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)....

Wednesday, November 28, 2018

The Box by jakkz

This is one of my favorite fictional stories.   Please enjoy it, and know that I didn't author it.  Attribution goes to

The Box

Part I - Knock, knock

Mark stood in front of the door. Number 34 it said, looked like the right place, it was certainly the right road, it just didn't look like anything special. Just someone's house on an ordinary road. The only thing he'd noticed about it was the motorbike parked ouside which he'd seen as soon as he'd turned the corner at the top of the road and started checking the house numbers.
He didn't know much about bikes, he didn't even have a license, but he found them exciting; some bikes just looked hot, and a cute guy in leathers and a pair of motorcross boots sitting on a machine like this always got him hard. So he knew this must be the right house, this had to be the guy.
Still standing by the door, he looked at his watch, 2.56pm. He'd said three o'clock. Mark licked his lips, his mouth felt dry - he was nervous. Should he knock now, or walk round the block and be spot on time? This guy had sounded a bit hard on the phone, maybe he'd think early was 'disobedient' or something. He didn't really go in for the master-slave setup usually, he was more the bondage-buddy kind of guy, but he was so into the session the guy had described he was willing to do it this once. Cheekily he'd said "yes Sir!" at the end of the phone call with a grin to himself; "I mean, it just sounds stupid to call another guy 'Sir'", he thought to myself.
He didn't want to screw up his chances with this guy so he stepped back from the door and continued down the road. By this point he now wasn't so sure he shouldn't just have knocked and gotten on with it, despite his nervousness his dick was semi-hard as he thought over what they'd talked about on the phone. Some of what he'd said couldn't be for real, I mean it was just way too intense - you couldn't tie someone like that. It was more like he was describing one of those Joe-T drawings you see; horny but just not possible. Hell, maybe this guy was just jerking off and wasn't going to be in, or didn't even live there. No, he had to live there, the bike was parked outside and the he'd said he was a biker. But if what he'd described was for real, he was in for it big time.
His cock responded to this and started rubbing on his jeans even more which made things worse still. Jeans, his old army boots, a plain t-shirt and his favorite jacket - nothing else, no socks, no jock. "Fuck, it's 3pm!" all that second guesses about whether to knock when he was early and he was now going to be one minute late.
He arrived at the house, having run the last thirty yards, stood there, checked the number again and knocked. Looked at his watch again. Just 3.01pm. Knocked again. Looked around behind him across the road, glanced at his watch again. Back to the door, he saw a buzzer. Pressed that instead. Behind the mottled glass of the outer door he saw some movement, then it opened.
Dry mouthed again, he weakly forced out an "Hello". This guy was a good six or seven inches taller than Mark, and broader shoulders but about the same age, maybe a year or two older. But it wasn't this physical stature, which was clearly superior to Mark's, that he took most notice of - it was that he was wearing the most stunning set of bike leathers he'd ever seen. Only thing was, they weren't leather at all, they were rubber, but styled like bike leathers, tailored everywhere out of thick, shining rubber. He was only a couple of feet away and he could smell it, the heat from the man's body and the heady smell of the rubber. Mark's cock leapt and he looked down at it showing through his jeans.
The guy hadn't said anything yet, he was just looked at the boy on his doorstep. Mark looked up again, almost thinging that this must be the wrong place, the expression on the man's face was set and he just looked down at him. "hello.....sir?" Mark said, forcing the words out.
"Better, boy. Inside!"
Mark went in and just stood in the hallway not sure what to do, or what to say, so he just looked ahead further into the house. The man closed the door behind him, he jumped and turned around to see the man grinning at him.
"So, you made it then, boy. But you're late"
"I didn't mean to be....Sir", he said still finding it difficult.
Then he just came at him, grabbed him by the elbows and turned him around roughly and pushed him against the wall, grabbing his wrists he forced them up behind his back painfully towards his neck. Mark resisted as best he could, he hadn't been expecting this but the man was stronger than he was. Holding him there, his shoulders throbbing from the strain he felt the man come close to his face.
"You will learn to do as you are told boy, is that clear?"
He wasn't sure what to say, he'd only been a minute late, what was the big deal?
"I said, is that clear, cunt?", he said whilst yanking the boy's wrists further up his back.
"Yes Sir", he said as quickly as he could and clenching his eyes against the pain.
He let go, pushing him to the floor and pinning him there under one knee, he unclipped a pair of rigid handcuffs from the back of his belt and snapped them on the boy in a single fluid movement. He let them ratchet on tightly so they dug into his skin, eliciting another yelp. Hauling him over onto his back, and crushing his cuffed hands behind him he looked the boy in the face. He looked startled and a little apprehensive, but that was good. He reached up and ruffled the boy's hair.
"That has to go!"
He grinned down at him, the boy was more clean cut than he usually got, still had preppy looking neat cropped hair and his jeans looked designer. Younger too, no more than 24 and nicely proportioned. He felt his arms and his thighs, all with the boy watching him puppy-eyed, but silent. He worked out a little it seemed, which fitted in with the cocky attitude he'd had on the phone, full of himself, probably a pushy bottom - well, usually anyway!
"Get up, boy", he barked at him as he himself stood up. Mark struggled back onto his front then onto his knees and finally, unsteadily onto his feet. He was looking down still when he noticed his dick was still hard. Suddenly embarrassed he looked up at the man to see if he'd noticed. He had.
"That's good boy", he said as he laughed at the boy's innocence, "Ready then boy?"
Mark just nodded and said "Yes Sir".
He took the boy by the collar of his jacket and pulled him along behind him through the house and out to the back door. He openned it and started to walk outside, still dragging the boy. At the step the boy hesitated, unsure about being led around outside, but he was just pulled along with a sharp tug, so he followed.
