Chapter 1

I had stopped at the I-80 rest area in Wyoming on a whim, hardly expecting that it would be any better for me than any of the others had been. I'd been driving on that route since leaving Chicago two days before, taking lots of time to see the countryside. Of course, as with most of my trips, on this one I'd been hoping to meet other like-minded men, and wishing that one of them would give me just what I'd been wanting for a long time. Little did I know that final stop would be the one I'd been looking for.

I was standing at the urinal, doing what any other man would be doing in similar circumstances, when I heard the door open and close behind me. There was nothing at all odd about that, of course, but when the man appeared at the urinal right beside me, it was remarkable enough that it gave me a thrill of anticipation. You see, there were four of the fixtures in a row there, and I was using the one on the right end. That meant that he had deliberately chosen to stand close to me, which as any traveler can tell you, is not the usual circumstance. It's always been my experience that men will stand as far away from one another as possible when they use the bathroom, and if you've ever used similar public facilities, I'm sure you've noticed the same thing.

As always happens, my eyes were beyond my control, and they couldn't be stopped from glancing downward to my left, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other man's equipment. I've done that for as long as I can remember, and always get that special thrill in my chest when I see another person of my sex with his manhood revealed.

What was different about this time was that he actually spoke to me, saying, "Nice one, ain't it?"

He had obviously noticed me staring at his crotch, which again was different from the usual circumstances. Men usually avoid looking at each other at those times, and I was sure he had been deliberately glancing at me, just as I had been at him, although I was looking a couple of feet lower than he was.

It was easy enough to answer his question, since I've never seen a grown man's cock that I didn't think fit the description of "nice." I'd been that way ever since my cousin and I had played together when we were young teenagers. I was thirteen at the time, which meant he must have been fifteen. Since I'd been through puberty at least a year before that, I'd already discovered the joys of playing with the wonderful toy Mother Nature had given me, and by the time Todd and I had gone swimming naked in our farm pond one summer, I'd been masturbating two or three times every day.

Our pond was surrounded by trees, and was almost a mile from the house, so there was no reason for us to think of wearing swim trunks. When Todd suggested that we strip down and get in the cool water, the heat of the day made the suggestion as natural as could be, and we raced to be the first to get undressed and jump in.

After we'd been in the water for several minutes, and had shed the heat of that July day, Todd suggested we get out and lounge on the grass to get a tan. Again, that sounded perfectly natural, and so we did. Again, it was natural for us to look at the other's body, and when he asked me if I'd started playing with myself yet, I said that I had. He then told me how he'd been doing that for at least two years, and how good it felt when he "shot his load." Even though I hadn't heard that particular expression before, I knew right away what he meant, since that was a pretty good description of what happened when I played with my little penis for more than a couple of minutes.

It felt good to be lying there beside him, talking our "man" talk, and feeling the light breeze on our naked skin. What felt even better, though, was when he reached out his hand and touched my dick. I'll never forget that surge of lust that raced through my entire body as I felt another boy's hand on my private parts, and when he told me to touch him like that, there was no way in the world to stop myself from doing so.

Of course, one thing led to another, and when he told me to turn around I didn't hesitate at all. Then, when he took my penis in his mouth, I didn't need any urging to reciprocate. That was my first time ever of doing something that I love doing, of tasting and swallowing something that I love, and I've spent the years since then trying to duplicate that experience. Though I've done that particular thing many, many times, I can still recall that first time.

Even when, a few days later, Todd stopped returning the favor, I still loved sucking him. We spent many hours at the pond, in the woods behind his house, in our barn, or wherever else we happened to be at the time, with me on my knees in front of him. He would grab my ears with his hands, working my head back and forth as I held his penis tightly in my mouth. It never took him long to cum, and I always wished there were some way to make him not be so fast. Of course, I loved the feel of his hot semen splashing against the back of my throat, and the texture and taste as it filled my eager mouth. But still, I wished it could take longer before he "shot his load."

With that as background, you can probably understand why my throat was so tight when I answered the stranger's question. It was just about all I could do to force my throat to whisper a quiet, "Yes," but I finally made it do so.

Rather than just going about his business, as I feared he would do, the man asked another, similar question which gave me another thrill. He had turned slightly toward me, and as I realized with a start that he was slowly stroking himself, he commented, "You like looking at it, don'cha?" Again my throat almost locked up as I stared at the sight of his stiffening penis, but was at last able to whisper, "Yes."

