Tuesday, August 1, 2023

Long lost Chapter in the "Waiting for Ross" storyline...This is Part 4 of Conversion

I found this long lost chapter.   WFR could be the best written rubber bondage fiction storyline ever.

Enjoy - Sir BnT 

Conversion Part IV

It was late, past 11 PM on Friday, but I was not tired. I stared at the e-mail I had retrieved from my sent items:

Subj: Photos
Date:2/3/03 9:21:18 PM Pacific Standard Time
From: hotnhairy
Attached are photos you requested. As shown, I followed up on your suggestions - cock/balls tied, butt plug, and Capsule suit.

I reread the e-mail and then studied the photos: The first was a closeup of my prodigious cock,hugely erect, encircled by straps and buckles, bulging blood vessels and dripping pre-cum. My shaved balls, restrained and separated, looked enormous, at the bursting point. In the second photo, my ass, which I had never bothered to examine much before in person, let alone in a photograph, showed the black rubber base of the plug. What I thought was striking about it, though, was the muscularity and shape: Smooth ripe melons below a tapered waist, my ass looked irresistible. I felt my cock rise up, responding to my own reaction, the desire to give the ass in the photo a thorough pounding. The third photo I sent to Matt showed how I looked in the Capsule suit: a strapping, obviously masculine form encased in shiny, skin-tight rubber; gleaming black muscles; rubber hood hugging a hunky male head and neck; large, wide manly feet and strong hands forming fists within sealed mitts; powerful, virile-looking thighs framing a crotch where the tight rubber could not conceal the large package underneath. In the photo, the Capsule suit exaggerated my masculine features, and yet dehumanized me, in a way I found highly erotic. Studying it was making me even harder. I slipped my hand inside my briefs and massaged my insatiable cock, which had seen quite a bit of solo action in anticipation of hearing from Matt. Yet, despite my own horniness in reaction to the photos, after several days there was still no response from Matt. Over the last few nights I had spent hours online, waiting for him, but his screen name never appeared. Had he recognized me from the photos, even without exposing my face; or some part of my body, even without my signature body hair? Was he just not interested? While I was going over all the possible scenarios in my mind, his screen name popped up on my buddy list. I dropped my cock and started typing.

hotnhairy: Did you get my e-mail?

About two or three minutes passed with no response. My cock started to droop.

RBRDOM: Yes. Noticed you need to learn to follow instructions. DID I NOT TELL YOU TO ADDRESS ME AS ‘SIR’?

Matt’s arrogance was still a surprise to me. Nevertheless, I could feel my cock surge as I typed my response.

h: Right, Sir. Got it, Sir.
R: My interest is non-existent unless you address me as SIR.
h: Understood, Sir.
R: Wearing your Capsule suit now, slave?

In seconds, my cock had sprung back to a full erection and was sticking up at attention through the slit in my briefs. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about being addressed as ‘slave,’ but my cock had evidently decided for me.

h: no Sir
R: put it on, slave

I hesitated. Surely he must know it wasn’t a matter of snapping my fingers.

h: will take a few minutes, Sir
R: I’ll give you 5 minutes to suit up, starting now. Don’t keep me waiting...

Feeling like an idiot madman, I tore off my socks, briefs, and t-shirt and grabbed the Capsule suit from a drawer. Struggling while I rushed through all the steps involved, I inserted my feet into the feet of the suit, attempted to draw the legs up quickly, pulled and stretched the suit upward and over, and wiggled into the hood and body of it as quickly as possible while trying not to destroy it. Sweating to race the clock, fumbling with the zippers through the mitts, I cursed when I caught the skin of my balls while closing the zippers around my crotch and ass.

The suit had seemed cold and slightly inflexible when I started. As I finished and sat in front of my computer, it felt thicker and tighter than I remembered, especially at my chest and shoulders. My head was perspiring heavily, and the sweat was interfering with my limited vision. I peered through the small perforations at the eyes of the hood, to try to find the angle at which I could see the keyboard. My fingers were slick with sweat and enclosed tightly in the rubber mitts attached to the suit. As quickly as the close-fitting rubber allowed, I typed into the instant message window.

h: badk, Zir. harc tp type w/ mitts & hoos
R: typos are not acceptable, slave. retype that and get it right if you expect me to keep chatting with you tonight.

Squinting through the pinholes in the hood, backspacing to correct letters when I got them wrong, I retyped slowly and laboriously. I could feel my hands and feet perspiring heavily within their rubber encasement. My cock was pulsating intermittently.

h: back, Sir. hard to type with mitts and hood, Sir
R: you’ll learn. how’s the suit feel, slave?
h: tight & sweaty, Sir. hot, Sir.
R: very nice. I like my slaves sealed, hot, sweaty, and in total bondage. You ready for that?

Not sure how to answer, I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what I was ready for.

h: yes, Sir.
R: good. Take a picture of urself right now, sitting at your computer, and send it to me.
h: will take some time Sir
R: I have time, slave. Also, make a new screen name for urself - rbrslv
h: Sir, yes Sir

As I carried out my tasks, I had weird sensations of hastily rushing and yet moving awkwardly and repetitively in slow motion. Taking the picture, downloading it to my computer, creating the new screen name, logging in again, e-mailing the picture, sending the IM - all seemed to take forever as I struggled to see and feel through the rubber to achieve the view and digital dexterity required to get everything done. It seemed a ludicrous situation, and at one point, while I was fumbling with the keyboard for what could have been the 20th time, I started laughing. I could feel the sweat building all over my body under the skintight suit, yet my cock was stiff and aching.

rbrslv: sent you the picture, Sir
RBRDOM: got it. That suit is quite tight on u.
r: should have gotten a large, I guess, Sir.
R: I like it as is. u need to sleep in it tonite.

I drew my head back in surprise. Under the hood, I could feel a look of doubt forming on my face. I didn’t think I could get any sleep that way.

r: I could try
R: the proper response is, ‘Sir, yes SIR’
r: yes SIR
R: and, it’s not a request. It’s an order! Do it!
r: right, Sir.

I was still put-out by his attitude. Was this really the sweet, eager-to-please, baby-faced Matt I used to order around in bed? About a minute passed with no further response from him. I typed “Sir?” into the IM box, and AOL told me he was not signed on.

I felt foolish, disconcerted, even on the verge of anger, as I disconnected. “Screw him,” I thought. Sure, he had gotten me to act crazy, squeeze into the rubber suit and jump through hoops, like some kind of kinky pet dog, but I certainly wasn’t going any further. I had no intention of lying in bed all night alone, trying to sleep in a hot, sweaty, uncomfortably tight rubber get-up just because he said so. Nevertheless, the pressure of the rubber against my cock and balls combined with the stimulation of chatting with Matt had left me in an uncontrollably horny state. My turgid cock, trapped under the slick tightness of the suit, demanded immediate attention. I stood up abruptly, cupped and squeezed my crotch with my mitt-covered hands, and then laid face down on my bed. Imagined visions of Matt in my mind mixed with the reality of the odors of sweat and rubber as I humped the bed vigorously and got lost in a pre-orgasmic frenzy. Grinding my pelvis into the mattress, I found myself fantasizing about being dominated by Matt. Oh, my beautiful Matt! I would do anything for you! My cock exploded quickly, strongly, pumping inside the rubber, almost painfully letting go, exuding cum in spurts, going on forever, until it finally stopped. I laid still. Minutes passed. I was insensible, drained, exhausted. I felt engulfed in sweat but too tired to do anything about it. I had a vague notion of wanting to get free of the rubber, but sleep was overpowering me. My body slackened and entered a state of deep relaxation.

Next came the confusion. Darkness. Had I turned off the lights? My open eyes could find no illumination. No, my eyes were closed. I was sleeping. I had to wake up but I was too tired. I couldn’t move. Sleep was overpowering me. Yes, I was dreaming. No, I was awake. My mind could not decide if I was conscious. Then, real or imagined, Matt was present, talking to me, on top of me: pinning me down, holding my wrists together, pulling my rubber-encased head roughly to one side, finding my lips through the hood, kissing me deeply, using more hands than possible, pinching my nipples, fingering the rubber up my ass crack, putting his hands everywhere, controlling me, making me hard. His strong, thick, insistent tongue probed my mouth, and in my dream I sucked it wildly and pushed my ass up against the pressure of his body. I tried to turn around but he held me down. The tongue withdrew, and Matt’s honey-like breath was in my nostrils as his dreamy, low-key voice barely penetrated the consciousness in my dream. Or, was it that he was actually speaking, and his words were dulled by the rubber hood? Still confused, I just wanted him to kiss me again, but the words continued. Now they seemed so real, not dream-like at all. And his tone was not what I remembered of him. He sounded commanding and serious, and the words began to make sense. “I thought it was you.... I’d know that cock of yours anywhere....The photos tonight - recognized your old desk, with a new computer on it. I thought you were pretending to be interested, to bust my balls. So I’m here, in the middle of the night, courtesy of my old key. And you’re in rubber, just like I told you to be. And now I’ve got you. Ready or not, you’re about to be trained as my slave.” Before I could fully comprehend the words, the tongue was back in my mouth. Drawing it in gladly, I started to suck on it, but it had become huge, cold, and unyielding, and it was too large to suck. My mouth was forced wide around it as it advanced further, and I realized it was not Matt’s tongue. I also realized I wasn’t sleeping! This was really happening!

