Ungentlemanly Conduct
By Musuko

Little Timmy’s transformation over the past two weeks had surprised even me. Gone was the mouthy little slut of the children’s home. Here to stay was the sweet, trembling innocence of a little boy made into an even littler boy. He really had become an angel. If I weren’t such a pervert, with intentions unseemly, you could almost say I was doing a service to society, accomplishing far more than any juvenile court had ever done.
	Now, however, and almost sadly, I had the task of bringing a little of that past life back into his world. It was time to defile the innocence that I had created. It was a shame, but that was the way of my agreement with Mike. I did wonder, though, how this would work with a blemished canvas. My usual boys were all innocent to begin with, only pushed back a little in age, then brought crashing into adult depravity with great effect. With Timmy...well, he had already visited adult carnality. How authentic would his new innocence be against a return there?
	And then there was his little boy cock to think about. Since I had trained him to leave it alone, and had treated him to mix 16, he had become a little cannon down there, ready to go off at any moment. I don’t think I’d seen him without an erection for at least a week. Always horny, always hard, a little boy at the very blazing sunrise of puberty, cruelly cut off from his own self-pleasure, with all that need backing up. He hadn’t had a wet dream yet. His diaper was always clear of boy seed. And he was dutifully leaving it alone. How might he act once I’ve started pushing my pleasure onto him?
	The answer came to me, as it so often did, whilst chatting with Mike. It was late evening, just before 8. I was keeping Timmy up late so Mike could see him. The little kitten was a drooping, sleepy mess in my arms, resting in my lap, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was dressed for bed, wrapped up in his nice thick clean diaper and snuggled into his soft fleecy blue sleeper suit, the one with bunny faces on it. His short, adorable muzzle was hidden behind the wide base of his paci, and he was suckling it rythmically, with the automatic motion that he’d developed about a week ago. Put something in his mouth, and he’ll suckle it.
	Mike, of course, picked up on this point most of all.
	I carefully nudged Timmy towards the centre of my chest so I could reach the keyboard. The webcam was positioned correctly, showing Timmy, not showing my face. In the chat window, the black square of Mike’s cam greeted me. He never turned his on unless he had a boy to show me, and I always did likewise.
	Good evening you two he typed.
	Hello Mike.
	How’s the little guy today?
	The same as usual. Behaved. Adorable. Horny as all fuck.
	Hah. I bet he is. Think you’ll let him shoot soon?
	I looked down at the top of Timmy’s head. His suckling was a little slower, as was his breathing, and he was turned sideways to me, cheek against my chest. I suspected he was asleep. I felt my paw across to his lap and squeezed my fingers against his padded crotch. Sure enough, through the thickness of cotton and plastic, I could feel the outline of his little hardon. He shivered and shifted in my lap, lips parting and letting the paci teat slide out a fraction. An adorable little gasp, before he settled still again and resumed his suckling. I could almost feel Mike’s enjoyment through the computer.
	Probably not. I’ll leave that to you when I hand him over.
	Oh don’t count on me letting him. I may not be as mean as you, but I know a good idea when I see it. Keep the horny boy horny...that sounds perfect.
	Perfect, maybe. But not easy. I suspect he’ll just end up exploding the moment I get my cock into his rear.
	Hmm. True. You can prevent that, though.
	How? Lock it up? A chastity you mean?
	Oh no, nothing like that. That’s no fun at all. I know you don’t like them.
	Then what?
	Have you heard of CBT?
	Cock and ball torture, yes, of course I have.
	No, not that. The other CBT. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
	No, I haven’t heard of that. What is it?
	Well, it’s a science thing. I don’t understand most of it really...and hell, what I do understand is probably wrong. But, well, you know Pavlov’s dog?
	Getting confused now, Mike.
	Hah! Sorry. Okay, let me start over. He enjoys sex, right?
	I guess so. He wouldn’t have done it so young if he didn’t.
	Well, you want him to not enjoy it, yes?
	Correct.
	Easy then. All you need to do is make sex unenjoyable for him.
	How do you mean?
	Well, you know that thing parents do when they catch a kid smoking?
	You mean where they make the kid smoke a whole pack?
	And then another, and another, yes. That’s the one.
