Chapter 30 Rocky Horror Handcuffs #3
Garland leaned in and whispered in Matt’s ear. “Ever since I heard there was a freshman GM kid nicknamed ‘Mustang,’ I’ve been itching to meet him. Turns out you are as high spirited and wild as an untamed horse.”
Garland patted Matt’s hair as though it were a stallion’s mane.
“The Cherokee perfected the art of taming wild mustangs, not breaking them. Breaking is when a horse forgets its wild nature and will submit to anyone, even a child, even pull a plough. Taming means that horse only submits to the man who subdued him.”
Matt’s eyes went wide.
“Before we’re done tonight, Garland soothed, “you’ll be my trick pony. My cock will fit in your mouth like a perfect bit. You will ache to do my bidding.”
Garland walked towards the door. “Now follow me, Mustang.”
Matt felt all eyes watching him as he trudged up the stairs, hands cuffed behind him. He trailed Garland—who took his sweet-ass time.
Part of Matt felt deflated, outsmarted by the older man. Resentful.
Part of him took a certain pride knowing that Garland had come to this party with the specific goal of bagging him—here, at Nicholas’ and Bradley’s house, in one of their guest rooms. It was as though Matt had been chosen, culled from the herd.
As though he had been selected to be bridled and ridden; face fucked into submission. Tamed.
Part of him bristled at every step forward. Part of him couldn’t wait for it to begin.
The slow trek up the stairs provided him plenty of time to peruse the various plaques, certificates, and awards covering the walls.
They spanned Nicholas’s career in local television news.
He had worked his way up to Assistant Producer and been recognized by the Oklahoma Broadcaster’s Association on more than one occasion.
Nicholas’s name was everywhere, sometimes in script, sometimes in blocky letters. Always the same: Nicholas Covington.
Matt connected the dots. This was the same “N. Covington ‘81” whose name was written in the Star Wars stormtrooper mask he had worn for Paul’s GM interview!
Nicholas had worn that mask for every new member interview between ’77 and ’81.
Matt loved that connection to GM history. He couldn’t wait to tell Nicholas.
Garland led Matt into one of the bedrooms.
Matt could hear, through the walls, the soft creaking of a mattress, presumably as balding guy fucked Todd in the adjacent room.
Matt stood unflinchingly while Garland inspected his horseflesh. Flicked his nipples. Traced the outline of his lips. Tugged his boxer briefs down to reveal his erection. The briefs slid to Matt’s ankles, trapped there by his sneakers. He was, to a degree, now cuffed and hobbled.
Matt ached for Garland to touch his cock.
Garland shook his head. “Your cock’s not getting any action tonight. So quit whimpering. Your lips, tongue, and throat are what I paid for. Understand?”
Matt nodded.
Garland slapped Matt’s cheek. Not hard. Enough to get his attention, though. “It’s ‘yes sir’ from here on. Got it?”
Matt suppressed the urge to head butt this man who had just slapped him, regardless the fact that he had earlier consented to having it done. Only one other person had ever slapped him: his father.
Matt gritted his teeth. “Yes sir.”
“Good. Now on your knees.”
Matt did as instructed, which wasn’t easy considering the whole hobbled and cuffed part. Eventually he was in proper kneeling position. His confused, still-erect cock, waggled like a happy dog ready for play time.
Garland towered over him.
“Look at me,” Garland said. His voice was soft, but commanding.
Matt looked up, watched as Garland unzipped his pants, pushed them down his thighs. He stood there in his 2 (X)IST briefs, ball sack neatly cupped, cock straining against the fabric.
Matt felt Garland’s hand on the back of his head, pulling him into his groin. Matt’s nose and mouth were buried in Garland’s briefs, breathing in his tangy scent.
“Do you like that, Mustang?”
“Yes sir,” Matt mumbled. He did.
“Show me how much you like it.”
“Sir?” Matt asked.
“Arch your back,” Garland said. “I want to see your hungry boy pussy in the mirror.”
Matt froze. He had momentarily forgotten the antique Cheval mirror behind him, which was fine—the mirror, that is. He could appreciate how seeing a guy’s hole in a mirror while having one’s cock orally serviced by that guy would be hot. Note for future self: buy a Cheval mirror.
It was those two words—“boy pussy”—that triggered him, for obvious reasons. Here he was nineteen years old and still scarred by something that had happened over five years earlier. Yeah, William had tried to warn him this might be a problem. Another note to self: listen to William next time.
As regarded the “boy pussy” stuff, Matt talked himself off the ledge. Garland wasn’t the youth pastor. This was just the “…and shit” part of what Matt had agreed to deliver: handcuffs, face fucking, slapping, and shit. Nothing more.
