“Premature ejaculation a problem?
Masked leather clinician offers 2-stage therapy
for the improvement of self-control.”
Those were the first three lines of the ‘advert’ - it went on quite a bit longer. I’d worded it like that in the hope that it would attract a very particular type of victim.
I am not a qualified therapist, but then this had nothing to do with therapy; the clinical thing was very tongue-in-cheek. The simple fact is that I love getting guys helpless, edging them, and milking them. Having said that, there is a certain type of victim that turns me on even more – and that is one who is doing everything he possibly can to stop himself from cumming. Making one of those lose control – very slowly, so he can feel himself losing it and can’t do a fucking thing about it – is probably my greatest turn-on of all. This ‘advert’ was designed to interest that certain type of victim.
John was my first ‘patient’, an attractive 31-year old with brown hair and a nice smile. he’d contacted me on the pervy website and we’d exchanged a couple of messages. I called him on the phone and we went through the paperwork, which involved my asking some very intimate questions about why he thought he would benefit from the therapy; what fetishes, if any, he had; exactly how he liked to wank best – position, technique etc. These were all designed to make it easier for me to work on him, and to make him less able to resist what I was going to do to him.
I also wanted him to be aware that the treatment would involve his being restrained and hooded, that he may find it sexually frustrating, and that once begun, it could not be stopped. No safe words here. However, I made it clear that he would not be hurt in any way, would suffer no pain at all. What we would be doing would not need safe words. He was fine with all of that.
John’s answers to my questions were interesting: he said that he came far too quickly – that it didn’t take much stimulation of his cock to him lose it. He wanted to be able to hold off for longer. Basically he was straight – he had a girlfriend – and she was always complaining that he came far too soon. In spite of being straight, he admitted that he also had a large collection of gay leather porn, because he had an intense fetish for bikers in leather jeans (that was why he used the pervy website: for the photos). His wanking position and technique were nothing unusual: lying on his back, using his right hand, and working on the whole cock except when he was very close to cumming, when he would concentrate more on the head. He’d never had sex of any kind with a guy before.
I said that all sounded fine, and his first appointment was arranged for 3 pm the following Wednesday.
My playroom is a versatile space, and within a couple of hours I’d transformed its usual dungeon-like feel to one of hospital-esque sterility. The motorised dentist chair which I’d picked up on Ebay years ago makes a good operating / treatment table when it’s flattened out, and the presence of the gurney and the rebreather with its bag, corrugated tube and rubber mask hanging from the small dental lighting unit helped too. There was nothing I could do about the black rubber floor and walls, nor the restraints hanging on hooks around the place, but by re-directing the lights and dimming those in the periphery of the room they became much less noticeable. I stood back and smiled – yes, I thought, it looked Ok.
The reason I’d done the questioning by telephone rather than face-to-face was that I wanted to be able to wear whatever gear I knew would turn my patient on most - and now, with half an hour to go before he was due, I changed into some serious leather biker gear: an industrial-strength black leather jacket, my favourite leather jeans (heavy horse hide – thick, black, tight, shiny, and cock-hardeningly horny), bike boots, and my leather mask. I debated whether or not to wear my Roof crash helmet with the shiny black visor too, but I thought that would be going too far. I was ready.
John arrived exactly on time. His mouth opened when he saw me in my mask and my gear, and he had difficulty in taking his eyes off me. I led the way up the stairs so that he could watch my tight black leather-jeaned arse and legs on the way up to the treatment room.
Once there I asked him to undress. While he was doing that I put on a pair of black nitrile surgical gloves. I directed him to the motorised chair and he lay back in it. At the moment it was in its upright position.
“Now, I want to be sure you understand that you will be restrained. I’m going to strap you to the chair. This is part of the treatment, as you will probably feel the need to make yourself cum, and it’s important that you can’t do that even though you’ll need to, and also that you can’t get away from what I’m doing to you. You will be hooded, so that you can’t see anything. That’s also to make the treatment more effective. Ok?
He nodded and said that he understood, so I set about strapping him into the chair. His cock had been completely soft until now, but as I was fastening the straps his eyes were riveted to my leather gear – especially my jeans. I already had a hard-on and I knew that it was very visible. I worked slowly, taking every opportunity to lean over him so that my bulging crotch was close to his face, Slowly his cock got harder and harder until by the time I’d finished with the straps it was fully erect. I smiled to myself – I was getting the feeling that I was turning this guy on big-time.
