The Telemachus Story Archive

Horror Story
By Hooder

Horror Story

Dean nodded to the waiter and watched his retreating butt appreciatively. "Now that would look good in a sling."

Craig chuckled and took a sip of his whiskey. "He'd probably enjoy it." He swirled the golden liquid in the glass for a moment, then regarded his friend across the table. "I envy you sometimes, Dean."

"Hmm? Why's that?"

"Cos it's so much easier for you. Fucking, fisting, CP, TT - all the subs seem to be into those. You have so much more choice. Me, the things I like doing to boys, it's a lot harder to find guys who are into that without the rest."

"Oh come on - you don't do so badly. That lad on Thursday was cute."

Craig offered a pack of Marlboroughs and they both lit up. "He was cute, yeah, but he was just like the rest. Two minutes - that's all he held out for. And that was longer than any of the others. I want a challenge."

Dean smiled. He'd never really understood the things Craig was into. The man would take a boy into his playroom, restrain him to some piece of heavy equipment or other, hood him, spend some time tickling him and watching the boy writhing under his hands, yelling and screaming, and then he'd transfer his attention to the boy's cock, playing with it and teasing it until it was hard and dripping. At that point Craig would order the boy not to let himself cum under any circumstances - to fight against being milked and to do everything he possibly could to stop Craig from making him cum. Then he'd start a timer, enclose the boy's cock in one lubed, rubber-gloved hand, and milk him efficiently and irresistably until he lost control and shot his spunk helplessly into the shiny black rubber. Craig was right: they never lasted very long; he was very skillful at milking boys. He'd watched Craig having sessions occasionally; it was a bit of fun, but hardly a basis for serious SM.

"What do you mean, you want a challenge? I thought you loved making boys cum."

"I do. But it never lasts long enough. I love making boys cum, but what I love most is seeing them trying to stop me, resisting, fighting against it - that's what turns me on most of all. Same reason I love tickling boys - to see them trying to fight it, to will themselves not to be ticklish, not to react. To me, self-control is the important thing. The things I do are designed to test that self-control and, if I can, to break it and cause intense humiliation to the victim. That humiliation is the holy grail for me. To see a boy covered with his own spunk, after fighting with all his strength to keep it in his balls - oh fuck I love that." He licked his lips. "It's a battle of wills between my mind and the victim's. Or that's what it should be. Trouble is, nowadays boys have no self-control."

"And of course you do." Dean blew smoke up to the ceiling.

Craig blinked. "Me? Damn right I do. I know my body, and I can control it."

Dean crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and caught the eye of the waiter. "Two more please," he said with a smile. The smile continued for a while - he'd just had a wonderful idea. But he'd leave it for a month or two...

* * *

"Oh let me get this fucking gag on you and stop complaining." Dean wrestled to get the leather pad between Craig's teeth.

"What's this all about?" Asked Craig, pushing the gag away.

"You'll see. It's a surprise. Now be a good boy and stop fucking struggling will ya?"

Craig mumbled something inaudible but any further noises were silenced when the large leather gag was pushed into place. Dean then dropped a loose leather bag-hood over Craig's head. It had been a long time since he'd been hooded. They were in Craig's playroom and he knew his way around the place blindfolded - which was just as well as the hood had no eyeholes. He felt the leather cuffs being fastened around his wrists and his ankles, and then Dean told him to get up onto the gurney. The PVC was cold as he lay down on it, and even though the heater had been on in the room for a while, Craig's skin still tingled in the cool air; he always wore full black leather in this room, and wasn't used to being naked.

Dean secured Craig's ankle and wrist cuffs to the restraint points at corners of the gurney, and buckled a single thick leather strap over his chest to complete the restraint. Satisfied that Craig couldn't move very far in any direction, he gave his friend's soft cock a gentle slap. "Ok. Now don't go away." Craig chuckled at the old joke, then heard Dean walk out of the playroom and the door close behind him.

What the hell was this all about? Craig was a top, and it had taken a lot of persuading to let himself be tied up. But he trusted Dean totally. He just hoped that trust wasn't misplaced. He waited, listening to the sound of his breath whistling in and out around the gag. The smell of the leather was sexy, and the feel of it around his face was beginning to turn him on. He pulled experimentally at the restraints, but they were his own cuffs and he knew they wouldn't give an inch.

