The young squire boy trembled in fear. He had been in his cell for what seemed like an eternity. The king had ordered him to be interrogated, and he was terrified of what that might entail.

The young lad, 14 years of age, was in the service of a wealthy nobleman and landowner who was opposed to the rule of this particular king. As such, the boy was often used to deliver coded messages to others of a like mind throughout the kingdom. It was on one of these late-night missions that he had been captured by the king’s royal guard on a night patrol.

After spending a cold night in bonds, he had been brought before the king. The monarch was informed of the young squire’s clandestine mission and was presented with evidence of treason: a note on parchment written in code. The king believed that the young lad knew the code, but the boy refused to betray his master.

“Very well,” declared the king sternly. “If you will not willingly talk, you will be interrogated. Take him to the royal interrogator. Return once you have the information I desire.” And with that the young teen was dragged out of the room by two guards and taken down a long corridor of steps to the lower levels of the palace. There he had been placed in his current room, a small cell with a wooden pallet to lay or sit on as one desired and a bucket of water.

Despite his efforts at courage, the youth was terrified. The king’s royal interrogator was known by reputation for extracting information the king desired. It was rumored that no one had ever withstood his interrogations for long. The boy tried hard to remain strong and put on a brave front, but he knew the truth: no one could resist the interrogator’s methods.

The lad tensed as he heard heavy footsteps approaching. The door to his cell swung open and two guards entered. They grabbed the boy by the arms and dragged him into the hall. He was thus escorted down the corridor and through a large doorway leading to another room. His heart seized and his breath caught in his chest. It was the interrogation room.

“Ahh, the young messenger boy, I see.” The voice came from a man in a dark red robe, the royal interrogator. “Place him on the rack,” the man said in an emotionless voice and a gesture of his hand. The guards did as ordered, dragging the boy across the room to a wooden rack with iron shackles for his hands and feet. Once there they pulled him to his feet and one of the guards drew a knife. The boy tensed up, but the guard proceeded to only cut away the lad’s clothing, a simple smock given him by the jailers.

Within seconds the young teen was naked before them, his clothes at his feet. The guards lifted the adolescent onto the rack, firmly securing his hands and feet in the iron shackles. In less than a minute he was strapped down, his body pulled taut and spread-eagle by the mechanism. And with that the two guards left the room, closing the door behind them and leaving him alone with the man in red.

The interrogator had his back to the teen, apparently occupied with something else. “I am the royal interrogator,” he said solemnly, confirming the boy’s worst fears. “It is my job to extract information from you, specifically the code to translate the message you carried.”

The boy momentarily shivered, his naked body exposed to the cold dungeon air. The man continued. “The challenge, you see, is to find the right motivation for each prisoner. Some respond to the pain of torture, others to the fear of torture. But others...” he turned and looked intently at the boy. “Others require more – how shall I say it? – refined methods.” A wry smile appeared on his face.

The interrogator stepped toward the boy, walking right up to the rack. He stood there silently, looking over the boy from head to toe, taking in every square inch of his slender body. The boy couldn’t help but notice that the interrogator’s lips were pursed together as his eyes moved along the boy’s body. The lad tried his best to control his breathing, putting on the bravest face he could.

“I have never interrogated a boy of your tender age. Fourteen, I believe? Ahh, I remember being that young. Yes, I believe I have just the thing for you. Trust me, dear boy, you will talk. Yes, you most certainly will!” he laughed.

The royal interrogator extended his hand, his fingers gently touched the boys bicep first, gently squeezing it as if to feel his muscles. The boy tensed slightly, trying to appear strong. The man’s fingers slowly descended down to the boy’s armpit. His fingertips ever-so-gently stroked the young lad’s wispy armpit hair as if conducting a physical examination. The boy trembled slightly in response to the ticklish feeling. The man continued to move his hand along the boy’s young body, taking the time to feel and examine every inch of him, even using his fingers to trace the outline of the boy’s toned muscles.

Despite the fear of impending torture, the boy was mortified to realize that he was becoming aroused. Unbelievably his youthful penis was beginning to stiffen. This did not go unnoticed to the royal interrogator.

“Hmm, what have we here?” he asked quizzically yet knowingly. The boy froze. He could only imagine the horrors of what was prepared for him. “Don’t worry,” continued the interrogator. “I won’t hurt it. I intend to use it.” And with that his hand slid down the boy’s body and gently grasped his hardening member.

The royal interrogator slowly ran his fingers along the length of the young boy’s shaft, gently feeling their way from the base to the head. Upon reaching the head he gently wrapped his hand around it, slowly rotating his wrist to delicately stroke the head with a feather-light touch. The boy gasped in pleasure.

