I opened my eyes slowly and for a moment I thought I was still hooded, but I wasn’t – at least I couldn’t feel the thing any longer. Either I was blind, or I was in a totally dark room. I tried to move but I was strapped down tightly. My feet were apart and my hands were above my head. Oh shit.
I’d been walking home after a bad night with Jemma. We’d had an argument. Again.
I hadn’t even seen the bastards; as I’d rounded the corner of the church everything had suddenly gone black as some kind of bag was dropped over my head. I felt a cable tie or something close the bottom of it tight around my neck. I lashed out blindly but my fists didn’t connect with anybody. The hood started to move in and out as I gasped for breath. I tore at it, but I couldn’t get the fucking thing off. There was a sickly, chemical smell inside it - and my head started to spin.
I’d woken up naked and lying on what felt like a table with a smooth padded surface; the top part of it was raised, supporting my head. Although the room was warm I was shivering. Fear, I suppose. I didn’t know who the fuck had got me, or what they intend to do to me. I prayed it wasn’t some psycho who was going to cut me up slowly. I forced myself not to think about that. Then I became aware that my stomach felt strange – as if there was something attached to it. I couldn’t see anything because the room was pitch black, and I couldn’t move to find out what it was, but when I flexed my abs I felt something heavy, kind of swaying a bit.
Twenty-three years of living in the East End had taught me to handle myself, but whoever this bastard was, he hadn’t given me a fucking chance. And that made me mad . I pulled at the straps that were holding me down but all they did was creak a bit. I felt around with my hands, trying to find buckles or knots I could unfasten, but there was nothing within reach. My wrists felt like they were in leather cuffs – and presumably they would have buckles – I stretched my fingers, but if there were any I couldn’t bend my hand enough to get to them. And they were too far away to get my teeth to. There was no way on earth that I was going to be able to undo them. With a yell of fury I strained my gym-worked muscles to break the straps. But it did no good – I was helpless.
Snarling, I lay there. That was all I could fucking do.
Later – I’ve no idea how much later – the lights came on without any warning. I gave a startled yell and my eyes flew open, and then I clamped them shut again against the blinding brightness: there was a spotlight over my head shining directly down on me.
When I finally managed to open them I still had to squint, but I saw what it was that was strapped to my stomach: it was a rubber cock and balls.
What the fuck? It was pointing upwards. It got stranger though: a little beyond the false cock there was a tall screen fixed to the table – it was the same width, and looked like black glass. I couldn’t see through it, it hid everythingon the other side, including my own cock, and the bottom edge was shaped; it fit closely around my body, going down to the table top at the sides. In its reflection I could see the other side of the rubber cock and balls.
After trying to figure this out, and failing, I looked around, and saw that I was in a very disturbing room. I’d heard about places like this – I’d seen some pictures on the net too. They tended to be owned by sexual perverts. More spotlights illuminated shelves full of leather and metal things; straps and restraints hung from hooks; there was another table – this one long and narrow, with a hole in the top; and several heavy metal frames stood around with even more straps hanging from them. So when the door finally opened and two figures came in I wasn’t surprised to see that they were both guys, and both wearing full black leathers. And they were masked.
One was tall, with muscles that bulged under his gear; the other one was smaller. There were studs all over this one’s jacket, more on his belt, and his jeans were thin leather - and at least two sizes too tight for him. Both wore heavy motorcycle boots.
“What the fuck is this?” I yelled.
They ignored me. It was as if I wasn’t there. Studs went to a shelf and picked something up, then came and stood at the side of me, on my right.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want? Fucking let me out of this.”
They ignored me again.
Studs put on the pair of long black rubber gloves, slowly pulling them up over the sleeves of his jacket. They looked sinister and dangerous, and the way he did it - while he was staring down at me through the eye holes of that black leather mask - suggested worryingly that he did not have my well-being at heart. I felt my pulse begin to race. What were these psychos intending to do to me? I was terrified that he was going to pick up a blowtorch or a cleaver or something, but instead he took two long, white feathers off a small table. He moved down until he was level with the black screen, and with one hand each side of the glass, started to stroke them over both the balls of the rubber cock, and my own real balls at the same time.
Instantly I convulsed “Get the fuck off of me you wankers!” I yelled.
The tall guy tore a length of wide duct tape off a roll and stuck it over my mouth, pressing it down tight. He’d done that before, I could tell, because there was no way I was going to get it off. I cursed through the tape, but the feather continued to tease my balls – and at the same time, the rubber ones.
