Tied and Denied; The evolution of Anthony

What a fucking weekend, he thought. Julie was on maternity leave and Travis had walked out on Thursday, leaving Anthony as the only manager for the weekend. He had been at the bar/restaurant open to close Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Fortunately, the new hire was starting on Monday and the owner was back in town, so he had the next two days off.

Unfortunately he was also broke, as payday was not until Friday. Exhausted as he was, he needed to tie one on. Unabashedly straight, he knew that the only way he could get drunk on his budget was to hit the local gay bar, ten blocks from his work. He knew that his looks would entice the men at the bar. He was well aware of how others perceived him.

The jet-black hair and Cro-mangon brow were obviously appealing to both sexes, as well as the very finely formed body. He jammed his taut torso into the Navy polo with the white horizontal stripes and dark no-name jeans. Women flirted shamelessly, turned on by his looks; he was well aware of this. However, the guys at the local club would buy him drinks in an attempt to seduce him. He had glided by on his looks for almost 30 years; this system had served him well. If he had to flirt with a couple of fags to get buzzed, he was more than willing to do it.

The bar was packed for a Sunday night. It was Keno night, as well as karaoke, so people were milling about. Entering the door, he spotted a chrome dome at the bar, a very handsome, built man in a leather vest and tight jeans, He recognized that as his best opportunity for a free buzz so he sidled up to the bar.

Ordering his drink, he looked to his left. “Hi, my name’s Anthony.” He offered to the very well-built man to his left, extending his large hand. “Dak,” came the reply from the insanely-built, hairy guy sitting next to him. Anthony, despite his size, felt dwarfed by the man introducing himself; indeed, his large-by-normal-standards hand was fully engulfed by the paw shaking it firmly. “Dak, huh; that’s an…interesting name.” “Yep,” the deep, gravelly voice replied. “Parents named me ‘Dakota” but I thought that sounded like an apartment building, so I’ve always gone by Dak.”

“Well, you obviously spend a lot of time in the gym,” Anthony said, stating the obvious, as the leather vest bulged with hairy musculature, “and it looks like you’re pretty blessed in the genetics department too.” He wasn’t looking, but it was pretty hard to ignore a faded denim encasement that bulged with a bocce ball-sized lump. Heck, this guy was more than a little intimidating. He realized that if he were gay, he would be both tremendously attracted to, and kind of afraid of this guy.

“It’s my job; I’m a personal trainer, so being in shape is kind of a prerequisite,” the huge stud replied, his blue eyes sparkling. “It looks like you need another one; let me get these. Pete, get this man another one and put everything on my tab.” The young blonde shirtless bartender nodded, pouring another very strong Tanqueray tonic, placing it in front of the dark-haired manager. “Thanks, man; that’s really nice of you.” He reached over, stroking the giant’s arm, flirting with him just enough to ensure a drunken night of escape from his personal hell week.

Time progressed, conversations flowed; another drink was poured and consumed, a shot done. Anthony was starting to descend into a pleasant haze of intoxication, the past few days lost in the fog. He leaned over towards the muscle bear to whisper in his ear, his flirtations becoming a little sloppy. As he turned, he blasted one onto the bar stool. Sheepishly, he excused himself, only to do it again and yet a third time, the stench wafting up between them. “Shorry dude,” he apologized. In his drunken state, he openly shared the circumstances surrounding his sudden flatulence, something he would have never done sober.

“I’f been at work preddy much 24/7 for the last three days. I haven’t even taken a dump since…wow, Friday…morning.” His words slurred slightly as he revealed his secret. In his state, he didn’t notice the change in demeanor in his bar buddy’s gaze. “I’m gonna hafta try to pinch one off when I get home. Scuse me, I gotta go drain the lizard. Be right back.” As his legs hit the floor, another one blasted through the snug denim encasing his muscle butt. “Whoops,” he stated, stumbling towards the rest room.

Returning to the bar, he climbed back up on the stool and turned towards his benefactor. “Dude, I need to go home. I think I’m…a little drunken.” Dak pulled in close to him. “Anthony, you’re too drunk to drive. Here, let’s do one more shot and then you’re going to come to my place and sleep it off.” “Nah, man; I really needa go…home.” “I’m not arguing with you,” the larger man said firmly. “You’re going to do this shot then come to my place. You can sleep on the couch. Now, pick it up.” He hoisted the one in front of him, subtly winking at the bartender as they both downed the potent liquid.