My struggling began when I felt something tighten at the back of my neck as the object was pushed into my mouth more deeply. I tried to speak and to raise my hands to object, but I found my arms had become powerless, joined closely togther behind my back, firmly set at my elbows and wrists. I flexed my legs, to twist to try to turn over, and found my knees and ankles had also been bound. Finally fully awake, I began to fight in earnest. I heaved against the restraints and protested as loudly as the gag would allow. Instead of being released, I was flipped over and lifted, by two sets of hands! I felt the hands setting me down, on something soft - under me, over me, wrapped around me, closing in on me, my head enveloped as I heard Matt’s voice: “The more you struggle and make noise, the tighter things will get.”

I tried to calm myself. There were tearing sounds, tightening sensations, pressure around me, slowly surrounding me, enveloping me, closer and closer, insulating me from head to toe. I was feeling packed, like a cocoon. Doing my best to resist the urge to give in to claustrophobic panic, I noticed that my cock was semi-erect, trying to rise up. Then I was lifted, carried somewhere, set down. Nothing. Silence. More nothing. Then motion. I sensed I was in a vehicle. It was moving, transporting me, or what I had become: a rubber-sealed, bound-up package. How had I allowed this to happen? Wrestling against the restraints, trying to roll and twist, I renewed my efforts to escape, but movement seemed futile. I was fixed in place and held tight within my thick shroud. As I struggled, I became more aware of my cock, erect and slippery, trapped in the rubber, held securely, pressing upward and throbbing against my belly. The more I worked against the bondage, the tighter it felt, and the stiffer my pulsing cock seemed to get. On the verge of cumming, I involuntarily cried out, sending bellows through the gag and into the packing around my head. There was a tugging sensation at my head, and then Matt’s voice came through again: “Too late for second thoughts, my friend. Don’t fret. I have a feeling you’ll make an excellent rubber slave.” I squirmed uncontrollably when I felt the intensity of the tightness increasing even more, and then I heard my own muffled cries erupting as my cock convulsed and exploded in spasms that racked my whole body.

