“Fuck.” Charlie sucked the edge of his left hand. It had brushed against the leaf of a nettle as he was walking home. It hurt, and continued to hurt the rest of the way back to his house.
As he’d put the kettle on, dropped a teabag into the mug and got the milk out of the fridge, he’d forgotten about his hand, but when he sat down and picked up the tea, the sensations came back. But it wasn’t the same – when he’d first been stung there had been spikes of pain, now it was more of a dull ache; and it seemed to be coming in slow waves. That was interesting, he thought. Probably while he’d been making the tea he’d been distracted, but now that he had nothing else to occupy his mind, awareness of the sting had resurfaced.
By the time he’d finished his tea it had changed yet again: now it was tingling. Quite remarkably. It itched, and it felt like a small army of ants was walking over the side of his hand.
The tingling persisted. It changed from time to time: now so intense he had to scratch it: now just a minor tickle; now back to full-on tingling.
Being the kind of boy who is interested in a wide range of things, Charlie Googled nettle stings. He sat back, looking at the screen. “Oh that is cunning,” he said slowly. It seemed that apart from the formic acid that is the main cause of the pain, many of the other chemicals that the nettle injects are designed (‘have evolved’ he corrected himself) specifically to make it hurt more. “Clever.”
After the Googling he found himself going down rabbit holes – mainly pornographic ones – and it was late when he put the computer to sleep.
He lay in bed staring unseeingly at the ceiling. His hand still tingled. Experimentally he tickled it lightly with a fingertip. The tingling immediately became more intense, to the extent that he had to scratch it. He smiled to himself. “What if…” An idea had occurred to him.
The following morning he was to be found in the garden. The use of the word ‘garden’ here is possibly an overstatement, as the tiny patch that butted up to the wall separating it from the pavement, and at the side of the wooden gate that had last been usable fifteen years ago was a minor jungle of weeds. One of the more successful of these was Urtica Dioica. Charlie hadn’t known the name for the common stinging nettle before last night’s Googling, but he knew exactly what one looked like. There were about half a dozen of them and they looked like they were lying in wait to attack unsuspecting passers-by over the wall. He pulled on his gloves and wielded the kitchen scissors. Grabbing the stalk of a particularly virile-looking specimen, he cut it off. “Take that, you bugger.”
Back inside he went up to his bedroom, lay the nettle on the bedside table, took off the gloves and closed the curtains. He removed his jeans and underpants, and gazed at his cock for a moment. It was as hard as a rock. His hand was still tingling slightly, but he thought that mostly his body had metabolised the poison and the effect was diminishing. Though he may be wrong about that. No matter, he thought – even if this doesn’t work the same, by tomorrow he’d be as good as new. Probably.
He tore a strip of duct tape off the roll from the table, and stuck it down well over his mouth, just in case he screamed – he didn’t want Ethel next door to call the police, something the nosy old bag was quite capable of doing, he thought. Lying on the bed, propped up by several pillows, he picked up the nettle. Then, gritting his teeth and holding his cock out, he carefully brushed one of the larger leaves over the head.
Nothing.
He tried again. And again. Nope, the leaf refused to sting him for some reason. That was odd. Perhaps this leaf wasn’t a good one. He put it down and pulled off the tip of the plant, a collection of four small, brighter-green leaves on a hairy stalk. Another careful brush had no effect either.
Hmm. He repositioned the leaves in his hand so that he was holding them at the base of the stalk; that way, when he closed his fingers it would press them all around his cock head.
Expecting nothing again, he gripped the head firmly and rotated his hand.
“Mmmph – Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”
That had worked. Oh fuck that had worked. Reflexively he threw the bit of nettle across the room. Then he curled up into a tight ball with his hands protectively over his cock, rocking up and down.
Sounds of acute suffering came from under the gag. He rolled first onto one side and then onto the other – but no position alleviated the pain. “Fuck! Concentrate on something else!” He told himself. But he couldn’t – it hurt like hell.
For the next ten minutes he was incapacitated. Never again, he thought, bouncing his head on the pillow. Never again.
But then he realised that things were changing: the initial acute pain was transforming slowly. Or perhaps it was that he was just getting used to the agony.
By the time another ten minutes had passed he felt he could risk straightening up. His cock had gone completely soft. He pulled the duct tape off his mouth and took a deep breath. Could he risk putting his clothes back on? He wondered. Give it a few more minutes.