After a minute or so, the swarthy manager began to feel very dizzy, much more so than he should have, even drunk. He could usually handle his booze with ease, but he was beginning to black out. He was vaguely aware of Dak hoisting him up and dragging him out to the car.

The next few hours were like picture frames, a snap of reality followed by darkness. His first realization was of being in a dark, concrete room, the smell of dust and mildew strong in the air. He was aware of his arms being raised over his head and secured; then nothing. The next glimpse of awareness was a warm wetness spreading through his crotch and down his legs as he thoroughly pissed himself, before retreating into unconsciousness again.

At some point, he was aware of his damp jeans and Hanes briefs being pulled down around his thighs. His arms were still pulled painfully above his head and his ankles were restrained by a spreader bar. A prickly goatee scratched his ear, hot breath panting against his neck. He had a brief respite before being jerked back into reality by an unbearable pressure in his ass. He could feel the three-day load being pushed into his guts by what felt like a phone pole. He had never felt fullness like this in his life, but was still too out of it to do much.
He pulled weakly at the restraints, hearing a soft “waaaa…aaaah.” It took a moment for it to register in his brain that the sound was coming from him, a reaction to the brutal stuffing he was receiving. It felt as if his stomach would explode; his bowels were firing off desperate signals to his brain that he was full beyond what he could endure. “How bad do you have to go now, bitch.” He felt the hot breath and prickly scratch again as hairy strength humped against his groaning frame, panting and grunting against his struggling, helpless body. The breathing increased in tempo as he felt contractions against his lower back, the muscle stud firing his load deep into the tortured man’s backside. He passed out once more

Gray light filtered into the space as Anthony came to, his head pounding. He was still restrained in the same position, but was now tape-gagged, the duct tape wrapped around his head numerous times, sealing off his mouth. He looked frantically around the room; he was alone. His ass was brutally sore and in desperate need of evacuation. His bladder was screaming for relief also. He squirmed in dire discomfort, screeching for help through the tape, jerking at his restraints as his desperation grew. He could literally feel the huge mass in his butt pressing against his sphincter, pushing his hole open.

He heard a door open and footsteps approach. His face reddened as he screamed, begging in unitelligible garble to be let go. Dak moved into his sight-line, grinning as the helpless stud grimaced, crying out for help. “I sense my Anthony is needing a bathroom; am I right?” The helpless man nodded furiously, grunting as the pressure mounted, a slight burst of gas indicating the dire straights our handsome friend was in. The huge leather dude moved in close to his captive’s face. “That’s the idea, buddy. What kind of a daddy would I be if I let my boys use the toilet? Sorry, I can’t help you, sexy.”

It sank into his brain that he was to be left here, causing him to thrash violently, yelling through his gag, as if it would somehow convince his captor to release him. The bald man moved around behind his prisoner, breathing heavily as the helpless guy rapidly approached a full-on accident, large hands moving over his heaving, helpless body. He grunted again as he lost control, muffled hissing indicating yet another piss into his snug jeans. He could handle that; what was about to happen was what disgusted him.

Shaking his head rapidly back and forth, he yelled, “mmm-mmm; mmm-mmm,” through the seal on his mouth, squeezing his watery eyes tightly shut as the massive log began pressing out, hitting the back of his white briefs and tight denim, deforming his seat. The pain of the defecation through his thoroughly battered hole was intense. He cried out as he was forced to bear down, pushing the load against the snug confines of his pants. His captor groaned in ecstasy as the young man helplessly stacked a log into the dark jeans.

The mass grew and grew as one turd after another broke off in his shorts. He felt strong hands gently rubbing the growing mound. Finally the last one was out, the back of his jeans bulging obscenely. He gasped in relief and utter humiliation, his body going limp against the restraints. He felt a well-muscled arm squeeze around his neck, a gravelly voice whispering in his ear, “night-night, sexy stud.” A firm pressure against his carotid artery and he once again retreated into blackness.