When Studs had picked up feathers rather than a knife or something equally worrying, my terror had abated a lot. I realised I was in the hands of perverts rather than psychos. That was bad enough, but given the choice between the two I would have chosen perverts. I felt myself relaxing a bit.
Before very long, and with dreadful sinking feeling, I became aware that my cock was starting to get hard. You have to understand that I’d never felt anything like this before; a lot of girls had played with my balls, but not like this – and certainly not while I was fucking strapped down. They had never tickled them with a feather. It was fucking irresistible. But I still did not want to get a hard-on for these cunts. I told myself that the only reason I was doing, was because I was horny - I’d been expecting sex with Jemma earlier and hadn’t got it - but even so I felt my face starting to go red. I screamed into the gag and struggled like fuck, but it made not the slightest difference. I watched the feather stroking the rubber balls – and felt the other one on my own - and, in spite of anything I could do to stop it, my cock got slowly but steadily harder. Although I could feel it getting stiffer, I couldn’t see it because it was hidden by the black glass.
When the feather moved slowly upwards and onto the shaft of the rubber cock I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Studs must have been doing exactly the same movements with both hands – one on each cock – and the weird thing was that I could have sworn that rubber one was mine. I could only see the rubber cock, but I could only feel my own. As I watched the feather teasing up the shaft I was aware of its every movement. I knew exactly what he was doing, but it made no difference: That false cock was m ine; the feeling was unbelievably compelling.
The feathers reached the heads and I felt my own cock jerk as the soft tip tickled across the glans. Studs was switching his attention between the two cocks all the time. He teased all of the head, and spent a long time tickling the frenulum. I watched the tip of the feather stroking over it – I could see the refection in the black glass too. It was now my own cock; my eyes were insisting that it was. On me, the frenulum is the most sensitive spot of all. I supposed it was on all guys, otherwise why was he concentrating on it? It was getting me as horny as fuck. I’d stopped wasting my energy on yelling – although I couldn’t stop the occasional outburst, for all the good it did me – and instead I was groaning and moaning like a fucking slut. I’d never had my cock teased with a feather before, and it was the most fucking frustrating thing I’ve ever felt. I couldn’t believe that watching a feather stroking over a rubber cock was making me squirm like that. But as far as my mind was concerned at that point, it was my cock. There was no question about it.
After a while he stopped with the feathers and put them down. Then he spread lube thickly over his rubber-gloved hands and wrapped the fingers gently around the cock. The lube was cold at first. I watched, hypnotised, as he started to wank up and down the full length of it, feeling his hand working on my own cock in exactly the same way, at exactly the same time. Oh fuck that felt good. But I wanted more. More pressure, more speed. What I wanted, however, seemed to be irrelevant; he continued to stroke slowly and lightly up and down. It was around this time that, had I not been gagged, my cursing would have changed first to suggestions, then to pleas, and then to begging.
I was not far from cumming. I could feel it. I tried with all my strength to fuck that hand – I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to fuck the hand around the rubber cock, or the other one - but the straps holding me down to the table were too tight, especially the one over my pelvis, and I couldn’t move enough to fuck either of them. I bet the bastards had done that on purpose, just so that I couldn’t.
For a moment my brain remembered that these were gay perverts who had abducted me and had strapped me down and were playing with my cock – I felt like an object: both of these guys had erections; it was especially obvious on Studs because his thin leather jeans were obscenely tight and his bulge was sticking out like a flagpole. These bastards were getting off on using me - and that infuriated the hell out of me. I struggled and fought with all the strength I had, and screamed into the gagging duct tape. But it didn’t last - what that bastard was doing to me was just too fucking wonderful; and anyway, nothing I did affected them in the slightest; Studs just carried on with his lubed hands as if I were lying there quietly.
His slippery black fingers were working on the cock head now. I watched as they slid over the glans, teased the piss-slit, stroked around the ridge and rubbed the frenulum. I felt every tiny movement of them.
I groaned. I badly needed to cum.
He kept that up for a while, then with a satisfied nod he let go.
I stared at him pleadingly – he had to finish me off! But he didn’t. He and Tall guy turned and left the room.
They were back a few minutes later. My cock was still rock hard and I moaned as they came towards me.