He led him into a brick out-house at the end of the yard, pushed him into one corner, then turned to lock the door and switch on the lights.
What Mark saw when the room lit up made his jaw drop. Everything the man had told him on the phone had been real. At the far end of the room, on a raised platform was a large black wooden box, no more than 3 feet along each side. It looked like a giant jack-in-the-box with the top hinged open, thickly padded and lined with rubber.
Several straps, some long, some short, hung from the lid where they were riveted on and indented into the padding. The outside was very plain except for the glint from the tops of the bolts that held the sides together, serious bolts, the wood must have been an inch thick.
He watched the boy take it all in, and stepped over behind him.
"No going back from this point boy."
"No Sir", he said absent mindedly and still looking at the box and around the room. Chains hung from the ceiling almost everywhere, some had shackles attached to the ends, another had a massive metal helmet swinging from it, there was a sling just behind the box, and a stout metal cage on the other side and closer to the door they'd come in through. Shelves about two foot above the cage had stacks of rubber sheeting or clothing, he couldn't tell which, and on the wall next to those every conceivable restraint had its own hook where it was stored.
Stored was the word the man had used to him on the phone a lot, and he'd latched onto it. Mark had looked around through the contact mags and website for ages, literally months maybe even a year or more, for someone into just real, aggressive bondage, and long-term. Most he'd ever gotten anyone to do to him was overnight, and even then he'd had to plague them for it. He had almost met another guy a few months back, but he'd been more interested in causing pain. What Mark wanted was good honest bondage, but hard, unyielding, escape proof bondage for as long as he could get it. So when this guy said the word stored, his cock wouldn't let him say no.
At this point the boy turned his head to look at the man who'd roughly cuffed him just a few moments ago, grinned broadly and said "Storage time Sir?"
He liked this kid's cockiness, and was pleased to see he'd been right in thinking he was usually a pushy bottom.
"No boy, lights out time!"
"Sir?", looking suddenly confused only to feel a strong hand grip the back of his head and another come up to his face and cover it with a rag.
Again in one swift movement, he kicked the boy's feet from under him and held the rag there until he went out. The boy struggled a bit but only enough to realise his hands were still trapped and that the cuffs were cutting into him, a few unaimed kicks and he was out.
Part II - A first layer
Cold, and with a desparate panic the boy jolted back awake. He heard his breath, course ragged breaths. Darkness. Cold and damp. A hard floor, his body aching from laying on it. His skin was cold. He propped himself up with his arms, his hands feeling a tiled floor, he turned his head side to side. Looking. Nothing. Panicked. Where was he? He'd been knocked out, but where was he now?
Why did he feel so cold? He moved one hand to his jeans pocket, but just hit skin. He was naked. Cold and naked laying on a hard tiled floor, in complete darkness, his head still spinning and clouded from whatever had been on the rag.
He sat up, drew his knees to his chin and pulled his feet in, slowly he crept backwards, inching towards something he could lean against. He found a wall, and carefully propped himself against it, getting himself used to the glassy chill of it down his naked back. Gingerly he pulled his feet in further and wrapped his arms around his knees, more for safety now than anything else.
Now blinded. A searing pain through his head as the lights came on. He was just dazzled by it. Shielding his eyes now with one hand and gradually getting used to it from the pitch darkness, he tried to take in his surroundings. No longer pre-occupied with the cold, but just taking things in as best he could.
The room was indeed tiled, white ceramic tiles like a bathroom over the floor and walls. There was a door at the far end painted white, but with no handle or window just hinges that showed it opened inwards. The lights, two fluorescent tubes, were hung from the ceiling which was also tiled.
As his eyes got accustomed to the light he began to notice more about the room; the floor was sloped down towards him away from the door, and his butt was in a grate that ran along the length of the wall he'd backed into. Above him and to his left was a shower nozzle but he didn't see anything that would allow him to turn it on or off, and to his right a plain, white stool with a black, rectangular box on the top.
He sat there for a few moments wondering what to do, his head was clearing fast now and the only thing that it seemed possible for him to do was open the box.
Standing up he found he was a little unsteady on his feet, and felt a light headed as he caught his balance. He held his hands up to his face to rub some life back into himself, wiped his eyes and ran his hands back over his head.
"Fuck! Fuck!", he said out loud. He felt again all round his head, but it was true, his hair had gone, all of it. He looked down at his dick and that was hairless too. Checking himself all over he realised he'd been shaved everywhere. There wasn't anything left, not on his head, his balls, his ass, under his arms, even his eyebrows had gone. This was going way too far. Pushing the box off the stool he sat down and just held his now skin head in his hands and thought and tried to imagine how he could get out of this.
For a few moments he sat that cursing himself and beating himself up for letting his dick get the better of him and landing him in this situation. But then the box had looked hot when he'd seen in five minutes ago, or however long it now was. Must have taken ages to shave him down like this.
"Maybe this is the storage", he sneered to himself, angry that he'd fucked up.
"I can't get out, I guess I am trapped in here", he got up and paced over to the door to see if he could get it open.
Banging as hard as he could on it, and trying to shoulder it open for a while he realised it was useless. Try as he might it didn't budge, it felt too solid for him to force against its hinge and out. Now rather than just trapped, he was trapped and sore.
Almost in anger he was about to pick up the stool and throw it against the door, when he noticed that the box he'd pushed off it had come open on the floor. Picking it up, its contents fell out around the stool. Casually discarding the box in the direction of the door, rather than shying the stool at it as he'd intended, he bent down to pick up each of the things that had fallen out, his curiosity now held firmly by what he saw.