During those minutes the sensations in his cock continued to change. Now he thought he detected the beginning of the tingling. Perhaps that would be better.
His cock thought so: slowly, it started to get hard again. But the very act of its doing so exacerbated the effect of the stings, and he found himself almost shouting at the bastard to go soft. It wasn’t listening; bit by bit it became more and more erect.
As it continued to grow, he found his perspective on things changing with it – perhaps this had not been such a bad idea after all. It hadn’t been that painful, if he were honest, he tried to convince himself – and it might yet be interesting. Possibly very interesting.
He looked at his cock. Just beginning to become visible was a rash around the end of it. He examined it more closely. His technique with the leaves had done a good job: the rash was all over the head, even the tip, including the foreskin.
He realised he was horny again. Very. It was becoming tempting to have a wank – he suspected that it would feel amazing cumming with his cock head like that. But reason prevailed; it probably wouldn’t feel so good immediately afterwards.
There are few things in this world as persuasive as a hard cock, however. As the minutes passed the compulsion to find out what it was like strengthened. Charlie gave in fifty seconds later. He grabbed his cock and wanked it.
“Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuck! ” He yelled as his spunk fountained in a high arc and landed by his feet. Gradually his hand slowed and his muscles relaxed. He lay panting on the bed. That had been fucking great.
But not necessarily a good idea. As the feelings of orgasm ebbed, they were replaced by the sensations produced by a rapidly hypersensitising cock that has been stung many times by youthfully virulent nettles. The pain was already as bad as it had been when he’d first stung himself, but it was getting worse by the second. Charlie lay on the bed and moaned. He’d seen vids about post-orgasm torture, but it hadn’t been done like this.
There was nothing he could do about it so he just lay there suffering.
Hypersensitivity doesn’t last forever, though, and whatever devious chemical reactions were going on in the nettle stings, they were still doing it; the pain started to go away, and the tingling began to return.
Another thing about cocks, apart from being persuasive, is that they have scandalously short memories. Charlie’s was getting interested again.
“No, no…” His head was shaking. He knew better now.
After another ten minutes his cock was back at full erection and was demanding attention once more. The head had regained its former interest in proceedings, and the small army of ants, whose tiny invisible feet were running wickedly all over it, were working well. Charlie felt the need to cum again.
But no. There was no way he was going to go through that again, wonderful as that orgasm had been. Although…
No. He got off the bed and picked up his underpants. They were soft cotton, and would minimise any external stimulation to his sensitive bits. But that was, his cock was telling him, exactly what it didn’t want. He suddenly felt very horny, and very experimental. Again.
He looked around the bedroom. There were his leather jeans – Malcolm, a gay biker friend who fancied him like fuck, had given them to him a while ago when he’d tried to get the boy into kinky things. It hadn’t worked; Charlie just didn’t seem to be kinky. If you didn’t count stinging your cock with nettles. But he thought the feel of leather on it might be interesting. He turned the jeans inside out so that the shiny side would be next to his skin, and pulled them on. It was almost impossible to get the zip done up like this, but he managed it. The jeans looked ridiculous inside out, but he didn’t care. He walked around a bit, moving his cock into different positions.
It did indeed feel interesting, but he knew it wasn’t what his cock wanted – it was too smooth. He took the leather jeans off and picked up his regular Levis, but without the underpants. As soon as he pulled them on he knew that this was it. The rough denim stroked, scratched and teased his cock cunningly and in the most horny way. Yes! He looked around again, then opened a drawer and took out his rubber cock ring. Opening his jeans again the carefully got the ring on and closed his eyes in pleasure as it gripped him. He zipped his jeans up and walked slowly down the stairs into the living room.
Oh fuck. Every movement as he walked caused the denim to slide across his cock head, and wherever it did, it made the tingling more intense. And the rubber ring was helping a lot too. He had to keep stopping himself from grabbing his cock through his jeans and making himself cum.
He had a brilliant idea - he’d go out! Yeah. He’d walk down the road to the shop and get some milk.
As he let himself out of the house he was aware that his Levis were stretched out into an obscene bulge, but he didn’t care. Not at all. Fuck it. The walk to the shop was entertaining, and at least there weren’t many people in the place when he got there. He found himself gazing vacantly at a box of cucumbers before he shook his concentration back to what he’d come for. But the cucumbers had given him another idea. He got the milk and set off back towards home. As he passed the park entrance he had to stop abruptly as he suddenly realised that he was in imminent danger of cumming. A passing girl with a pushchair blinked in disbelief as she saw the bulge in his jeans.