	Yeah, I know about that. So what?
	So...think about it?
	…
	…
	…
	Mike, you’re a fucking genius. Thank you.
	Don’t mention it, Stevie. You off now?
	Yeah, I think I’ll get started.
	Great! Before you go, just one thing for me.
	Name it.
	Squeeze his cock again for me.
	Hah! You got it.

So Timmy didn’t get to go to bed that night. I took him into the next room over, the one that all of my boys got introduced to sooner or later; the sex dungeon. It was a crude name for the room, but it perfectly described it. While the nursery was all pale painted wood and soft fluffy furnishings, this room was cold chrome and leather and steel and rubber. It was a wonderful room. But, I couldn’t let Timmy see it yet. So, before heading in, I fetched a blindfold for him and slipped it down over his sleeping eyes. He woke up to that, turning his head questioningly, slipping his paci out and letting it drop to hang from its ribbon.
	“Wha? What’s going on daddy?”
	“Nothing, sweetie. Just sit still, okay? I’ll be ready in a minute.”
	I watched him shuffle about, feeling his mittened paws down either side of him. I could tell he was puzzled, finding himself sat on the cool leather of the big armchair I sit in when I’m watching a boy hanging from the shackles, struggling and crying.
	“T-this isn’t bed,” he said.
	“No sweetie, it’s not. Just sit still. I’m nearly done.”
	It’d been a while since I had used the sling. I tended not to have the boys in it. I wasn’t sure why. I guess it was just because it was a crossing of worlds. I had adult playmates in the sling. The boys went into other restraints and contraptions. Still, Timmy was a little of both, after all, when he came to me. So perhaps it wouldn’t be so weird.
	I got the final chain adjusted, getting the size and proportions correct for his smaller frame. Then, I scooped him up, and lay his padded butt gently down into the curve of the hanging leather, easing him down onto his back. He started to whimper. It must have felt strange, laying on something that so disconcertingly shifted when I moved him. I lifted each weak wrist up towards the padded leather cuffs fitted on the corner chains, then did the same with his ankles and buckled the straps across his chest and tummy.
	I stood back and admired. A beautiful little cub in his baby bedtime clothes, blindfolded and scared, cuffed and strapped, laying on his back in a leather fuck swing, arms up and to the sides of his head, legs up and bent, padded butt readily accessible. I got my phone out and took a photo, send it on its way to Mike. I only had to wait a few seconds for the reply.
	Fuuuuuuck me that’s good.
	I chuckled silently. Yeah, it was good. I couldn’t wait to use him like that. But that would have to wait.
	I turned to the toy cupboard and started my search. I hadn’t used it in a while. Ah, there it was. A wicked device. I loved it. A simple thing, really. Just a clear plastic tube, with some rubber rings ridging the inner surface, some wires, a little box, and a clear tube hanging off from the tip.
	Oh yes, I’d had some fun with this toy. A milker. The name said it all. I walked over to Timmy and lay the toy down on his tummy. He flinched and trembled.
	“W-what’s that?”
	“You’ll find out soon.”
	I carefully unzipped his sleeper, tugging the opening down towards his crotch, revealing the white plastic skin of his diaper bulge. Underneath, as always, was his little hardon. I stroked the bulge, feeling him writhe underneath me, tugging on his wrist restraints and pulling his hips up towards me. My crotch was right up against his padded rear, and I was looking down at him with the same view I’d get if I were fucking him, and I imagined how he might look when he was older. Late teens, perhaps. It was a nice mental picture. And, fleetingly, I imagined what it’d be like to keep Timmy, rather than hand him over...what it would be like to have him grow up in my care.
	I shook the thought away and worked the opening wider until I could reach the straps of his diaper. I tugged them open and carefully eased down the front. Beneath, as expected, was his stiff cock, and his wriggling stopped. He was tense, poised, breath held. I think he imagined I was about to finally treat his cock to some attention. I doubt he expected what he got; the cold squirt of lube, and the slick feeling of the plastic and rubber tube sliding down his eager shaft, nestling at the base, and then clamping on tight as the rubber ring around the base inflated and held snug onto his shaft.
	“W-what is that?” he gasped, lust grating in his voice.