“Does that feel good, my boy?” asked the royal interrogator with a wry smile. “I know it does. That’s the point, you see.” His eyes looked at the boy as the boy returned his gaze. “I suspect that you would not respond well to fear or pain, so I need to find another way with you. And you have given me that way, just as I suspected you would.” The youth appeared confused.

“Let me explain,” said the man. “You will remain on the rack while I slowly stroke your young penis. You will find my technique to be slow and cruel, excruciatingly so.” A broad smile appeared on the man’s face. “The key, you must understand, is to stimulate your adolescent member to the very edge of what you are able to endure...without letting you release.” The squire’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, my dear boy. I will keep you on the edge of release for as long as I have to. Maybe hours, maybe days. Who can say?”

The boy began to breathe heavier. At 14 years of age he knew full well how horny he could get. There were days when he sneaked through his master’s house looking for an unoccupied room in which to relieve himself. He knew the overwhelming desire that his raging boner could produce, the irresistible urge to spurt sometimes more than he could bear. The thought of being erotically stimulated for hours, even days, was more than he could comprehend.

The royal interrogator’s little speech had had the desired effect, he observed. The poor boy was breathing heavy, his eyes and mouth wide open, and his adolescent cock stiff as an iron rod. This would be a productive day, thought the interrogator, productive indeed. The poor lad was caught somewhere between fear and anticipation – fear of his impending torture on the one hand, anticipating the erotic stimulation on the other. The royal interrogator smiled to himself, inwardly delighted at the adolescent’s hopeless predicament.

With that the man began to lightly stroke the boy’s turgid pole, always taking care to never go too fast. Up and down he went, at times his fingers barely touching the young lad’s member, never deviating from his excruciatingly slow pace. But that was all it took. Within minutes the youth began to ooze precum, a sure sign that the torture was doing its job.

The royal interrogator watched with sadistic satisfaction as the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, his lips slightly quivering. Yes, this was going to be an enjoyable day, he thought to himself. The fingers of his other hand roamed around the boy’s young body, sliding down to his scrotum and crotch, stroking his armpit hair, gently twirling his pubic hair. But through it all he continually focused his primary attention on the squire’s young cock, his raging, throbbing cock.

Within a short time the youth was moaning softly yet audibly. “Ohh. Ugh. Mmm.” Music to the torturer’s ears, it was. What had started out as a light emission of precum was quickly becoming a copious flow. Yes, this lad was horny, so very horny. And it was only to get worse – for him, at least.

As the minutes crawled by the interrogator ran his fingers gently along the boy’s pubic area and onto his belly. He leaned in close so the young man would be sure to hear. “It can all be over, you know. Just give me the code and I will give you the release you so desperately desire,” he whispered. “Think about it. All that tension in your young member, all that pressure and stress, released in one explosive moment. Think of what that would feel like. Yes, dear boy, your pent-up seed erupting from your penis, spurting powerfully from your body through the air. Think of how glorious it would feel.”

He was, damn, how he was! The boy was in sexual hysterics. The torment had only been going on for about an hour, but the young squire wasn’t sure how much more he could endure. He was constantly pulling against his restraints but to no avail; he was firmly secured. He had even tried thrusting his hips upward into the interrogator’s hand, hoping that it would be enough to trigger his release. But alas, the man had anticipated this and refused to play along, withdrawing his hand before the thrust was completed.

“Oh, God! Please, let me cum! Let me cum!” the boy pleaded in vain. The interrogator noted with a cruel glee that the poor lad had tears in his eyes. He also observed that his youthful body was drenched in sweat and his overstimulated cock was a deep red. Yes, the young squire was experiencing a level of sexual frustration that he had never dreamed possible. And the royal interrogator had no intention of letting it end anytime soon.

At this point the torturer unexpectedly bent down over the boy’s leaking penis, extended his tongue, and carefully lapped up the boy’s sexual secretions. “Ah, yes,” he said wickedly. “We certainly don’t want this to go to waste, now do we?” The royal interrogator had a taste for adolescent male emissions, it appeared. Although his tongue felt great, it was done in such a way so as to not allow the boy his desperately desired release. The interrogator was a master at his job, there was no question about it.

The boy began to doubt his resolve. Could he hold out? Was such a thing even possible? His young body wanted so desperately to ejaculate. In fact, that was all he wanted, all that occupied his teenage mind. His body was wracked with pleasure, all of it emanating from his erection. As he laid there helpless and at the mercy of a man who had no mercy, he realized that his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life. He was convinced that there was no sword forged in the kingdom that was harder than his prick at this moment. God, how he wanted to cum!