“I’m going to lean you back now.” I pressed the buttons on the side of the chair until it was almost horizontal and as flat as it would go, then I picked up the hood. “This is the hood.” I turned it around in my hands so he could see it. “Its main function is to blindfold you so that you can’t see anything, but it also has shiny leather on the inside to encourage you to get horny, and to make you feel very helpless. There’s no mouth but there are air holes so you’ll be able to breath Ok.” I pulled it over his head and fastened the straps.
His body was tense. “Relax,” I said. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. Enjoy it!” From what he’d said, and from his reactions to me so far, I was fairly sure that it would take very little to make him cum, and I had no intention of letting that happen, so I sat down and began on the tops of his thighs. I stroked my fingertips over his bare skin lightly, not tickling him, but just getting him used to the idea of being touched. After a while I progressed carefully to the more erogenous places: first the insides of his thighs, gradually getting higher and higher, then to his perineum, and finally to his balls, exploring them and teasing them gently. I was careful not to touch his cock at all yet.
“Now, as this is your first session of treatment, and I’m not familiar with your responses, today I want you to tell me whenever you feel yourself getting close to cumming. Ok?”
He nodded his head and a muffled “Ok” came from under the hood. “Actually I’m pretty close right now.”
“No problem.” I picked up a soft feather, and directed its pointed tip to the base of his cock shaft. With tiny, short and light strokes I slowly and carefully caressed the shaft from different directions. Each time it touched his skin it brought a gasp of pleasure from him. His cock had stiffened even more and it was now as hard as steel. Precum had begun oozing from the tip.
“I want you to think about your situation at this moment.” I spoke slowly, making my voice as sexy and as seductive as I could. “A biker in tight, bulging, sexy black leather jeans has got you strapped down and hooded, helpless. You remember what I look like? Visualise me right now. I’m sitting on a stool, my shiny black leather thigh is close to your right hand. An inch away. Don’t bother trying to touch the leather, you can’t reach it. I’ve got a hard-on in my jeans. It’s stretching the thick black leather out into a big bulge. I might allow you to touch it and feel it later. My own cock is as hard as yours, under these tight, thick black leather biker jeans. Visualise that. This biker is going to make you want to cum more than you have ever wanted to cum in your life before – but I am also going to make very sure that you can’t cum, however bad that need gets.” I continued to work on his cock shaft, up and down, with the feather, and to tease his balls with my rubber-gloved fingers. “Feel free to let me know if you need to cum.”
“I need to cum. Oh fuck I need to cum.” His voice was muffled, but desperate.
“Good.” I took my hands away, letting him to go off the boil a bit, then I gently enclosed his cock with my rubber hand, being careful to put very little pressure on the head. Immediately he began trying to fuck my hand. But my grip was far too light, and I followed what small movements he was able to make, so that relative to his cock my hand remained stationary. He thrust faster and faster but I was careful to make sure he got no friction at all from my fingers. Eventually he stopped thrusting. I waited for a second, then began to move my hand up and down the shaft slowly, still gripping very lightly indeed.
I wanted to make things worse for him, so I lifted down the rebreather mask, which was loaded with poppers. Should I warn him it was coming? Nah… I pressed the rubber mask over his hooded face, and held it there. He shouted and started to struggle, and moved his head from side to side but I kept the mask in place until had no choice but to breathe in a good hit. “This is going to make you a lot more horny...” I said.
After a few seconds, as the poppers got to him, he began to moan continuously, and to move in his restraints – slow, sensuous movements – and his cock jerked repeatedly. I put my hand back around it and resumed the slow, light wanking, but only for very short periods at a time. I knew he wasn’t far from cumming and that one wrong move could push him over the edge.
After a while I took the feather and held it ready. I placed my other hand flat on his pelvis, the root of his cock between my fingers and my outstretched thumb, and slid my hand down until his cock was no longer pointing at an angle over his stomach, but now stood perfectly vertical. My thumb and finger probed deeply into the crevices at the sides of his balls from above. Concentrating carefully, I applied the feather to his cock-head with the lightest strokes possible. It slid on a film of precum over the glistening head, the tip exploring the ridges and the shiny glans.
John’s body stiffened and he moaned in despair. “Oh fuck I need to cum. Please. Please make me cum. You have no idea how badly I need to cum.”
Using its full length, I drew the edge of the feather along just under the ridge of his cock-head. He grunted in urgent need.