Tall Guy bent down and picked up the transparent cylinder of a milking machine. Slowly he pushed the rubber-lined mouth onto the cock. I felt the lips sliding along my skin it as it went on. After a moment it began to make sucking noises as he switched it on, and I saw the internal rubber sleeve close over the cock. As the machine rode up and down I felt Studs’ mouth sucking me expertly. His tongue swirled over the head and his fingers teased my balls as I watched Tall Guy tickling the rubber ones. I knew it was Studs working on me, but try as I might I could not get over the compelling sensation that it was the milking machine and Tall Guy’s fingers that I was feeling. I guess that black glass screen was some sort of one-way thing and that Studs could see through it because although his head was completely behind it, his mouth and the machine both rose and fell in perfect synch. And fuck, that boy was good. I’ve had a great many blow jobs over the years, but this was something else. I stared at the cylinder traveling up and down my cock and my mind was convinced that it was the machine that was making me feel so fucking good. I was quickly getting closer and closer to cumming.
They got me to the edge and then something very weird happened: the machine continued to work as before, but Studs stopped sucking and held my cock gently between his lips, using just the tip of his tongue to tease the end of the fucking head.
My eyes were insisting that the machine was going up and down and sucking me off like crazy, but all I could feel was that gentle tongue. Nothing like enough to make me cum. This was doing my head in – my senses were telling me two different things at the same time and I couldn’t deal with it. I moaned and yelled and struggled like a madman in the restraints, but to no effect whatsoever. Fuck, I needed to cum!
They stopped after a while, and then Tall Guy turned the machine off and removed it. I felt the lips slide off my cock at the same time. I wondered how many poor bastards these fuckers had practiced working together on – their timing was perfect.
They stood there looking down at me writhing in need for a moment, then the fuckers turned and left again.
Never before had I been so horny for so long. My cock was aching for relief. I pleaded through the gag as I watched them walk out of the door.
When they returned this time Tall guy lubed the rubber cock well – I felt my own being lubed at the same time by Studs – then he unfastened something and I could move my right hand. The cuff around it was still attached to a rope, but it must have been on some kind of pulley because it lengthened as he brought it down. He put my hand next to the rubber cock and I instinctively wrapped my fingers around it. I felt my fingers go around it. I squeezed it – and I felt the squeeze a split second later. I began to wank it, and I felt it perfectly. Well not quite perfectly, but what differences there were, were wonderful: it’s not easy to explain, but I was directing exactly what was being done to my cock, and exactly how, but I could still tell that it was someone else doing it, so it felt even more horny. As our hands went up and down at the same time, in almost perfect unison, gripping it in the perfect places, with the perfect pressure and perfect speed, it was as close as I’ve ever got to the ideal wank.
My hand speeded up. So did his.
I could cum! I continued wanking the whole cock for a while, and then, when it felt right, I transferred my grip to the head, working on just that. Studs did the same. This was how I liked to make myself cum best of all – and I was fucking going to.
My cock could feel my fingers sliding over the slippery ridge and the glans, and I felt myself getting closer and closer. My eyes opened wide, I held my breath…
...and I brought myself off.
Except that it didn’t fucking happen. My own hand was working on my cock head hard and fast, but the unseen hand on my own cock had slowed right down and was hardly moving at all, just teasing the tips of its fingers very lightly over the horny head like the tongue had done before, when they’d used that fucking milking machine on me.
I stared wild-eyed at the rubber cock and I couldn’t stop my hand flying up and down it, but all I felt was fingers tickling slowly and lightly right on the tip. It was the weirdest thing I have ever felt in my life – what my eyes and my hand were telling me was very different to what my cock was feeling – and it was un-fucking-bearable. I was wanking furiously but I couldn’t fucking cum! I screamed into the gag, tried to thrust my hips, but it did no good at all. It felt like parts of my cock had somehow gone numb – and yet the teasing that Studs’ fingers were doing felt intense, and it was keeping me right on the fucking edge. One good rub and I’d have cum like there was no fucking tomorrow.
My hand wouldn’t stop. I was desperate. I squeezed harder – and I felt the increased pressure! Yes! I was going to cum! My hand was a blur, and I knew I was right on the very point of shooting. All my muscles tensed and I held my breath.
But then that bastard Studs let go of my real cock completely. Wanking desperately, I threw back my head and screamed in frustration as my orgasm just about began, but then immediately faltered to a stop before it could get going. I felt a single thin gob of spunk ooze sluggishly out of my urethra and stay on the end of my cock for a second before slowly running over the glans and dripping off it. Had I cum? No I fucking hadn’t. The first of the contractions that accompany orgasm had happened – just - but there had been no more after it. The ecstatic pleasure of shooting my load was totally absent. It felt like the Holy Grail had been shown to me, held up with a big magnifying glass so that I could get a really good look at it, and had then been flattened with a large hammer just before I could reach it. It felt fucking dreadful.