He chuckled, then said, "Thought so. I can always tell when one of you wants to look at my cock." Him referring to me as "one of you," didn't offend me in that least. To the contrary, it gave me an extra thrill, since it indicated he had recognized my nature and was interested in me because of it.

He continued slowly stroking himself, and I continued gazing at his engorging penis. Finally, he asked, "Wanta suck it?" Of course, that's exactly what I wanted to do, and I couldn't whisper my, "Yes!" nearly fast enough. He said, "Thought so," then turned back to face the urinal.

I felt the agony of disappointment then, and feared that he had just been teasing me, and that he really wasn't interested in me after all. However, when he spoke again after a short pause, my heart soared. His simple words gave me all the confirmation I needed that he was not only interested, but that he knew intimately the depths of my perversion.

He said, "I came in here to take a leak, and I suppose you'd like to watch me doing it, wouldn't you?" Again my throat almost locked up, and it took lots of concentration for me to whisper, "Please." That brought forth another of his chuckles, and then as I watched, he allowed me to enjoy the sight I never tire of seeing.

As soon as he'd finished, he replaced his cock, which was still semi-erect, in his jeans. He said, "When you finish in here, go out the door and down the sidewalk to the left. Get in the back door of the yellow and white pickup camper that's in the last space. I'll be waiting for you. Don't make me wait. You hear?" I again forced my throat to answer his question, then tried to concentrate on finishing what I'd started to do when the man first came in the restroom. At last I shook the final drop off the tip, then struggled to get my engorged cock back in my pants, trying to adjust it so the bulge wouldn't be obvious to anyone who saw me outside.

I washed my hands, then punched the button on the hot-air dryer. As I looked down at the machine, I saw that someone had scratched the usual message on it. It read, "For the best blowjob you ever had, stick dick in here." A crude arrow had been scratched in the paint, leading toward the nozzle. I'd seen that message, or others in that vein, at almost every rest area I'd ever visited. Given my state of mind right then, though, it barely registered on my mind.

As I walked outside, a fleeting thought crossed my mind that maybe I should just walk to my car and get out of there as fast as I could. Even as I was thinking that, my feet had other ideas. They led me to the left, and then with ever-quicker steps, toward the end of the sidewalk. The yellow and white camper parked there was the only thing I could see, and I never hesitated as I walked alongside it, then approached the door at its rear.

After taking a deep breath, and steeling my resolve, I placed one hand on the handle and pulled it downward. The latch snicked, and the door opened toward me as I pulled. It was mid-afternoon of a sunny day then, and the interior of the camper looked almost pitch black to me. The only thing that made me place one foot on the step was the man's voice saying impatiently, "Get in here! I ain't got all day."

I stepped up onto the floor of the rig, then pulled the door shut behind me. Almost before my eyes could adjust to the dim light inside, he said, "Catch!" and tossed something toward me. My hands instinctively shot out, catching what I saw was a padlock. He then said, "Lock the door. Don't want anyone disturbing us, do we?"

I turned back to the door, for the first time seeing the hasp that had been screwed into the wall, and the metal loop that had been installed on the surface of the door. I closed the hasp over the loop, then put the padlock in place and snapped it shut. Come what may, I told myself, my fate was sealed. That simple thought was somehow more thrilling to me than anything else that had happened so far.

The door secured, I turned back to face the man. He said, "Get over here. On your knees." Almost as if I were a puppet on a string, his to command, I dropped to my knees, then shuffled my way toward him. Given the small size of the place, it took only seconds for me to be kneeling in front of him, where he sat on the edge of the bed. He spread his legs, allowing me to move even closer, then said, "Take it out."

My trembling hands fumbled to release the large buckle in the shape of the state, with the words, "Wyoming State Rodeo," emblazoned on its surface. At last it came free, and I opened the button that was under it. The zipper was soon pulled down, and my hands fumbled to pull his erection through the flap in the front of his undershorts.

I gazed in awe at his engorged penis, fascinated as always by how something so simple can have such a strong hold on me. I love looking at that part of a man's body, and have ever since that first time with my cousin. Even though that was many years ago, the sight of a hardon standing proudly inches from my face still captivates and fascinates me, and I love it dearly.

In a hoarse whisper, he asked, "Do you wanta suck it? That's what you want, ain't it?"

