The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life three

 

John and Marsha could soon tell that this was no ordinary touring bus. First of all, there were no seats, making the inside look more like a long tunnel than a place for passengers. Second, the floor and walls were covered with a soft, white foam padding. Third, they were not alone.

The converted bus was filled with other naked captives. Besides a one-time, uncomfortable trip to a nude beach, neither John nor Marsha had seen so many naked people in one place at one time. And by the way many of the captives sat with their arms wrapped around their legs, or with hands cupped over breasts and genitals, it was obvious that this was a new experience for many of them, too. Some wept quietly in their shame, while others clung to each other for comfort.

Both of them were struck by the sheer variety of people making the trip with them. While a few were clearly of model quality, many were overweight, while others were thin and bony. Some were older – a man and a woman who sat together about halfway down the cabin could easily be in their early 60s – while some seemed barely out of their teens.

All the eyes of the other captives looked up at John and Marsha. Some looked with hope, thinking that opening door was delivering rescuers. Other looked in fear, wondering what tormentors would acquire them next. Once it was determined that the two new passengers were as naked and helpless as themselves, their eyes dropped sadly to the floor.

John and Marsha found a clear space a few feet from where they entered. They sat down together next to a man who sat by himself cross-legged, his hands cupping his penis as if it would somehow increase his dignity. He looked to be in his 30s. Dark hair covered his head and his chest, stomach, and legs. His broad shoulders and muscular legs gave his body the appearance of a swimmer.

“What day is it today?” he asked his new neighbors in a tired voice.

“I’m not sure,” answered John. “Let’s see, they came for us on Saturday, and I think five days have passed, which would make today Thursday, I think.”

“Three days,” the man replied.

“How?” John questioned.

“I’ve been on this fucking thing for three days,” the man said, his voice rising in anger. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“I’m afraid, I don’t,” Marsha answered. “By the way, I’m Marsha Greenman and this is my husband John Hamilton.”

“I’m Roger Young,” the man replied.

“How has it been, here, on this bus?” Marsha inquired of him.

“Not too bad. I mean, they haven’t beaten us, and they feed us okay, and it isn’t too cold,” Roger Young replied. “It is a bit hard to sleep and every once in a while someone freaks out a bit. And these things,” he pointed to the GPS band on his ankle, “get a little irritating after a while.”

John and Marsha reflexively fingered their own bands, not more than a few minutes old on their bodies.

“So, how did you two get here?” Roger asked them.

 

Over the next minutes, John and Marsha recounted the story of their kidnapping and captivity. As Roger looked down sadly, they told how they had been beaten and then imprisoned in that miserable cell and forced to languish in their own filth for days on end.

“So, Roger,” asked Marsha. “How did you get here?”

“Well, up until a few days ago,” he explained. “I was an English teacher. I taught in Vermont, at one of those prep schools for very rich kids. You know, old brick buildings, ivy, stone paths: the whole lot. School was getting out for the summer and I was looking forward to a sabbatical year. All that was left to do was grade finals and go over senior projects.”

“I was sitting in my office when I got a visit from one of my students. His name was Kent Sterling. He was the school’s lacrosse star and all of the girls had crushes on him. I admit I had a bit of a crush on him myself. He wasn’t happy. He was due to go to Yale just like every male in his family for the last gazillion generations. That is, as long as he received Cs and higher in each of his courses. He was a pretty miserable student, but very good looking and extremely wealthy, so he was used to getting his way. Unfortunately, he completely blew off his project no matter how many times I had reminded him and he flunked his final pretty badly.

“I ended up giving him a D, which was pretty generous, I thought, considering his total disregard for his work. His first tactic was pity. When that didn’t work, he slowly got angrier and angrier. He’s a big guy, over 6 feet, lean, and muscular with dirty blond hair. In other words, he was quite an intimidating figure in my office. But I wouldn’t budge. Like a baby, he said something about getting his dad involved and that I would be sorry.