Several pieces of plain and quite thin rubber clothing, and looking at each he felt his dick begin to grow hard again. There was a pair of rubber jeans, with a zip around the crotch, which fascinated him, a long sleeved t-shirt and gloves. He held each of them up in turn, looking at them, turning them over in his hands and just feeling them.
He needed no further prompting to know what he had to do, carefully he pulled each item on. First the top, down over his head, and snapping into place over his chest. He wriggled it down his back and then set about straightening the arms so that it fitted over him perfectly smoothly. He hated it when he saw rubber guys out at the bars, who had just thrown their kit on sloppily, he always took his time and got rid of all the creases before polishing it up and going out. Anything to show off his gym toned body better deserved spending time on.
Next were the jeans, he had thought these would be tough without any talc or lube, but actually since he now had no hair on his legs it was quite easy, and the feeling of the rubber that close to his skin was amazing. So tight, and snug, but cooling one moment, only to be warmed the next as his skin heated it up. Right then and there he decided he'd always keep himself shaved, how could he have missed out on how great this felt for so long?
Pulling them up all the way he then couldn't decide what to do with his by now achingly hard dick, point it straight up, or down a leg? Getting too tempted to stroke it he just shoved it down the front and pulled the jeans up to meet the rubber top. He wished there was a mirror he could look at himself in right now, but just white tiles everywhere.
Lastly the gloves, they were quite long and tight so they made a good seal with the sleeves of the top when he pulled them on. Now he was all set. But all set for what. He sat down again and started to feel stupid that he'd just played around getting the rubber on when he should have been trying to get out.
But, the door then opened. It swung wide open, and he saw the man standing in the door frame. He still had on his rubber biker gear, and still looked just as hot.
"Here boy!"
Instinctively he got up and ran over to him and knelt down in front of him. He felt the man's hand rest on his smooth head and rub it around.
"Doesn't that feel better now boy?"
"Yes Sir"
"This is how you will keep it from now on, slaves don't merit hair. And you are a slave aren't you?"
"Aren't you boy?"
"Yes Sir I am Sir"
"Say it boy, tell me what you are boy"
"Sir....", he stammered still unsure, but then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly then, with his Master's hand still on his head, he continued, "i am a rubber slave boy Sir, your dog boy Sir"
He laughed a little, not in ridicule, but just at the pleasure of hearing the boy say it.
"You're a dog are you boy?"
"Yes Sir", now feeling embarrassed that he'd maybe been a bit too enthusiatic, "i mean if that is what you want Sir, yes Sir i think Sir"
"That's alright boy.", he laughed again at the boy's quickening enthusiasm. This was going to be fun. He took his hand away and brought it back with a wide leather collar which he buckled around the boy's neck.
He pulled the boy from the room, on two legs, but he'd learn eventually, and back in the main part of the out-house with the box. As he led his around it, he felt the boy pulling slightly towards it, clearly wanting to get a better look at it. He'd get a much closer look soon enough, he thought as he smiled to himself and brought the boy to the far end of the room by the cage.
The cage had four heavy duty rings welded to the top side that he usually used to suspend it from the ceiling, but with the cage down on the concrete floor they served equally well as anchor points for boys being prepared. He pushed the boy against it, his waist just level with the top, then forced him to bend forwards across the cold iron bars.
As he moved around to the far side away from the boy, he could see the goosebumps come up all the back on his neck down to the rubber as the cold from the bars crept through his new skin. Pulling each arm roughly he buckled the slave's wrists into restraints already waiting at the ends of two chains from the rings furthest away from where the boy was bent over the cage, he'd shorten those later, but for now he just needed to get him fixed into position.
Down by the slave's bare feet were two similar restraints, he held the boy's feet firmly as he attached the leather straps tightly, feeling the boy gently shivering. With this done, he then unclipped the wrist restraints and dragged the boy's arms as far as they'd go and re-attached them to the chains thereby stretched the boy taut over the cage.
He had his head looking down into the cage between his out stretched arms, resting on the bars. He looked at the leather covered mat lining the inside of the cage and wondered who had last been in there and what had happened to them. He could make out smudges of lube on the leather from where a slave had sat with something up his butt. His cock twitched.
Standing behind the boy he took hold of the zip on the jeans and slowly drew it open, first down along the boy's ass then all the way forwards letting his dick hang out. As it fell out, long clear ropes of precum connected it back to rubber, and it hung there pointing straight ahead through the cage towards the boy's shoulders, his balls were a good size and hung there responding with slight movements as the boy's dick occasionally dipped and twitched.
Taking two lengths of rope he would each round the slave's legs just below the knee, making 4 turns on each. Tying a good strong knot to prevent the loops slipping he then tied off each piece of rope to the side of the cage, pulling the boy's knees wide apart and effectively holding them rigidly to the cage. This left everything hanging freely and spread his butt cheeks well.
He stood back, a kodak moment perhaps? The turns of the rope, white against the glossy black of the rubber looked hot, and the small movements the boy was trying to make to ease the strain on his legs forced out into that position were quite cute. Not quite ready yet though. He always used the same rope, magicians rope which was all cotton without any nylon core, which ensured the knots never slipped. A further length of rope he tied around the boy's balls, tugging them firmly with a couple of turns of the cord, and tying it off with a short length just loose. As he handled the slave's balls, he boy let out some gentle whimpers, clearly very turned on by being restrained, and bead after bead of precum now flowed out of his cock down the rope of older precum that had been attacted to the rubber. Some of it got on his hands, and when he put them under the boy's nose he started licking it off slowly but completely, savouring every moment of it. The boy clearly wasn't confused about his role any more!