Monday, December 2, 2019

The Machine..Sequel to The Wall

The Machine

Craig was going insane. For two days he had been locked up in this prison cell. Oh, it was a very comfortable suite: thickly carpeted, with a soft bed, television and radio, well-stocked kitchen area, books to read, in fact it was extremely luxurious - but it was a prison cell nonetheless. He wasn't bored, and it wasn't the fact that he was locked in here which was driving him out of his mind - it was that he was so fucking horny - and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.
When he'd regained consciousness after passing out from that searingly intense orgasm he'd had while he'd been strapped to the wall, he'd found himself lying on the bed here in this suite. The first thing he'd noticed when he'd opened his eyes was his reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Staring back at him was a good-looking punk boy with a short blond mohican. All he was wearing was a couple of leather wrist bands - locked on - and a very strange-looking pair of shorts. Each of the leather bands had a slight lump on one side, but apart from that they were featurless. The shorts, however, were very odd - they appeared to be made from thick rubber, and they were padlocked onto him at the waist and at each leg. They fitted very tightly, molding to the contours of his hips - but the most extraordinary thing about them was the crotch: the part covering his cock and balls was solid and rigid - and it was enormous. It protruded perhaps eight inches from his body in a rounded pyramid between his legs. Lying there on the rubber-covered bed, Craig looked down at himself and shook his head in disbelief. "What?" He said.
He lowered his right arm to feel the front of the shorts - and yelled in sudden pain as a very unpleasant electric shock shot through his balls. Quickly he withdrew his hand, and the shock stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Very cautiously, he tried the other hand, slowly approaching his crotch - and the same thing happened. Obviously there was some kind of magnetic device on the wristbands which triggered the electricity. The shock was intense, and there was no way he could keep his hand closer than a few inches from his cock. He closed his eyes and sighed. What were these sick bastards up to now?
Craig was still exhausted from his ordeal on the wall, and not in the least bit horny, but he realised that he wouldn't stay that way for long, and the shorts - ridiculous as they looked - did feel very sexy. He was thirsty, and decided to look around for a drink, so he rolled off the bed....
... and got the shock of his life. Suddenly it felt as if there were ants loose inside the shorts. Something was tickling his cock and his balls - tiny fingers were stroking him lightly all over. He froze and, after a few seconds, the tickling stopped. Still in the same position, on all fours on the floor at the side of the bed, he moved experimentally - and the tickling started again. Drained as he was, he felt his cock begin to respond and harden inside the front of the shorts, and as it did so he could feel it pushing through ... things.... as it lengthened. It was like tiny, thin, flexible rubber spikes. They caressed and stroked his cock on all sides, and got into every crevice of his anatomy underneath the black rubber. It felt delicious.
Slowly, he stood up and explored the suite. The bedroom gave onto a short corridor. To the right was a small but well-equipped kitchen, where he helped himself to fresh organge juice from the fridge; and then he padded back past the bedroom into a lounge. He stood and looked around. Every wall and ceiling in the suite - including the corridor, the kitchen, and this lounge - was completely mirrored. Wherever he looked he saw reflections of himself. And he looked hot. Those shorts fit him as if they'd been sprayed on, and he looked dead hunky with his tight muscular body, six-pack, clear blue eyes and blond mohican. He gazed at himself for a while, and for the first time it struck him that he was, in fact, a very good-looking boy indeed. It had never occurred to him before to consider himself sexy, but now he grinned at what he saw in the mirrors.
The door was - predictably - locked, and he thumped on it ineffectually for a few minutes, swearing at the perverts who had got him here, before giving up and turning back to the room. It seemed he was not going anywhere for a while.
There was a television set in the corner, so he punched the remote and dropped onto the soft settee. His cock was now fully hard, and the little rubber spikes (or whatever they were) seemed to have organised themselves to tickle and tease the most sensitive parts of his cock - there were several rubbing wonderfully against the underside of his glans, more touching the very tip of his cock, and others stroking gently along the shaft. There was one particular one which had caught the very edge of his foreskin and was sending jolts of horny pleasure through his brain. He found himself making small thrusting movements of his hips to keep them moving.
The TV came to life - and Craig stared. There on the screen was a huge, muscular skinhead, built like a brick shithouse and as ugly as sin, and with a badly-executed and obviously home-tattooed barcode across his forehead. He was strapped to a strange wooden chair. Its seat appeared to be the back two-thirds of a wooden toilet seat, and each of the skinhead's legs - spread very wide apart - were strapped in five places to the legs of the chair. The chair back reclined at an angle, and the boy's arms were secured with thick leather straps to the back legs of the chair, which ran down from the top of the backrest. It was a very odd design - but Craig saw that it held the big lad immobile, and in an extremely vulnerable position. His arse, balls and prodigious cock (which was strainingly erect) were all devastatingly accessible to anyone who wanted to play with them. A leather thong had been wound several times very tightly around the base of his cock and behind his balls, pushing them forward even further and making the veins stand out on the throbbing shaft. The circumcised cockhead was bulbous and purple, and threads of thick precum hung from it like syrup.
The skinhead was gagged, but from the murderous look on his face, the spit running down from the leather gag, and the way his muscles were straining with the effort to escape, Craig could see that he was not a happy boy.
The camera pulled back then, and a second person came into view. Dressed in a white uniform similar to a dentist's, this man was middle-aged, balding, and could have been the original nine-stone weaking. The skinhead could have picked him up with one enormous arm and flung him out of the window without any effort at all. The man pulled up a chair and sat down between the huge, muscular boy's widely-spread legs. He made little effeminate noises as he gathered together items into a tray which he set down on a small table beside him. The look in the skinhead's eyes was pure, unadlterated hatred.
The thin man pulled on a pair of black rubber gloves and then, carefully selecting two long feathers, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. With intense concentration, he touched the first feather to a precisely-targetted spot just behind the flange of the cockhead and stroked it gently round and round, and then applied the second to the back of the bull balls, tickling there at the same time.
The skinhead went ballistic. Even though the chair legs were splayed to give extra stability to the device, the whole thing shuddered and rocked as he thrashed and struggled in his restraints. Every one of his huge muscles bulged and strained in his effort to escape what the thin man was doing to him, and he threw his head back, yelling and swearing into the gag.
It was clear that this was not the first time the thin man had worked on the skinhead - he knew with horrifying accuracy the lad's most vulnerable spots - and Craig wondered how long the boy had been strapped there, enduring what was obviously for him, unbearable torture. On and on it went, the thin man teasing and tickling those two spots mercilessly and continuously. Occasionally he would lean forward, grip the base of the huge cock with one rubber-gloved hand and, gently pulling it towards him, lightly lick the precum from the engorged cockhead with a thin, mobile tongue. Whenever he did this, the skinhead would whimper and make pleading noises behind the gag.
Craig suddenly realised he was as horny as fuck again. He found the sight of that powerful skinhead, helpless and being driven out of his mind with nothing more than a couple of feathers, by that thin wimp of a man intensely horny. That was the first time Craig wanted to cum. While watching the screen, his hand automatically went to his cock - and the shock brought him back to reality with a start.
That had been two days ago. Since then, apart from going to the bathroom (he'd found a bell-push with which he could call the perverts who would restrain his hands behind his back, hood him, and take him there) he'd worn the shorts non-stop - and he'd been contantly hard and horny since then. Everywhere he looked were images of boys being teased, tickled, and brought off, shooting their spunk in pearly arcs onto their stomachs - all the magazines and books in the suite had pictures and stories of it; the 'radio' played non-stop soundtracks of boys being tortured and milked and, even when he could stand it no more and switched the radio and the TV off, there were his constant reflections in the mirrors. And if he left the TV off for too long it came on by itself, showing more scenes of bikers, punks and skinheads being strapped down, raped, tormented, tickled, sucked off, and having volcanic orgasms.
It was the evening of the second day, and Craig didn't know where to put himself. The fiendish spikes inside his shorts, which he'd loved to start with, were now pure torture. The rigid, rubber-covered metal front was full of precum, and he'd tried everything to get himself off. He couldn't rub his cock against anything - the solid front made that impossible; he couldn't get his hands to his cock, or get the shorts off; there wasn't enough friction from the spikes to let him cum no matter how much he thrust himself about - in fact the smaller the movements he made the more effectively they seemed to tease him - but they constantly teased and tickled his cock and balls, keeping him close to orgasm and driving him insane.
He was lying on the floor, one leg in the settee and the other on the coffee table when they came for him. Three silent, masked, leather-clad men (he wondered if one of them was the same man as that first time, whose mask he'd shot his load over) gagged him, hooded him so he couldn't see anything, cuffed his wrists behind his back, and marched him out of the suite and along corridors. They entered a warm room, and Craig felt his shorts being removed. At last! They were going to let him cum! He was placed onto a padded table, strapped securely in place, the hood was removed, and his head was fixed so he couldn't move it.
He found himself lying on an operating table in a room with lots of complicated electronic gear standing around. One of the men wheeled a table towards him, on which was an Apple Macintosh computer with an unusually large monitor. He carefully applied lube to Craig's hard cock and then, slowly and precisely, slid a thick black rubber sheath over the entire organ. A metal device screwed to the table held it - and his cock - in place and immobile, and wires and tubes ran from the end of the sheath to some machinery under the computer. The second man was sticking small electrodes to various places on Craig's body: his nipples, the sides of his head, and his perineum; and the third was attaching larger ones to the soles of the punk's feet, his armpits, the insides of his thighs, and to three places on his scrotum.
There was apparently a hole in the table, as the first man then went underneath, and Craig felt a lubed device being gently inserted into his arse hole. He knew from his experience on the wall what that was, and he moaned into the gag as he felt it press lightly against his prostate. By now Craig had given up swearing at the fucking perverts - it made no difference, and anyway he was gagged. He contented himself with planning their downfall when he got out of their clutches - long, slow, painful revenge was foremost in his mind.
The men had apparently finished preparing him for whatever it was they were going to do to him now. One of them switched on the computer and waited for it to boot up. The screen came to life and showed several different sections, with displays similar to an E.E.G. machine - Craig could make out his heartbeat and breathing in a couple of the windows, but the rest meant nothing to him. The man pulled a large TV monitor down and positioned it above Craig's head - it filled his field of view and, as he couldn't move his head, there was nothing else to look at. The screen was black at the moment.
He heard a couple of the men leave, and the remaining one using the keyboard. Suddenly the TV monitor lit up, and he was looking at the huge skinhead again. He was still strapped to that strange chair, but it was obviously much later than the last time he'd seen him. Sweat covered his body, it looked as if he'd pissed himself at some point, and drool had run down from the leather gag and pooled on his chest. The thin man was nowhere to be seen.
Craig jumped as he felt movement around his cock. A gentle, pulsating sucking had started, and small rubber fingers were rubbing - seemingly at random - along the length and over the end of his cock. Gradually, over a period of a few minutes, Graig became aware that the movements were becoming less random, and were homing into the kind of stimulation which turned him on most. The fucking computer was learning! It must be sensing his responses, his level of horniness, and adjusting its technique accordingly, he realised. Ok, so he was in for a monumental orgasm. He could handle that. He grinned and relaxed to enjoy the show.
The computer was indeed learning. It was also being kept advised of how close to orgasm he was at any second. The software had been developed by John and Adrian, two of the masked men, and could be either the ultimate jack-off machine, or the most horrifyingly effective torture device imaginable. It was to this latter mode that it was now set.
Blissfully ignorant of this fact, Craig watched the screen. The thin man had appeared again - naked now, his puny body ridiculous with no clothes on, and his long, thin cock hard and waving in the air. Now, however, he had an assistant. The assistant was not weedy at all - he was a hunk - and wearing the perviest rubber gear that Craig had ever seen: black shiny waders, into which were tucked very loose rubber jeans, a rubber jacket, and a long black rubber cape, open at the front. On his arms he had elbow-length, shiny, thick black rubber gauntlets. As Craig watched, the thin man pressed a switch and the wooden chair to which the skinhead was strapped rose on a motorised platform until the boy's cock and balls were at the level of the thin man's chest. This time, he selected a feather and a small vibrator, and went to work on the skinhead's cock - touching the vibrating rod lightly and intermittently to that spot just beneath the cockhead, while tickling the back of the boy's balls with the feather. At the very first touch, the skinhead screamed into the gag, and he strained with every muscle to escape or to make himself cum. But the thick leather straps held him helpless.
The assistant stood close behind the thin man, and began to caress the puny body with his rubber-gauntleted hands, pressing himself against the man's back and legs, so that he could feel the hunk's rubber all around him. His hands stroked all over the man's body - the thin chest, his sides, the stomach, the insides of the man's thighs, and reached through between his legs to grip his cock.
The skinhead was desperately trying to close his legs, to get away from the unbearable tickling and teasing of his cock and balls, but couldn't do a thing. Every time the vibrating rod touched that sensitive spot his enormous cock heaved and bucked and throbbed in unspeakable ecstasy - but the thin man was an expert and sadistic torturer, and always removed it before the big lad could cum, going back to tickling the huge, freely-hanging balls with the soft, pointed feather.
Craig was mesmerised - this was the horniest thing he'd ever seen. All right - it was fucking queers, and he was straight - but there was something about the image of that enormous, strong, muscular, ugly skinhead helpless and being teased to insanity so effortlessly by such a wimp of a man that made Craig want to cum!  And the hunky assistant's rubber was so fucking pervy! Craig was getting close. The rubber fingers working on his cock seemed almost to be in synchronisation with the images he was watching - It was almost as if he were experiencing exactly what the skinhead was feeling. He prepared himself for the orgasm of a lifetime.
But the computer had other ideas. By now it had learned exactly how to stimulate this victim's cock and prostate to produce the absolute strongest responses. Electricity poured into the boy's prostate at a level which varied from second to second, to make him need to cum as urgently as possible; the small rubber fingers inside the sheath rubbed gently and irresistably over his hypersensitive glans, rotating unpredictably and gently jacking him off with inhuman skill; the whole rubber sheath sucked and slurped his cock shaft like a talented whore, and the large electrodes on his armpits, the insides of his thighs, his balls, and the soles of his feet tingled and tickled wonderfully. However, at the same time sensors monitored Craig's level of arousal, and the machine was set to torture mode. It would not allow him to cum.
Craig's breathing had speeded up - he was close. God, it felt fucking amazing! He was indescribably horny! Another couple of seconds and he'd shoot the biggest load of spunk ever. He hoped it wouldn't fuse the machine.
Closer - closer -
Then everything began to slow down - the rubber fingers, the sucking, the pulses of electricity through his prostate - slower and slower...

