81 - ...
Eventually it was time. Chris and Michael, the two senior slaves, pulled a particularly tight and constricting hood over his head and tightened the straps, then they took him into the main playroom. Although this hood made breathing a little more difficult, it amplified the noise of it, and would make it easier for James to know what state he was in from moment to moment. He also knew that the boy particularly loved this hood. As he entered the room there was a spontaneous round of applause from the residents and staff, who were seated around the central area. Unable to see anything through the leather, he was led to the edging table in the middle of the room.
The table was a device of ancient design, constructed for the sole purpose of making the torture of edging as unbearable as possible. It was a simple, thinly-padded restraint table with a hole in the middle and a depression in it for the victim’s head. The boy was placed face down on it, his cock and balls sticking through the hole, and wide leather straps were fastened very tightly over his body. An extra-tight one went over his pelvis to make it completely impossible for him to thrust his hips even by the slighest amount. This particular table was a bit more versatile than some: for a start it was motorised – it could be raised or lowered on steel cables; and it could be positioned at any angle up to vertical. At the moment it was horizontal. Also, the head end of the table could be removed if required.
Christian had expected this. He had been on the table a couple of times before, and knew exactly how much it magnified the sensations of being edged. You couldn’t move a muscle; even if you weren’t blindfolded you couldn’t see what was going on under the table if the head end was attached; and your cock felt almost as if it were separated from your body; this made it feel exquisitely vulnerable and sensitive.
The final strap was tightened, and the table was raised a little. James pulled a comfortable leather chair under it and sat down. There was a small stand by his side with assorted items on it.
Master Jeff walked over to the table and turned to face everyone. He was a little unsteady on his feet and had to hold on to one of the cables. “Good evening. So far today, Christian here has undergone eighty seperate edgings – some carried out by James, some by Masters of other facitil… Facilities” His speech was beginning to slur. “The videos of all of them will be available for you all to watch whenever you wish. Now, he is now going to get the final twenty. Before he does, though,” he turned to the boy on the table, “I want to thank him. He didn’t have any choice, but he’s taken it like a good sport. Thank you, Christian. The Mansion is proud of you.”
Sensing imminent disaster, James jumped up and helped Jeff back to his seat before he fell over.
Even though it had been a while since his last session, Christian was still hard. His cock had stiffened even further when it had been inserted through the hole, when he’d felt the padded surface of the edging table under him, and when the straps had been tightened.
As on all three of the Mansion’s restraint tables, there was an arrangement to hold his cock back. On this one it was a small pivoted metal bar immediately under the lower surface of the table. This bar could be moved forwards or backwards, and locked when the required position was reached. James adjusted it so that the boy’s cock was pointing straight downwards. His intention was to make it as sensitive as possible.
Silence fell as James selected a single piece of tissue paper. He held it so that one corner was protruding, and carefully ran it along the length of the boy’s cock – but stopped before he touched the head. He knew that its touch was lighter than the softest feather.
Instantly the cock bucked, and a low moan came from the boy.
It took James less than a thirty seconds - working slowly with just the tissue, and only on the shaft - to get Christian back to the point he’d been at when the three shorts boys had been teasing him. He was well aware that Christian’s mind would be working on him – that images of the moments that had turned him on the most today would be parading across the screen of his memory under the black leather of the hood – that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from re-living in detail those most exquisitely horny sessions. All he had to do was to tease the desperate cock with his usual irresistible skill; the boy’s mind would do the rest for him.
Christian was almost there already: his breath was whistling through the small holes in the hood. James edged him slightly further, so that he was at the very brink – then stopped.
“Eighty-one!” The score was shouted out with enthusisasm by everyone in the room.
Loud though the shout was, it didn’t drown out the scream of frustration from the boy.
James put the tissue down and took a soft feather instead. He applied it to the shaft, tickling around it and slowly upwards. He knew that more than anything the boy needed him to touch and stroke the sensitive head, but he also knew that the longer he left it untouched, the more devastatingly effective it would be when it was finally worked on. So he continued to apply the feather to the shaft, bringing the boy to another edge very quickly.
“Eighty-two!”
James picked up another feather and used it to tickle the boy’s balls at the same time. This got Christian to the edge in seconds.
“Eighty-three!”
For a moment James considered using the electric toothbrush, but then decided it would be too heavy. He picked up the oiled leather thong instead. It was dripping with oil as he held it behind the boy’s cock, then brought the ends round to the front, crossed them, and slowly began to see-saw it backwards and forwards just under the ridge of the cock. He did it very slowly indeed, but even so the boy got to the edge again in under ten seconds.
“Eighty-four!”