A few minutes later he heard the door open again. Footsteps approached, then there was silence. Craig felt very vulnerable, his senses heightened by not knowing who was there or what was giong to happen. His cock began to harden. He found that the suspense was making his body tremble.

He jumped as fingers stroked lightly down the outsides of his legs, then a hand held his cock. It hardened further in the soft grip. The hand let go of his cock, leaving it swaying in the air. For a few moments there was nothing - just the sounds of whoever it was moving around the room. A quite thud as some object was put back on the shelf. Then again, for a number of seconds, nothing.

Craig jumped - feathers on his elbows. Light, quick, darting strokes. It was the kind of tickling that sent shivers down his spine, but he had not the slightest intention of reacting - and he didn't. At that point the memory of that conversation with Dean a couple of months ago came back to him. So - this was to be a challenge for him, was it? Fine, he could deal with that. No problem. He'd show Dean - and this guy, whoever he was - what self-control was all about.

The feathers moved gradually along his upper arms, and it became clear that they were heading for his armpits, but this guy was was taking his time.

The feathers were darting about, moving erratically, but heading slowly and relentlessly for the centre of his armpits. The pointed tips of the feathers reached his armpits and he gritted his teeth against the increasingly powerful urge to try to pull his arms tightly to his sides to stop the insistent tickling.

Without warning the feathers were reversed, and the blunt, stiff ends were raked down his sides. He hadn't been expecting this and it caught him by surprise. A muffled but urgent groan escaped from his gagged mouth.

Craig's tormentor put the feathers down and began using his fingers instead. Beginning at Craig's armpits, they walked down his sides, the tips pressing in between his ribs with each movement, feeling for the soft, ticklish spots between and on the edges of the bones. When they reached the hip-bone, they paused, then went back up a little and stopped - poised over the supremely ticklish, soft areas of his sides, just below the bottom rib. Craig closed his eyes and prepared himself for the sudden hard dig that he knew was coming. As on most guys, his sides were one of the most unbearbably ticklish spots on his body.

But the dig didn't come. Instead, quick as lightning, the fingers dug hard into the crease of his groin. His body arched, and it took every bit of his willpower not to scream. He couldn't stop himself, however, from letting out long, loud gasp. God, that tickled. Keeping the pressure on, the unseen fingers moved back and forth quickly. His muscles were tensed and his eyes, wide open under the hood, stared unseeingly into the black leather, in desperate concentration. He would NOT yell. He cursed the blindfolding hood - if he'd been able to see that attack on his groin coming, he could have steeled himself against it, and not reacted at all. But the thin black leather, caressing his face so softly, rendered him helpless and supremely vulnerable to tickling - which of course was exactly what it was there to do.

The hands were removed from his groin, and when Craig felt a cockstrap being buckled tightly but carefully around the base of his genitals, he was powerless to stop his cock from hardening. His tormentor held his cock up to push his balls forward, then applied a soft feather to them - from its softness Craig thought is was probably his Eider duck breast feather - starting at the front and gradually working round to the back of his balls. The base of his cock was being held with a gentleness he'd rarely experienced before, and which he found at once irritating and frustrating, but disturbingly sexy. His balls weren't especially ticklish, but having them stroked like that got him horny. It was impossible to ignore the tickling of the feather, and it felt unbelievably good. To his intense annoyance he realised that his cock was continuing to harden.

Craig began to resort to mind tricks in his effort to resist: he conjoured up a detailed image of his aunt Mary in the bath. Even though the image was so unpleasant to him, his cock continued to respond to the gentle grip and the feather tickling his balls. It was now firm and becoming a handful. There seemed to be nothing he could do to stop this guy's touch from turning him on. In desperation he closed his eyes and imagined a succession of scenes that were as unsexy as he could make them. He began to succeed - his cock softened slightly - but then the bastard ran a single fingertip lightly over the tip of his cockhead and his cock rose to almost full erection in seconds. Damn you, he fumed.

He felt the weight on the gurney shift as the guy got off, and a brief brush against his ankle. Oh shit, my feet, he thought. He wasn't at all sure how well he'd manage to control himself if his feet were tickled.