"YES! - YES!!!!!!!"  Craig was holding his breath - he was a heartbeat away from the orgasm of his life...
The computer continued to slow everything down. The fingers were sliding slower and slower over his cockhead; the sucking strokes were becoming longer and longer; the electricity on his prostate had almost gone...
"Oh God - I'm gonna CUMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!"
Then, suddenly, everything stopped completely. The sucking, rubbing, pulsating - it all stopped. Even the monitor went black.
Craig was suspended on a plateau of ecstasy that made his experiences on the wall pale into insignificance. His eyes were screwed up tight, his mouth open behind the gag in a silent scream, every single muscle in his body rigid......
.... but he couldn't cum.
His eyes still shut tight, Craig drew a deep breath and screamed with frustration. He struggled and tried to thrust his hips, but movement was impossible. Gradually he came down, and started to breathe again.
Then the computer started the cycle again.
Suddenly Craig knew what he was in for. This machine was irresistable - and programmed not to let him cum. It would bring him repeatedly close to orgasm, and then stop, leaving him on the edge and unable to cum every time. A shudder passed through him. He knew he couldn't stand it - but at least it couldn't get any worse.
In that, he was quite wrong. The computer was still learning. That first time it had erred on the side of safety and halted the stimulation well away from the ejaculation point. As it became more and more familiar with this victim's responses, it could get him closer and closer every time - until.......
Craig realised what it was up to on the fourth cycle. Each time seemed to be more intense, and left him hanging ever more impossibly close to orgasm. The cunning little rubber fingers stroked and rubbed, sliding irresistably over the punk boy's cock head - one had even found the piss-hole and wasvery gently caressing the edges of it. If it had been moving faster, that one alone would have been sufficient to bring him off. The pads on his balls tingled and tickled and buzzed, sending waves of pleasure up his body. Craig was helpless in the machine's embrace.
By the eighteenth cycle the computer had enough information about him to keep him the absolute minimum distance away from orgasm indefinitely. Had it been programmed to, it could have done this, giving him no respite at all, and keeping him continuously at that point where a single touch anywhere on his genitals would have triggered an unstoppable orgasm - and it could have kept him there forever, or until he suffered heart failure.

However, it continued its cyclic operation - bringing him to that point, holding him there for twenty seconds or so, then backing him off until his heart rate dropped to a reasonable level. But after that, it would begin again. And it would continue this forever - unless someone pressed the space bar on the keyboard to shut it off.
But there was no-one in the room any more. There was only the unstoppable, untiring machine, and its helpless, suffering victim.
He tried to keep his eyes off the monitor screen over his head, but it was impossible not to watch it. The images of the helpless skinhead were turning him on like nothing had ever done before. Now, the hunky assistant was unzipping his rubber jeans, getting his rock-hard cock out, and rolling a black rubber condom over it. He thrust it powerfully into the think man's arsehole and started to fuck him slowly. Then he pulled the cape right around the man, so he was totally enclosed in black rubber, and reached around and played with the man's balls while he fucked him. The feel of the rubber against his skin, and the hunky assistant's gloved hands sliding around his balls was driving the thin man to greater and greater heights of sadism with the skinhead, and he used his tongue on the tip of the lad's cock while tormenting him with the vibrator and ticklng his balls with two feathers held in his left hand. The skinhead was in paroxysms of frustration.
Craig prayed for unconsciousness. He prayed for a power-cut. But most of all he prayed fororgasm.
How long this went on he had no idea. It could have been hours, days, or months. Inside the rubber sheath his cock was jerking and throbbing with a compelling, imperative need to cum - and it seemed to go on forever. His whole body was demanding orgasm - NOW!!
Unseen by Craig, the door opened and two masked men entered. They stood and watched for ten minutes, their hard cocks outlined clearly inside their tight leather jeans - and then one of them went to the computer and pressed some keys. The stimulation backed off, paused for thirty seconds or so, and then began again. But now the machine was running a different program.
Under the monitor, Craig watched as the assistant detached himself from the thin man, and knelt between his legs. He took a fistful of lube and reached up, enclosing the man's rock-hard cock with his slippery, smooth, rubber-gloved hand. Then he began to jack him off. The thin man adjusted the vibrator, slowing it down and decreasing its intensity, and then held it against the skinhead's cock - in just the right place beneath the glans. The skinhead began to moan, then struggle, as the vibrator brought him very, very slowly towards orgasm.
Inside the sheath around Craig's cock, the fingers started to rub and stroke again. Not fast, in fact very slowly. The suction matched their movements, the larger pads tickled, and the prostate stimulator came into synch with everything else. Craig began the long, slow, final approach to orgasm.
On the screen, the thin man held the vibrator in place, not tickling the boy's huge balls any more, but letting it do its work slowly and excruciatingly. The skinhead got nearer and nearer to cumming - moaning, shaking his head slowly from side to side and foaming under the gag.
Craig knew that this time they would let him cum. The machine felt different. Eyes staring, he watched the screen, not even blinking.
The assistant was pumping the thin man's cock now - the black rubber sliding up and down the full length of the shaft. Then he suddenly gripped the man's balls with his other hand, and the man closed his legs around the hunk's rubber-clad arm. That made him begin to cum. Small gobs of rust-coloured spunk fell out of the tip of his cock and dribbled to the floor while the thin man's body jerked uncontrollably. But he kept the vibrator on the skinhead's cock.
Craig was near - God, was he near - but it was so fucking slow! He knew he was going to cum this time, and every nerve was tingling with anticipation - but he wanted the machine to speed up, not slow down, as it was doing. He squirmed in his restraints as he neared the edge of orgasm for the hundredth time. He was exhausted from hours of overstimulation, but all of his concentration was centred on what was being done to him. He whimpered as orgasm approached - so close - so close.........
The big skinhead was about to cum - his cock head suddenly enlarged, his balls moved upwards visibly - and the thin man slowed the vibrator down even more. Now it was hardly moving at all against the boy's most sensitive spot - and the skinhead was in an agony of need. He thrashed in his restraints, gurgled and fought with all of his strength, but the vibrator continued to buzz ever more gently, slowly and coaxingly. His approach to orgasm was like a ball rolling up an incline, in slow motion - as it got higher and higher, it got slower and slower...... but it still went up.
Craig was experiencing exactly the same thing. The fingers in the sheath were now hardly moving against his cock. He was at the very apex. He could not get closer to cumming. The machine held him there for what seemed like an eternity - and then......
With an animal roar and a convulsion which threatened to break every one of the leather straps holding him down, the skinhead passed the point of no return. His huge cock took on a life of its own, and the thin man had to hold it against the vibrator as it jerked and jumped about. The piss slit opened, and torrents of thick white spunk pumped out with a velocity that was unbelievable, showering the thin man and his assistant in hot, sticky cum. The lad shuddered and shook in his restraints, and his spunk continued to arc through the air.
Craig came. The fingers had almost stopped completely - and then the one on his piss-slit stroked once, firmly, across the very tip of his cockhead. That was enough to trigger the most violent orgasm he had ever experienced. Immediately the rubber sheath began sucking with renewed vigour, the fingers began to move quickly, and the prostate stimulator buzzed with electricity. Craig's body vibrated and danced on the table as he shot his pent-up load of spunk into the hungy rubber mouth of the machine.
It went on and on and on, and the computer milked him dry.
For the second time in his life, Craig experienced pure, mid-shattering ecstasy - and, his face contorted and with every single muscle as rigid as steel, he plunged into unconsciousness.
The End