	“Just a nice surprise for you. Do you like it?”
	“Y-yeah.”
	“I’m glad.”
	I threaded the tube down into his diaper, nestling it between his legs, so the end was pointed right over his tailhole. I arranged the wires out of the way and hung the control box on the corner chain of the sling, then carefully taped his diaper back up over the milker and closed his sleeper back up halfway. I licked my lips, staring at his covered crotch, enjoying knowing what was under there.
	I pressed the on button on the control box, setting on low. Immediately, his slim body flinched and rattled the chains of the sling, making him sway slowly.
	“F-fu…oh go...mmmph!” he clamped his mouth shut and whined through his lips. Oh it was delicious, watching him react to the suckling feeling on his cock, to the up and down milking squeeze of the flexible, motorised rubber rings. No cock in the world could resist its attentions. Especially not that of a young teen who hasn’t cum in weeks.
	I sat back in my chair, and had the presence of mind to turn on the camcorder on its stand next to me, adjusting its aim to drink in the view. Mike would probably pay me for it. I reclined, my own paw on my lap, just idly kneading, waiting...waiting for the moment…
	...and there it was. The tense, shuddering clench of his entire body. The shifting of the fabric on his mittens and booties as his fingers and toes curled up, the bending of his legs, the weak struggling against his restraints, the spasmodic pumping of his hips, and the long, low moan and final, panting cry.
	“Oh fuuuuuuck yes! Oh yes! Oh! Oh!”
	The milker slurped up what was no doubt the biggest load in his life. I wondered how much it’d be. At his age, probably not much. But this one was certain to be more than usual. Weeks built up. Oh yes, it’d probably even be impressive even by adult standards. And all of it was being steadily pumped down that little tube to dribble right onto his naked tailhole pucker. And yes...there, I spotted the exact moment he felt the warm, slimy liquid trickle onto his skin; the moan, the shudder, the quiet whimper of depraved shame.
	And then I waited, and the milker continued its suckling. For a while, all was good for him. It was continued pleasure, riding out the rest of his orgasm. But as it faded, and his sensitivity increased, and the stimulation continued, mindless and endless and merciless, he started to whimper.
	“Ugh...t-too much daddy. Turn it off, please? Please daddy? Turn it off? Daddy! Please turn it off daddy please! Daddy?!”
	I stayed quiet. I watched as he started to writhe, started to wail...and then cry. I felt a little remorse, because I knew how horrible it must feel. But this was what he needed; to associate orgasm with something horrible, so that he wouldn’t seek it, so he would fear it, and recoil from any attempt to bring him to orgasm...just as a little baby boy should.
	I checked the clock. It was late enough. I could sleep. The boy wasn’t gagged. His restraints weren’t anywhere they could get around his neck. But all the same, I wasn’t going to leave him alone. I reclined the chair all the way and closed my eyes, listening to the sweet lullaby of a lilting boy’s voice twisted into unhappy, scared, tortured whimpers, as the cruel milker continued its suckling. I vaguely remember his voice rising to loud wails...probably his second, torturous orgasm, of many more to come...before I slid off to sleep.

Morning came with the beautiful dawn chorus of a boy’s soft moans and the quiet hum of a motor. I rubbed at my eyes and stood, stretching, yawning, aching...the seat might be comfortable, but not all night. I felt sweaty in my clothes. I looked at the boy. I wondered how he felt.
	Well, I could get a good idea from how he looked. His fur was limp and bedraggled on his forehead, sweaty from the same heat that had made me damp. I could smell that he had loaded up his diaper overnight, as he always did. And another smell, rich and potent, lingering through everything else; the smell of boy cum. I padded over to his trembling, half-awake body, and turned off the milker, giving his poor cock the first rest in...I looked at the clock...oh my, nine hours. Poor kitten.
	I stroked his tummy, and he mewled and lifted his head. He was still blindfolded, and that was quite impressive; he hadn’t pushed it off of his eyes, as he could so easily have done, using his upper arm or shoulder. That made me smile. He was living within his confines. I wondered if he would take advantage of an opening to escape if one ever came up.