But the fingers didn't work on his feet - instead they jammed into his armpits and tickled madly for a moment. This caught Craig totally by surprise and before he could stop himself he'd yelled into the gag. Damn Damn Damn!

Was that a quiet giggle he heard? Bastard. This guy was fucking with his mind - and doing it well.

Suddenly Craig felt his ankle gripped hard to keep it still, and then sharp fingernails were dragged over the very centre of his sole. At the first agonisingly ticklish touch he reflexively tried to pull his foot away, but it was held fast. He had never realised that his feet were so ticklish: he was biting the gag hard between his teeth, eyes again shut tightly, trying desperately not to make any sound. But it was too much. He was incapable of keeping quiet. A keening moan started and he couldn't stop it however he tried. This was totally unbearable. For God's sake STOP! But the tickling continued. The fingerails were excruciating as they travelled over the soft skin of his sole. Unable to stop himself, Craig howled.

His unseen tormentor tickle-tortured his soles mercilessly. Then he began to work his way up Craig's legs inch by inch - alternately stroking as lightly as a butterfly's wings, and digging his fingertips hard into the muscles. Craig's eyes were squeezed tighly shut in concentration as he willed himself not to react when the exploring fingers found a particularly ticklish spot - if the bastard didn't know where he was most sensitive, he wouldn't be able to tickle him as effectively - but his body betrayed him every time: he just could not stop himself from squirming or yelling in hysterics however hard he tried. And whenever the fiend found such a responsive spot he worked on it hard, and came back to it repeatedly and unexpectedly. An especially rewarding area was the back of his knees. He tried to press his legs down into the padded PVC surface of the gurney but the cunning bastard found a metal hairbrush which he placed on the gurney beneath the top of Craig's calf, with the long metal points sticking upwards. Now he couldn't press his knee down without the points sticking into him, and that left the back of his knee completely accessible.

His thighs were both ticklish and extremely erogenous: as the fingertips danced up the insides of them, caressing the soft, sensitive skin towards his balls, his cock - which he'd given up trying to make go soft - began to produce precum. He felt it dripping in strings onto the shiny black surface of the gurney. The guy must have dipped a finger into it because a second later he held Craig's cock in that infuriatingly gentle grip and slid a cool precum-lubed fingertip slowly over the engorged cockhead.

Oh SHIT OH SHIT!!! For the first time since this guy had started working on him, Craig had the feeling of wanting to cum. He bit down on the gag hard, his lips snarling around the hard leather. No fucking bloke he couldn't see was going to make him want to cum. He repressed the feeling by an act of sheer willpower.

Suddenly and without warning fingers were digging into his sides just above the hip bones. Before he realised, he was screaming hysterically.

With a quiet chuckle, the guy returned to his inner thighs. He was about halfway between his knees and his balls now, relentlessly getting higher and higher. His whole body tingled at the touch - he had to admit that whoever this was, he was good at this.

As the fingertips neared the tops of his thighs, Craig's production of precum increased markedly. He knew that glistening, pearly drops must be falling on the guy's hands as he gently lifted his balls so he could get to his perineum. Using the feather again, he worked on it carefully, driving Craig mad with the insistent, devilish tickling. Although he hated to admit it, Craig was horny. He was as horny as fuck. He caught himself beginning to pump his hips and forced himself to stop immediately.

For the next hour the fiend worked slowly but efficiently on every inch of Craig's body that was accessible to him, apart fom his cock. That wasn't touched once during that sixty minutes. His neck, nipples, ribs, navel, elbows, hands, abdomen, groin, thighs, balls, perineum, knees, calves, legs and feet all got worked on efficiently and mercilessly. A sharply-pointed feather was poked gently into his navel; a tongue licked between his toes; the muscles of his knees and thighs were gripped and squeezed; nails raked over the soles of his feet; talented fingertips tickled just the hairs on his balls; and whenever he couldn't stop himself from reacting strongly to something, that spot was zeroed in on it and used to torture him sadistically. But never once was his increasingly desperate cock even so much as touched.