In an equally emotional whisper, I answered, "Yes." My automatic response to the entrancing sight just inches away from my eager mouth was to lower my head and open my lips. When I was just ready to inhale his manhood, though, he grabbed my hair and with a vicious yank pulled my head back. He looked down at me, then said, "You want daddy to put his big cock in your hot little mouth, don'cha? You want him to feed you his hot cum, just like all the other queerboys, huh?"

Again I whispered my passionate answer, and tried to move my mouth toward the enticing target. That made him jerk my head back once more, and this time he snarled, "Say it, queerboy. Tell me you want it."

I gasped with the pain in my scalp, then blurted out, "Yes! Please! I want to suck your big cock. I want you to feed me your hot cum. Please, make me do it!"

He said, "All you queerboys is alike, ain't you? Go ahead then. Eat it." He then stopped pulling my hair, instead using his hand to push my head toward his crotch.

My eagerness to do his bidding must have been obvious to him, because in a split second his cock was buried deeply inside me. I ran my tongue over the exquisite silky smoothness of the head, loving the feel of it, and the taste of his pre-cum. My lips instinctively closed tightly around his shaft and my cheeks drew inward as I tried to suck even more of the wonderful taste from his body. He sighed, then placed both hands behind him on the bed before leaning back.

His hips began to thrust with the age-old movement that all men use when they're being pleasured, and I timed my own movements with his. When he thrust forward, my head moved toward his body, allowing him to impale himself deep within my mouth. When he moved away from me, I did the same, until I could feel the head against my lips. I've always loved doing that, ever since my cousin allowed me to do it to him, and every time since I've loved it just as much. It fulfills a need that is very deep inside me.

His explosive, "Ahhh!" was all the warning I had before he gave me the reward I had earned. His first spurt was one of the strongest I'd ever felt, and it was quickly followed by even more that were almost as intense. Over and over I swallowed his gift, and again and again he gave me more of it. My only thought, as always, was that I wished it could go on forever, but of course it never had, and it didn't then, either. His hips stilled their thrusts, and I felt the slight softening of his member that signaled that he had entirely emptied his balls into my mouth.

I continued licking and sucking him, hoping against hope that he'd recover his former degree of stiffness, and would once again reward me. Instead of that happening, though, he once again grabbed my hair.

After pulling my mouth free of its prize, he said softly, "Damn, boy. You're good. That's just about the best blowjob I've ever had." After a couple of seconds, he continued, "It's a fucking shame the little woman ain't here, so you could lick her cunt for her." He sat there quietly for another few seconds, then asked, "You ever lick a woman's pussy?" When I nodded in answer, he said, "You're one of them bi-morpha-dykes, ain't you?" I knew better than to correct him by saying I was bisexual, and just assented by saying, "Yes."

He paused then, and as I looked longingly at his handsome face, I could see he was deep in thought. At last he said, "The little woman and me has got a ranch about an hour from here. It's got a big old barn that we've fixed up real nice. There's a special room in it with lots of nice toys for queerboys like you. How'd you like me to take you there, so me and the wife could do things to you?"

By that time, I'd had a hardon for almost an hour, and any semblance of brains still remaining to me were in it, not my head. I was almost out of my mind with lust, but even with that, I know his offer would have been so enticing to me that I could never have refused it. You see, it's been my main fantasy, for as many years as I can remember, for exactly that sort of thing to happen to me. Night after sweaty night has been spent in my bed, dreaming of being "captured" by men, women, or usually both. They'd take me to their secret torture chamber, then slowly and methodically do everything even remotely imaginable to my supremely aroused, and always willing, body.

The offer that had just been made was more than exciting; it was the answer to my prayers. There was only one answer I could make, and it was an excited and impassioned, "Yes!"

His response was to once again jerk my hair, then to move his hands to my throat and slowly tighten them around my neck. He hissed, "You listen to me, queerboy! This ain't about fun and games, with a little bit of harmless pud pulling, then 'bye, bye, have fun.' When we get you in the barn, we're gonna work you over real good, and we're gonna hurt you real bad. Now, you think about that before you answer so quick, and then you tell me exactly what you want me to do."