"Good boy, good boy", he said softly
When he'd licked it all off he thanked his Master dutifully with the meekest voice he'd ever heard. But the boy had to take pain as well as pleasure, so what happened next probably came as a rude awakening. He cupped his tied off balls in one hand, the other still being licked even though it was already more than clean, and then mid-lick, squeezed hard. Instantly, the boy tried to double up from the pain as it built up in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't and simply slammed his head into the bars. It's good when a boy's instincts cause him more discomfort.
He was obviously trying to get up off the cage as his feet were working back and forth as though trying to stand up. But he wasn't going anywhere; he started to howl and then he started to plead.
"Aahh, let go!"
"Let go of me!"
"Aarghhh, please Sir, please don't Sir!"
He let go, but not before squeezing just a bit harder which made the boy jolt and yelp wonderfully. He sagged back onto the cage, no longer trying to get off, his cock still standing out proudly, but the rope of precum had come off and there was now a pool of it just inside the cage on the mat. He pulled the rope round the slave's balls back, making them stick out behind him and pointing his dick straight down. He saw his body tense, anticipating what was to come next. He tied the rope off to a hook on the wall, fixing his slave's genitals in that position and then stood alongside his stretched out body, running his hands up and down the boy's back and then his head. Just watching his slave. Watching as in a few moments the boy turned his head to look at his Master, wondering why nothing had happened. Then a few more minutes passing, the slave getting daring, and starting to push back and pull forwards as much as he can to try and get some leverage on his cock.
Out of the sight of his boy, he reached up to the shelves above the cage and rooted around for something. This much the boy could now hear, but could not turn to see what it was. His movements, as limited as they were, became more inquisitive and adventurous as he determined to twist enough by some means in order to see what his Master was doing.
The he found it and brought it down in front of the boy's face, but just out of reach. The boy saw it and immediately clamped his mouth shut, whimpering and trying to pull his head as far away from it as possible. The gag was the size and shape of a small fist and made out of solid black rubber. The shape was a little strange, but the boy quickly recognised that this was meant to fit snuggly within his mouth completely. But the degree to which it would obviously have filled his mouth, and stretched his jaw had it been held closed around it wasn't the bit that frightened the boy; it was the thick tube that ran through the gag, going an inch further inside its victim, and hanging out about a foot on the outside. Surely if that went in him he'd spend the whole time concentrating on keeping his gag reflex in check, or he'd be in serious trouble.
The boy was adamant that this gag was not going in him, but his Master had expected this and from where he was standing alongside the boy, with the gag held in front of his face with one hand, he brought the other down firmly on the boy's tethered balls, illiciting an immediate and pitiful scream. But it was short lived of course, no sooner was his head thrown back in pain, and his mouth opened to scream than the gag was deftly shoved in.
Realising his position the boy fought hard to push the gag back out, but his tongue was held down firmly in the bottom of his mouth by the sheer bulk and shape of it. Now he really did start to panic, trying desparately to writhe out of his bonds and kick himself away from the cage over which he was securely stretched, but he managed only to pull on arms painfully and slap his dick against the cold bars of the door of the cage between which it was still pointing straight down and steadily leaking precum despite his fear.
He was unable to think properly now. Scared of what was happening to him. Fighting with the desire to trust himself in his Master's hands, and the will to curl up and protect himself. Knowing what the boy was going thought, he soothingly spoke to him, calming him down, reassuring the boy. Still though the slave was gulping air in hard through the gag's breathing pipe, almost choking it back out again, spluttering flecks of spit out with every exhale, but gradually getting used to its feeling in his mouth and towards the back of his throat. Fighting back the urge to vomit it out. But he would have to cope, it was in there to stay now.
But he wasn't finished with the boy yet either. Sooner or later he would be able to get the gag out if just left as it was, so he reached for a hood, thick rubber, almost rigid which he began to peel down over the slave's head. At first the boy thrashed around anew from this, but a couple of similar, sharp slaps to his balls brought him back into line quickly. Within a few moments, he was able to continue pulling the hood down over the boy's naked head, with only the sound of his breathing, now hard again, and the gentle rise and fall of his back as his chest pushed it up and down.
With a snap the hood found it home and fitted around his head perfectly. Although made from thick rubber, it was shaped and moulded at the front so that the boy felt his chip slip into a dip which might almost have been made to fit it exactly. The only holes in the hood were those through which his head had been pushed, and which now lined up with the high collar of the rubber top he already wore, and a round grommeted hole in the front through which his breathing pipe was threaded.
The hood effectively fastened the boy's jaw closed, tightly compressing it into the gag inside his mouth, the result being that not only was the boy's head covered in rubber, but it was virtually completely filled with it as well wherever possible. He patted the boy's head through the rubber and was pleased to hear a couple of pleasant sounding puppy moans come from within made slightly metallic sounded from the passage of the sound through the wide breathing tube.
If the boy had had a moment to consider what had gone before, he might have known what to expect next, but as it was he was busy relishing the feeling of the rapidly warming rubber now encasing his head and isolating him to a large extent from the sights and sounds of the outside world, the world within his Master's playroom. Often with rubber hoods, once on he could still make out shapes and bright lights as the rubber was stretched tightly over his face, but not with this one, it was just darkness. No shadows of the bars, or sparkles from the overhead lights reflected off the metal and rubber around the room which had filled his field of vision only a minute ago.
In an instant he was brought back to reality as he felt ice cold lube being rubbed against his exposed, and vulnerable butt, his Master's fingering expertly pushing in then letting them slip out, rubbing the lube around and in, and over and then adding more, pushing it in a little further. The boy's mouth fell dry and he caught himself only just in time before gagging on the tip of the gag's tube tempting to tickle the back of his throat. How could he concentrate on everything going on, how could he cope with the gag, his now aching legs and tightly rubbered body. Only his dick, his balls and his now well lubed ass were free of rubber, save for his feet now getting colder by the second as they rested on the harsh concrete foor.
