Jacob Mocata’s lips moved slightly as he recited words to himself that were almost as old as time itself. The North Sea below him was, as usual, grey and forbidding, and long ago he’d found that sitting on this wild, rocky outcrop was the perfect place for meditation: after an hour he always felt stronger and more focussed. His left hand was in the pocket of his heavy greatcoat, the fingers curled around the small, leather-bound book he always carried. A handsome man with dark hair, a short beard and penetrating blue eyes, he had been a practitioner of the Old Ways for most of his fifty-one years, and Master of the coven for the last ten.
After a final, respectful bow of his head, he stood, brushed the sand from his coat, and set off along the narrow path back towards his car.
He stopped in his tracks. As was his habit, he’d left the black Mercedes parked at the side of the quiet lane, unlocked – there was never anybody around for miles – but now it seemed to be moving: almost imperceptibly, it was rocking on its springs.
His initial surprise turning to mounting fury, Mocata walked up to it and peered through the back window. There, on the leather seat of his own car was a couple engaged in enthusiastic sex. He threw open the back door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The girl screamed and the boy fell off the seat into the footwell. There was much scrabbling, and the girl managed to open the far door. She took off into the wood, shrieking and trying to pull her jeans back up as she ran. The boy bolted out of the car, pushing Mocata out of his way, and started to run off too. Mocata’s eyes half-closed and he gripped the book in his pocket. He whispered some words. Before the boy had reached the first of the trees he yelled and fell over, clutching his leg. His jeans were still halfway down his thighs, and his rock-hard cock was stabbing the air in front of him.
Mocata walked over to him.
“You fucking bastard – I was just gonna fucking cum. One more second.”
Mocata had been intending to inflict some brief but unpleasant punishment on the lad, but as he looked down at him, the fury on his face slowly melted – the boy was beyond beautiful. What a crime, he thought, that such an athletic body and such a magnificent cock should be wasted on a woman. The corner of the man’s mouth rose slightly as a completely different punishment occurred to him. “What is your name?” He asked.
The boy was still massaging his leg – as he’d been running it had suddenly begun to ache unbearably and he had no idea why. “Martin.”
“And you were just about to cum, were you, Martin?”
Martin looked sullen. “You fucking ruined it. I was that close.”
Mocata nodded slowly. “Stand up.”
“But my fucking leg…”
“...Doesn’t hurt any more.”
Martin blinked in surprise – the pain had gone as abruptly as it had arrived. Scowling, he dragged himself to his feet and began to pull his jeans up.
“No – leave them down.” Mocata gazed at the still almost-full erection. “You have a lovely cock. You should be proud.”
Martin looked down at it for a moment, then back up to meet the man’s eyes. “You some kind of pervert?”
Mocata smiled. “I think that by the time a few days have passed you will never want to copulate in someone else’s car ever again.” His hand gripped the book, he half-closed his eyes, and softly spoke the ancient words. Then he reached out, closed his fingers around the boy’s cock and balls, and pulled gently.
A blue glow appeared around Mocata’s hand, and the genitals detached themselves from the boy’s body. It was completely painless, but Martin still screamed. He stared at his cock and balls as the man lifted them and held them in front of him, then he looked down at his groin – which was now smooth and featureless, as if it were fresh, shaved skin. The last thing he was conscious of before he fainted and collapsed back onto the grass was a slow smile on the man’s face.
Jacob Mocata rolled the Courvoisier around in the crystal snifter glass, closed his eyes and inhaled appreciatively. He took a sip, savouring the exquisite flavour, then set the glass down on his desk. Next to it was a black velvet cushion, and resting on that was Martin’s disembodied cock and balls. The cock was soft. He gazed at it for a long time, smiling to himself, and then, finally, he reached out with his hand, allowing his fingertips to stroke along its curved length. His touch was extremely gentle, extremely light – but even so it responded immediately. It jerked sullenly, the head repositioning itself slightly.