I knew there was no reason for me to spend any more time thinking, because my mind, or what passed for such, was already made up. I paused, trying to make him believe I really had spent time in rational thought. Finally I said, in a voice I hoped sounded like that of a sane person, "I want you to take me to your barn. I want you and your wife to use your toys on me. I want you to do anything you want to me, and hurt me as bad as you want to. Please do it. Please!"

That must have convinced him of my sincerity, since his only response was to say, "Stand up and strip."

I almost jumped to my feet in my eagerness, and quickly began to unbutton my shirt. By the time I had shrugged it off my shoulders, he had pulled a grocery sack out of a nearby drawer. He said, "Put your clothes in here. You won't be needin' them anymore." Somehow, the implied threat in his words just made me even more aroused than before, and I hurriedly dropped my shirt in the sack, then stooped to remove my shoes and socks.

My trousers soon joined everything else in the sack, and then I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my undershorts and pulled them down. I'm sure I was secretly hoping he'd be complimentary of my penis, since it was at least an inch longer than his, and slightly thicker. All he said, though, as it jerked up and down in front of him, was, "About time we got one of you queerboys with a dick big enough to work on. The last one we had was so little that my wife said it was almost a waste of time."

Saying nothing else, he opened another drawer in the cabinet beside us, then took out four pairs of handcuffs. As my throat tightened even more, and my breath became even more ragged, he stood. Before he even had time to tell me what to do, my arms moved forward, presenting my wrists at the ready. His face had a crooked smile on it as he fastened one of the handcuffs to my right wrist, then lifted that arm toward the ceiling, where I saw what looked like an ordinary bathroom grab bar, fastened as far as possible toward the right side of the camper. He smoothly closed the cuff in place, then put one of the remaining three on my left wrist before securing it to another bar which had been mounted as far left as possible. The result was that my hands were high above my head, and spread almost as far apart as I could reach.

He knelt in front of me, and soon the other two cuffs were closed around my ankles. The free end of each set was drawn out to other grab bars before they, too, were snapped in place. The result was that my body was held securely in a standing spreadeagle, and I was powerless to resist anything he, or anybody else, chose to do to me. I loved that feeling of helplessness with all my heart, and knew without a doubt that I'd made the right choice when I'd begged him to take me to his barn and torture me.

As soon as he was satisfied that I was firmly held in place, he once again reached into the drawer. This time he brought out a thin cord, which was held up for my inspection. As I stared at the perfectly-tied hangman's noose in one end of the cord, he said, "The little woman's hobby is tying this kind of knot. We go through lots of them when we work on queerboys. There's a couple of them in the barn where you're going, and you'll probably be stretching them before the night's over." As he was saying that, his hands were placing the noose over the head of my cock, then settling it in the groove put there by Mother Nature for just that use. He then tightened the knot with a quick jerk of his fingers, causing me to groan as the instant jolt of pain shot up my shaft.

He leaned toward the front of the camper, then tossed the free end of the cord toward a small window there. Since I could see the dashboard of the pickup through the window, I knew it had been designed to allow the driver to talk to anyone riding in the camper, although that probably wasn't going to be its use now.

He said nothing more as he rearranged his clothing, then slid by me. I turned to look back over my shoulder, and could see him unlocking the padlock. In complete silence, he opened the door, stepped outside, then closed it behind him. I could hear metal rattling outside the door, and was sure the padlock was being fastened in place to prevent my escape. Of course, escape was the last thing on my mind, assuming I still had such a thing. My only thoughts were on getting to the barn just as quickly as possible, and at last feeling for real all the wonderful things that I'd fantasized about for so many years. I knew that my own feeble attempts to torture myself would pale beside what the man and his wife would do to me, and it was almost more than I could do to not yell out for him to hurry.

Through the open window to the cab of the truck, I heard the door open and then close. I saw his hand reach through the opening, pick up the free end of the cord, and then give it a vicious jerk. As the renewed pain once again shot through my body, he asked, "You still there, queerboy?"

I answered with another hoarse, "Yes," and as he said, "Good," he gave the cord another jerk. He asked, "You feel that?" Again my tight throat gave answer, and again he said, "Good." I then saw him lean over to the passenger side of the pickup, and the cord drew even tighter, forcing me to move my crotch forward as far as possible. When he straightened, but the cord stayed taut, I knew that he had tied it to the door handle, and that I would be forced to stay in that very uncomfortable position for the entire drive to his barn. Right then, all that did was reinforce the fantasies that had me in their control.

Continued in Chapter 2.