Then nothing. His Master's touch had gone, no feeling. Nothing was touching him, except the steel of the cage and the ropes that bound him to it. Unused to the thickness of the hood and the effect it had on his ability to listen, he brought his head up and cocked it slightly to one side, intent to listen for any clue of what had happened to his Master.
And then he knew. Pushed firmly at his ass he felt the tip of a plug. Trying to relax and push back as he could, he wanted to get it in him. Just begging if he could, to be touched.
He turned the plug slowly, rotating it, pushing against his boy's eager hole, watching him greedily trying to get onto it. Then pushing hard, allowed the first of the plug proper to enter the slave. The shape of the plug made it position to get it inside in stages, three bulbs each larger than the next making the whole about 8" long and 2" at its widest. As the first slipped in, the boy clearly enjoying it, froze lifted his head a little, softly whimpering in pleasure, perhaps thinking that this was the extent of the plug.
He turned it again, then turned it the other way, enjoying the sounds this produced from the excited slave boy. But now pushing again further in, which caused the boy to draw in air quickly through the tube and suddenly open his hands, pushing his own head down into the bars, a picture of concentration.
Smearing more lube around the part of the plug still outside, he turned it faster now, but kept up the pressure inwards. The second bulb had not yet gone it, but he felt that only a little more pressure separated that moment from now. Keeping the boy at this point, wanting more, being stretching, eager and greedy to get it in. He let the moment linger, turning the plug the other way, keeping the force just short of ramming the second bulb in. And then he let it go, he pushed it, pushed the second of the three bulbs in and stiffened himself from the yelp that the boy tried to let out.
But he wasn't through; without letting the pressure up he slammed the third and final bulb into the boys now well stretched hole without giving him a chance to get his breath from the shock of the size of the second. As soon as it was shoved home the boy's muscles clamped quickly around the narrow neck of the plug, cruelling making his body keep it in by itself. This created a moment on near total panic in the boy's limited movements, but it got the worse of that ordeal over for him quickly - a luxury he would have less of when he would be moved to the box.
Whilst the boy was trying to recover from the pain of the intrusion into his ass, his Master busied himself untying the boy's balls and packing everything away again under the rubber jeans. If the found composed himself quickly enough he would try and force the plug back out to a more comfortable point; this wasn't going to happen! But by this time the zip was closed, trapping the plug inside him with no way out, and piping his painfully swollen dick awkwardly down one leg, adding its own lubricant to the sweat already building up there.
He looked at his rubbered slave boy, admiring now how much he was already transformed from the preppy sub that had knocked at the door, to a whimpering, aching, cum-hungry dog boy ready for the box. Well almost ready, he had his first skin of rubber on; but this was too thin and delicate to have any straps or restraints placed directly over it. The main rubber suit, key to holding the boy in storage had to go on next.
Part III - First frustration
The boy's visual record of his ordeal had ended as the hood had been fitted over his head; its thickness virtually unyielding to even the smallest attempted movement of his jaw. The shock of the massive plug had made him try and scream, but he'd not even been able to do this properly, rather instead sending a shock of pain through his jaw and neck as he involuntarily tried to throw open his mouth.
This, in turn had caused him problems with the gag, again almost choking him as it threatened to trigger his, as yet untamed, gag reflex. Now, for a few moments he was left alone, panting hard and testing the restraints occasionally with agitated struggles but of course he was still held firm. Through the thickness of the hood he could just about make out the sounds of his snorting breathing from the end of the thick mouth tube, that and the slight vibration it made across the rubber of his face.
His master watched this for a few minutes, the sporadic struggling that gradually got less and less frantic as the boy accepted his predicament; the coughing flecks of spit that came out of the gag and the way the boy trying to adjust his feet, still not yet covered in rubber, as his legs no doubt began to ache more and more from their almost rigid bondage.
Eventually he detected the boy sigh deeply and let his head fall gently to the bars of the top of the cage, finally admitting that there was no way he could free himself and that whatever his master wanted to do to him was going to happen whether he liked it or not. This was what he had been waiting for; the last voluntary submission the boy could make, or would make for quite some time. He now had him physically controlled by the restraints and mentally subdued my the boy's own admission that he was trapped.
He knew the boy would fight and struggle and perhaps even panic later on as the reality of his storage set in, but for now at least he wanted the boy reasonably relaxed if only to add another dip to the emotional rollercoaster of his captivity.
With the boy now breathing regularly, and the only movements being made were simply to settle himself more comfortably over the cage, he set about untying the boy's legs. As each knot came free he held the slave's flesh firmly where it had been held and rubbed it deeply, working his circulation back to normal; with one limb now entirely free of the bars of the cage he deliberately straightened it and placed the boy's foot back on the floor, ensuring that the slave knew that this was the position his master wanted him to keep it in whilst he worked on freeing the other.
Having unfastened both legs the boy had his feet together and slightly away from the cage to which the rest of him was still firmly secured. The pressure this placed on the plug pushing up inside him make the boy squirm and moan gently, either through pleasure because of the attention his prostate was now getting or discomfort because of the overwhelming size of it - he wasn't sure which. Either way, the sounds his slave was making were welcome and the sight of his butt moving slowly around the plug, the base of which could clearly be seen through the tight rubber, made his own dick swell. He allowed the boy to continue subtly adjusting himself to the size and shape of it, no doubt trying to settle it to some more comfortable or more pleasureable position, whilst he got out the next item of restraint the boy would have to endure.