By the end of that hour Craig's fight with himself had grown to monumental proportions: he was every bit as determined to resist this guy's manipulating him, and yet he was more horny than he'd been for a very long time. He was directly and overtly attacking the very thing Craig held most precious - his self-control - and he was doing it in a subversive, cunning way which despite himself he found unbelievably sexy in itself. The more horny he got, the more his determination not to succumb to this tormentor grew. But for the last half hour he had been completely unable to prevent himself from at first moaning, then yelling, and finally screaming in ticklishness as the sadistic fingers worked on his body. And his cock was desperate to be touched, rubbed, stroked firmly and fast to a wonderful orgasm. Oh fuck, he needed to cum!

Craig had forgotten what it felt like to need to cum so badly but not be able to. He did this sort of thing to his own victims on a regular basis - but the intensity and immediacy of the urgent, compelling need was something he'd quite forgotten about.

The guy had been using a feather to great effect on the palm of his right hand, while holding it open with his knee. Even while this - very ticklish but relatively non-erogenous - part of his anatomy was being worked on, his cock stabbed the air with unrelieved need. His entire body was tensed, ready to shoot his spunk at the tiniest stimulus that would let it. But any stimulus that would let it was being carefully and intentionally avoided.

The feather stopped tickling his palm, and the knee that had been holding it down was removed. Perhaps now - at last - this bastard would let him cum.

"Are you horny, boy?" A whisper, close to his hooded head. This was the first time he'd heard anything from the guy. Yes, he was horny - oh fuck was he horny! - but no, he was not going to admit it. Craig remained silent, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

"MMMMMMMPPHHH!!!!!" Craig's body arched, the leather strap pressing into his stomach and his cock crying out for release as a single fingertip stroked up the length of the shaft and ran once around the head. Craig slammed his head back onto the padded gurney in frustration and rage at that involuntary moan of desperate need.

The finger disappeared from his cock, leaving it swaying in the air. He felt the top of the hood move, then closed his eyes against the light as the leather was pulled up and off. At last, he was going to see who this fucking bastard was. When he opened his eyes again, he moaned in total disbelief.

Looking down at him, and smiling sweetly, was a woman.

His first reaction was that of extreme embarrassment, and his cock immediately softened. He wanted to know who she was, what she was doing here and to tell her to get the fuck out of his playroom - but all that emerged from his mouth was a muffled "Gmphrrmmmphmphm".

"Now now sweetie, don't try to talk. I can't understand a word you're saying with that gag in your mouth anyway so there's no point. You just lie there." She ran a manicured fingernail slowly down the centre of his chest. "I suppose you want to know what I'm going to do to you now. Well, I'm going to milk you dry. I'm going to take that legendary self-control of yours and break it. Slowly and excruciatingly. You're going to cum for a woman. " She withdrew the finger from his chest, and giggled. "And there's not a fucking thing you can do about it."

Craig was almost apoplectic. Not only did women not turn him on in the slightest, but he was also quite misogynistic, although he had never admitted it to himself. The very thought of being played with sexually by a woman was anathema to him. He yelled into the gag and shook his head violently. The woman's only response was to giggle again. Why did women always fucking giggle, he wondered. He couldn't be doing with them.

He was going to kill Dean when he got out of this. What on earth was the idiot thinking of? He didn't feel in the slightest bit horny any more and there was no chance - zero chance - that he was going to cum for this... this woman.

He lay there fuming, watching her and cursing these fucking restraints. She was what he assumed would be called 'petite': small and trim. Her jet black hair was piled on top of her head in some complicated style he didn't know the name of, her startlingly blue eyes peering out from under a fringe which somehow seemed separate from the rest of her hair. She wore makeup which gave her cheeks an artificially rosy glow, and her lips were a shiny, dark red.

She was wearing black leather: a long, soft leather skirt below a shiny black top that was cut to reveal acres of breast in which he had no interest at all. Thankfully at least it covered her nipples. As she walked away from him to pick up some feathers from the other side of the room he saw that she was wearing black leather New Rock boots with lots of buckles and high heels. The thought that it should be illegal for females to wear leather passed through his mind.