“Later that night, I was sitting in my usual spot at The Library, which was the local coffee shop. It was a small town, and this was the only thing open past 9 on a weekday. It was good place to read and unwind. Looking up, I saw Brett Sterling, who was Kent’s younger brother by a year. He was an excellent student, and I expected a lot out of this young man. He sat down at my table. I was uncomfortable. After all, I had just ruined his brother’s Yale career. But surprisingly, he thanked me. He said something about his brother getting a little too big for his own self, that it wouldn’t hurt him to learn a little humility. He offered to buy me something. I asked for a chai latte, and he went to the counter to pick it up. It was sweet and hot and good, but it was the last thing I remembered doing that evening.

“When I woke up, I felt like a lot of time had passed. As happens in those instances, I had the feeling that I didn’t know where I was or time it was either. But as I became more and more lucid, I discovered that I really didn’t know where I was, or what time it was.

“As I got my wits about myself, I noticed that I was in what appeared to be a locker room. Looking down, I noticed that I was wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and that heavy ropes secured me to a bench. I tried to speak, but my mouth was gagged with my own necktie. As I became more aware of my situation, I wriggled and grunted, but it was no use.

“Hey Kent, he’s awake, I heard a man’s voice say. I looked up to see about four or five male figures standing over me. It was Kent and a few of the other lacrosse buddies. The gag muffled my protests. It’s about time, I heard Kent reply. I told that fucker he would be sorry. He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with. He’s way over his head now.”

            “Suddenly, a female figure joined the group. It was Heidi Rockwell, Kent’s girlfriend. She seemed uncomfortable, and you might if your boyfriend had just kidnapped one of his teachers. As the group spoke, their plan became clear to me. The planned on photographing Heidi and I in a compromising position, and then using the photographs to ensure my compliance with their plans. In a way, it was funny, that they would photograph a gay man with a young straight woman.

            “Heidi was to pull my cock out of my shorts and then simulate giving me head. She seemed really squeamish about it, but Kent and his buddies promised her it would be no big deal, and that she was doing a good deed. The next thing I know, this young, blond, cheerleader type stuck her hand into the fly of my boxer shorts and carefully pulled out my prick.”

            “There was a collective gasp when they saw me. Well, and I don’t like to brag about such things, but I’m sort of big down there, and I think they were all surprised. Kent said something about finding ways to make it smaller later. Well, the poor girl took me in her hand and simulated giving me head while her friends snapped away.

            “Eventually, after she stopped, my underwear was torn from my body and then the group of them stared at my cock and balls with horror, shock, and a little bit of sadistic glee. Kent produced a small body of mentholated rub, the kind you rub your chests for colds, and he said that the stuff would certainly go a long way toward burning my prick down to size. The only problem is, none of them wanted to touch me down there, afraid that their buddies would think that they were gay. They tried to get Heidi to do it, but she said something about doing that was gross, and that those guys were sick, and she stormed out of the locker room.

            “I was spared that burning ointment that day, but that group seemed determined to torture me somehow without compromising their manhoods. So, for the next hour or so, this group of young men struck my prick with whatever was at hand: a tennis shoe, a ping pong paddle, a baseball glove. Very quickly, I was red and sore and tears filled my eyes as they laughed. Their plan was to keep me there for several days until I was to be taken somewhere by a Company, or something like that. With school out for the summer, there was little chance that anyone would find me.”

            “Over the next days, each of the guys took turns babysitting me. I could tell right away that it was important that nothing bad happened to me, so there was always someone close by. Each day, a group of them would carry me to the weight room for what they called ‘a little workout.’ They would tie my limbs to the various weight machines and add weight until it was obvious that I could simply not lift it. Then they would increase the weight a little more and then they would hold a lit cigarette lighter under whatever limb they wanted to stress. In order to avoid being burned, my muscles had to strain impossibly to lift that heavy iron.