	I opened up his sleeper. He was awake now, breathing gently, audibly, but saying nothing. Too tired, perhaps. Maybe hating me? I untaped his diaper and eased the front down. Very gently, I deflated the ring on the milker and eased it off of his slimy, cum-soaked cock. I unthreaded the tube from between his legs, then pulled the diaper down more and had a look.
	There, amongst the liquid muck of his nightly messing, was copious translucent white slime of boy cum. God, how many times had he cum overnight? I glanced over at the camera. I’d be able to find out later.
	Before I taped his diaper back up, I had one thing to test. I put my paw over his still-hard cock. Instantly, he yelped and wriggled in the sling, trying to turn sideways away from my touch. Perfect! He didn’t want any attention or stimulation on his cock whatsoever. Now, I only had to hope it lasted. I taped him back up, zipped the sleeper back up, then undid his restraints and lifted him up into my arms. He slumped against my shoulder, half-asleep.
	Breakfast time.

He was much transformed after breakfast, his injection, his bath and his diaper change. He had woken up a bit, and was once again watching the world with his bright, almost-happy eyes, over the top of his ever-present pacifier. If anything, he was far more cubby than ever before. He didn’t speak. He seemed constantly dazed and fogged. I wondered if it was because of the trauma of his night-long milking, or if it was from lack of sleep. Perhaps both. Maybe I would need to experiment with this.
	But for now, I kept him cuddled in my lap while we watched some cartoons. He kneaded his mittens against my chest, and barely watched the screen. He made soft cooing noises into his paci.
	I almost felt bad when I had to raise the inevitable topic.
	“You swore last night.”
	He went still, and his fingers stopped moving. He stared into the middle distance. Slowly, eventually, a small whine escaped his lips.
	“You know what that means, don’t you Timmy?”
	His paci dropped from his lips.
	“Noooo…please…”
	“I’m sorry, Timmy. You know the rules. Little cubbies aren’t allowed to swear.”
	The tears welled in his eyes already. Such a quick response. But he was resigned to his fate. There was no fussing when I lifted him up and carried him back to his nursery. He clung to me as if seeking comfort from the very cause of his distress. I felt bad, I really did; after all, I had put him into a situation with stimulation he’d never felt before, and it had overwhelmed him. It had defeated his self-control, and he had slipped up. But rules are rules, and he had to learn, as hard as that was for him.
	I sat in the rocking chair and laid him face down across my lap. I was being kind; his diaper and sleeper were still on. He would get the spanking through their cushioning. He clung to my thigh and pressed his face down against me, already sobbing weakly. I rested my paw on his bulging rear and massaged it a little. Then, I lifted it up, and I felt him tense in preparation.
	“Tell me why you’re getting spanked, sweetie.”
	“B-buh-cus I swore, d-daddy.”
	I brought my paw down with a firm swat against his rear, and he jolted forwards across my lap.
	“Ah! O-one!”
	“And why shouldn’t you swear, sweetie?”
	“C-cos little cubs don’t swear, daddy!” he wailed.
	Smack! A little harder. He yelped and wiped his teary cheek against my thigh.
	“And who’s my little cub, sweetie?”
	“I-I am daddy.” The tone of his voice surprised me for a moment; it was soft, quiet, almost a whisper, and very calm. My paw hesitated, raised in the air. Then, belatedly, I swatted his rear, gentler than before.
	“Who’s my little cub?” I said, more quietly.
	“I am, daddy.” Soft. Quiet again.
	And that is when I realised…

Of course, I should have seen it coming earlier. What a stupid idiot I was. I knew it happened with the other boys. It always did. It was a defence mechanism. When Mike stole them away from their families, they were ripped from their parental support, and they felt lonely and helpless and isolated, and they latched onto any substitute they could find. That substitute would invariably be me...and then later, Mike.
	But...had Timmy ever known a proper family, with parents, with the kind of care that he was now desperately seeking in me? I didn’t know...but the way he said those words gave me good reason to believe that no, he had not. And now here I come, steaming in, taking over his life, and giving him exactly the kind of authority, control...and care...and all the things you could mistake for love...and he had soaked it all up.
	And now…
	I looked down at him. Then, rested my paw on his rear. I couldn’t do the fourth spank. I scooped him up and pressed him against my chest and curled my arms tight around him, rubbing his back, shushing soothingly, rocking the chair.