I lay there almost crying – that one would have been a fucking monumental orgasm, and it had been totally fucking ruined. I’d heard about ruined orgasms before but this was the first one I’d ever experienced. And believe me, I didn’t want another one. I wanted to smash their fucking heads in. I wanted to kick the fuckers in the balls. I wanted to pummel that bastard Studs so hard that I could taste it, for doing that to me. And one of the worst things was that underneath that unbelievably hideous frustration I was still as horny as fuck. If he’d started wanking me again I’d have cum in seconds.
But he didn’t. Studs straightened up, the taller one nodded, seemingly impressed. He pulled the rope, forcing my right arm back up to where it had been above my head, secured it, and then the two of them walked out, leaving me alone again and wailing in exasperation.
Later, they came back. Studs lubed his gloved hands and started on me again, as before. Slow, gentle strokes. I watched the shiny black rubber fingers sliding up and down the shaft as my own cock quickly rose to full erection again. When they started on the head I began to moan. That ruined orgasm had done less than nothing to relieve my pent-up spunk, and if anything I was even more horny now. I was convinced that if I’d been able to see my own balls they would have been bright blue. His rubber fingers stroked and caressed, teasing and tickling my cock, and I was powerless to do anything else but stare at it in demented need.
Tall Guy came to the table, keeping something out of my sight. As Studs quickly took his hands away from me, the other fucker brought a heavy wooden paddle from behind his back, took a swing, and belted the cock with it as hard as he fucking could.
I shrieked. I yelled into the duct tape and convulsed in the restraints. It was a few seconds before my brain got up to speed and told me that all I’d actually felt had been the movement of the rubber cock under the blow – that it was it, and not my own cock, that had been hit. But the shock had been indescribable just the same.
They both went out again and left me alone – panting, sweating, and swearing.
My heart was racing and it took a while for me to calm down after that, but finally I did. I lay there in that room, alone, and fucking fuming.
By the time they returned I was feeling better, although I’d gone soft. Studs went back to teasing both cocks, and mine very quickly returned to full erection under the bastard’s skilful fingers. The paddle thing had been an intense shock, but I’d got over it and it had done nothing to reduce the base level of my horniness. Now, he was using slow, full-length strokes - and he didn’t stop working on me even when I was as hard as I could get. Instead he changed to using a single fingertip to tease over the head.
I was so wound up again that I just could not stop staring at that shiny black fingertip sliding over and around the pink tip. It was hardly touching. What it was doing felt so frustratingly, deliciously fucking horny. But I desperately needed more friction. For fuck’s sake wank it, I begged under the gag. I tried to thrust, but I couldn’t even do that. Within a minute I was very close to cumming, but he kept on teasing me for a lot longer than that.
After an unbearable few minutes Tall Guy produced a small bottle containing a dark red paste. He held it in front of me so that I could read the label:
Carolina Reaper Paste.
The World’s Hottest Chilli.
- Avoid contact with skin and eyes -
I yelled into the gag and threw my head from side to side in panic.
He put it down, pulled on a pair of black industrial rubber gloves thick enough to have protected him from refined plutonium, removed the cap and poured a good dollop of the chilli paste onto one finger. He held it under my nose for a moment and I jerked my head away, my eyes already watering. Fuck, that was strong; any longer and it would have burnt my sinuses.
Studs took his finger off and Tall Guy carefully spread the paste over the cock head. I felt the coldness of it as it went on.
I have no idea what I expected to happen – I guessed that my own cock was being covered with something that was not chilli paste – but I couldn’t see it. I reasoned that I knew exactly what they were doing, that the paddle had taken me by surprise but this time I was ready for them, that there was nothing to worry about, that it was not going to hurt at all. But my bastard mind had other ideas: still feeling the stuff at the back of my throat from just that short smell of it, I felt a tingling on my cock head. I was aware of the odour of the vicious chilli as it spread in the room, and that was undoubtedly helping. The tingling quickly got worse. It became a stinging which got more and more intense until I was struggling and tearing at the restraints, convinced that my cock was on fucking fire. It was agony.