This was good. I was slowly getting to know his responses, and I decided that I could risk taking him a little closer still. The feather was wet with precum so I changed to a dry one, and used it to tickle his cock-head properly, with slightly faster strokes. As with most guys, the ridges were very responsive and they, along with the frenulum, were proving to be his most sensitive spots, so I concentrated on those more and more. Every few seconds he wailed that he need to cum so badly.
Ok, so far so good, but I could make things even more difficult for him. I put the feather down and took another object from the table by my side. It was a very small butt-plug, about the diameter of my thumb. I Lubed it well, then put a good film onto my middle finger. After giving him a second hit of poppers from the rubber mask I gently worked the tip of the finger into his arse hole. He started to complain that he was straight and to shake his head, but the poppers helped him to realise that, actually, it felt very good. Once he was familiar with that, I replaced the finger with the butt plug. He moaned as that went in.
I went back to working on his cock with the feather. I would rather have been using my fingers, but as yet I wasn’t confident enough that it wouldn’t make him cum straight away. I’d keep that for stage two of the treatment. I tickled and teased the feather around the head, getting him closer and closer to the edge of orgasm.
He had been getting increasingly desperate – especially since I’d inserted the butt-plug - and now he was pleading almost continuously. I listened, but took no notice.
Fifteen minutes later he began to promise me things if I would only let him cum. Money. His watch. His car. Anything.
For the next thirty minutes I continued to tickle his cock mercilessly with the feather. I worked on the whole thing, but always returned to the head as I knew that was what got to him the most. He was in a state of increasingly unbearable horniness – he was being worked on by someone straight out of his deepest fantasies, in black leather jeans that were his biggest fetish; his need to cum was intentionally being made more and more intense; there was something filling his arse, making that need even worse; and every few minutes he was being given some kind of gas that made him even more desperate for release – and yet he was tied up, hooded, helpless, and incapable of cumming.
I decided that this was probably enough of stage one for a first session. I withdrew my hands. “Ok. You’re doing well. Stage one of the treatment is complete. Now you can rest for a few minutes before stage two. I’m going to take your hood off for a while.”
“Noooo! Please make me cuuuuum!”
His face was hot and sweating when I removed the hood. I put it down, then from pure sadism I took the rebreather mask and held it over his nose and mouth until he’d inhaled more poppers.
I stood facing him, one booted foot up on the pedestal of the chair, my thumbs hooked in the pockets of my jeans, the fingers of my right hand resting on top of my cock bulge. His eyes travelled down my leather-clad body and came to rest on that bulge. Slowly, I began to tease my own cock through the leather jeans. I ran my fingers slowly along its length, and then squeezed it. I pushed it downwards so that the shape of it was even more obvious. Then I held it there with my left hand and worked on just the head with a finger and thumb of my other hand – in the same way he’d told me he worked on his own cock when he was about to cum. He was fucking salivating – and the poppers were making it worse. His own cock was jerking and every few seconds his arm muscles tensed as he tried to get his hand to his cock.
His hands were flat on the arms of the chair, with leather straps tight around his wrists to keep them there. I moved closer, and stood so that my bulge was just a tiny bit out of the reach of his fingers, which began straining to touch it. A fraction of an inch closer. The tip of his middle finger brushed the leather. Closer. Two fingers. Closer still. Now he could just grip my cock with the ends of his fingers (I was still out of range of his thumb). He squeezed, and a sigh of intense satisfaction escaped his lips.
“Oh fuuuuck,” he groaned. “You are sex on fucking legs.”
I smiled behind my leather mask, then moved back out of reach again. “Now, stage two,” I said. “From this point on, as you know, you must NOT cum. I am going to make you need to, more and more, but you must fight it. Whatever you do, do not cum. If you do cum, you know what’s going to happen...”
I’d told him how this worked when we’d been talking on the phone and he knew that if he let himself cum I would tickle him. And not with feathers – but with stiff, probing fingers in his sides, which he had told me was one thing he could not stand - even the very thought of fingers in his sides made him want to scream.
“Have you ever been worked on by an expert tickle torturer, immediately after you’ve had an orgasm?”
He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
“Believe me, it is something you will want to avoid.” I picked up the hood again.
“Please,” he said, “don’t put that hood on me again. It makes me feel too fucking helpless.”
“I know it does. That’s exactly what it’s for.” I pulled it over his head and fastened the straps tightly. “Ok. Now remember – do NOT let yourself cum. Resist the need. Fight it.”