Mocata carefully picked the genitals up, holding them by the base to inspect them. The cock was large, although at the moment it gave no hint of its potential length, as it was almost completely flaccid, the shaft curled over the balls, its skin smooth and soft. The ridge of the head was particularly pronounced, he noticed, visible under the foreskin which enclosed it, currently allowing only a small circle of the tip of the glans to be seen. Mocata idly brushed a fingertip over the wrinkled edge of the skin for a while, watching the cock jerk a little every time he did it.
Then he began to caress the whole thing, stroking his fingers over the shaft, the head, and the balls. It began to lengthen and to stiffen before his eyes. Gradually it uncurled, straightening out. As it did so the foreskin slipped slowly back until it had revealed the naked glans completely. After a minute it stood fully erect, the veins now visible along its length. It looked ready and eager for action.
Mocata sighed in satisfaction. He replaced it gently on the black cushion, and then used the fingertips of both hands to tease it. It jerked urgently with each touch.
Sitting back, he smiled to himself, gazing at the cock and balls. Thoughtfully, he picked up the cognac. This was going to provide a very great deal of entertainment, he thought.
An hour later Mocata signed the last of his business documents, tapped them together, and placed them in a drawer. Then he rearranged his desk top, gathering the items he had prepared and putting them in a line. He pulled the black cushion into the centre.
The cock was soft again, but it stiffened immediately with a little stroking and teasing. Soon it was back to its full, rock-hard glory, the head staring angrily up at him. It was in need. Mocata selected a white feather from the line of items and began to stroke it over the shaft and then the glans. He had intended to work with extreme precision, but the cock bucked every time the feather touched it, making it difficult to target exactly. He tried holding the base with one hand while he worked on the rest of it, and that was much better. The cock responded to absolutely any touch, but Mocata found, unsurprisingly, that teasing the glans produced by far the most urgent reactions, so it was that on which he concentrated.
Soon precum began to ooze slowly out of the urethra. Mocata was delighted, but it made the tip of the feather soggy. He picked up a tissue and wiped the offending liquid off gently, and even that action caused the cock to throb in his hand. He guessed that Martin was late teenage or very early twenties, and he knew that boys of that age got horny very easily and very often. That, he thought to himself, would make what he intended to do all the more effective.
The feather was now soaked with precum, and more was coming out all the time, so he put it down and picked up a length of leather thong. If there was precum, he may as well make use of it. Carefully he pulled the centre of the thong through the sticky liquid, lubricating it well, and then he wrapped the cord around the base of the head so it lay tight under the ridge, and over the frenulum. Smoothly he began to see-saw it back and forth.
In Mocata’s younger days he had been with many guys, and had learned much. He knew that this technique – the slow, controlled sliding of something slippery over a cock’s most acutely sensitive spots – was usually devastatingly erotic to a horny boy. And so it proved to be with this one: the cock began to strain, to jerk up and down with each slightest movement of the lubricated thong. He also knew well how to recognise the signs of imminent orgasm, and so he stopped moving the thong completely each time Martin was approaching the edge. He wished that he could see the boy: he would love to know where he was, what he had been doing before Mocata had started to work on his cock, how he was responding, what it felt like to him, how badly he needed to cum – and most of all exactly how unbearable it was each time Mocata intentionally stopped just before he could reach the point of orgasm. It was within his power to get some feedback from the boy, but that would require more complex measures, and needed something which belonged to the subject. He looked at the cock and smiled: well, he certainly had that. He would prepare the appropriate incantations. But that was for tomorrow.
There was, however, a smaller ritual that he could adapt to his needs today, and which may prove very interesting. He would try that before retiring later.
But now, he began to move the thong back and forth again.
It was getting late. Mocata had worked on Martin’s cock until mid-evening, being extraordinarily careful not to allow him to cum, and had then spent a few hours reading by the fire. Now he was thinking about going to bed. But first there was something he very much wanted to do.
Mocata had a fondness for black, shiny gear – especially for leather and rubber; it was something that he had found seductively exciting for as long as he could remember. He guessed that most boys did not share this, but he felt a horny urge to try to use it on Martin to make him need to cum. He had a large collection of such gear in his wardrobe, and he went upstairs to get a pair of rubber jeans.