The Wall

The Wall

When Craig regained consciousness this time he found himself in an odd position - he was standing spread-eagled, pressed against a wall. But it was a strange wall: covered in shiny black PVC, it felt slightly padded, and there was a shallow depression the size and shape of his head, which made his position quite comfortable. His arms were horizontal from shoulder to bent elbows, and his forearms vertical. There were padded leather straps over his wrists, just below the elbows, and over his biceps, two wider ones across his back - one just below the armpits and the other above the waist - and further straps over each thigh, calf and ankle. Each strap held him tightly against the padded wall and allowed no movement whatever.
Craig was unable to see his feet, but they felt as if they were inserted into holes at the base of the wall - at any rate they were facing forward, and held snugly but comfortably in the padded apertures.
He could feel a gentle pressure around his cock and balls - it felt like he was wearing a cockstrap - and presumably there was another, somewhat larger depression in the wall at his crotch to accommodate them.
Straining to look over his shoulder, Craig surveyed the room he was in. It was large, but fairly featureless - the other walls were brick, the floor was covered in what appeared to be black rubber, and apart from a couple of chairs and a wheeled surgical equipment table standing on the far side, bearing items which his position and the distance made it impossible to identify, there was nothing else.
Craig's head was clearing now, but he was thirsty. A glass of water would have been nice.
No sooner had the thought occurred to him than a door opened behind him. The now-familiar figure of the hooded man appeared - his black ski-mask bearing no trace of the spunk Craig had showered upon it earlier. He approached the boy and stood by his side. In his hand was a tumbler of water.
"You must be thirsty - the drug has that effect. Here, drink this."
Gratefully, Craig swallowed the water as the man held it to his lips. He drained the glass in seconds flat.
"Want another?"
Craig shook his head.
The man gazed at him for a few moments, whispered "Good grief, you really are beautiful", and left without another word.
Craig waited for something to happen. He was, for once, completely relaxed - nothing could happen to him unexpectedly, as he would hear the door opening first as someone came in. Although he was standing, the position he was in was very comfortable - the padded PVC and the straps seemed to take most of his weight - and he felt good.
In fact, he was feeling quite horny again. How long had it been since that last monumental orgasm at the hands of the masked man? It felt like the best part of a day - but his time sense was not working well, and when they kept putting him to sleep it made keeping track of time very difficult.
Suddenly Craig yelled in surprise - something had touched his cock! He strained to look down, but his restraints made it impossible. His heart was racing. What was going on? Were there cockroaches in here?
There it was again - it felt like an insect crawling over the shaft of his cock. Now it was on his balls. In spite of his fear, he immediately began to get an erection. Then another joined it - now there was something tickling his balls AND his cock.
And then he realised what was happening. The reason he felt like he'd got a cockstrap on was because there was a hole in the wall, and his cock and balls were sticking through it into another room. There was someone on the other side playing with him. This blew his mind. These people were inhumanly fiendish. He suddenly felt more vulnerable than he had ever felt before. Here he was, strapped helpless - and his cock and balls were in another room, separated from him by a wall, for fuck's sake. He couldn't see what was happening, had no idea what they were going to do to him, couldn't communicate with them, and couldn't prevent them doing anything they liked to the most sensitive organ of his body.
In a sudden panic, Craig struggled to free himself. He squirmed and writhed against the smooth black PVC, but the many straps held him tightly pressed against it, helpless and defenceless. In a way, this was worse than being blindfolded or hooded - at least then he'd been in the same room as his cock. Not only could he not hear or see whoever it was that was playing with him, but they couldn't see his reactions either. This worried Craig a great deal. What if they hurt him badly? They wouldn't know he was screaming in agony...
He tried to pull his cock back, but the straps around the tops of his thighs and across his lower back were wide, and fastened extra tightly . This was obviously designed to prevent any movement of his cock through the hole, and it worked only too well. He had no choice - he would just have to take whatever they decided to do to him. He rested his head in the shallow depression, closed his eyes in defeat, and concentrated on what was happening the other side of the wall.
* * *
John had removed his mask and was smoking a cigarette, while watching Adrian tease the boy's cock to full erection with a couple of feathers. This was probably John's favourite room in the asylum - although he'd used it many times, he still found the sight of a disembodied cock and balls protruding through the wall mesmerising. In fact, the wall was only an inch thick (he could even see the head depression from this side). It was made of a strong, rigid plastic, and padded on Craig's side to disguise the fact. As far as the boy was concerned, the wall was as solid as any other in the building. John smiled.
Arranged in a semicircle whose centre was the protruding genitals, were three chairs. The leftmost one was currently occupied by Adrian (who had put the feather down now that the boy's cock was fully erect), and the other two were vacant. John seated himself in the centre one and pulled a cantilevered tray towards him. He snapped on a pair of thin rubber gloves, and picked up a small aerosol spray can. Carefully wrapping one hand around the shaft of the hard cock (which jerked urgently at his touch), he sprayed the uncircumcised head precisely with the chemical. A faint smell reminiscent of acetone wafted round the room. John noticed the frown on Adrian's face. "Local anaesthetic. We know how sensitive his cockhead is, and I don't want any stimulus on it just yet. That will be the main course."
Adrian smiled. His hand was on his crotch, rubbing his own cock gently through his regulation leather jeans.
John replaced the spray can and took two small feathers from the tray. "Never underestimate the effectiveness of feathers. They have a devalued reputation." With that, he applied the tips of the feathers to Craig's balls - one each side, directly on the front of the scrotum and, with small, light strokes, tickled the boy carefully. From this side of the wall, they immediately heard Craig's pounding against the other side. There was a CCTV screen which could show them his reactions directly from a concealed camera in the other room, but very often John preferred not to have it switched on - to him, the only important thing was that his victim suffered, and he liked the thought that - although that suffering was intense, it was remote and somehow unconnected with what he was doing. As he made the feathers dance round his victim's balls, however, he was imagining Craig's beautiful face, screwed up in ticklish anguish, and his sexy, hunky body straining at the restraints in his futile effort to escape.
Armed with the detailed knowledge of the boy's most sensitive and vulnerable spots, John targeted the feathers onto each in turn: the back of the scrotum, the sides, and the bottom of the sac. He exerted loving care on tickling each spot as effectively as possible. At times like these, John felt like a surgeon - precision and care were everything to him. He'd noted when working on the boy earlier that the crevices at the sides of his scrotum, where it joined the tops of his thighs, were an especially vulnerable area, and so now, working first on the left and then on the right, he carefully pulled the balls to one side and held them there with his rubber-gloved hand, enabling him to get the point of the feather right into the crevices, running it up and down mercilessly.
Craig's cock immediately began oozing precum, and Adrian placed a white towel on the floor beneath it to catch the stringy liquid as it fell in connected pearly beads from the tip of the foreskin.
John glanced at his watch. The desensitising spray would be at maximum effect now, and would be completely gone in about twenty minutes. Time to move on. He began working on the base of the cock shaft, using the feathers to stroke lightly - at first only touching the fine blond hairs - round and round, up and down the engorged rod. He continued to work on the boy's balls unpredictably now and again, to keep them sensitive and ticklish - but his main target was now the shaft. The veins stood out in relief as the twenty-year old's cock responded to the unbearable sexual teasing by trying to get even harder that it already was, and it twitched up and down with almost every touch. This would have to be stopped, John thought to himself. "Pass me the erection holder please, Adrian."
The chrome-steel device, as it stood on the shelf, comprised a base plate with a 5-inch diameter hole in the centre, and three rods which rose vertically from the plate, turned inwards at ninety degrees, and converged onto a thin, smaller ring which they held parallel to the base plate, some three inches above it. The height of the three rods was adjustable, as was the diameter of the smaller ring, which had a ratchet-like arrangement not unlike a single handcuff.
Adrian handed the device to John who opened the small ring fully then, steadying his elbows on the arms of the chair, very carefully indeed placed the contraption over Craig's cock and clipped it to sockets in the wall - all without touching the throbbing cock once. Then, with equal precision, he adjusted the height so that the ring, when closed, would grip Craig's cock just behind the corona. Finally, and handling the boy's cock only at the very base of the shaft, he guided it into position and closed the ring so that it gripped the shaft, holding it immobile. It was still possible to see the cock jerking, but now the movement was reduced to a linear flexing, all other motion having been effectively prevented. The open construction of the device made access to the whole organ easy, and John continued to tickle and tease the shaft, going no higher than the metal ring of the restraint.
John knew exactly what Craig was feeling - totally, absolutely helpless. He knew from personal experience that the position they'd got him in at this moment was probably the most unnerving and intense bondage possible. The feeling of having one's genitals isolated and in another room while still being acutely aware of the slightest touch on them, was shatteringly intense. He smiled as he took an ice cube between his rubber-gloved fingers from the bowl on the tray.
* * *