"Hmm. Time, I think, to start work on that lovely cock of yours," she said, walking back towards him. She put the feathers down on the gurney between his thighs, and then - to his horror - she unfastened first her leather top, and then the skirt, and took them off. She was wearing nothing underneath. He stared in fascination at her naked breasts - he'd seen boobs on other women before but he'd never been this close to them. Then he lowered his eyes to the woman's crotch. It was shaved, and he gazed queasily at the naked clitoris and the lips of her vagina. They represented everything he did not want to know about. They were the epitome of what he was not.

"Ahh, that's better." She tilted her head quizzically as she saw his expression. "For this next bit I want you to be under no illusions, Craig. You are a gay man, I am a woman. But I am going to make you cum. Not only that, but believe me, boy, you are going to beg me to let you cum. You are going to plead. You are going to promise me anything to be allowed to shoot your spunk for me."

If looks could kill, she would have died there and then. From above the leather gag Craig's eyes were filled with fire of a violence she had never seen in a man before. But he was very securely restrained. "Ok, let's just see how good your world-famous self-control is, shall we?"

She leaned over his crotch and took his cock and balls gently in her hands. His cock had gone half-soft again, but she knew that a little massage in the right places was all it would take to get it hard and dripping again despite anything he could do to prevent it. If there was one thing she was an expert at, it was cocks - and she had yet to meet one she couldn't play like a musical instrument. Cupping his balls gently in one hand and ticking his perineum lightly with the forefinger, she circled the shaft of his cock with a finger and thumb and stroked them up and down slowly, hardly touching. Each stroke slid the foreskin down over the glans and back up again, and brought an involuntary gasp of pleasure from her helpless victim. These gasps were quickly brought under control and Craig remained stubbornly silent.

"It's a funny old world, isn't it?" She said, gazing lovingly at his cock. "When you guys get horny your cocks get hard, but when us girls do we get wet. I'm getting wet now, did you know that?"

Too much information. Craig closed his eyes and grimaced in revulsion. He did not want to think about that - it was disgusting.

He expected his cock to soften again, but she didn't give it a chance. Leaning down, she enclosed the head in her glossy red lips, and ran her tongue over the tip. Craig closed his eyes again - but this time in pleasure. His body tensed and he let out a moan which expressed his need unequivocally. How was it possible that his cock was so hard again? This was a woman, for God's sake. A fucking WOMAN! Ten seconds ago cumming had been the furthest thing from his mind, and yet now, as his cock head was bathed, stroked and teased by her lips and tongue, his need to shoot was every bit as urgent as it had been before she'd taken the hood off him.

She released his cock head from the warm, wet embrace of her lips - it seemed she was in the mood for talking. "Mmm.. I'm very wet. You know, inside a girl's cunt there are ridges. Do you know what they're for? They're to rub against a boy's cock to make him cum. Nature's a devious thing. Once a cock is inside there nature only has one objective: to make him cum and get his spunk. Those ridges are positioned so that they rub againt the most sensitive spots on a boy's cock." She gripped his cock gently with her fingers, positioning them carefully. "Like that. See - there's one here to rub just under the head on the underside, where the bumps on your cock meet..." she stroked a finger over the spot, and he involuntarily closed his eyes in bliss at the feeling. "And there's another here..."

The woman carefully explained the internal structure of the vagina to him, demonstrating with her fingers. Normally a discussion like this would have made Craig feel ill, but in his present state every touch of her hand made his need to cum worse and worse.

"Of course when a boy is fucking a girl he is usually controlling things - that is, until a certain point. At that point he loses all control and HAS to cum. The need becomes so bad that he literally can't stop himself from finishing the act, and cumming. That's why trying to pull out at the last moment doesn't usually work very well. However," she smiled a wicked, sadistic smile, "when a boy is strapped down and helpless, someone who knows all this information can use it to get him to that point where he just HAS to cum, but then can stop, so that he can't cum. And that can be done over and over and over again, and there's nothing he can do about it. What sort of effect do you think that would have on the helpless boy?"

Craig's eyes were wide, staring a her. She was enjoying this, the bitch.