One of the Mansion’s rules was that a boy should always be wearing whatever gear turned him on the most. When a boy arrived at the Mansion he spent a week being ‘calibrated’, as James called it. This consisted of discovering all of his fetishes – from the most powerful to the relatively minor – his weaknesses, vulnerabilities, sexual triggers etc. - anything and everything that could be used to control him sexually, to keep him as horny as possible. This included finding out what gear most turned him on. The boys sat watching the proceedings were thus wearing shorts, leather, rubber or PVC jeans, camo pants, jockstraps – each had his own personal fetish next to his skin. Wearing your own fetish and seeing other sexy lads wearing it as well was, under normal circumstances, quite sufficient to keep a boy needing to cum very badly – but being in such horny gear while sat watching a boy being edged insane by a sadistic rubber-clad guy who had himself got you helpless, had teased you, edged you and milked you on a regular basis was too much for some of the boys. Every single one had a raging erection, and what they were witnessing tonight got the occasional one so close that he lost control, his hand going to his cock to make himself cum. All the boys knew it was breaking the most important rule of the Mansion, and that they could be expelled for it, but the sight was so unbelievably horny that some of them were simply helpless to stop themselves. Each one of these prayed that special dispensation would be made for tonight.
James was getting more and more cunning, and Christian’s screams of frustration were getting louder and louder. Every time he yelled, the boys shouted out the score.
They were up to ninety now.
Ninety-one...
So far James had carefully not so much as even touched the boy’s cock-head with anything. Now, however, he took the tissue again and - hardly touching - stroked it once, carefully, over the swollen head.
Christian’s body went rigid on the table. He had been waiting, longing for a touch there since the bastard had started on him. Now it came – and just that lightest of touches from the edge of the tissue sent shockwaves of ecstasy through him. He yelled into the leather hood.
“Ninety-two!”
James replaced the tissue with a soft feather. He stroked it around the head, trying to drive the boy mad with the need to cum.
“Ninety-three!”
Christian tore at the restraints. He tried to thrust his hips, desperate to fuck anything that made contact with his cock. But the restraints had been purposely designed to make that the one thing he couldn’t do - and, as ever, at those times when he needed to most of all, there was intentionally nothing there for his cock to fuck anyway. Inside the hood his eyes were open, staring wildly at the black leather, and he continuously pulled at the restraints – he wanted to know that he was helpless, to feel that he was restrained, hooded. One part of his mind knew that doing this just made it worse, because being helpless turned him on so much, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was so terminally horny that everything he felt – everything – contributed to this feeling of transcendental sexuality. He was nothing more than a cock; his entire universe consisted of sexy boys in horny gear and his cock. There were no words to describe how urgently, how compellingly he needed to cum.
James was an expert at edging. He knew exactly what the boy was experiencing. Now he took the second feather as well, and used them both at the same time on the boy’s cock head. He wielded the feathers with a skill developed over decades of tormenting helpless boys. With intense concentration, he used one soft, pointed tip just on the frenulum, the other just on the piss-slit.
This was something Christian had never felt before. His cock, straining desperately for something to rub it, was being tickled with inhuman precision just on two small spots. His frenulum was one of his biggest weaknesses – working on it always made him need to cum urgently – but he’d never in his wildest dreams realised that the very tip of his cock-head, right on the piss-slit, could be so unbelievably and intensely erotic. As the pointed tip of the feather stroked and tickled, it seemed to concentrate every bit of his horniness onto that one tiny spot. His entire body was on fire, and his consciousness was focussed completely on the very tip of his cock head.
James took the feathers away.
“Ninety four!”
That had been the worst one yet. Christian let out a long, piercing animal howl of frustration. That one could not have been closer.
The feather returned – this time only one, and only on the piss-slit. Christian was back on the edge in seconds flat. The feather was hardly moving at all now, just tiny, tiny strokes over the two little bumps - but it was enough.
“Ninety-five!”
As the boy’s pitiful yell died away, James stood up, and put the chair and the small stand away. The electric motors came to life and the table revolved to the vertical position. The two senior slaves unbolted the head end of it and removed it. Christian, still tightly strapped to the rest of the edging table, was now in a standing position, his hooded head looking into the room and his desperate cock stabbing the air through the hole in the table. Precum dropped slowly from the tip.
The door opened and five more figures entered the playroom. One took up position behind the boy, the other four stood in front of him. The residents in the room began to make appreciative noises but were instantly silenced by a look from James.
James unfastened the tight straps of Christian’s hood, then pulled it off and stood to the side.
Christian blinked in the bright light, and then gasped. In front of him stood the three boys from earlier – was it the fourth or the fifth session? He couldn’t remember – the leatherboy, the skinhead, and the blond punk he fancied so much. And next to them stood the muscular athletic lad in the black shiny shorts. A leather-gloved stroke on his hip from behind him made him jump, and he felt leather pressing into his back, and booted feet against his. He turned his head and caught a flash of a leather bike racing suit out of the corner of his eye. The gorgeous biker! He was behind him! Christian swallowed. All his fantasies were here, rolled into one.
James walked over to the leatherboy, and while the punk and the skinhead held him, James unzipped the boy’s leather jeans and pulled them down to his ankles. Christian went weak at the knees as the German guy slowly pulled on his studded leather gauntlets – the ones he liked to use to milk those boys who were especially vulnerable to the touch of leather, and which he’d used on Christian so irresistibly many, many times. Under normal circumstances just the sight of those gauntlets made him need to cum – now, the effect on him was devastating. Then, as the two lads kept the leatherboy helpless, James stood behind him and forced his gauntleted hand between the naked thighs , holding his balls. His other hand reached around the boy’s waist and gripped his cock with leather fingers. As Christian watched, he could almost feel the touch of that leather gauntlet against the insides of his thighs. James stroked the boy’s cock-head with two fingers and a thumb – slowly at first - and then, with a sadistic grin which his tight rubber mask showed clearly, quickly and irresistibly milked him – in exactly the same way that he had milked so many of the boys with a leather fetish at the Mansion. Four seconds later the leatherboy shuddered and yelled, his spunk flying out in an arc and landing on the floor.
