The Telemachus Story Archive

Cruciatus and the Algophile
By Hooder

Cruciatus and the Algophile

Rick was strapped down tightly to a table. His cock was as hard as a rock and had been leaking precum for over an hour. The guy standing over him had been edging him for ages, teasing his cock with lubed, rubber-gloved fingers, feathers, oily leather thongs, a sonic toothbrush, small, soft, camel-hair brushes – slowly and skilfully getting him closer and closer to the point of orgasm but being very careful indeed not to let him cum. Through all of this Rick had been gradually getting more and more desperate, and right now he would have given the guy anything to be allowed orgasm.

You’re close. Time to cool you down a bit, I think, then I can start on you again.” He picked up a cane, aimed it carefully across the centre of Rick’s bare soles, and began to beat them with it. The strength of the blows quickly increased until Rick was on the verge of screaming with pain.

The Top had intended this to reduce the boy’s level of horniness so that he could begin edging him again for another hour - but to his surprise, it had exactly the reverse effect: suddenly Rick was cumming. Gasping and writhing in the restraints, the boy was in ecstasy, his cock shooting spunk uncontrollably into the air as the cane landed hard on his bare feet.

That had been the end of the session – and that session had changed Rick’s life.

When Rick got horny, he needed pain; and the hornier he got, the more pain he craved. It had started years ago with that session when the guy had caned his feet. Since that day, and with increasing single-mindedness, the boy had actively searched out pain whenever he got horny.

But not just any pain would do it – everyday pain was as unpleasant as always – no, it had to be inflicted by a guy who was intending to cause him pain, and ideally, using something that was specifically designed to cause pain. He’d tried arse beating with paddles, nipple torture; he’d had his balls hit, stomped and squashed; he’d been suffocated with plastic bags, had had more bastinado, and other, more numerous things done to him than he could remember. Some of these had been better than others. He didn’t know exactly what what he was looking for, but he did know that he hadn’t come across it yet.

One of the troubles was finding the right Top. All the ones he’d been with so far had inflicted pain on him as part of a session that was really about other stuff – whatever it happened to be that turned that particular Top on. What Rick dreamed of finding was a real sadist: one whose single objective was to use pain to make a boy suffer, and who got off on that to the exclusion of everything else.

Most of the time he didn’t think about it - but the moment he even began to get the slightest bit horny, his mind would centre on little else: the harder he got, the more obsessed with the idea of pain he became. He spent hours at the computer, playing with himself slowly, reading about torture techniques from the medieval to the present day. He had a folder (titled ‘Algophilia’ - he liked that word: it meant ‘the love of pain’) full of photos and articles, and a side-effect was that he was rapidly becoming an authority on the techniques of torture. But, like most guys, once he’d cum he instantly lost interest in things sexual, and usually put the kettle on to make a pot of tea.

In his hornier moments he’d written profiles on a couple of the pervy sites, but most guys clearly considered him too ‘heavy’ and he had few replies. Of the ones that he did get, the majority were threatening pain as punishment for something or other, and although he’d tried it a few times, this scenario didn’t really appeal to him much at all. For him, pain should not be a punishment – it should be an end in itself. And again, most talked about paddling his arse, or squeezing his nipples – he’d done that, been there, and he wanted something more: something more precise, more intentional, more focussed on his suffering.

It was Rick who messaged Cruciatus first. He’d come across the guy’s profile one evening and had read the text with increasing excitement. It began with a long list of things that were of no interest to the guy whatsoever: arse work, nipple work, slave/master dynamics, gear, fucking, sucking, hoods, blindfolds; or even bondage for its own sake – the only purpose of restraints, the guy said, was to keep the subject helpless. Gags weren’t necessary – his room was thoroughly soundproofed – and as for hoods and blindfolds, he didn’t allow those as he wanted to watch a subject’s face.

Rick was beginning to think that this guy was not into anything at all, but the rest of the profile was very different:

I have but one interest: causing very controlled pain. I do this by means of electricity - the purest, most precise, efficient, and effective way of inflicting pain ever designed by man. It causes no bruising itself, no lasting physical damage, but it stimulates the nervous system directly, with no intermediate agency to get in the way. I have spent many years developing the most effective devices for delivering pain, and refining them to make that pain as unbearable as possible. I expect few replies to this, and I warn you that I am a sadist in the purest sense of the word. I will make you scream.

By the time Rick had read this he was wanking himself silly. This guy sounded perfect. He read it again and then, with trembling fingers, he sent Cruciatus a message:

You are exactly what I have been looking for for years. I need pain. I need pain inflicted by someone whose single objective is to cause me pain. Who would get off just on making me suffer. Please reply soon.

He sent the message, then read the guy’s profile a third time – and he came.

When his breathing had slowed to more or less normal he wiped up the spunk with tissues, saved the guy’s profile in a text file, and switched the computer off. He was knackered. He made a pot of tea.

Rick wasn’t at all horny the following day, and so it wasn’t until Thursday that he checked the site again. Cruciatus had not replied.