Again, made from thick but well moulded rubber it was the size and shape of a small sleeping-bag and tapered towards the closed end. The heavy-duty zip that ran the length of it was supplemented by a set of wide straps that wrapped the whole way around it at regular intervals, held in place by loops rivited into the rubber.
Unzipping it and moving the free ends of the straps to either side he laid it on the floor underneath the boy's legs, lifting his feet momentarily to place them back just inside the narrow end of the opened sack.
Inside, the boy felt the difference in surface texture beneath his feet and began to wonder what was happening next, he had heard nothing much for a while now except occasional heavy vibrations transmitted up through the cage and his body. But he couldn't really tell what these meant or what was going on; the disorientation welled up inside him causing him almost to panic. No sound at all, rather than this surreal bass sound from time to time, would have been easier to take.
As one peak of anxiety began to subside he realised that the feeling in his legs had changed further. The texture under his bare feet was still the same, slick and smooth, cold at first but warmer now - he took this to be rubber. But now his legs felt warmer too, and somehow heavier. This change is sensation caught him off-guard as he'd been pre-occupied with his near panic from the disorientation. Instinctively he tensed and tried to bring his legs in under him, but in doing so he found out exactly what had changed.
A soft buzzing sensation he felt along the back of his thighs confirmed his fears; his master pulled the zip up along the rubber leg-sack slowly and deliberately from his slave's feet to the top of his legs. As the zip closed it pulled in the thick rubber behind it, binding his legs tightly together as it went. To the boy this felt cold at first as though this new rubber was in contact with his skin directly; and tight, tight as though it held the muscles of his calves and thighs firm, almost solid.
Running his hands over this new surface he searched out, expertly for any ridges or creases in the rubber, places where it had become stuck to the thinner first layer of rubber underneath. Where he found one he carefully eased it out and smoothed it away. He felt the tension in the slaves body, the flexing of his muscles under his hands as the boy began the process of getting accustomed to the restiction of his movement. For now his legs were at least still mobile, albeit as a single unit.
His master pulled firmly up on the zip to ensure it was all the way home, and then with a small padlock, secured it to a retaining ring fixed at the top of the sleeve to ensure it could not slip down. He now concentrated on doing up the five straps down the length of it, they wrapped around it snuggly at the ankles, just below the knee and immediately above it, another at the mid-thigh and a final one around the top just below the boy's butt.
With each fastened up tightly first, he then rebuckled each again, pulling harder to force them even tighter and more secure. When he was satisfied with this, and sweating from the exertion of it he stood back and took in the boy's situation. It was clear the boy was uncomfortable from the kicking of his bound legs, obviously trying to buck the leg-sack off, and the pitably wailing coming through the gag. He stood behind his slave, his legs either side of his captive's as though about to fuck him, and using one hand gently applied pressure to the base of the plug and kept it there. The boy didn't stop his moaning and whimpering, but the nature of it changed, his legs stopped tensing and flexing and fell instead to the floor. His head slowly moved as much as it could, back and sideways clearly overwhelmed by the pleasure the plug was giving him.
He had not expected simple pressure on the plug to make the boy forget the aching bondage in his legs so easily, he put the boy's eager acceptance of sexual pleasure down to his inexperience. But that didn't stop him going further. Now, instead of just pushing against the plug he held his fist against it and pushed it and ground it around. The response this got was immediate. The slave instantly fought frantically, trashing from side to side and howling fiercely into the gag. But this struggle was not some concerted effort to get free, this was totally different. It was a primal show of desperation, the tidal wave of sexual frustration caused by this attack on his ass was more than the boy could handle; this struggle was an instinctual need to get fucked by the plug buried inside him, it was a struggle his own body created to make the plug make him cum.
Enough of that; he certainly was not about to let the boy cum. He brought his fist away quickly, leaving no pressure on the plug and no movement against the boy's prostate. The struggles from this were almost as violent; the boy now fought pitiably against his restraints, not because he had become aware of his aching legs, but because he didn't want his master to stop playing with his plug. The boy kicked aggressively, progressively getting more angry and frustrated. The whimpering and pleading moans changing in nature again; no longer those of a horny worked up slaveboy, but those of a hungry desperate and denied captive. The boy's obedience and willingness to submit had momentarily left him as his body argued with his master for more attention.
Watching the struggling, his master knew it must be causing the boy a great deal of pain; what movement he had left in his upper body would only have meant that the twisting and fighting would leave him sore, and the way he thrashed his head around would probably have left him dazed in different circumstances. But this is exactly where he wanted the boy; aware of his dick, aware of his need to cum, aware of his own captivity, but equally aware that he could do nothing about any of them.
The fight subsided and the boy slumped, the whimpering had stopped and now all he could hear was the sound of the boy sobbing. He touched his broken boy's shoulders, holding them firmly in his hands. This sudden feeling of his master touching him caused the boy to raise his head and try to rub it gently against his owner's forearms. Not in any attempt to gain favour for a resumption of the plug fucking, but as a sign of trust and submission.
With the boy still sobbing he quickly released the rest of the restraints holding him to the cage and lifted him up from it. Even without the leg-sack he doubted the boy would have been able to walk either because of the plug or exhaustion at the struggling. He laid him out on a padded bondage table just across from the cage and let him lay there resting for a moment. He held his hand firmly down on the boy's chest to ensure he got the message not to move.
The boy kept as still as he could, totally unsure now of his surroundings and completely out of touch to which way he was facing or where in the playroom he now was. So aside from his shivering and gingerly stretching his arms down by his side, after their position pulled out above him over the cage, he kept himself motionless.
The next piece of restraint for his slave was a strait-jacket...