I sat down again, lubed my rubber gloves well, and put my left hand back around the base of his cock, holding it vertically once more. The slippery black fingers of my right hand wrapped around his shaft and began, very very slowly, to move up and down. Just a single motion, then pause, then another. Each time John gasped, and moaned.
“Don’t think about the leather biker who’s got you helpless. Don’t think about the rubber fingers around your cock. Don’t think about my black leather jacket, my leather bike boots. And most of all, don’t think about these skintight, shiny black leather biker jeans, about this bulge of rock-hard cock underneath the shiny, sexy black leather.” I’d intentionally been using the word ‘leather’ as much as possible. I guessed it would work well on him.
I reached up and took the rubber mask, giving him – and then myself – a good long hit. I was used to poppers, he most definitely wasn’t. They worked on him as they had done before, and moments later he was writhing lasciviously, giving himself up to the feelings of pure pleasure of the butt-plug in his arse and of my slippery rubber-gloved fingers working on his desperately horny cock. When the poppers hit me they brought out my sadistic streak, as I’d known they would. I wanted to make this guy suffer.
My fingers moved up to the ridges of his cock-head. “Remember: do not cum...” A single finger and thumb gripped the shiny head. They remained unmoving for a second or two, and then they began to slide up to the tip, closing over the piss-slit before slowly opening again as they returned along the smooth glans to the sensitive ridges. “Fight the urge to cum. Control it. Fight against it...”
I did that for a while, watching him trying to control himself. I brought him very, very gradually back up to the edge, then I changed my grip: now I was holding his cock like a joystick, my fingers wrapped around it, the first finger just below the ridge and the thumb directly on the frenulum. Very lightly and very slowly I moved my thumb in small circles. A renewed gasp of urgent need came from under the hood.
I couldn’t see his face under the leather, but I knew it was screwed up with concentration as he fought to resist the overpoweringly compelling need for orgasm. I knew that the way I was working on his cock at that moment was making him need to cum more than anything else could possibly have done. That is exactly why I was doing it.
“Remember. If you cum, I am going to push my thumbs into your sides and tickle you hard. You will scream. You will piss yourself. I know exactly how to tickle torture helpless victims when they’ve just cum...”
My thumb continued to move very slowly, hardly touching, over his frenulum. I was fairly sure that so light a touch – though making his need as intense as possible, was not enough to make him actually cum. The fingers of my other hand were teasing his balls, to make him want to cum even more. “Fight it. Resist it. Do NOT let yourself cum.”
Knowing exactly what would happen, I pressed my cock bulge to his hand. The moment he felt it he gripped the sexy black leather as hard as he could, inhaled sharply and, with an animal roar, he came. I pressed harder with my thumb and rubbed it faster over his frenulum. One – two – three – four – five - six huge gobs of spunk jetted out of his cock at high speed and landed on his thighs and on the black PVC surface of the dental chair. A few more smaller ones followed, the last dribbling down his cock, which continued to jerk rhythmically for a while even after there was no more spunk.
I lubed the gloves again well, and straddled the chair - my glistening, slippery, shiny black rubber hands moving towards his sides. “You know what happens now...”
It is a very good thing the playroom is soundproofed.
I’d released his restraints and returned the chair to its upright position. I stood as before, with my thumbs hooked in the pockets of my leather jeans. He was still recovering from the orgasm and the tickling, but he couldn’t take his eyes off my jeans. “You did well, for a first session, “ I said. “Do you want to book another one, or would you like time to think about it?”
He didn’t even hesitate. Another session was scheduled for the following Wednesday.
He’s been coming now every week for almost three months – and sadly I have to report that the treatment seems to have had very little effect – he still cums every bit as easily as he ever did. Perhaps my dreams of going into business with this therapy are a non-starter. Oh well.
I can control him perfectly now: I can keep him as close to the edge as I want; I can allow him to hold out for precisely as long as I wish. However, I know that I only have to use his fetish directly on him - the feel of my leather jeans against his skin - to make him lose it instantly.
But we’re going to be working on that. I have plans to make him lick my bulge (when I allow his tongue to reach it, that is), to cut off his air with his head clamped between my leather-jeaned legs, and eventually, I’m going to get him strapped down face-up on the gurney, not hooded this time, lower myself down on top of him, grip his cock between my leather-jeaned thighs and use his most irresistible fetish object – my sexy, thick black leather biker jeans – to milk him helplessly.
I suspect he’ll need quite a few more appointments before he can hold out against that, though...