Even though it had been a few hours since he had last touched the cock, He saw that it was still not completely soft. He carried the cushion into the kitchen and placed it on the draining board.
He himself was already hard at the thought of what he was going to do, and as he picked up the jeans, his cock jerked at the feel of the shiny black rubber between his fingers. He zipped them up and poured an excessive quantity of lube into them, rolling and sliding them between his hands to spread it over the inside. Then he coated the cock and balls as well, and placed them on top of the jeans.
He wiped the lube off his hands; it was time for the small ritual.
He had prepared a black candle, some horse hair, and a bowl of spring water. He lit the candle, took a pinch of the horse hair, and carefully sprinkled it into the water. After holding it for a few seconds over the flame of the candle, he held the bowl up before him and, with eyes closed, recited the last verse of the Ritus Olassa . He inserted Martin’s name in the appropriate place while visualising him as accurately as possible, and replaced just two important terms in the text with different ones. After the last word of the incantation had left his lips, a smile formed as he sensed the spell take hold.
He inserted the cock and balls into the jeans, pulled the waist band closed, and began to play with them through the thin, slippery, lubricated black rubber. It slid over them sexily, and he smiled as he felt the cock hardening quickly under his fingers.
He found the bulbous head and, with intense concentration, began to milk it with firm, slow strokes. The rubber slid smoothly and sensuously and he could feel the ridge slipping under his fingers as they moved up and down over it. With evil intent, he had carefully positioned his thumb exactly over the frenulum.
The cock was jerking violently inside the slippery jeans. Mocata groaned in satisfaction and milked it faster, knowing that had things been otherwise the very first strokes of his fingers sliding the lubricated rubber over the boy’s cock head would have pushed him over the edge instantly and helplessly – but he also knew that the spell would make it impossible for Martin to cum no matter how badly he needed to. The Olassa was only temporary, but it would last for an hour or two – easily enough for tonight. Tomorrow he would arrange something a little more permanent.
His hand stopped. He counted to ten, and then began again.
For the next half-hour he repeated this, or variations on it: he poured in more lube, stroked his fingertips up and down the shaft, enclosed the whole thing in one hand while holding the balls down and milked it in different ways: with slow, sensuous strokes; or fast, compelling ones; holding it frustratingly lightly at times; gripping it tightly at others. He worked on the shaft and teased the balls, but his main focus was on the glans. He slid the cock around inside the slippery jeans, squeezed it, teased it. He stretched the thin latex around the cock tightly and tickled the tip and then milked it again, right at the end, sliding the rubber over the frenulum with a fingertip. He did everything he could think of that would force a horny boy to cum, while delighting in the knowledge that because of the spell, this one couldn’t.
Finally, breathing a sigh of satisfaction, he removed the cock and balls, wiped them dry of lube, replaced them on the cushion and was halfway back to his office with them when he changed his mind and took them up to his bedroom, placing them on the bedside table.
After brushing his teeth, undressing and getting into bed, he gave the cock a final squeeze and settled down to sleep.
It is impossible to get to sleep when you have a hard-on, and so it was some time before he nodded off. He woke several times during the night, and each time he reached out and teased the cock and balls for a while before turning over and putting the light out again. In the end he took them and put them in his lap, the hard cock pushed between the tops of his thighs, and fell asleep for the rest of the night.
It wasn’t until the afternoon of the following day that Mocata was free to apply himself to the cock again. It shouldn’t really have been until the evening, but he had excused himself from his business meetings on a fabricated pretext – he was head of the company, so that had not been difficult. It was interesting, he thought: what had begun with simply an urge to punish the boy in a way that Mocata thought would fit the crime, was turning into something of a hobby. He may well take more time off in the next few days; he was finding that using the boy’s need to cum to torture him was far more compelling than he would have believed possible.
