth. Oh god!

"Control yourself," Martin ordered, sternly, and pushed forward again, hard. He drove his cock through the mouth opening, deep into the kid's wet mouth, as deep as he could go in this position. He remained where he was for a moment.

Jonas felt the man's giant penis strike into the back of his throat just before his gag reflex kicked in again; he struggled to get his hands free, wriggled his head from side to side and kicked his bare feet into the hard linoleum-covered concrete floor behind him. All his effort only made his toes hurt, he could not pull his head free from Martin's hold, and the man's penis remained where it was, blocking his airways.

When Martin pulled back again, the kid's thick saliva slickened the tight silicone tunnel and he knew that it was now as wet as it would ever be. He fucked the boy's mouth with about ten quick thrusts, drove his cock in as far as it would go on the final thrust and kept it there for nearly twenty seconds.

I'm dying! He's killing me, Jonas told himself. He was desperate. The struggle had left him breathless and now the man's penis was both choking him and making him feel sick. I can't breathe! I'm going to barf! I must breathe, now!

And just as if Martin had heard his silent pleas, the man moved his penis back a bit, just enough for Jonas to pull in a deep breath through his nostrils. He no longer cared that the air smelled from the rubber, he breathed greedily, as hard and fast as he could, before Martin would block off his air supply again.

Martin felt the blinded boy's moist breath on his cock and hairy pubic mound, the kid had stopped his useless struggling; his shoulders sagged and his body was limp, Martin had to hold him up by his head.

"Just a little while longer," he assured. "Your mouth's so wet and feels so good on my cock," Martin declared and drove his hips forward again.

Jonas had only been able to breathe seven times and his eighth breath was prematurely cut off as Martin's blunted cockhead rushed into the back of his throat again. Immediately, the need to puke returned, and his abdominal muscles convulsed with a low guttural groan.

"Swallow!" Martin ordered and smacked the back of Jonas's head. "You had better not throw up on me! Swallow boy, before it's too late!"

Swallowing with his mouth so full was extremely difficult, Jonas learned, but he found that it helped some. He was still feeling sick and his body kept reacting to Martin's monster penis, particularly when the man drove it in as deep as it would go.

Martin set the rhythm, ten-fifteen quick thrusts in and out, followed by a long moment with his cock as far into Jonas's mouth as it would go, before he pulled out completely and allowed the boy a chance to push his thick saliva out of the mouth hole and catch his breath. When the boy started to take in his third breath, Martin drove his cock back in for another cycle.

I should throw him on the fucking bed and lay him with his head hanging off the end, that way I could fuck right into his throat! Martin considered it while he let Jonas breathe again, then decided to keep going as they were. He's not Kurt, after all, he told himself. He's not a tough policeman, he's only a thirteen-year-old kid. But, damn it, I'll deep fuck his throat before he turns fourteen.

He fantasized about that as he kept thrusting into the boy's wet mouth, faster and faster he went, thrusting into the soft wetness of the boy's defenceless mouth. He no longer let up. The kid must learn to breathe when he can!

Jonas sputtered under the assault, every time he thought he could breathe, his throat was blocked off again. He swallowed as often as he could, though it was uncomfortable with his mouth so full, he found that it helped keep his gag reflex somewhat at bay.

"Urgh," Martin groaned and tightened his leg muscles, ground his cock deeper into Jonas's mouth, wanting to go balls deep into the kid's face and the thought of doing so sparked his orgasm. His massive ballsack was pulled up tighter as his perineum started to convulse, sending jet after jet of his ejaculate directly into Jonas's throat.

"Swallow, bitch!" Martin grunted, over and over. "Swallow. Swallow all of it, little bitch!"

Jonas had no option but to comply; his mouth was already full with Martin's cock, the yucky mouth piece of the rubber mask, and his own thick and gross saliva. The seemingly endless squirts of the man's salty and vile sperm had nowhere to go and it felt as though he would drown if he didn't swallow the foul mixture of fluids in his mouth.

"Swallow my sperm and turn into the little sissy bitch you so desperately want to be!" Martin said, puffing for air. He withdrew his cock a little bit, making it easier for the kid to swallow, then, when he was certain his climax was over, he pulled out completely. He bent down, tilting Jonas's head back, and spat into the mouth opening of the rubber mask. "Have some of my spit, too, bitch boy!" he said and spat again.

Jonas left Martin's house fifteen minutes later. Halfway down the street, well out of sight, he started to spit. He could still smell the rubber mask, and taste it, though Martin had removed it after Jonas had been made to swallow another three times.

The aftertaste of rubber overpowered the taste of the man's saliva, but it couldn't mask the saltiness of his sperm. Jonas coughed up another bit of phlegm and sent it flying onto the sidewalk with a powerful spit as he hurried toward the bus stop.

He had strange sensation in his groin, the catheter locked inside his urethra was agitating his penis with every step he took, and his penis responded by trying to grow hard. The tiny metal cock cage wouldn't allow it, though, which only made his penis try harder, or so it seemed to Jonas. His mouth and throat felt raw, his stomach was churning and he spat again to keep from throwing up right there in the street.

I hate barfing! Jonas said to himself. But I hate having Martin's sperm in my belly, too. He refused to dwell on the fact that the man had also spat into his mouth and made him swallow, not just while he had been wearing the awful mask, but also after he had put on his clothes, just before he had been allowed to leave the house to go home.

He spat again and once more, before his bus arrived, preventing him from spitting for almost twenty minutes until he disembarked near his house.

And he told me to return tomorrow for another dose of his sperm, Jonas remembered as he spat again. Suddenly, he couldn't wait for school to start. At least I won't be going to his house every day, then.

NEXT PART