While this was going on, the biker behind Christian had been teasing the helpless boy’s back, thighs and arse with leather-gloved hands. Now he unzipped the fly of his racing suit, lubed his cock and, gently and slowly, inserted it into Christian’s welcoming arse.
“Aaaahhh… Oh fuckkkkk...” The boy’s eyes closed in ecstasy as the biker’s cock slid inside him.
James came back and stood at Christian’s side. He ran a single gauntleted finger lightly down the cock shaft. The finger still had the leatherboy’s cum on it.
Christian shuddered at the touch of that glove. It had made him cum so intensely, so many times in the past. And he could feel the spunk on the finger as it slid over his cock.
“Ninety-six.”
With infinite gentleness James held the cock between his fingertips and enclosed the head with his other hand. He didn’t move them at all – just the contact of the leather on the boy’s cock was enough to bring him to the edge.
“Ninety-seven!”
The punk was knelt down in front of the athletic lad, his face buried in the boy’s shorts. His hands stroked up and down the muscular thighs, his fingertips dissapearing up inside the leg of the shiny black shorts to tickle the boy’s balls.
“Ninety-eight!”
The skinhead stood behind the athletic lad, pulled him close and reached around his waist with one hand, gripping the boy’s cock through his shorts. He started to wank him off, hard and fast. Within seconds the athlete was cumming. His body jerked in front of the punk as he shot his load into the shiny black shorts.
James was very carefully stroking just the shaft of Christian’s cock.
“Ninety-nine!”
Christian thought he was going to faint with horniness: watching that had been the sexiest thing he’d seen. When James stopped, just before he could cum, he threw back his head and screamed hoarsely at the top of his lungs.
The biker behind him pulled out carefully.
One more. What the fuck were they going to do for this? It couldn’t get any worse.
It did. The blond punk boy walked slowly towards him, the bulge of his hard cock under the skintight PVC jeans moving with each step. He knelt down in front of the table.
Christian stared down at the punk as the boy, with infinite care, bowed his head and stroked his soft, short blond mohican once across the boy’s cock-head.
Christian sobbed with need. That sexy punk boy, using his mohican to torture him – that was inhuman. Oh fucking shit...
The punk looked at James. The man nodded, and he repeated the movement.
There were no words to describe what Christian was feeling: the boy he fancied most of all was edging his cock with his soft blond hair. He was already breathing fast.
The mohican stroked…
He breathed even faster…
He was going to cum…
The beautiful, sexy punk boy looked up at him, smiling, then bowed his head again and drew the entire length of his mohican along the tip of Christian’s cock.
This was too much. He took a deep, shuddering breath and found himself holding it – HE WAS GOING TO CUM!!!”
At a signal from James, the punk moved his head back.
Time stopped for Christian. His spunk boiled in his balls. One single further touch – no matter how tiny - would release it with power enough to reach to the far side of the room…
But the touch didn’t come. Frustration came crashing down on him like a sledgehammer. He screamed.
“One hundred!”
A spontaneous cheer went up for everyone in the room – but Christian was deaf to it. All he wanted – the only thing he needed, and needed more than life itself – was to cum.
A slow, continuous wail began. It got louder by the second. “PleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEAAAASE!!!!”
The punk stood up and moved behind the edging table, slightly to Christian’s left. The althletic lad in the black shorts came to stand on the right. They were both facing the boy. He felt the shiny shorts make contact with his right hand. Even though the lad had been wanked off by the skinhead only minutes ago, his cock was already rock-hard again inside the spunk-soaked shorts. Christian gripped it, the touch of the shorts sending shivers through his body. The biker behind him pushed his cock back in and began to fuck him slowly.
Bringing his lips close to Christian’s, the punk kissed him deeply. Beyond the punk, Christian saw James pulling on the studded leather gauntlets. Then the man knelt, a feather in his hand. He gripped the boy’s balls with one gloved hand, and applied the feather to the cock-head with the other.
Christian was being kissed by a beautiful punk boy. He was being fucked slowly by a gorgeous biker in leathers. He was gripping the hard, horny cock of a hunky lad in shiny black shorts, and the bastard fiend James was working on his cock with a feather.
This was too much. For what felt like the thousandth time he felt the edge approaching…
He was almost there…
Chrisian was holding his breath. He knew that any moment James would stop; that he would never be allowed to cum, ever again.
Never.
He was there – balanced on the very brink of orgasm.
The feather stopped.
And then James gripped his cock with the studded leather gauntlet and milked it.
Christian crushed the gorgeous punk’s lips with his own. He thrust his tongue deep into the boy’s mouth. Then he screamed into it.
The universe turned white-hot.
With an explosion of a supernova, Christian came.