Part IV - The Box
His Master brought the strait-jacket back from the far end of the playroom where it had been stored with some of the other larger pieces of restraint he often used; his boy laid out on the table was still trying to keep still but had taken to gently and ever so slightly pushing his butt down into the padding and thereby gaining some little leverage with the plug. He let him do this for a moment or two until the slave started to moan and then firmly slapped the slave's dick through the restraints. This illicited what would have been a yelp and a well caught instinctive attempt to move his hands to his dick's protection. He would have been disappointed if the boy hadn't caught this reflex and he smiled to himself that already the boy was learning.
Getting the jacket on was not as difficult as it sometimes was when he'd gotten slaves to this point of the storage process; occasionally they had already decided they wanted out and wrestling the strait-jacket onto them took time and considerable effort. In fact the last time that had happened had made him rethink just how much of the impending captivity he let the slaves see before beginning the encasement. Certainly the desperate struggling and fight for freedom had its plus points and he still wasn't sure if should hood a victim early on since this deprived them of a view of the box up-close, and deprived him of seeing their reaction to it.
He had swung the boy around on the table so that his bound legs hung over the side and he was otherwise sitting up - with this particularly sensative boy the pressure this put on the rubber inside his ass probably kept him from resisting too much. Easing the thick, cold rubber of the jacket up the boy's arms he noticed him pull back slightly, almost a hesitant jesture, as he came to realise what was being put on him. He held the jacket in both hands by either side of the collar and pulled it up firmly onto the boy's shoulders, it felt icy cold even to him and he could see the boy shivering. Ignoring this he deftly turned the slave over again back up onto the table but now face down, restrained legs out stretched behind him. Sometimes they panicked at this point with their faces pushed down into the leather padding of the table, feeling their breath, hot and damp off its surface whilst the last hope of their freedom was strapped away. But this one didn't - perhaps it was better to hood them early.
The jacket was extensive and secure - the back strapped up and padlocked over each buckle, as with the leg-sack he fastened each first then returned to yank the final bit of slack from each before securing them. The 2" high collar of it, now flush with the rest of the boy's rubbered body fastened shut with two smaller straps - smaller but no less secure. The crotch straps of a regular jacket were, on this jacket, used instead to secure it to the leg-sack; the anchor points on the legs were reinforced to take the strain and set at angles to ensure the best possible alignment with the jacket. This made it possible to pull the jacket tighter down onto the slave whilst pulling the restraints on the legs up and more secure at the same time - they had been made to work together and held the victim well.
The arms he pulled thru loops in the sides of the jacket and behind the boy's back. Here they were attached and padlocked. A final strap was fastened at the front over the boy's wrists - padlocking this with a satisfying click he left off the pinion straps above the elbows as it would only get in the way later on.
The boy was now his; encased in rubber, restrained without any hope of escape, each part of him controlled, every opening plugged and each limb rendered useless. But not yet entirely dehumanized.
He felt his slave trembling, despite the thickness of the rubber, as he carried him to the box - some mixture of fear and anticipation, it no longer mattered which. Sitting the boy into the box he pushed his back flat against the rear side, and nudged his butt into the edge. The first retaining belt came across the boy's waist immediately below his folded and restrained arms. The strap, broad, thick leather buckled tightly squeezing the boy back into the heavy padding of the box. The boy squirmed a little. The next strap across the chest was difficult to get on as he get to bring the ends between the captive's arms and pecs, but once threaded through, this also was pulled firm and buckled. Not happy with the tension, he unbuckled it and, placing his boot on the boy's chest, yanked hard and closed it up again. This had the effect of winding the captive but still it was necessary to ensure he became as well fastened into his prison as possible.
Two smaller straps at the same height retained the boy's upper arms to the back of the box, effectively cutting off any previously possible upper body motion. This was the point where he usually hooded them, that way they'd see how cramped the box actually was on the inside with all the padding and besides, the wide-eyed look of panic on their faces as the rubber hood came down over them could be quite special. But with this boy, he didn't sound to have that much experience, and he'd wanted to make sure that if he did freak out, it wasn't until he was safely locked away and couldn't harm himself in the struggle.
This now was the hardest part, for him, as well as the captive. Taking hold of his bound up ankles in both hands and crouching in front of the boy he slowly pushed allowing the knees to bend upwards and steadily forcing the boy's feet back towards his butt. It was hard because of the tightness and thickness of the restraints already around the slave's legs, but by pushing back slowly it was possible to get the feet to almost touch the ass. The added benefit of his strain in the rubber was that the straps holding the jacket to the leg-sack at the back crossed over the plug so that when the boy bent at the knees these tightened and raped the boy's hole relentlessly pushing the plug right into him.
This was obviously driving the boy mad, as the sounds escaping from the gag were low and gutteral, sick with the need to cum. Just how he should be.
He fastened a leather cuff around the boy's ankles and secured it by two chains to the far back corners - this held the tension perfectly and preventing the slave shuffling his legs at all in any effort to get comfortable. Two additional chains clipped to the leg-sack straps at the knees and the side walls of the box, thereby preventing even any side to side movement of any part of his legs. Some captives had been able to swing their knees from side to side and thereby rub their dicks along the inside of the rubber - this in turn had allowed them to cum. Certainly he wanted them to cum, but on his terms, not theirs.
The last and final attachments were around the captive's head - a broad strap over the forehead, secured and locked, and a chin strap going diagonally up the sides of his head and attaching to the back of the box. With the snap of this padlock the boy was rendered motionless.
Looking at the boy held there, sucken into the padding, he saw him flex and heave at his bonds, but there was no real give anywhere and yet, from the stabbing grunts coming from the boy, each flex and each pull against the restraints was taking considerable effort.
