The Trustees

Jessie Colter hangs from the ceiling by his ankles, trussed like butcher’s meat. Hard, half-naked, he twists inside a straitjacket that pins his arms. Dirk Caber, broad and gray-bearded in crisp uniform, sneers at him. “Malefactor.” He steps in and pounds fist after fist into Jessie’s dangling torso, punching the air out of him. Jessie grunts. His cock jumps. Dirk’s hands soften—rough palms stroking pale thighs, gripping the round ass, slapping it red. Jessie yelps; his shaft thickens further. Dirk fetches the zapper. Current crackles along Jessie’s chest, down his abs, crackling over cockhead and balls. Jessie howls. Sweat flies. The noise bounces off tile. Caber unbuckles the jacket, drops Jessie onto his boots. Fingers tickle ribs, then clamp hard. More tools bite—cold steel, hot pressure—mixing sting with ache until Jessie shakes. Dirk decides there’s no more to learn. He drops to his knees, takes Jessie’s cock deep, sucks with hungry rhythm while his fist works the shaft in time. Jessie shudders, right on the edge, held there, gasping, until Dirk finally lets him spill down his throat.