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Hushed voices, nasty giggling.  Nervous.  A dirty pair of boys jockeys
quickly stuffed into his mouth.  giggling.  Desperate hisses to each
other to shut up, quit laughing.  Strong hands grab at his arms, flip
the terrified, struggling boy over, expertly lash his hands tightly
behind his back, as two other pairs of hands succeed in holding his
legs still as his ankles are bound securely together, a roll of tape
is wound around his head securing the gag in his mouth.

“shit” someone whispers.  “how’s he gonna blow us?”  More giggles, he
can hear punching, scuffling, giggling, desperate whispers again to
shut up.  His heart races he thinks he can hear it pounding in his
ears.  He tries to scream, feels his chest vibrate with the effort but
only a muffled cottony “mff” escapes.

“what’re you buttheads doing?”  Randy, one of his bunk-mates is awake.
A baseball nut, a jock.  He hates him.  He hates them all. It’s
mutual.

“You wanna take his place?”  one of the abductors whispers menacingly.

“Nah I wanna _watch_,” Randy hisses back.

“shut up or you’re next, asshole.”

He is lifted by his shoulders and ankles and dragged twisting from the
tent, wearing only the undershorts and camp t-shirt he was sleeping
in.  Staring up into the night, eyes wide with terror, he blanches at
the sight of the smiling faces of three older boys from the Senior
group.  Rod, Tom, Spike.  best place for massage in Barcelona Fresh-Air Fund kids from the city, they
carry switch-blades and scare the piss out his upper-middle-class
sensibilities.  They drag him higher into the woods, crashing through
underbrush, swearing and grunting.  When they decide they are far
enough away from the camp that they won’t be detected they dump him
unceremoniously on the ground.  Pine needles press through his
underwear and he struggles futilely to roll over and away from the
needles pricking his genitals.

He listens to his captors talking quietly, they sound excited, he
can’t see them from where he is lying and he can’t connect names or
faces to the voices.

“Shit I wish we could get some beers,”  one of them says.

“Speed man, I really could use some speed.”

“Pussy!”  the third one blurts out, and they all laugh.

One of them nudges him with a heavy booted foot, and they squat down
next to his bound form and roll him onto his back so his arms are
cramped beneath him, digging into his spine.  A small flashlight
shines in his face so he is blinded; he sees the glint of metal,
assumes it’s a blade.  best place for massage in barcelona He’s already wet himself in terror, and only
moans pitifully as he feels a hand grab at his crotch.

“Fucker pissed himself!” the crotch-grabber laughs, wipes his hand off
on the boy’s leg.

One of them leans into his face, holding a blade close to his nose.
Spike?  Rod?

“I’m gonna take this gag offa you but if you scream I swear it I’ll cut
yr dick off I mean it.”  A thumb and forefinger close around the head
of his penis, and twist, hard, for emphasis.  He arches his back and
tries to scream.

“Fuck the little faggot really did piss himself!”

He feels a hand underneath his jockeys, hears a tearing sound; his
underwear is yanked from his body, used to wipe up where he peed
himself.  Realizing he’s lying bound and naked on a prickly bed of
pine needs, struggling fiercely, he finally manages to not cry.

The boys talk in low tones around his head; he is incapable of
anticipating what they are planning, they don’t teach this sort of
thing in seventh grade health class, and even as the tape is torn from
around his head, the dirty jockeys drawn from his mouth, and the
leader — Tom? — lowers his jeans and underwear and kneels straddling
his shoulders, he is surprised, shocked, _dumb-founded_, when a soft
fleshy penis is pressed against his tightly closed mouth.

“Blow me!”

He cannot make his jaw un-clench, it is too disgusting.

A white hot pain jumps across his groin; one of the others has picked
up a thin supple branch and whipped it across his crotch, lashing the
head of his prick.  best place for massage in barcelona He opens his mouth to scream and the swelling cock
pressing at his lips is stuffed into his mouth; hands are clutching at
the sides of his head, he chokes and gags and tries to scream, afraid
he is being smothered, strangled, by the penis thrusting in his face.

“Bite me and I’ll cut off your dick and make you eat it,” the boy
pistoning in his face whispers menacingly.

He is sure the threat is serious; he opens his mouth and lets the boy
use him.  The penis slides wetly in his mouth, he can feel it growing.
He feels the weight of his attacker sliding back and forth along his
chest as the penis slides back and forth between his teeth.  He tries
to catch the rhythm, to breathe, so best place for massage in barcelona he won’t panic, but there is no
rhythm, instinct wins and he twists franticly, only distantly aware of
cruel, excited laughter.