He came to again, an indeterminate amount of time having passed. He was seated on the cold concrete, his hands cuffed behind him, around the pole he was leaning against. The tape had been removed from his mouth, freeing his voice for the first time since his captivity began. He screamed into the emptiness, “GET IN HERE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER! SHOW YOURSELF, YOU PRICK!” He squirmed around on the floor, the huge load he was sitting in pressed up into his ass-crack; it was disgusting.

In the distance a door opened and heavy footsteps approached, the familiar massive stud coming into view. He knelt down by his captive, leaning in close to his face. “Morning Sunshine,” he grinned at his befouled captive. “Let me the FUCK out of here, you piece of SHIT”! “I don’t think so, at least not just yet,” his huge captor replied. “Wow, that must be pretty uncomfortable, sitting in all that shit,” he chuckled, reaching down under Anthony’s butt, rubbing the now compressed mass. “Why don’t you try it, asshole”? The restrained man seethed, spittle spraying from his lips as he hissed at the man holding him hostage.

“I think I prefer things just as they are,” Dak said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re gonna have to kill me, because as soon as I’m out of here, I’m going right to the cops. You’ll be behind bars for the rest of your miserable life, jack-ass.” The huge muscleman leaned in close. “You won’t do that.” “Oh, you don’t think so; try me big boy. Undo these cuffs right now and see what happens.” “Oh, I’ll let you go soon enough, but I know for a fact you won’t do anything; want to know why?” “Yeah, I want to know why you think I won’t get your sorry ass thrown in the slammer,” the heated prisoner retorted.

“Well,” the hairy stud replied, “two reasons. First, you’d be so embarrassed that someone like me did this to you, you couldn’t live with everyone knowing that.” The dark-haired prisoner snorted, “yeah, right.” “Secondly, and most important, I know something about you that you don’t even know…or are ready to admit yet.” He leaned in very close, staring into his captive’s eyes. Anthony squirmed uncomfortably, breaking Dak’s steely gaze. “Oh, yeah…what’s that,” he said, stammering slightly.

“You see,” the massive man said softly, reaching down for his prisoner’s crotch, “you think you’re straight, but you’re really not.” Anthony smirked. “Yeah, in your dreams.” “No, really; you totally got off on all this and I’m gonna prove it.” “Just how the fuck do you plan on…what the hell you doing, man. Stop it; I mean it!” Dak reached down, unzipping the swarthy stud’s jeans, reaching in and pulling his damp prick out. “Don’t…” Anthony gasped. “I don’t have to do anything; you’re going to do it yourself. Give me just a minute and I’ll show you.” The leatherman pulled himself up and left the room for a brief time, returning with a surprise.

“This…is Marty,” resounded from the door, the huge man shoving a scared young lad roughly into the room. “He’s my boy-in-training. He’s still new to this, so he ain’t broke in yet. That’s gonna change here, right now.” The seated captive sized up the youngster. His reddish-brown hair was a little shaggy, as was the scraggly facial hair. His brown, close-set eyes darted nervously around the room as he grabbed pointedly at his crotch. His neck was thick, skin pale. His upper body was mostly hairless, at least what he could see poking out from the maroon t-shirt. His legs, however, were quite furry, sticking out of a pair of brown cargo shorts. He was very redneck-looking, but quite the handsome lad, in a country-boy-next-door kind of way.

Anthony swallowed hard as he trembled nervously. “You see our boy, here, is in about the exact same predicament you were in about three this morning, so we’re gonna try a little experiment and see what happens. Move up to the post, son.” The young man stepped warily up to the pole, his legs straddling the seated prisoner, his crotch just about at face level to the restrained man. “Wha…” the young man started to utter. “Sssshhh, boy,” was the terse response from the large sadist. Reaching down, he wrenched the lad’s hands from his crotch, forcing them around the support post, snapping his wrists into the cuffs threaded through the heavy duty loop screw on the far side.

Suddenly helpless, the lad winced as he squirmed around, his hips rocking back and forth in a familiar desperation. A massive blue ball gag was suddenly shoved into his mouth, forcing his jaw painfully open about as far as it could go. Dak grasped the back of the young man’s shorts, wresting them down over his butt, but leaving his crotch encased in the material. Unbuttoning his jeans, he released his member, giving Anthony the first glimpse of what had caused him so much hurt last night. He didn’t have to wonder any longer why his ass was so sore. The thing looked like a fire hose, fat as a normal man’s wrist, with a wicked downward curve. His balls were massive and drawn up tight to his hairy crotch.