Suddenly the interrogator began to stroke the boy’s cock faster. Could it be? he thought with a faint glimmer of hope. As the man’s hand moved faster along the shaft and head, he leaned in to look the young squire in the eye. “Do you want this, boy? This is what you’re craving, isn’t it?” His hand continued the faster strokes, bringing the boy ever closer to the release he needed. “Just say it, boy. Give me the code and this all ends.” The hand sped up.

The lad was ecstatic. Perhaps the royal interrogator would have mercy on him after all and allow him to spurt! Oh, God, please let it be!

The interrogator ran his hand more fervently along the messenger boy’s raging boner, rotating his palm around the sensitive head for added effect. The boy felt the start of an orgasm! Then suddenly the stroking stopped and the interrogator wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base of the boy’s cock, squeezing it firmly. The result was instantaneous – the long-hoped-for orgasm stopped!

“No!!” screamed the boy at the top of his lungs, his adolescent voice cracking. “Oh, God! Please! Please!! Make me cum! I beg you, if you have any godly mercy, make me cum!!” The lad’s sweat-drenched body writhed in agony on the rack, his muscles tensed and struggled furiously against his restraints. But it was all to no avail. There was no escape, and both he and the interrogator knew it.

“I am in need of sustenance, my dear boy,” said the royal interrogator. “Let’s take a break, shall we? When I return in one hour, perhaps you will be more cooperative.” The man turned and walked out the door, leaving the poor, desperate boy to lie there for the next hour.

At the end of an hour the royal interrogator returned from his meal as promised. “So, have you used this time to consider your fate, young one?” he asked solemnly. Indeed the boy had.

As he laid there helpless and horny, he had arrived at a realization, however reluctantly. The rumors were true. No one could resist the interrogator’s techniques for long. Everyone broke. The boy looked up at the man, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yes, sir. I will give you the code. I swear it.”

The interrogator broke into a wide smile. “Excellent! You have made a wise choice, young squire.” He walked over to his desk and brought back a piece of parchment with a quill and ink well. “Very well, young lad, what is the code?” The boy, mentally and physically broken, reluctantly gave over the code. The interrogator called for a guard. “Here is the code. Have the message translated and take it to the king immediately.” The guard complied and departed.

Returning the quill and ink to his desk, the royal interrogator turned his attention back to the poor messenger. “All right, young man, you have given me what I wanted, now I will give you what you want. You want to cum, don’t you?” he asked somewhat sarcastically.

“Yes!” exclaimed the lad. “Yes! Please!!” he cried.

“Very well,” answered the man. “In a gesture of respect for such a worthy opponent, I will give you a choice. Shall I finish you off with my hand and let your youthful seed fly through the air, or shall I finish you off with my mouth and swallow your seed? Ahh, decisions, decision,” he mused. “What would you like, my boy?”

The young squire couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to cum so badly that he never imagined having a choice. “Swallow it!” the boy pleaded. “Please, sir, swallow it!”

“As you wish!” replied the interrogator. He bent over the rack and put his mouth on the young lad’s hopelessly overworked penis and began sucking, slowly at first but quickly speeding up. He paid special attention to the youth’s head, stimulating it mercilessly with his tongue. His efforts had the desired effect. The boy began to tremble, his body pulling in futility against his restraints, his hips beginning to thrust upward wildly. The boy approached his long-delayed orgasm like a wild animal. His adolescent penis throbbed and pulsed in the interrogator’s mouth as the boy exploded in release.

“OHH!! OHH!! OHH, GOD!!! OHH, GOD!!! AAARRRGGGHHH!!!! AAARRRGGGHHH!!! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!” his screams echoing off the walls and throughout the corridor as his stiff prick unloaded a volcanic torrent of his youthful semen into the royal interrogator’s waiting mouth. Despite the man’s best efforts he could only swallow so much. Neither had ever experienced such a massive release of male seed. Both wondered if it had ever happened before or would ever happen after.

Finally it was over. The boy’s body relaxed, his cries turned to whimpers, and his long-tormented penis went soft. While the interrogator had managed to swallow a significant amount of the boy’s cum, he couldn’t contain it all. It had dripped out of his mouth and onto the lad’s pubic hair, coating him in his own white, sticky cream.

The royal interrogator stood upright and wiped his lips, a satisfied look on his face. “I suppose I should tell you, boy, that once that note is translated, your master will be arrested and most likely executed. That means you will be without employment. But don’t worry. I will speak to the king. As an expression of his royal gratitude to me, I’m sure he’ll let me keep you as my own personal squire. After all, it would be a shame to waste such a wonderful young cock – and its delectable seed!”


Feedback is always welcome and responded to. My email is orbl1415@gmail.com.