            “After the weights, they would secure my arms to a treadmill and have me walk for hours at a time, it seemed. If they seemed unhappy with my pace or enthusiasm, they’d give my cock a good whack with a leather belt. In fact, over those few days, there wasn’t many times in which my cock was being tormented in some way. When our workouts were over, I was permitted to take a shower. The water was always kept cold so my teeth chattered and my body shivered and my balls pulled tightly against my body”

            “When I wasn’t actively being tormented, I was kept in some sort of bondage and gagged so I couldn’t bother my current guard. As the days went past, the guys slowly got used to being with a naked man and less concerned with their own heterosexuality and started to touch me down there. At first there were sharp slaps of the palm, but then some of them started grabbing and twisting my prick like a child might torment a pet cat’s tail. I would moan helplessly into my gag.

            “Then one day one of them – a tall, dark-haired young man named Justin – was pulling and twisting and it happened. I got hard. I could see an evil look come into his eyes. He grabbed my cock and started pumping it up and down, tentatively at first, and then with greater and greater vigor. In spite of myself, I was getting turned on. He found a good rhythm and I felt myself being brought closer and closer to the edge. Tied to my back on the bench, I was still able to thrust my hips up and down. I knew I was going to come, and one of my students was doing it to me. Here I was a captive and my idiot cock still craved the pleasure this young man was delivering.”

            “Then, just as I was about to come, he stopped. And smiled. He knew he completely controlled me that night and played this same game over and over. By the fourth or fifth time he brought me so close to release, I was literally crying from frustration. But he showed no signs of stopping. How could this young straight boy, I thought, be so damn good at this?”

            “Then he did something quite unexpected. He stripped off his own clothes and straddled my chest. He was smooth and muscular like a Greek statue, and his own cock was just as hard as mine. He proceeded to jerk himself off until the eyes rolled back into his head and he shot a long, sticky load onto my chest. And he didn’t stop there. He was insatiable. He’d bring me to the edge of coming, then he’d rub his own prick. I think I lost count of how many times he came. My chest was a mixture of his come in various stages from wet to dry.”

            “When he’d had enough, he walked off and took a long shower. And he never did bring me off, the little bastard.”

            “From then on, the other team members would find ways to pleasure my cock, but never did let me come. Finally, Kent himself got the courage to do what he had wanted to in the beginning: rub my prick with that mentholated ointment. That’ll burn him down to size he announced as he did so. The relentless burning of this gel coupled with the raw, sensitive condition of my cock, was amazingly painful. Some of the others experimented with the ointment, while one got the idea to place a pile of ice cubes on my crotch. It stung so bad, it felt like nails were being driven into me.”

            “By the time this truck came to get me, I saw it almost as a relief. When that one woman saw my cock, she almost looked like she felt sorry for me. My this time, my prick had been rubbed raw, scratched, coated with glue, written on with a ballpoint pen, all sorts of awful stuff. She told Kent that he would not be getting his money with me in that sort of shape and that he would have to clean me up. It took him a long time as he scrubbed me with sponges, brushes, and various soaps and cleaners, until my prick was a red and shriveled, yet clean, version of its former self.”

            At this point in his story, to demonstrate his point, Roger spread his legs apart and showed his tormented prick to his two new neighbors. Both John and Marsha had to keep from gasping. They had never seen a man so large down there before, or so obviously tormented. 

            “And here I am, like you,” he sad sadly.

            Marsha put a hand on his naked shoulder. “But at least we’re all here together,” she added. “I think if we stick together we should be okay.”

            The three captives, familiar with each other’s stories, sat close together. Food, they found out, was served three times a day from a window in the front of the bus in little cardboard trays. The food wasn’t especially tasty, but it was obviously designed for nutrition with lots of fresh, raw fruits and vegetables and grains. The soft floor was comfortable for sleeping, and the small sink and toilet at the back of the bus allowed basic personal hygiene.

            One day after waking up, the captives felt the bus stop. They all stared silently in fear and anticipation. Soon, they heard the familiar sound of the hydraulic platform, then the sound of keys in a lock, and then the shocking brightness of daylight. A naked human figure was pushed in and the door quickly closed. The body fell next to John and Marsha and their neighbor, Roger.