"It seems you're in an ideal position to find out, Craig." She'd been stroking his cock up and down gently and very slowly, but now her hand speeded up a little, and her grip tightened. He knew exactly what she was doing, and that she had no intention of allowing him to cum yet. He had done this same kind of thing so many times to his own helpless victims - victims whose inability to stop themselves from cumming so quickly he despised. Now it was he who was on the receiving end. And he realised that it was actually a lot more difficult than he'd remembered. But, there was no way he would ask this woman to let him cum, whatever she did. He could not afford that - the humiliation would be terminal.

Her hand stroked up the silky shaft of his cock, the head slipping slowly through her fingers with each stroke and bringing gasps of ecstasy from him. He was so close to cumming he could scream. But he didn't.

To make him need to cum even more, she started to tickle his balls at the same time with her other hand, and then she leant down and, pursing her lips, worked on the very tip of his cockhead with her mouth - all the time her hand sliding up and down his cock.

Shit shit shit! He felt the beginnings of orgasm - the tightening of his balls, the stiffening of his cock, the spunk getting ready to shoot - and at that point all his disgust, his fear of humiliation, his distaste at who was doing this to him - all of that went out of the window. Now the only thing he wanted was to cum. Nothing else was important.

But she stopped - a hair's breadth away. She removed her mouth, and her hand froze on his cock, holding it still and not doing anything, her fingers forming a motionless ring around the base.

Craig could have screamed. He realised his hips were pumping, but he got himself back under control quickly and stopped that. Oh God, the pure, unbearable frustration.

The woman smiled sweetly at him. "See? All your inhibitions - gone. You just need to cum, don't you...?"

He shook his head stubbornly. As the overpowering need for ejaculation gradually ebbed away, all the negative feelings came back to him. He was NOT going to cum for this fucking woman.

Her hand began to move again. Slowly at first, and then a little quicker, it stroked up and down his hard, dripping cock. This time she took her other hand and worked on his cockhead separately with it, using gently twisting motions. Within seconds he was back at the point of no return. He was going to cum!

"Boys are so easy to control," she said. "It's just a question of timing. Get them almost there and then stop just before they can shoot. Feels sooooo good, doesn't it? Until I stop, that is..." She stopped again.

Craig didn't know how much more of this he could take - it was pure torture.

"But it can get even worse than this. I'll show you a little trick." She picked up a tiny, soft, camel-hair artist's brush and held it in her mouth while she worked on his cock again. When she'd got him almost to the point of orgasm once more, she held his cock still and, taking the brush with the other hand, she applied it to the head very lightly and slowly.

Involuntarily, Craig screamed into the gag. He was on the very edge of cumming, but there just wasn't enough friction to achieve orgasm. And the soft brush tickling the tip of his sensitive cockhead was an act of pure sadism - the only reason she was doing it was coldly and calculatedly to drive him insane with sexual frustration of unbearable intensity.

With her tongue protruding slightly from between her lips in an expression of pure sadism, she concentrated hard to make him suffer as much as possible, moving the brush in tiny, precise, slow strokes over the head of his cock as if she were painting a miniature work of art, and knowing that - suspended as he was on the very edge of orgasm - what she was doing was causing the most unbearable, mind-shatteringly intense sexual torture it was possible for a male to experience. She was also very aware that the slightest mistake - too fast a stroke, or too firm a touch - would make him cum instantly. In her talented fingers the soft brush carressed Craig's shiny, engorged cockhead, leaving tiny streaks in the precum that was coating it.

She let him rest for a few moments, an expression of pure lust on her face as she watched him struggling helplessly in his restraints, his chest rising and falling quickly like a marathon runner as he panted for beath. Desperate, tortured moans came from his tightly gagged mouth. Slowly, he recovered and lay still again. She could see in his eyes the longing he would still not permit himself to voice - not that he could, gagged as he was.

"Of course there are lots of other things that can be done to make a victim's need to cum even worse..." She licked her fingertip and inserted it gently, just as far as the first knuckle, into his arsehole. Craig was not into fucking or being fucked, but in his current state of extreme horniness it felt unbelievably wonderful. She let it remain motionless for a moment and then, as she took his cock into her mouth and began to suck slowly, the fingertip started to move in and out. This time he reached the brink of orgasm in half the time. He had never realised how sexy a fingertip in his arse could feel. His entire body was screaming at him for release. His eyes were closed, as he succumbed to the feelings of overwhelmingly acute need for ejaculation.