The Olassa spell had proved to be successful the previous night, but he wanted something more intense and whose effects would stay in place permanently, until he intentionally removed them. After some research in the coven’s library he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for. He’d spent a couple of hours customising the ritual, and a further hour assembling the required items. Now, he was ready. Wearing the sacred talisman and the black robe, Mocata gazed at the ancient, time-worn pages of the Liber Umbrarum Nigrarum , open on the lectern, along with the notes which listed the changes to the Latin text he would recite. He would be employing a powerful channelling spell which he’d rarely used before, but he was satisfied that everything was in order. Like the Olassa, it would render the boy unable to achieve orgasm but, in addition, this more powerful spell would increase Martin’s need to cum markedly – every touch would feel many times more acutely erotic than usual. And that need would persist for much longer. But possibly most importantly of all, at least for Mocata, was that he would to some extent be able to feel what the boy was feeling. He didn’t want to overstimulate him for too long at any one time, and this feedback would help him to know when he should stop. It would also allow him to enjoy the boy’s suffering.
Arranged around him in the cellar temple were an assortment of items, and he began the ritual by sprinkling some sulphur into a small beaker of liquid tar. Lifting the beaker, he added a few drops of valerian oil and a small green stone, while reciting the first part of the Latin incantation. After a pause, he carefully poured the contents of the container into the next one.
The ritual took the best part of half a hour, but at the end he knew that the spell was in place. He blew out the candles, removed the robe and the talisman, made the sign of Osiris Risen, then went back upstairs to his desk and pulled the black cushion towards him.
The cock had eventually softened after the previous night’s intermittent attention, but the moment Mocata picked it up and cradled it in his hand, it began to stiffen. He blew gently on the tip of the head, and almost shivered as the spell caused the reflection of the feeling to come back to him. Even his soft breath was enough to get the cock fully erect in a few seconds.
He still was unable to tell what Martin was doing right now, what he was seeing, who he was with – that would all be possible, but would necessitate the collective power of the assembled coven, and Mocata wished to keep this private, even from them – but as he parted his lips and took the cock between them, the boy’s feeling of pure lust washed over him. Already Martin needed to cum. Very gently, Mocata drew his wet lips back along the whole length of the cock and teased the head with his tongue. Whatever Martin had been doing before this, he had most definitely stopped doing it now: Mocata could sense that his whole consciousness was concentrated on what he could feel at the end his cock.
Very soon he sensed the part of the spell kick in preventing the boy from cumming, and he repeated the sucking slowly and sensuously, this time also tickling the balls with his fingertips.
Even though Mocata had known how powerful the spell was, he was still taken aback by its effectiveness. He waited, giving Martin a few moments to recover, and then he began to suck the cock head hard and fast, just as he would have done if he’d been determined to force a boy to lose control and cum whether he wanted to or not. He revelled in Martin’s suddenly insanely desperate, unbearably acute need, and his absolute helplessness to do anything about it.
For the rest of the afternoon Mocata worked on the cock mercilessly. He sucked it, tickled it, teased it, stroked it and milked it irresistibly. Each time he felt he ought to stop to allow Martin to recover, he found that it was increasingly difficult to do so: he really wanted to make this boy suffer. The incident in the car was forgotten – to Mocata’s delighted surprise, this had now turned into nothing less than pure, wonderful, horny sadism.
Thinking of sadism reminded Mocata that there was something else he wanted to try. Picking up a thin leather paddle, he began to slap the cock and the balls with it. He worked on them from all angles, enjoying it particularly when it hit the sensitive glans and frenulum. He could feel the boy’s pain, but for him it was only an echo and wasn’t acute, as it very much was to Martin. Each time the cock began to soften – as he knew it would – he milked it back to full erection so that he could begin to slap it again.
After some time he put the paddle down. That had been interesting, he thought: it was a different sort of sadism, and there was definitely room for further research in that area – but to him, it was not as immediately satisfying as milking the desperately horny boy when he couldn’t cum. He went back to doing that, and over the next hour drove the boy to distraction.