	“I’m s-sorry I swore, daddy.”
	“It’s okay.”
	“I won’t do it again.”
	“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”
	“I won’t do it again. I’ll be good. I promise daddy.”
	“Alright. It’s alright.”
	“I lo…” His voice caught. I stopped stroking. “I love you daddy.”
	Well...that was new.

Mike’s words blinked onto the screen. I hadn’t expected his reply so quickly. Normally, he was away from the keyboard, off making some boy scream.
	Run that by me again.
	I think I want to keep this one, Mike.
	I see.
	I waited. His typing icon didn’t appear. It didn’t seem like more was going to be forthcoming. I waited a little longer. Eventually, I replied.
	So...what do you say?
	I’ll think about it.
	He logged off. Interesting.

I knew Mike had a temper. He tended to get his way in life, so any instance where he didn’t was a shock to the system that he wasn’t prepared to cope with. So he would fly into a rage, and put things around him at risk. I had a sneaking suspicion that he kept one poor boy somewhere in his home for the sole purpose of soaking up his frustrations. I hoped to hell that boy had a masochistic streak. Knowing Mike, he picked one that most definitely did not.
	Timmy spent the afternoon sleeping in my lap. I didn’t know what to do. If Mike decided he wanted to keep Timmy, as per our normal agreement, then I really wasn’t in a position to say no, was I? Mike knew my address. I didn’t know his. That was the way it worked; I was the vulnerable one, I was the one who had to keep in line. And in return, he took away a lot of the risks of what I did. I didn’t have to fear getting caught grabbing some kid off the street. And in return, I only had to fear him.
	Fuck. I shouldn’t have messaged him. I should have just packed up and fled. I had enough savings. I could have been away in some distant corner, alone in a new life with Timmy, before Mike even had a chance to notice I was missing. That’s what I should have done. Bugger. Too late now.
	The computer blinked. It was Mike.
	A compromise, because I like you.
	I’m listening.
	You get to keep Timmy. After I get one day with him.
	I froze. It was a good deal. Better than I expected. Better Timmy suffer one day of torture, than the rest of his life, right?
	Mike was typing again. An additional comment.
	You will be there in the room with us, and you’ll obey my every instruction. That’s the offer. Do we have a deal?
	I didn’t need to think it over. I really should have done. But when you’re starving and you’re offered a scrap…
	We have a deal. Thank you Mike.
	You’re quite welcome. I’ll send you the details in a few hours.
	
I stood at the gates, staring up at the wide expanse of brick and windows. It was a big house. A very big house. Fuck, it was a mansion. Mike lived in a mansion.
	Or at least, I told myself, he probably owned a mansion. Whether he had just one, and whether he lived in this one, I didn’t know, and probably wouldn’t know. Perhaps his safety was in wealth, rather than in hiding. I bit my lip. I was a little excited. This was power like I had no idea.
	I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and hefted the duffel bag up a little higher, and pressed the buzzer for the gate. It rolled open for me, and I made my way up the drive.
	Okay, this was it. Deep breath.
	The sight that met me at the door made my heart spin. An adorable little chipmunk boy, no older than six, dressed in a white collar, black bow tie...and nothing else. He had to stand on a box to reach the doorknob to open the door for me, and he greeted me with a polite smile.
	“Good morning, sir! Master said to meet him downstairs. This way!”
	I stared, stunned. I knew that boy! I had spent a month with him about a year ago! Clearly, he didn’t remember me, or was too well-trained to let me know that he did. He hopped down off the stool and scampered away across the marble floor, around the base of a staircase that dripped with gold leaf, to a big oak door at the far end.
	“This way sir!”
	I couldn’t help notice the base of the fat buttplug wedged between the small mounds of his little butt. Lucky Mike. I helped the little guy with the door, and made my way down the darkened steps beyond, guided only by the dim light of evenly-spaced candle bulbs set into the wall. Just enough to see by.
	At the bottom, a wide stone chamber opened up in front of me, with high vaulted ceilings, and alcoves all along the walls. A wine cellar. But where ancient vintages once sat, instead were tastefully-lit and achingly expensive bondage frames; X-frames, benches racks...everything you could ever hope for. I felt my stomach tie in knots. I felt a little jealous of Timmy. I rather fancied trying them out for myself.
