Summer Speedo Spectacular - Part 12 (Public) (Patreon)

Part Twelve – starring Cloud Strife, with ‘support’ (sic) from Sephiroth

Here in Sparkieland summer is always with us – complete with all the muscled bodies and well-filled speedos we would surely expect. And Cloud Strife is certainly a fine summery specimen of young manhood – and not shy about strutting his stuff while scantily clad. But that happy exhibitionism has now gotten the boy into deep, deep trouble, because arch-enemy Sephiroth has pounced and overpowered him and led him gloatingly away.

And now Cloud hangs helpless in chains, shackled wrist and ankle alike to an upright pole of steel which holds him all-but immobilised. There is no escape from such well-forged restraints and all his efforts have brought him nothing but exhaustion and a sense of near despair. But the arrival of Sephiroth, grinning, gloating and intent on a leisurely and thorough abuse of the boy’s barely-clad body, brings his plight home to him in the most immediate manner.

His buttocks squeezed each in turn, the man-bulge of his tight speedos manipulated by eager fingers, Cloud grimaces and pants, torn between furious humiliation and a growing sense of unstoppable arousal. Helpless under his enemy’s pale and searching hands, he can only twist and writhe within the strict limits imposed by the chains which bind him.

But worse by far is to follow; soon Sephiroth’s questing hand slips smoothly within the boy’s speedos and starts to stroke the sweating contents with a dominating control. Cloud’s eyes open wide – and he lets out a cry of protest and denial – but his assailant merely laughs, and allows his fingers to fondle their prize with an even greater insolence. Yet deeper they delve – and the boy gasps, his head tipping back against the post in alarm and dismay.  Between his sweat-slick thighs his enemy’s touch is bringing about a sensual response which he must fight with all his physical and mental strength combined. The sensations which course through him are as confusing as they are overwhelming: he knows that he cannot – MUST not – succumb to the sheer sensuality of it, but it is hard; harder all the time.

Nor is his assailant done: the long fingers dabble about his exposed armpits – and then slide smoothly down his chest to take a firm hold of the nub of each nipple and begin to tease and twist. This new torment causes Cloud to cry aloud and to struggle wildly with his bonds, but this reaction only provokes Sephiroth into redoubling the subtle suffering, squeezing both nubs ever more tightly. Tugging at his chains Cloud yells in pain and anger, his humiliation complete as he feels himself swell within the constricting tightness of his speedos – and hears the mocking laughter of his foe.

Filled with bitter humiliation Cloud finally slumps forward in his chains, his torso heaving for breath and his face flushing red with heated shame as he sees the revealing prominence of the bulge between his thighs. But his captor now takes hold of the boy’s head and lifts it, grinning in his horrified face – and again exerting his controlling dominance over his helpless prisoner. And then the pale hands rise, the pale lips descend – and Cloud finds himself being kissed, so deeply that it seems the very breath is being drawn from his body. His eyes widen – and then close – and his struggles cease for a hypnotic, long, ambiguous moment of strange communion with his arch-enemy. With a wrench Sephiroth draws away his mouth and, smiling, pats Cloud’s blond head before jauntily taking his leave, that strange smile still playing over his lips.

And Cloud, his senses in turmoil, is left hanging in his chains.

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