Again the talented woman felt his orgasm approaching, and stopped. "Mmm.. stopping is the best bit. Knowing how badly you need to cum, and making it impossible. Making you suffer. I could do this all day. Oh fuck yessss...."

Craig's body was covered in a sheen of perspiration - partly from the exertion of struggling, and partly because his nervous system was hyper from the constant stimulation. He had already lost his ability to think coherently and his very sense of identity was going: his world consisted only of his cock.

The woman got him close again and used the feathers on his inner thighs, his balls and his cock. This held him not quite on the very edge, but close enough to convince him that he was going to lose his mind completely. The points of the feathers stroked up the insides of his thighs right at the top, across the hairs on his balls, and teased the shaft and head of his cock mercilessly. He longed to cum. He yearned to cum. She continued doing this for ages. Time no longer had any meaning for him - he was lost in a world of sexual need.

"I think you're enjoying this, Craig," she whispered. "Don't forget that it's a woman doing this to you, showing you that you do not control your own body."

He moaned in desperation around the gag.

"I think it's time to undo that thing. I'd like to hear what you have to say." She unbuckled the gag and put it on the floor. Craig licked his lips and swallowed. Her fingers went back to his cock, with that infuriatingly gentle touch, handling it as if it were a very fragile, priceless, piece of finest crystal.

"Fucking rub it, you bitch!" He croaked, hardly able to speak.

"You want to cum?" Carefully she held his cock pointing straight upwards and began to slide the forskin up and down very slowly over the head.

"Oh fuuuuuck..." From somewhere in the tortured recesses of his mind he managed to retrieve the memory that he must not, under any circumstances, plead, beg, or even ask her to let him cum. Now that he was no longer gagged, he must be even more careful.

She kept on sliding the foreskin until she knew he was getting close again, then she picked up a feather. "Open your eyes." She waited until he did so. "See this feather? I am going to make you cum with this feather. Nothing else."

"Like fuck you are," he said, hardly able to get the words out.

"Gonna get you a little bit closer, and then I'm going to use this feather on your cock until you beg me to let you cum. Not just ask - beg." She twirled the feather menacingly. "And when you've begged me, then I'm going to use it on the very tip of your cockhead until you shoot your spunk."

"Fuck off." His voice didn't even sound like his any more.

She gave his cock a few more slow, firm strokes, bringing him yet again to the very brink of ejaculation, then held it by the base, pulled it back gently, and began to stroke the feather up and down the shaft and around the head, avoiding the tip. While she was doing this she kept up a whispered monologue. "Gonna make you cum, boy - but this way you have time to try to fight it. You'll do anything you can to avoid being made to cum by a woman, won't you?" She laughed quietly. "But you're helpless. You're strapped down. You can't get away from it, can't stop it. You're as horny as fuck, boy. Do whatever you can to resist me - the more you fight it the better - but I'm gonna make fucking certain you can't. Gonna make you lose control, boy..."

Her whispered words echoed around his brain. His concentration was too focussed on his cock for him to register the individual words, but the message hit home. He was helpless. And this woman was removing his self-control - intentionally slowly and irresistably - to humiliate him as much as it was humanly possible to do. There was a battle going on in his brain: his determination not to let this woman control him and make him cum was one side of the battle, and the other - diametrically opposed to that - was his desperate, compelling need for orgasm. At the moment the balance of power between them was closer than he would ever have believed possible - and every stroke of that damned feather was tipping the balance more and more towards his need to cum. The very worst thing was that there was nothing - nothing - he could do about it. He'd tried everything, but his fucking cock was paying zero attention to his conscious commands.

Oh God, he was so close! A single firm rub over his cockhead would have been the end of it - he would have shot his load instantly - but the feather in that fucking bitch's hand was keeping him just a heartbeat short of relief. And the need for that relief was becoming more urgent by the second. He couldn't stand it. It was more than a human male could bear - but then of course that was exactly what it was designed to be.

The feather stroked infuriatingly round and round the base of his cockhead - a motion specifically calculated to drive him mad. He bore it for an agonising five seconds, then all reason left him. "PLEASE. PLEASE LET ME CUM."