Mocata had committed himself last week to dining with a colleague, and now he was regretting it – he wanted to keep working on the cock. But needs must.
Before leaving, he replaced the achingly unconsummated genitals back onto the cushion, and picked up another device. This was a series of thin leather straps, all connected together by another thin piece of leather. He buckled the individual ones tightly around the shaft so that each one gripped it; the highest one fitted just under the ridge. Those would keep the boy horny while he was away, he thought with a smile. As an afterthought he took a leather jacket and lay it over the top, shiny side down – any movement of the cock would cause the tip of the head to slide over the smooth black hide. No doubt there would be precum to help with that before long, too.
Mocata took a last look at the arrangement, nodded, and went upstairs to get ready.
It was half-past ten that night when he returned home, and he smiled when he removed the leather and the straps from the cock, and saw that it was still fully erect. There were slightly paler lines of skin around the shaft where the straps had been. He was feeling particularly pervy so he went upstairs and changed into his leather gear. Wearing that always made him feel horny, and he knew that the more horny he felt the more he would make Martin suffer. He found that he was spending an increasing amount of time lately thinking about working on the cock – he’d even been distracted at dinner this evening, but he’d explained it away as tiredness. At least that had enabled him to leave earlier than he otherwise would have done.
He brought some items back downstairs with him, and placed them at the side of the black cushion. Sitting down at his desk, he slid the leather jeans closer and took the end of one leg in his hand. Since he’d removed the straps earlier, the cock had softened very slightly, but as he gently stroked the cool, smooth, shiny black leather along its length he immediately felt the boy shudder, and saw it spring back to full, straining erection.
He wrapped the leather around it, gripped it gently, and moved his hand up and down very slowly, closing the jeans over the tip of the head each time. The sight of the cock enclosed in black leather – the glans appearing and disappearing between it with each stroke – along with the reactions he was feeling from the boy, made Mocata himself need to cum very badly. But if Martin couldn’t cum, then neither would he, he told himself. Well, at least not yet.
After a while Mocata put the leather jeans to one side and picked up the vibrator. He used to use this device a lot, but hadn’t done so for a while – however, he remembered exactly how effective the thing was. It consisted of a short black silicone sleeve that was fully open at one end, and at the other had a smaller opening in the curved top that enclosed the cock head. This small opening was to allow the flow of spunk – spunk which the device was irresistibly effective at extracting thanks to the small bullet-shaped vibrators on either side whose stimulus was cunningly transmitted directly to the glans. A thin cable went to the remote control, which had buttons to vary the strength and the pattern of the vibrations. Mocata lubed the sleeve, and fitted it over the cock, making sure that the curved end was fully in contact all over the head. He took the control in his hand, set the strength to medium and the pattern to wave, and switched it on.
And he switched it off again almost immediately – it would have got Martin to the point of cumming within seconds. Mocata wanted something that was more insidious, more frustrating, more prolonged. He lowered the strength to minimum. Ah, that was better. He could feel the boy pumping his hips. It was keeping him just short of the edge. Perfect. He would let the device work on him for a while.
He got up, poured himself a cognac and was returning to his desk when the telephone in the hall rang. Sighing, he went to answer it. His colleague from dinner earlier wanted to know that he was Ok. Yes, thanks, he was fine and just about to go to bed. Thank you for ringing, and see you next week.
The phone rang again immediately. This time it was Maureen, a Third Degree member of the coven, who wanted to sort out arrangements for the meeting celebrating the Feast of Gordor next Monday. The conversation took some time.
When it was over and he put the phone down, Martin’s feelings surged over him like a wave. The boy was going delirious – even on its lowest setting the vibrator had long ago got him to the point of cumming and, because he couldn’t, he’d been suffering greatly since then.
Mocata sat down quickly and reached for the remote control to switch it off, but his own hard cock changed his mind for him – and instead, on impulse, he turned the vibrator up to full. He groaned in rapture as Martin’s overwhelming need engulfed him. With diabolical cunning he picked up the feather and tickled the balls with it to make the boy’s torment even worse.