He stepped over to a nearby table, grabbing a jar of petroleum jelly, scooping out a glob and smearing it all over his rapidly hardening prick. Smirking at his captives, he moved in behind the trembling lad, the boy whimpering partly out of fear and partly out of the abject desperation he was in. The seated man felt his face flush and he closed his eyes, knowing well what was about to happen both in front of him and to his own exposed member. He felt a twitch as his body betrayed him.

“Open your eyes; I want you to watch everything that’s happening,” were the stern orders issued from above. Reluctantly he pried them open, staring up into the terrified eyes of the lad restrained above him. Suddenly, the youngster’s face twisted into a tortured ball, a loud wail coming from under the ball gag. He didn’t have to see behind him to know what was happening; it was written on the agonized face of the brutalized redneck restrained in front of and above him.

A distinct hiss came from the brown shorts directly in front of Anthony’s face as the boy lost control and brutally pissed his shorts, the warm liquid darkening the brown fabric and dripping down onto the restrained man beneath him, smelly yellow tendrils running down the hirsute limbs and into his sneakers. The assault picked up steam as this occurred, causing the sobbing young man no end of agony, each brutal thrust pumping jets of liquid through his dick like a suddenly unkinked hose, the distinct “schwuck, schwuck” sound only a violent shit-packing makes echoing off the concrete walls.

The seated hunk wanted to be grossed out, he prayed to be disgusted by the spectacle in front of him, but the throbbing member sticking out of his fouled jeans told a different story. His secret was on pulsing display for both assailant and victim to see. Every tortured thrust, every scream from the young man made the handsome prisoner’s dick swell ever harder. The boy’s agony was his aphrodisiac. Dak looked down at the helpless man’s predicament and snickered knowingly before he thrust one last time against the young man’s buns, grimacing loudly as his body shuddered against his prey.

The violent assault was over. The boy sobbed as his abuser pulled his shorts back up over his violated butt. He uncuffed the lad’s hands, pushing him down to sit on Anthony’s lap, re-cuffing him to another loop nut lower down the pole. He then crossed the boy’s legs, duct taping his ankles together. In this position, Marty had no way to raise himself off the other man’s lap; his ass was pressed firmly into the still exposed hard-on. The hairy abuser leaned in close to the dark-haired man’s ear one more time and whispered, “next time, you get to do it,” and left the room.

The boy screamed after him as the door slammed shut. The brutal fucking had lubed the monster turd in his ass and left him in dire need of a massive shit. The poor lad struggled with all his might, his butt cheeks masturbating the throbbing dick pressed into his farting backside, gasps of desperation coming from the reddened, agony-twisted face.

Despite his arousal, something more pressing made itself suddenly known to the exposed stud. He looked in the squirming lad’s watery eyes and said apologetically, “Son, I’m really sorry; I need to piss. I can’t….hold it; sorry.” His erect member began spraying a fountain onto his shirt and the boy’s seated backside, thoroughly soaking the ass of the tormented boy’s shorts. He sobbed as the man’s urine soaked in, dampening his butt cheeks.

As he finished, the lad’s struggle took on a new urgency, his desperation absolute. He thrashed violently as his sphincter opened, the huge log birthing into his shorts. Under the growing bulge, Anthony’s throbbing member reacted. He gasped breathlessly as the helpless boy messed himself, the growing lump pressing into his hard-on as he fired wad after wad of spunk onto the rapidly filling butt, his face twisted into ecstasy and humiliation as his dick betrayed him.

After a short time, their captor returned, kneeling down next to the filthy, sodden pair. His large mitt reached down, scooping up a finger-full of spooge, putting it to his lips and licking it off, grinning at his victims as he did so. Silently, he released them, escorting them to a large shower to clean up, which they did in complete silence. Their clothes laundered, he released the dark-haired manager into the brightness of day.

Anthony’s co-workers noticed something different about him, but couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. After work, he returned to the house of his captivity, himself a changed man. He subjected young Marty to many of the same abuses that their captor had heaped upon them both. Under Dak’s watchful eye, he learned how to be both abuser and abused. He was beginning to understand who he truly was.

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