Blare moaned as he saw the afternoon light pass over his rump. Bending his knees, he pushed his buttocks back, tightening the grip on the noosed belt around the base of his cock. The belt ran under his balls, deep into the crack of his ass, up his back and the end tied to the bedpost of his bed. He looked down and looked at his head bulge with blood, his balls squeezing with semen. Blare looked up, and looked up longingly at his inspiration.<br/><br/>Thus was Blare Ortiz’s after school ritual. Thankfully he was a latch-key kid, his single Mom coming home deep into five in the afternoon. This gave him so much time to run around naked in the house, rubbing his cock on everything, humping the floor, shoving miscellaneous objects up his anus (he liked the produce section the best). Throughout it all he masterbated, masterbated hard, spilling his seed into the toilet, socks, paper towels (when he got to them), or used towels.<br/><br/>But the belt-bed frame ritual was his favorite, saved for special occasion like now when he made it out of his mid-terms without a significant fight. He liked the pressure, loved the sensation of being tied up and bulging. Over the head of his bed, stuck with scotch-tape and hope, hung the class-poster of this year’s class of St. Marquis School for Gifted Deviants- 75 students in uniform most of them bulging out of their pants or shirts.<br/><br/>Focusing on a bulge or a cleavage he started to slowly stroke himself, wondering if he would amass the courage to shove something real up his butt. The thought alone made his cock leak just a bit. With that he rowed even harder, pushing himself so back he thought his genitals would burst.<br/><br/>Of course, right then and there, the doorbell rang...