The bastards let me suffer for a while, then Studs showed me what he’d actually put on my own cock – ordinary skin cream. He even licked a bit from the edge of the tub. Even though I saw clearly what it was, it still took a minute for my damn brain to be persuaded that there was in fact no pain at all. Eventually it began to lessen and go away, and I managed to relax again. I cursed the evil fuckers through the gag.
The tall guy wiped the paste off the rubber cock with several tissues (I felt Studs wiping the skin cream off mine at the same time).
Then the fuckers left again.
When they returned this time they just stood looking at me for a long time. For some reason my cock started to rise on its own at the sight of Studs standing there watching me – I had to admit that he did look hot in those tight leather jeans. It was quite clear that he had a massive hard-on and I’d never seen a guy’s bulge that was so obscenely obvious before. For some reason it no longer seemed quite so ridiculous. I told myself I was only thinking that because I was so fucking horny. He picked up two small brushes. I recognised them: they were makeup brushes. Jemma used them all the time; the woman spent fucking hours with them in front of the mirror. He used those brushes on both cocks with frustrating precision until mine was so hard I thought it would fucking explode. If anything they were worse than the feathers had been – those came to single points, whereas these splayed out at the ends and teased more of me at once. The things were so soft they felt like silk, and they were every bit as fucking irresistible as the feathers. Every tiny stroke made my cock jerk, and I could feel precum running down the shaft.
After the cunt had got off on doing that to me for a while he put the brushes down and began to work on me with his rubber fingers. Shit, that boy had some skill: he used every technique in the book – most of which were new to me – to get me more and more desperate to cum. I was going out of my mind with the need for orgasm. I stared, wide-eyed, as his fingers worked on that cock.
Then he placed his hand around the head and began to wank it exactly like I had done earlier – like I always do when I make myself cum – but much more slowly. This was the worst yet: it was precisely how I did it myself, how I loved it best of all, but it was far, far too fucking slow.
And then his hand speeded up. I was going to cum! At last they were going to let me fucking cum!
And they did. Studs’ rubber-gloved hand milked me hard and fast. My body suddenly went rigid and I stopped breathing. Poised on the very edge of orgasm I stared manically at the cock - and then I yelled into the gag as huge gobs of spunk began to erupt into his shiny black, slippery hand. I could feel each individual, smooth rubber finger sliding intensely, acutely, over my spunk-lubed glans as I came; I must have gone fucking cross-eyed in ecstasy. It was a hell of an orgasm – the best I’d had for an extremely long time.
The moment my orgasm had ended, Tall Guy suddenly lifted a pair of large steel shears, and then - with one stroke – he cut the head clean off the rubber cock.
The last thing I remember, is screaming.
I must have passed out. The next thing I was aware of was sitting on the pavement in the alley where I’d been got, leaning against the wall. I guessed they’d used that stuff on me again while I was unconscious, to keep me that way, while they took me back. I was wearing my own clothes, and this time my head was thick from the anaesthetic. As my head cleared, the vision of those shears cutting that rubber cock in half came back to me and my hands went to my crotch in panic.
Swearing again at those bastards under my breath I staggered to my feet and made my way home.
I sat in my flat wondering what the fuck that had been about. Who the hell were they? Why had they done that? I opened a beer and stared at the wall. I was going to have nightmares for a long time. And yet, I remembered how that guy had worked on my cock – it had been like nothing I’d felt before. No girl had ever got me so fucking horny as that guy Studs had done. I remembered him standing there in that studded leather jacket, those boots, that mask and those skintight leather jeans. Why the fuck did I still find that image so fucking hot? I shook my head. I’d get over it.
It wasn’t until the next day, as I was loading the washing machine, that I found the sheet of paper in the pocket of my jeans. I opened it.
Thank you for taking part in our studies. The information gathered will be invaluable. Our apologies for any inconvenience.
The name of a psychology department was at the bottom, but the university name had been redacted. Attached to the sheet by a paper clip were two £50 notes.
A university with a room like that? Nah - those bastards had been working on their own time.
Slowly I pulled the notes from the sheet, and stared at them. I had been a fucking test subject. I swore, and I was about to screw the paper up and hurl it at the wall when I noticed something hand-written, on the back. “Call me. No shears or chilli next time.” There was a phone number.
Ha! Bugger that, I thought. I was straight. I was not into having gay perverts using me and playing with my head – and my fucking cock.
I looked at the note and phone number again, and I wondered which of the guys had written it.
I hoped it had been Studs.
I decided not to throw the sheet of paper away after all.