Mocata watched the cock’s insane straining and jerking – then suddenly his hand went to his crotch and his body convulsed as he came. He hadn’t had an orgasm that good for years. When his eyes uncrossed he switched the vibrator off and collapsed back into the chair.
He would dearly have loved to keep this boy’s cock here permanently, but he knew that he had to release him. The following afternoon, after a final prolonged session of the most merciless torture yet, he recited the words that would cancel the spell – and then, after a last gentle stroking of the steel-hard cock, he regretfully sent it back to its owner. He could imagine Martin wanking himself senseless now that he had control of his cock once more and was free to cum again at last. He wondered what the lad had made of all of this – after all, even if he could bring himself to face the embarrassment of telling anyone about it, who was going to believe him? He hoped that the boy’s sudden convulsions and refocussing of concentration hadn’t lost him his job or caused any other major inconvenience.
The North Sea was rougher than usual today, but it was the middle of winter after all. This was the first time Mocata had been to the rocky outcrop for over a month – he’d been busy. As he finished his meditation, he gathered his greatcoat around him against the biting cold, stood up, and returned to the car.
Martin was leaning against it, shivering.
Mocata frowned. His first thought was that this might be trouble. He wasn’t particularly worried, though – if necessary he was quite capable of confusing the boy’s mind about what had happened, if not of causing him to forget it completely. “Hello Martin. What brings you here?”
The boy was hugging himself against the bitter wind. “I need to talk to you. Please. I didn’t know how to find you. I’ve been coming here every day for the last month.”
“Really?” The boy must seriously need to talk. It struck Mocata anew how beautiful he was. “Well, join me in the car and get warm. You look frozen to death.” When they were inside he switched the heater on full. “So, what can I do for you?”
Martin was silent for a moment. It looked like he’d rehearsed what he’d wanted to say but wasn’t confident about saying it. “That thing – that magic you did to me.”
Mocata frowned, but remained silent.
“You know – took my… my cock and… did things to it.”
Mocata let the silence grow.
“I don’t know how you did it, or why you did it, but I need you to do it again.”
“Do you?”
“Oh fuck yes. I need it so badly.”
“I see.”
“Can you do it again?”
Mocata looked at him closely. It was clear that the boy really did want it. “I could,” he said at last.
“Please. I’ll do anything. I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life. Ever. It was amazing. It was more than amazing. It was awesome.”
Mocata flinched at the overused, devalued word, but he smiled. “Even when it was more than you could take?”
“Oh fuck yes. Even then. I couldn’t stand it, but I couldn’t fucking do anything about it.”
“Really?” Mocata was surprised.
“Oh fuck yes.”
Mocata thought. “Well then, yes, I can do it again. But this time I will want something from you in return.”
“Anything. I don’t have much money but I’ll find it somehow.”
“Oh, dear boy, I don’t want your money. I want sex.”
“Sex?”
“Sex. With you. Once a week. I will wear black leather and I will strap you down, tease you, tickle you, fuck you, kiss you, and suck you. I will cause you pain. I will torture your body and I will torture your cock. You may at various times be hooded, gagged, or blindfolded to make you more helpless to resist the things I will do to you, and to make them more intense. If you agree to these terms, I will do that ‘magic’ as you call it again to you whenever you want me to.”
“Oh fuck. Yes. Yes. Please. That’s exactly what I want. I agree.”
After a while Mocata nodded. “Very well. We’ll go back to my home now and you can prove that you mean what you say. Afterwards, I will take your cock from you again.”
Martin closed his eyes and sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
It was late spring, the sun was shining and the air was full of birdsong from the trees that surrounded the house. Inside, Jacob Mocata sat down at his desk. It was a large desk, which was a good thing. He cast his eyes slowly over the eight black cushions before him, each one displaying its own cock and balls. Mocata had indeed been busy. He stroked his fingers over his black leather thigh for a moment, and then reached for the first cock. It was Martin’s.
He smiled to himself, and wondered why he hadn’t thought of doing this years ago.