A stream of saliva ran from the bottom of the indentation, down the shiny black PVC-covered wall as Craig, his eyes screwed shut in concentration, thrashed about - moving the only part of his body which wasn't securely held immobile by thick leather straps: his head. He was sweating, and the PVC felt slick and slippery under his bare skin as he tried to deal with the unbearable sensations of what was being done to his cock and balls. He had no idea who - or how many - were in the other room watching the work on his genitals; he assumed the masked man was there, but there could have been an audience of twenty for all he knew. He'd spotted the CCTV camera long ago - a small lens high up in the corner of the room to his right - and the entire fucking perverted staff of the asylum were probably getting off on this. In a fit of rage, he spat as far as he could towards the camera, but the saliva fell far short of its target.
After the initial teasing which had got his cock hard (he'd tried everything he could think of to keep it soft - he'd been determined not to give these bastards the satisfaction of getting him erect, but a humiliatingly few strokes of what felt like a feather on his cock shaft had bypassed his conscious efforts completely, and his traitorous dick had risen to rod-like stiffness in seconds) - after that first teasing, his whole body had jerked as he felt something cold being sprayed onto the very end of his cock. Since then it hadn't been touched, and he could feel nothing there at all. But his balls and his cock shaft had been getting serious attention for the last fifteen minutes or so. He'd never realised he was so fucking ticklish on his balls - but the thing that really got to him was that all this was fucking turning him on Every stroke had made his cock flex and jerk about like a thing with a life of its own - until, that is, some sort of restraint had been fastened round it just below the head. That had stopped its movements dead, and had removed the last bit of defence he'd thought he'd had. He could still flex it, but now the end didn't move at all. He prayed that they would continue working on the shaft and not start on the head.
Time passed very slowly. Craig would never have believed that a minute could seem so long. He tried everything - he willed himself not to respond, not to be ticklish, but that had no effect at all. He pictured the most un-sexy images he could think of in his mind, but the very next stroke of the feather on his cock shaft shattered them like a computer-generated visual effect, to be replaced with the sight of his disembodied genitals sticking through a hole in a wall and being tickled and teased by the guy in the ski mask. Each time this image came into his mind his cock tried to get even harder as if it was begging for more attention. Until the restraint had been put on, he'd consciously made his cock move in an effort to make his tormentors' work more difficult - to spoil their aim, but now even that small defence was denied him. All he could do was stand there, strapped down tightly to the shiny PVC and suffer - his cock as hard as a flagpole and wanting more.
Apart from tickling unbearably, what they were doing to him was making him want to cum. In spite of the humiliation, he would have welcomed a firm grip on his cock and a good hard tossing. He tried imagining that there was a beautiful, curvy blonde with big tits on the other side, and that it was she who was working on his cock - but the thought made him want to cum even more and, in spite of his rapidly-increasing need for orgasm, he had a feeling these bastards were not going to let him cum for a long time - and so thoughts like that were not something he wanted to encourage at this moment. In fact, now he thought about it, he had a major problem: on the one hand he wanted to cum - in fact he was getting more into that idea by the second - but on the other, he was buggered if he'd let these perverts pull his strings and push his buttons like some damned automaton. He was straight, he was master of his own responses, and the fuckers on the other side of the wall could go to hell. He squeezed his eyes closed and raged silently against them, planning what he was going to do to the fucking perverts when he got free.
But his brain, it seemed, had other ideas. A sudden image flashed unbidden into his mind: the masked guy standing over him, the man's leather-jeaned and booted legs astride his bound and helpless body, Craig looking up at the clearly-outlined hard cock under the shiny leather as the man bent down and, laughing evilly, pulled a hood over the boy's head, plunging him into horny, helpless, leather-black darkness.....
Craig found himself stroking the PVC sensuously with his hands. He made fists and shook his head to clear the image. For some reason that picture had resonated more inside him than the one of the curvy blonde. He was going to have some serious thinking to do when he got out of this place.
He flinched as his balls were held to one side and a feather tip was drawn up the crevice at the side of his scrotum - a particularly sensitive spot, he'd come to realise (as, he knew, had they, the bastards) and then became aware of slight pins and needles in his cock head. Whatever they'd sprayed onto it was obviously wearing off, but still it wasn't touched. Craig's cock head was his nemesis, he knew - he should have been circumcised when he'd been young and, as it was, his foreskin didn't retract, and his glans was hypersensitive. He'd known another guy at college with the same 'problem' although for them it was just the reverse: it made unbelievably intense orgasms possible by using the right technique.
The pins and needles were going now, and Craig longed to feel something on the tip of his cock. He knew that a couple of firm strokes rubbing the foreskin over his glans would cause the best orgasm he'd ever had in his life - he could feel it. But the damned tickling continued on his shaft and on his balls, and the wankers refused to touch his cock-head. It was driving him insane.
The need to cum was growing by the second now. He found himself flipping between two distinct and opposite mind-sets: first, the restraints, the humiliating position, the CCTV camera, what was being done to his cock through the wall, and all the rest were negative things - hated and to be fought with every ounce of his strength - and then, suddenly, it was all turning him on. His helplessness, the possibility that others were watching, the straps holding him down - even the black PVC on the wall - everything was making him horny. He even realised that at these times, his ineffectual struggling became a voluntary thing, because it heightened his sense of helplessness. He flipped back and forth between these two realities - at first the trigger seemed to be whenever his cock was stroked - but soon he was aware that he was spending more and more time in the turning-on phase and less and less in the negative. He knew that they were breaking him, but also that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them. Fuck - even this  thought turned him on.
Craig's need for orgasm was becoming the only thing he could think about. He could feel precum dripping from his cock, and the sensation seemed more acute than it should. A tiny part of Craig's mind began to worry slightly about that. With stunning clarity he could feel each drop of precum ooze out of the piss-slit, gather in the sensitive foreskin, and then lazily run over the edge to drop slowly away. It was the only sensation he could feel on his cock head, and he needed more.
Then, horrendous in its suddenness and unexpectedness - intense, icy cold. It ran down the shaft of his cock, and round his balls. They tried to shrivel back into his body, and his cock suddenly lost some of its solidity. He let out a yell which surely must have been heard by the whole asylum and grimaced in - not pain, exactly, nor pleasure - but the sheer intensity of the sensation. It continued for a while (must be an ice cube, thought Craig), and then stopped. He breathed in relief. However, this relief was short-lived when he realised a couple of minutes later that as his skin returned to normal temperature it was many times more sensitive than it had been before.
"FUCKING BASTARDS!" He yelled, fighting the restraints hopelessly. As the tickling and teasing started again, always avoiding the cock head which was by now screaming for attention, Craig's hard muscled body fought against the straps. After a few minutes he stopped struggling and, eyes closed in defeat, and as the unseen feathers teased his balls and cock shaft mercilessly, he sobbed with pure sexual frustration.
* * *
"Ok - time for some fun," said John.
Adrian chuckled. "You mean this hasn't been so far?"
"Oh, now it gets interesting." He picked up a variable-speed hobbyist's drill from the tray, and attached a special head to it which he handled very carefully: The head looked somehow shaggy, as if it had once been long woollen strands, but had been plucked almost bare. Fibres hung down limply - until he pressed the stud and gave it a quick, high-speed burst, then left it rotating slowly. The centrifugal force immediately separated the fibres and caused them to stand straight out away from the head like the fur of a cornered cat. It was now over an inch in diameter.
"Micro fibres," explained John. "Each separate fibre is thinner than a human hair. Here - give me your finger." He touched the spinning fibres gently to Adrian's outstretched digit and a look of amazement crossed the apprentice's face.
"Ha! It tickles!" He overcame an urge to pull his finger away, but, as John gradually increased the speed of the rotation, finally gave in. "Ouch! That hurts when it's going fast!"
"Doesn't it just," smiled John. Imagine what that's going to feel like on his cock-head. Completely adjustable from an intense tickle, to severe pain." With that, he pulled the chair closer, and slowly approached the very tip of Craig's hypersensitive cock.
* * *
Craig nearly jumped out of his skin. As it was, he gave vent to a scream of surprise. For what seemed like hours he'd longed for a touch on the end of his cock - preferably a firm grip, tossing him off - and now there was something indescribable happening there. Even when he was fully erect, as he was now, his foreskin just covered the tip except for the very centre where the piss-slit was visible within the ring of skin - and now, someting was tickling the very edge of the foreskin intensely. He couldn't understand it - it wasn't stroking up and down, it seemed to be a constant stimulation somehow. Was it electricity? He didn't think so. Whatever it was, it was excruciating. Then, slowly, it began to move over and round the whole of his cock-head. It teased the top, sides and bottom of the glans, ran around the corona and returned to the very tip in the most frustrating and horny way. It made him want to scream - and it made him want to cum.
Craig lost track of how long this went on for, so lost was he in the overpowering sensations. Eventually it stopped, leaving him at the same time relieved, and also panting for more. He felt fingers on his foreskin, gently pulling it back, exposing his bare glans. "Oh no," he whispered, very frightened. The end of his cock was so hypersensitive that even a gentle touch of a finger on the unprotected glans was painful. But for a while nothing touched it. Then something did - but it was cool, and liquid. It didn't hurt. Lube! He'd sometimes wondered if lots of lube would make a difference, but had never had the courage to try it. Then, so gently that at first he didn't realise what it was, a finger was touching it. The experience was intense, and frightening - but at the same time it felt indescribably delicious. The finger moved over the boy's naked glans, floating on a thick film of lube, until it was directly on the piss-slit. Craig was holding his breath, revelling in the most exquisite sensation he'd ever felt. It stroked there, up and down, and the boy quickly felt himself approaching orgasm. Then it was gone, the forskin back to its usual position.