The moment passed and he continued home.
Back in the bedroom he opened the drawer again and took out his butt plug. It was a tiny one, as these things go, made of black rubbery stuff, but it was big enough for a straight boy, he’d always thought. He lubed it up well, bent over a bit, and – with an ease born of much practise – inserted it. He closed his eyes in pleasure as it settled in. Fuck, he thought, he couldn’t remember ever feeling this horny before. He started to pull his jeans up again, but his cock was tingling and itching wildly at the moment, and that gave him another idea.
Sitting on the chair, he took a tissue from the box. Holding his hard cock upright with one hand, he brushed the edge feather-lightly over the nettle rash on his cock head.
His eyes opened wide. “FUCK!” He did it again. And again. In fact he spent some considerable time doing it. Every time the tissue stroked over it, the little ants immediately made their way on tiny, rapid, tickly feet to the site of contact and did a little dance there. He tried different spots, but he could never outrun them. Then he bunched the tissue up so that there were lots of edges and corners and brushed it over the head.
He had to cum. There was no longer any question about it. Then a disturbing thought occurred to him: what if he were tied up so that he couldn’t make himself cum, and someone else was teasing his cock head? He knew all about bondage – in fact he’d tried it with Malcolm the biker – but it hadn’t done anything for him at all then. However, the thought of it in this context was blowing his mind. Oh fuck yes.
The butt-plug felt wonderful, the rubber ring was gripping his balls encouragingly, and his cock was throbbing with need; he was sufficiently horny at that moment that any consequences were irrelevant. He knew that if he let himself cum first, he would no longer be in the least bit interested – so he picked up the phone. “H- Hi Malcolm.” He was finding it difficult to concentrate enough to speak intelligibly. “It’s Charlie. Listen, there’s something I wanna ask you…”
“Relax. And keep your damn hand still.” Malcolm tightened the final strap. The biker had not had to be asked twice – he’d fancied Charlie since the first time they’d met – and it would not be the first time he’d played with nettles; one of his regular guys liked them, though on his arse hole rather than on his cock. But he could see the effect they were having on the boy.
“So you’re a bit horny, are you? Want me to play with your cock? Just where the stings are…?”
Charlie was strapped down to the restraint table in Malcolm’s playroom. He’d not been in here since he’d experimented with leather some time ago. As usual the biker was wearing lots of it – he always did in the playroom.
“Oh fuck yeah. Please. But be careful.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll be very careful. Very gentle.” Malcolm picked up a feather.
It was some considerable time later. Charlie’s body was running with sweat, his muscles ached from all the struggling he’d been doing, and his voice had gone hoarse from begging the biker to make him cum. The fiend had teased and tickled his cock with all manner of implements – every one chosen because it provided the exact opposite of the hard rubbing which the boy wanted so badly. But fuck, did it feel good. The ants were still there, running about madly, trying to keep up with Malcolm’s hands. But at last Charlie had the feeling that the tingling would soon begin to fade. Surely it had to before long. Didn’t it?
“I think you’re about at the peak, boy. Probably time to let you cum – if you want to.”
“Fuck fuck FUCK YES! PLEASE! ” It should have been a scream but it came out of Charlie’s exhausted throat as a croak.
“Ok. But first, those stings are almost done. I think some new ones would be good…” He opened a plastic carrier bag that had been sitting on the floor at the back of the room, and took out a large nettle. “Here’s one I prepared earlier.”
Charlie’s eyes opened wide in horror. “NO!”
Malcolm smiled wickedly. “Yes. And there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s what the restraints are for.”
Charlie watched like a deer caught in headlights as the biker pulled off a couple of particularly evil-looking, hairy leaves and approached with them. He held the boy’s cock motionless with one hand and scrunched the leaves against the head, rubbing them slowly and mercilessly all around it.
Charlie threw back his head, ready to scream again.
But the pain wasn’t the same. Or perhaps it was, but he was in a different place right now. Either way, he felt the stings hit home all over his cock head – and they were intense – but it was pain that he could deal with. More than that: to his disbelief, it felt amazing.