Still “boy pussy?” Really? It was a bit much.
Matt arched his back, spread his legs as much as he could—while kneeling and hobbled.
“Good boy,” Garland sighed. “You have a beautiful pussy.” He caressed Matt’s face.
Matt could not remember the last time he had felt so conflicted. He simultaneously wanted to bite Garland’s hand AND he felt pleased to have made the man happy. Felt pride in his pussy. Arched his back even more. Hated himself for doing so.
Garland freed his testicles from the underwear pouch. “Go ahead,” he directed. “Give them a bath.”
Matt licked and lapped at the balls. Nuzzled the puckered ball sack while gazing up at Garland’s still-shrouded cock.
Garland eased his cock out of the leg hole, let it spring free. A lone, clear droplet glistened from its tip, poised to fall.
Matt’s perception of Garland’s cock—from his kneeling, neck strained upwards, birds-eye view—was that this cock would be a choking hazard when it came to the face fucking part of their arrangement. The whole “objects in this mirror may appear larger than actual size” thing.
Matt’s tongue flicked out—bullfrog-like—trying to snag the droplet of pre-cum as if it were a fly perched on the tip of Garland’s dick. Flicked, but caught nothing because Garland stepped back a few inches.
Matt wobbled forward to catch the dancing dick, got slapped for his initiative.
“Now your pussy’s out of focus,” Garland growled. “There’s a reason I backed away from you. You’re not ready to taste my cock.”
Matt scooted backwards, aligned his ass with the fucking mirror. “Not ready?”
“Your lips aren’t coming anywhere near my cock until your cock stands down. This isn’t a sword fight.”
Matt sighed. The cuffs were biting into his wrists.
This horse-whisperer-tames-wild-Mustang thing was wearing thin.
In other words, he was ready to admit that this whole reckless decision of his had skewed into the 35% of such decisions that went disastrously wrong for him.
He was about a minute away from reneging on the deal.
“And how exactly am I supposed to make my cock go soft?” Matt asked—not without sarcasm. “It’s always had a mind of its own, which is why I spent most of my middle and high school years with my legs crossed.”
Garland gave Matt a pitying look. “The only reason your cock is hard is because, somewhere deep inside, you are clinging to the desperate hope that you’ll get to squirt, too. As long as your cock is pointing north, I know that you aren’t properly focused.”
Garland stepped closer to Matt. “Try it. Try focusing solely on servicing my balls.”
Matt started on the balls again. Sent his tongue through every hairy scrotal trough. Memorized the landscape and the hotspots. Learned that the lightest of swirling licks at the South Pole elicited dewdrops of pre-cum that splattered on his eyelashes.
Soon enough, Matt’s own cock was in full stand-down mode, just a soggy melted snowman of a dick.
“Attaboy!” Garland praised him. “Now you can taste the shaft.”
Matt beamed as though he had just scored the winning goal for his team. Hungrily worked his way up Garland’s shaft, unfazed by the fact that his own was a wet noodle. He sucked Garland’s mushroom head into his mouth.
Garland slapped Matt’s cheek. “You’re losing focus,” he warned. “The compass is starting to point north again.”
Matt felt it, too. Knew that he’d let his mind wander.
Only when the wind had gone out of Matt’s sail, when he had slicked the whole surface of Garland’s cock with saliva and frothed it ‘til a steady stream of pre-cum pulsed from the tip, did Garland tell him to rest a moment.
“Are you ready to be face fucked?” Garland asked.
Matt nodded nervously.
Garland placed his hands on Matt’s cheeks, teased Matt’s jaws open with his thumbs.
“Relax your neck,” Garland instructed. “Rest your head in my hands. Let me guide it back and forth, up and down, side to side.”
That was easier said than done. It took a few trial runs before Matt surrendered control, became a living sex doll with a mouth-shaped hole in its head.
Garland eased his cock into Matt’s mouth, inch by inch.
“Look up at me,” Garland said. “I want to see those pretty blue eyes. I want to see your total surrender. Open your throat and let me fuck it.”
Matt stared into Garland’s eyes. Felt Garland’s cock sliding across his tongue, pushing deeper.
Felt it retreating until the cockhead neared the exit.
Absorbed the forward thrust until pubic hairs tickled his nostrils.
Matt cupped his tongue to ease the cock’s passage.
Adjusted his lips to provide perfect friction.
Breathed through his nose and suppressed his gag reflex.
Became a flexible Raggedy Andy doll—a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, handcuffed one with an arched back and beautiful boy pussy reflected in a Cheval mirror.
Felt jets of cum hitting the back of his throat and sliding down, warming him ‘til he glowed with contentment and slumped to the floor, his own cock still soft.