He banged his head repeatedly against the padded wall in frustration.
* * *
John put the device down and stood up. He looked at the clock on the wall. "I'm going to fit the PS unit, Adrian. Keep him interested, and work on his balls and shaft. You could try reaching the insides of his thighs as well - but leave his cock-head alone for now. Is that clear?"
"Yes Sir!" Adrian seated himself in the vacated central chair and selected two finely-tipped paintbrushes.
John watched him work for a few moments, then smiled. "You're gonna make one hell of a torturer," he said. He put on the ski mask, adjusted it carefully, and left the room.
* * *
Craig heard the door open, and turned his head. It was the hooded man, of course. His genitals were still being worked on, and a sudden feeling of humiliation hit him that he didn't know who was doing it.
Without speaking, the man wheeled the trolley on the far side of the room across to Craig, then thickly coated one of the surgical rubber gloves he was wearing with lube.
Craig was worried - his arse had never had anything up it, and if this man was going to fist him...
It was as though the man had read his mind. "Don't worry - I'm not going to hurt you. I have to do a little anal exploration, but I'll only be using one finger, and it won't hurt - in fact you'll probably enjoy it."
Craig had never had anything up his arse before, and the thought of it triggered stereotypical homophobic reactions in him. "You fucking leave my fucking arse alone you cunt," he spat. "I'm not one of your fucking bum boys. When I get out of this you are fucking DEAD." He launched a gob of spit in John's general direction but his inability to turn his head far enough spoilt his aim. It landed on the floor.
John smiled under the mask. "Ok - well all you've got to do is stop me." He parted Craig's cheeks and touched the tip of his finger to the tightly-clenched hole. "It's up to you, of course, but if you do that, it's gonna hurt. If you relax, it'll feel good. Believe me."
Craig turned his haead away. "Fuck you."
John shrugged and pushed the fingertip in as gently as he could. Craig drew in his breath sharply. He let it rest there for a moment while the boy got used to the sensation.
The boy's body had stiffened, but when the finger didn't move, he gradually began to relax. After a few moments, he was surprised to find that the sensation was unexpectedly pleasant. He stiffened again with apprehension when the man moved it about slowly, but relaxed once more when it became evident that it wasn't hurting. Very very slowly the man's finger moved in, the lube easing the entry, until Craig could feel the rest of his hand against his perineum - it was all the way in now. Craig felt his cock become fully hard again, and flex in its restraint at the intrusion he could do nothing to prevent.
After a few moments, the man's finger bent slowly downwards inside him, and he could feel it moving - exploring - until suddenly a shock of such exquisite pleasure shot through him that he gasped out loud.
"I think we've got it." The man stroked whatever it was he'd found, and Craig felt himself beginning to approach orgasm. This was the most fantastic thing he had ever felt in his life. It was as if the finger was in direct contact with his orgasm centre, if there was such a thing.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Craig croaked in wonder.
Under the mask, the man smiled. "That is your prostate gland. Never had it stimulated before? You're in for the ride of your life, boy."
Apparently satisfied with its position, the man carefully withdrew his finger and clipped a metal frame to the wall, over Craig's firm, round arse. Then he took a device which reminded the boy very much of a thing he used to demagnetise his tape heads at home - a 'degausser', it was called - a fat, pencil-like device with a long, rubber-covered snout at one end. But on this one, the snout was very curved. The man smeared lube along the length of it, and inserted it gently into the boy's rectum. It was slightly thicker than his finger had been, but also smoother, so it went in easily. Craig drew a deep breath as the cool plastic barrel entered him, and frowned slightly in discomfort once as the man moved it around inside him. But then the tip found his prostate, and Craig groaned with involuntary pleasure as it slid over the gland.
Working on the boy's reactions, the man centred the tip carefully, and locked the device in position on the metal frame. He plugged the trailing wires into a small socket in the floor, wiped some excess lube from Craig's butt, and patted it gently. "Enjoy," he said - then he was gone.
Craig tried to move his pelvis so that the device would rub over that wonderfully sensitive spot inside him - but his restraints made that quite impossible. He sighed in frustration, and his mind went back to concentrating on what whoever-it-was was doing to him through the hole in the wall.
Then, suddenly, the thought occurred to him that they were going to use electricity on him - up his arse. Abruptly his cock began to lose some of its hardness, and he started to worry. Once again the restraints, his position, and everything else were hated things which he would fight against. He'd show those fucking bastards who was in control of his body.
* * *
John removed his mask and resumed his position in the centre chair. Taking great care not to touch the virgin cock-head, he unclipped the metal restraint ring, and removed the wire cage, allowing the semi-limp organ to droop free. It came to rest pointing down at an angle of about 45 degrees.
"Now then, Adrian - you haven't seen the Prostate Stimulator being used before, have you?"
'No, Sir."
"Ok - well we're going to try out a little idea of mine. See his cock? It's going down. He's probably worrying about the fact that he's wired up to an outlet in there. Watch - " John reached out to a control panel on the wall, flicked a switch, and then very carefully began to turn a small black knob. A needle moved slowly across the face of a dial. The dial went from zero to 100, and John stopped it at 20. "He'll only just be able to feel that. Watch his cock.'
As if by magic, the object of their attention began to harden quickly and smoothly. It firmed out as the blood engorged it, and rose like a phoenix, until it was back to its former steel-rigid state, now pointing upwards by about the same angle - but this time above the horizontal.
John attached a different device to the clips on the wall. Being a prototype, this one had a home-made look about it. It was simply a curved metal half-cup, shaped to cover the upper surface of the cock-head, on an adjustable rod, to which a wire was soldered. John positioned it a few millimetres above the foreskin-covered glans, and locked it in place, and plugged the wire from it into a small black box. He then disconnected the PS unit and rearranged the wiring going to the control panel, inserting the black box into the circuit. "I think we're about ready," he smiled, sitting back. "Now we wait for his cock to go down again."
Slowly, the member began to lose its hardness and descend. John flicked a switch on the black box, adjusted a control, and then switched the Prostate Stimulator back on. "If this works, we can both go and have a cup of tea."
Adrian was puzzled. "What's the box do?"
"Well, the PS unit in on now. You can see his cock getting harder. It will continue to rise until the head - which we haven't touched yet, and which we know is ultra sensitive - touches the metal cup here. That will complete a circuit and he'll get a small shock through his cock-head. It will also switch the PS unit off, and start a timer. The shock will make his cock go down, and twenty seconds later the PS unit will switch back in. Which will get him hard again, make his cock touch the cup..... You see? Up, down, up, down - and there's fuck all he can do to stop it - although, no doubt, he'll try very hard..."
Adrian smiled and shook his head in admiration. "You really are an evil bastard, Sir."
John sat back with his hands behind his head to watch the show. "Why thank you, Adrian - that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me." He beamed happily.
* * *
Craig felt the most amazing sensation up his arse. It was a gentle tingling, a bit like a vibrator - but its effect was devastating. Instantly all thoughts of resistance vanished like phantoms in the dark. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was on the road to orgasm. His cock rose like it was on a string, and he could feel his spunk gathering in his balls, ready to pump down the plumbing and out of his aching cock with such shattering, mind-numbing ecstasy that he actually shivered at the prospect. His cock felt harder than it had ever been - and then it stopped!
"NO!" He yelled, beating the PVC with his fists. The phantoms rushed back and he swore at the inhuman bastards behind that wall. He hated them and everything about his fucking place with a fury wilder than anything he'd felt before. His cock poised at full erection for a few moments, and then started to go limp again.
Then something different - the restraint that was holding his shaft was being removed. He felt his cock fall free, and actually experienced a moment of regret. God, am I confused, he thought.
He waited for something to happen, but there was a pause of a minute or so, and he began to relax. Perhaps that was it - they'd had their fun - they'd probably been wanking themselves silly behind the wall and had cum. He would be released soon.
And then the tingling began inside him again. "NO!" He said. "I will NOT perform for you, you perverted wankers." He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the electricity across his prostate, but it was futile. In spite of his efforts, his cock began to rise again, and the phantoms went away. It was all turning him on now - and this time he knew he was going to cum. His cock continued to rise, he got nearer to orgasm, that longed-for ejaculation appeared once again on the horizon - and this time the tingling wasn't going to stop. His cock, rigid and as hard as iron strained upwards at its fullest extent - harder than it had ever been...
And then he screamed. A short, sharp, piercing yell of shock more than pain - as the sensitive cock-head touched something above it and electricity poured into it. Instantly all thought of orgasm was shattered, and his cock lost its rigidity, mercifully moving it away from the electric contact. But the tingling had also stopped. He wailed in frustration as the shock to his system receded and the need for orgasm returned unabated. His cock hovered, half-limp, half erect, not knowing what to do.