	I set the duffel bag down. A soft “Mmmph” sounded from inside.
	“Sorry, sweetie.” I crouched and unzipped the bag, tugging the sides down around my naked kitten, hogtied, blindfolded and ballgagged. I untied his wrists from his ankles and slipped the ballgag free from his mouth.
	“Ah. Thank you daddy. W-where are we?”
	He was turning his head about, as if trying to look through the blindfold.
	“Just visiting a friend.”
	“It’s cold.”
	“I know.”
	“I’m n-not wearing my diaper. What...what if I have an accident?”
	“You won’t. It’s fine.”
	“I’m scared, daddy.”
	“I know.”
	The lights rose in what was a darkened corner of the room. There, sat in a chair not unlike mine back home in my rather more modest play room, was a large reptilian feature. A croc. No...an alligator. The face was hidden, clad in a thin leather mask that covered all but the eyes and the mouth. Mike...it had to be. I’d never imagined Mike was a scaley.
	He stood up. He was half a foot taller than me, and strong...very strong. There were muscles underneath the leathers. The paws in those leather gloves looked like they could snap me in half. I was instantly cowed. No thought of reneging remained in my head.
	“Hello, Stevie,” he said. Yes. I knew that voice. Definitely Mike. “And Timmy.”
	“W-who’s that?” said Timmy.
	“Quiet, sweetie. It’s okay. Hello Mike. Well...we’re here.”
	He walked over to a low wooden table. I could see the light glint off of shackles at its corners. No, not a table. A rack. He tapped the centre of it. “Over here, please.”
	I crouched down and slipped my arms underneath Timmy, rolling him to my chest and lifting him up. He cuddled to me as best as he could with his ankles tied together and his wrists tied behind his back. I walked over and gently laid him down on the rack, trying not to think about the rough wood splintering against his naked fur.
	Mike pulled out a flick knife, and I tensed. But he chuckled, and cut the ropes on Timmy, rolling the boy over onto his back. Timmy’s arms came up, paws touching Mike’s wrist. Not resisting. Just feeling, exploring. Thankfully.
	“Ah. No muscle relaxant injection today?” said Mike. “Good, just like I asked. You’ve done well.”
	I stood quietly, biting my tongue. Everything about this felt wrong. The shackles on the rack were sized for a cub. In fact, now that I thought about it, I noticed that everything in the room was sized for a cub. If Mike ever had adults as playmates, he certainly didn’t have them in this room. I watched silently as Mike manipulated Timmy’s wrists into the shackles, clicking them snugly shut. Then his ankles. My kitten was naked and spread wide, shackled to the rack, whilst Mike kept his toothy smile faced to me.
	“Are you ready for this, Stevie? It’s going to be quite a show.”
	“Yes,” I said, my throat feeling dry.
	“W-what’s going on?” whimpered Timmy.
	“It’s okay, Sweetie. Whatever happens, I’m here. Don’t be scared.”
	Mike’s laughter rolled through the room. “Oh no. It’s very much not okay. You should be very scared, Timmy.”
	I could have killed Mike then. If I had it in me. I hid my glare as best as I could, balling my fists behind my back. I felt my skin tingle. I felt adrenaline surge. The fight or flight reaction had kicked in, and my body was getting ready for something, even while my mind was screaming for calm, screaming for patience...just let him get this over with, and get Timmy home, and everything would be okay.
	But then Mike unhooked the whip from the back of his belt. It was a monstrous thing. A full-sized bullwhip. That thing would rip Timmy apart! This couldn’t happen.
	Mike raised his arm up, and the whip flew up and over his head, cracking in the air behind him.
	“No…” I whispered. Mike didn’t hear me. The whip reached the peak of its arc, and Mike’s arm came swinging back forwards. His face was split with a devilish smile. Timmy’s naked body lay exposed in the whip’s path...helpless, scared, unaware of the horror on its way to greet him.
	“NO!” I screamed! The rage surged in me, beyond all logic and sense. Primal instinct to protect and defend took control of my body. And I leapt forwards and...

The end. ;)