“That should make things a little more interesting,” Smiled Malcolm. “Though after you’ve cum, you might not be quite so keen for a while.”
He took the aching cock head very lightly in leather-gloved fingers.
Charlie moaned, and squirmed in the restraints.
“Sure you still want me to make you cum, boy?” Asked the biker.
“Fuck yes! Please, please, rub it hard !…” Charlie whispered hoarsely. He had no choice – he had to cum.
Malcolm paused, then increased the pressure of his grip and milked the boy mercilessly.
The boy came.
Charlie was sitting at his computer trying to concentrate, and failing. He had some files to edit for work but his cock was throbbing insistently between his legs. That nettling that Malcolm had given it had been much more carefully comprehensive and thorough than the one he’d done to himself, and his cock head was prickling and itching all over a great deal more than it had the last time. He’d tried readjusting its position in his jeans but nothing made any difference, and the rough denim contrived to move over it even when he thought he was sitting perfectly still. How was that even possible? In the end he took his jeans off completely. That was better for a while, but a horny cock will not be ignored. Now even the slightest draft of air caused it to make its presence felt.
“Oh fuck. Fuck fuck FUCK.” Admitting defeat, he closed the windows on the screen and put the machine to sleep. The files could wait. He couldn’t stop thinking about being tied up and helpless to stop that bastard Malcolm from driving him nuts teasing his stung cock. He hadn’t thought he’d been the least bit into bondage, but that had been something else. Horny as fuck.
He looked at the phone sitting by the side of the computer, but he was not going to call the biker again. He went into the bedroom. He’d tease his cock himself, and have a mind-blowing wank.
He wasn’t into bondage, and he was certainly not into leather. He put his head back and closed his eyes. His treacherous mind immediately provided an image of the biker in his leather jacket and leather jeans, holding in his leather-gloved hand that small, unbelievably soft camel-hair brush with the wickedly pointed tip that had been the most devastatingly effective of all the things he’d used on him. The biker was grinning evilly as the brush slowly approached the nettle rash on the helpless boy’s cock head.
“NO.” Charlie opened his eyes, went into the bedroom and lay on the bed. He took a tissue and started to brush it over his cock. Oh fuck that felt so fucking horny. Yes! Who needed bondage? He was self-sufficient here. A few seconds later he felt the first signs of approaching orgasm.
To cum or not to cum? That is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the stings and agonies of outrageous formication, or to heave your arms against restraining straps while a leather biker teases you to fucking distraction. He sighed. Go away, Will, he thought – you’re not helping.
He looked at the tissue. He wondered if he could make himself cum using nothing more than that – with no wanking at all. If he could, he reckoned the resulting orgasm would be off the scale.
“So,” said the part of his mind that refused to keep quiet, “how much better even than that would it be if the biker was doing it to you while you were helpless…? And with even more incapacitating restraints…?”
“Fuck off,” he told himself. That way lies madness.
He was sure he could see steam coming off his cock. Something had to be done.
He touched the edge of the tissue to the head again, and the little army of ants woke up immediately. He tilted his head up and closed his eyes. Just before they closed, he’d seen his leather jeans, now right-side out again, on the back of the chair. The biker reappeared behind his eyelids, in shiny black leather and now holding two feathers.
“Dammit to hell.” He threw the tissue away and went back down into the living room. He picked up the phone.
Malcolm laughed. “Took you longer than I thought it would.”
“Never mind that. Listen. Can you put me into any more restraints than you did last time? I mean so I’m really really fucking helpless?”
The biker chuckled. “Oh yes, you’d better believe it, boy. How does a leather straitjacket and a tight, heavy leather blindfolding hood sound? And lots of straps all the way down your legs…”
Charlie’s cock jerked. “Don’t need to know the technicalities. And do you think you could make me cum by working on my cock like you were doing, with nothing but those feathers and brushes and tissues and stuff? Without wanking me off at all?”
Malcolm chuckled. “Hmm. Would take a lot longer…”
“That’s no problem. Could you do it?”
“Certainly I could do it. You’d probably explode when you eventually cum, though.”
“I’ll help you clean the place up. And another thing – what would it feel like if you nettled my balls as well?”
Malcolm laughed again. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you.”
“Yes I have. Can I come round now?”
“Now? That costs extra.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’ll get things ready. Be here in ten.”
“And biker?”
“What?”
“Wear all the shiniest, blackest leather you’ve fucking got…”