The box itself now stood open on two sides, the front, where the captive had been loaded in and the top side. Each was hinged open and stood ready for closing up. He brought the front side up first, padded as the rest were, and closed it snug against the edges of the rest of the box. Clasps on the outside fastened over the edges, and once done up he turned his attention to the top. The top was a little different, still padded and designed to fit flush with the others, but in the center a number of different gauge tubes and pipes came through from the outside. Depending on the predicament of the victim he used these for various attachments to the restraints, but with this boy he used only one - a medium sized corrugated clear plastic pipe which he connected up to the breathing tube on the boy's gag.
He held the free end of the pipe, outside the box, to his cheek for a few moments, checking to feel his boy's breath was coming through properly. It was sweet and warm and in short, eager gasps.
Happy with this he brought the lid down and let it drop the last few inches.
Inside all the boy heard was a low thud, and then a distant sound of metal on metal, the padlocks being slipped into their anchor points, locked and let fall against the exterior of the box. The exterior. Outside, not inside here where he was. He had felt his encasement progress, but had no real idea anymore of what he looked like, he felt disoriented - was he still in the same room with the box, or elsewhere in some other device? Was he now to be left alone? Could he cum? He was desperate to cum, his dick was aching and straining for just one slight touch and he was sure he'd shoot.
He tried to struggle and pull against what held him, he fought and tried to beat it; he felt himself try and yell out as he put all his effort into not escaping, that seemed a remote fucking possibility, but just to get some movement over the end of his dick. Nothing he did brought any relief. The heat now was tremendous, the more he tugged at the rubber that held him firm, the more twisted and tight he wrung onto him.
With one desperate spasm of effort he tried to tense every sinue of muscle he had, and actually managed to force out a heavy scream from the excertion. But it was no use, he was no freer now that he had been before, just dizzy with the effort and swimming in his own sweat.
Defeated he sobbed at his own horniness, his hormones that had led him and his dick, no, he thought, these hormones that his dick had used to lead him here had now fucked him up completely. He was more worked up than he'd ever been, his dick hurt from the need to cum, his balls were numb and at that ecstatic point just before they churn and shoot and yet he had not one fucking single fucking way to fucking get off!
He much as his restraints enabled him to, he wept. He couldn't help it, he was that frustrated.
In the moments between the sobs he felt the plug get heavier and seem to pull downwards out of his butt. His insides, he reckoned, had had enough of it and were forcing it out.
But then he was pulled straight out of his sobbing as he distinctly felt the plug lurch back up into it, almost making him jump - if that were possible still. And then nothing. Another sob escaped him, the tears adding to the sweat bathing his motionless head. Then it happened again. Slowly the plug felt heavier and started to pull out of him, ever so gradually, then snap back.
This happened over and over, he couldn't keep track of how many times, he started to become lost in the feeling it gave him, rubbing gently, slightly, but definitely over his prostate.
Then it all stopped. He had been on the wave of anticipation of it pulling down again but it didn't. He wanted it to start again, he wanted it to keep doing it, keep moving. In sympathy he tried to suck in his stomach and release it over and over to try and mimic the movement, but it wasn't the same.
It started again, but more definite. This time instead of snapping back in, it rose as gradually as it fell, as though it were really fucking him. He knew his mind must be playing tricks on him, but it really felt like he was being slowly fucked by the massive thing.
When it started to get faster and deeper, he knew it wasn't just his testosterone picked brain that was making it up - the plug was actually moving. Fuck that, it wasn't moving it was fucking him, fast. Ramming into him hard, then pulling back slowly this time, stretching against the rubber straps of his strait-jacket and forcibly fucking him.
What he hadn't known was that the plug shoved into him earlier had a steel core, not big enough to feel, but solid enough to snag a good enough magnet if brought close enough. Aside from the strict bondage of keeping the boy's back and body entirely motionless, the point of getting his butt into the corner was to position the plug over a large electromagnet beneath the base of the box. By varing the strength and frequency of this he was able to control the movement of the plug inside the captive's butt. The rubber bondage itself prevented the captive from pushing the plug out, but the pull on the steel core was enough to pull against it, only to be forced back inside as soon as the power was cut.
In this way he could make it fuck whoever had been stored inside the box any way he chose; from a gentle, barely noticable pulse in and out, to a full-on rough fucking that would grab every ounce of the captive's attention in their need to get more of it.
He set it on moderate fuck and, after rechecking the breathing tube and feeling the stored boy's breath fast and desparate, he sat down to listen to the suffering. The sounds, the gasps, the strangled howls - he loved them all.
The fucking didn't stop now, it was hard but the shape of the plug hit his prostate head-on every time in shot back in and jolted his dick almost to the point of orgam again and again. It was relentless, it never changed its tempo, it never tired of course, the fucking thing, it just kept on going, hard and fast and totally without feeling for his dick.
He didn't want to hold out, he wanted to cum, and when after fuck knows how long of being pounded it tipped him over the edge he felt his dick just explode, his balls pulled right up, tight and churning, load after load, he couldn't breath, he couldn't breath. He pulled and pulled on the gag to try and draw air in, but nothing. Fuck, fuck fuck.
He had heard the slave begin to climax and at just the right moment had stoppered the breathing tube. If the boy's orgasm wasn't going to be powerful enough, this would ensure it would be totally unforgetable.
As his dick kept shooting, but he still couldn't breath. He fought hard, harder than he had before, his life depended on it. But the fucking kept going and he was still on the crest of his orgasm.
Feeling he'd denied him long enough, and stopping short of making the slave faint, he opened up the pipe and felt the rush of air being dragged into it. He smiled to himself, and left the boy in the box, stored and packed away to enjoy the agony of the severity of his bondage post-orgasm. By this time tomorrow he'd be ready enough to do it over again and he wouldn't have moved an inch!