And then the tingling began again. Completely beyond his control, his penis began to rise once more, heading - he knew - towards that contact. He poured every ounce of concentration he had into stopping it, into keeping it soft - but the cursed thing had a mind of its own. Harder and harder it got, up and up it rose, while he got hornier and hornier pressed tight against the black PVC - unable to move, unable to make himself cum, unable to stop himself responding like a fucking puppet as these bastards pushed his buttons so easily.
"AAAHHHRRRGGGHH!!!" He yelled. "SHIT!" The cycle repeated - his cock backing away from the electric pain on its tip, and he found himself involuntarily counting the seconds - eighteen, nineteen twenty, twenty-
The current began to stimulate his prostate again right on cue. He realised without any doubt that this was automatic - that they had inflicted the ultimate humiliation on him: the bastards didn't even have to do  anything now - his own uncontrollable responses would facilitate his own torture. If he could only stop his dick from getting hard enough to touch that plate, the tingling inside him would continue, and he'd be able to cum. More than anything else in the world, he needed to cum. When the tingling was on, it was the only thing he was capable of thinking about. His brain refused to entertain any other thoughts whatsoever. He had to cum - it was a compelling, driving need that refused to be ignored. And his cock responded - rising up, up, until it touched that damned plate and made ejaculation an unreachable goal.
Every 35 seconds or so, regular as clockwork, he went through the cycle - and it was driving him out of his mind. It wasn't that the shocks on the end of his cock were so painful - although they were not pleasant - it was that they prevented his orgasm. Each time, he thought "this time - I'm not gonna touch it..." but each time, of course, he did.
Craig had thought that he'd reached the very pinnacle of humiliation - but two things proved him wrong.
The first one was when they started tickling the sides of his balls again. His cock shot straight back up and fucking bumped against the electric plate. And this time it stayed there. Even the pain of the shock on his sensitive cock-head was not enough to make him lose the fullness of his erection while they did that. He screamed in pain and frustration as the devilish feathers tickled and teased his balls and the tops of his thighs. Once, a smooth - presumably rubber-gloved - hand gently gripped his scrotum and played with it, stroking it teasingly. Mercifully they only worked on his balls a couple of times, then once again left the electronics to make his body torture itself.
The second - and most intense - humiliation was when the door opened and two men entered with cups of tea. He recognised the hooded man but had no idea who the other guy was. This one was dressed identically - leather jeans, white tee-shirt and ski mask. Through a haze of overstimulation, Craig was aware of their pulling up the chairs to the side of him, and making themselves comfortable in them. Between sips of tea, they carried on a conversation as if Craig wasn't there.
"So what do you think of my idea then?" Asked John.
The other laughed. "It's brilliant. There's nothing he can do to avoid the shocks, or stop getting hard. I loved it when you played with his balls - that really freaked him out."
John chuckled. "I've been thinking of a few refinements. We'll discuss them later. Shit - did you bring any biscuits?"
"No, sorry Sir. I'll go and get some."
Craig heard the man leave, and as the door closed his cock touched the plate again. He had been determined not to make a sound, but the expected - but nonetheless excruciatingly frustrating - shock made him yell. "SHIT!" His failure to keep silent plunged him into a rage of defeat. "Shit shit shit shit SHIT!" He pummelled the PVC with his fist.
Then he heard his own voice. It was begging. "Oh PLEASE - PLEASE LET ME CUM. I can't stand this any more. I'm going to go..." His voice rose to a squeal as the PS unit cut back in and the cycle began to repeat... "inSAAAAANE!!!"
He was dripping with sweat. His short blond mohican was plastered to his head, and his whole body quivered as his unseen dick in the next room began rising for the nth time.
The door opened, and the second man reappeared bearing biscuits. Craig heard the crackle of the wrapper, then the contented munching and slurping of tea. "Did you hear that?" Asked John.
"Yes, Sir. He seems to want to cum."
John nodded.
"What would happen, Sir, if we just left him there indefinitely?"
"Well, eventually he'd have to release his spunk, so he'd cum with his cock touching the electrode. It would be extremely intense, because at the moment of orgasm the pain of the shock would transform into acute pleasure. It would be far, far more intense than any orgasm he's ever had before. After that - well, the PS unit would get him hard again almost straight away, and the cycles would begin again. He might manage two or three orgasms before he stopped responding. The long-term effects on his prostate wouldn't be so good, though."
"And how long are we actually going to leave him on it?"
John winked at Adrian. Aloud, he said, "Oh, we'll disconnect him after the third orgasm."
Craig moaned in fear, then screamed as the cycle reached the cock-shock point. He realised suddenly that his cock was staying longer on the electrode than it had been doing earlier, and that he was getting slightly closer to orgasm every time. One part of his mind wanted off this thing now, and a second, larger part screamed: "Just fucking make me CUM".
But what worried Craig most of all was a newly-appeared third part. It was, as yet, small - but he had a terrible feeling it was going to grow.
This part said: "Yeah - make me suffer, TORTURE me."
* * *
"You're not really going to leave him connected that long, are you Sir?" They were back in the control room.
"No - don't worry. I want him to cum once on it, then we'll take him off it. But I want that orgasm to be one he'll remember for the rest of his life."
Adrian nodded. "You could turn the current up a bit in the electrode as he starts to cum," he suggested.
John smiled approvingly. "Good. You're developing a devious mind - that's exactly what I'm planning to do."
They watched a couple of more cycles - the irresistible rise of Craig's cock as the PS unit worked on the boy's prostate, followed by the contact with the electrode, a pause as the rigid cock held out against the pain, then the slight lowering - another pause, and repeat.
"Actually, I think it would only take a few more cycles to enable him to cum - but I'm going to help him. Get the beaker to catch his spunk, will you? And switch the CCTV on - in fact record it."
A picture of the suffering boy filled the screen as Adrian switched the monitor on, and he pressed the record button on the VCR. Then he took up position, holding the plastic container ready to catch the boy's spunk as he ejaculated.
John placed one hand on the control box knob, ready to increase the current both to Craig's cock-head, and to the PS unit - and with the other began to tease and tickle the boy's vulnerable balls, running the tip of the stiff feather up and down, getting right into the creases at the sides of the scrotum - he knew that continued teasing of these would help to push the young punk over the edge.
Immediately Craig's cock shot upwards and filled to maximum erection. Hard against the electrode, it stayed there as John slowly began to turn the control knob up. He knew that the two currents being applied to Craig's body would try to force him to do two different things at the same time - the PS unit would make him cum, the cock-head electrode would cause him pain on the most sensitive spot of his body. But he also knew that the boy was so indescribably horny, had been on the edge of orgasm for so long and so many times, that the Prostate stimulator would win.
It did. Poised waiting for it to happen, John saw Craig's cock suddenly get even harder, and immediately turned the control up higher. There was a split-second pause where his cock quivered like a volcano on the verge of cataclysmic eruption, and then, with an explosive force that stunned both of them, the boy's spunk began to pump out. John turned the control up all the way and, together with Adrian, watched in fascination as the hot, sticky liquid jetted out with such force that it hit the bottom of the beaker and splashed up the sides - some of it actually rebounding completely out of the container. His hand on the control, John waited until the initial intensity began to lose power, and then smoothly turned the control down until it was off.
The boy's cock began to subside, and Adrian caught the last drops of spunk as it dribbled out. Together they looked at the monitor. Craig hung limp in the restraints, unconscious.
* * *
Again, the cycle began. The tingling in Craig's arse started his cock on its ascent towards the hated electrode. Suddenly, he gasped as he felt a feather on his balls - it was right up at the side of his scrotum, its stiff tip running up and down the sensitive creases. The fucking BASTARDS! There was nothing he could do as he felt his cock rise quickly and the pain of the shock hit his cock-head...
But this time, the tingling inside him didn't stop! In fact it was getting stronger! And so was the shock on his dick! He felt himself approaching orgasm again, and prayed to any gods who might be listening not to let the perverts stop this time. A wail rose in his throat as the pain increased on his cock-head, blossomed into a scream as the intensity of both it and the prostate stimulation became unbearable, and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that this time they were going to make him cum. But he also knew how they were going to do it. The current was getting stronger and stronger - the pain on the end of his dick was excruciating - but he knew he was going to cum anyway. There was no way he could do anything about it - they were controlling his every response. He drew a breath and shrieked as the very brink of orgasm appeared like a bottomless pit before him - and then something unutterably magical happened.
Like someone throwing a switch, the jolting, sizzling, searing agony on his glans suddenly flipped to an indescribable rapture of exactly the same intensity. At that moment, he thought he experienced as intense an ecstasy as any human being had experienced in the history of the universe. Time dilated - stretched as if someone had clicked on a slo-mo camera: he felt his spunk gathering power, straining with increasing might against the biological dam inside him. His breathing froze - it seemed as if his very heart paused - and then, with a force which blew his mind away, his spunk erupted from the bulb, rushed unstoppably along his vas deferens, past his piss-slit and burst out into the air of the room beyond the wall. He felt each of these discrete and separate events clearly and sequentially, and every one of the muscles of his firm, hard young body locked tense as he strained against the straps which held him down. The sheer INTENSITY of it was overwhelming. As his spunk pumped out of his cock he screamed and screamed and screamed till his voice broke. That tiny part of his mind suddenly became the ONLY part, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life strapped down, helpless, and being tortured by these fiends. The moment stretched to breaking point - and then, with a final shriek of unimaginable ecstasy, he lost consciousness.
To be continued (perhaps)....