The woman shook her head slowly, smiling. "That's asking, not begging." She continued to work on his cock with the feather, slowly and lightly.

Craig was almost in tears. "Oh shit! Oh fuuuuuck - I can't take it. Make me cum, in God's name make me cum!"

The feather carried on its devious work.


"That's a little better. But still not good enough." She stroked the tip of the feather over the underside of his cock shaft - right at the top.

Craig was beside himself with need. It overwhelmed him. He knew that if he didn't cum in the next two seconds he would die. Nothing else mattered - nothing at all. He no longer cared that she was a woman - if it had been Mrs fucking Thatcher doing it it would have made no difference. That feather broke him completely. "Please. I beg you, let me cum. I'll do anything you want. I'll say anything you want. But please - pleeeeeeeeeeease - let me cum. I beg you I beg you I BEG YOU TO LET ME CUM."

The woman smiled. At last. "Ok," she said, quietly, "I'll make you cum, boy." She gazed at him. "But let's do it the same way as you do it to your victims, eh?" She reached down and produced Craig's photographic timer, holding it up so he could see it. It was set for two minutes. "First you get them so horny they can't think straight. I think we've done that, yes? Next, you tell them that they must NOT cum, under any circumstances. Ok, Craig - you better not let me make you cum before this timer pings. You complain that boys these days can't last two minutes. Let's see if you can, shall we?" She put the timer down, picked up the feather again and, holding his cock still by the base, applied it to the very tip of his cockhead and stroked it over the edge of his foreskin and the area around - and over - the piss slit.

Craig stopped breathing, every muscle in his body as tight as a guitar string. The feather stroked over the most sensitive spot of his entire anatomy. The motion was relaxed and easy, in direct contrast to his state of trembling tension.

He would NOT cum. He would NOT let this bitch make him lose control.

It was unlike any orgasm he'd ever had before: it began simultaneously in his toes and his fingertips, travelled up his legs and down his arms, leaving a red-hot trail of ecstasy, and moved towards his groin. There was a moment where every single inch of his body was on fire, comsuming him in a sexual heat of indescribable intensity - and then it reached his cock. While the feather continued its soft, slow, lazy strokes over the tip of his cockhead, the universe froze for an eternity - and then, like a volcano erupting, his spunk jetted out with unstoppable force. His body arched as much as the strap over his stomach would allow, the restraints digging into his wrists and ankles, and he screamed. His cock jerked and danced in a mad frenzy as gobs of sticky white spunk pumped out into the air. It coated the feather, the woman's hand, her face, and ran down her naked breasts to drop from her nipples in pools onto the shiny black PVC of the gurney. Just as he thought it was ending she dropped the feather, gripped his balls in one hand and his cock in the other, and pumped it hard and fast, sucking the head with her red-lipped mouth and running her tongue over the end. He'd never experienced a multiple orgasm - he hadn't even known it was possible for males - but he began to cum all over again as her hands and mouth skilfully milked him.

Finally he dropped back onto the gurney in exhaustion, gulping lungfuls of air. For a while he floated in a place of pure warm contentment, then slowly the world came back into focus - and with it came the realisation of what he had done: he had begged a woman to make him cum. He couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed with shame, but right now he went a brilliant red.

One corner of her mouth lifted and she tilted her head. "How the mighty fall..." She looked at the timer. "Twenty seconds."

He avoided her eyes in shame.

"That was a good one, wasn't it?"

He took a deep breath, and let it out in a slow sigh . "That was a good one."

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to burst if I don't cum now myself."

He swallowed.

"Don't worry - you won't have to look." She retrieved the leather hood and pulled it down over his head. There was a time when the sounds that came to him then through the leather would have made him feel ill. But not now. Lying there, eyes closed under the leather hood, it occurred to Craig for the first time in his life that if one person voluntarily gave another that much pleasure, then perhaps it didn't matter whether they were male, female, or anything else. He was still by no means into women, but that orgasm had been something else.

Craig lay there on the gurney, his body alive and still tingling from the reverberations of that amazing orgasm. His world view had shifted slightly, but he was happy.

And he had a great deal more respect for that guy who had held out for two minutes.