The next time he checked was on Friday – and there was a reply! He hadn’t cum yesterday and he was reasonably horny today, so he was excited as he clicked the message to open it.

Hello PainBoy23,

Thank you for your message. Are you very sure you want this? My speciality is the controlled infliction of unbearable pain. I will strap you down and torture you until I am satisfied - and I am slow to satisfy. If you want anything other than agony, please look elsewhere. Pain is what I do, and that is all.

- Cruciatus

Rick read the reply twice, his cock getting harder by the second. Oh fuck, this sounded amazing. He fired off a reply immediately.

The guy lived in north London, a good three hours’ drive from Rick’s flat. The boy hadn’t cum for three days – he’d wanted to be ready for this – and throughout the drive down the motorway, the session with Cruciatus was just about all he could think about.

“Ah, PainBoy23 I assume. Come in.” The man was one of the tallest guys Rick had ever met, and cadaverously thin. He was wearing dark trousers and a black hoodie. The hood was drawn forward over his head, casting the rubber plague mask he wore under it into shadow. He was an unsettling sight and it took Rick a moment to get himself together. “Thank you Sir. My name is Rick.” He entered the spacious lobby of the large house.

“My name is Cruciatus. Do not call me sir, please. I am not a master.”

Okay. Rick declined the offer to visit the bathroom first, and the man led the way slowly up a flight of wide stairs, along a carpeted corridor and through a doorway. By his voice and the way he moved, Rick could tell that Cruciatus was an old man.

Rick looked around. In the centre of the room was a restraint table with thick leather straps and, by its side, a medical trolley with a single long black box on it, with many controls. A computer monitor stood above it. Long wires with adhesive electrodes on their ends were neatly coiled in a clip at one end, and an expensive office chair stood by the trolley. Rick’s cock jerked as he noticed that the walls and the ceiling of the room were thickly padded with dark grey soundproofing foam blocks. They made the acoustics in the room very dead, and when the man spoke, his frail voice sounded strangely close and intimate.

“Now, I ask you again, are you quite sure you want this? Because once I strap you down to that table there will be no escape, no going back. You will have no control over what happens to you. You will not be able to stop it. No ‘safeword’ – nothing like that. I intend to torture you. It will end when I cum – and at my age that can take a very considerable length of time.” He allowed Rick a moment to think about it. “Yes, or no? If no, you can go home now.”

Rick’s cock was leaking precum in his jeans. He was as horny as fuck. “Yes. Oh yes.”

“Very well. Strip please, put your clothes on the floor over there, and lie down.”

Rick folded his clothes in a neat pile and climbed onto the sturdy wooden table. It was thick, dark, bare wood and felt cold against his naked skin.

Methodically, the man buckled the thick leather straps tightly over Rick’s naked body, the long nose of his plague mask bobbing up and down as he worked. There were not many straps, but they were carefully positioned so that they held him down immobile. A separate wide one over his forehead kept his head down to the table top. When Cruciatus was satisfied that his subject was completely helpless, he set about applying the electrodes. A pair on the sides of Rick’s balls, another on his inner thighs, a thin one that was inserted deep into his arse, and a curving thin metal band that encircled the head of his cock just below the ridges - he was not surprised by these. But there were many more: pairs were attached to his hips, the sides of his knees and ankles; to his inner elbows; and just below his armpits. A further two were stuck just behind his ears, and a couple at the sides of his jaw. These last ones were very precisely placed, the man exploring carefully with a fingertip first, and taking a long time to get the position exactly right.

“Good,” Cruciatus stood back and ran his eyes over the placement of the contacts. “Now, first a test, to make sure everything is working so far.” He sat down on the chair and switched the black box on. After a few seconds the screen came to life, displaying the boy’s heart rate and other vital stats. He pressed the first of a long row of buttons and then, watching the boy closely, slowly turned a large knob.

Rick frowned. He suddenly had toothache - and it was quickly getting worse. Within seconds it felt like every one of his teeth was being slowly drilled. He screamed. After a moment this stopped, and was replaced by a pain like nothing he’d ever felt stabbing through the sides of his head, his mouth, and down his neck. From the research he’d done over the months knew that was the Trigeminal nerve. It lasted for a few seconds, then his abs slowly contracted in cramp until he screamed again. Next was his balls: a spike jabbed through them like a jagged knife several times a second. As the intensity of this gradually increased it slowly morphed into what felt like a blowtorch being held against them. Then an ache in his kidneys that quickly became a searing anguish, followed by a pain deep inside him halfway between his balls and his arse; that was one of the worst of all – it was excruciating.

The man tried various combinations of electrodes: they seemed to be capable of stimulating parts of his body that were nowhere near the actual contacts themselves. Each time, it was done very carefully, Cruciatus’ attention constantly switching between his subject and the computer screen.

These were agonies like Rick had never experienced before. Unaccompanied by the blow of a paddle, or the feel of any physical device crushing or twisting his body, it was pure, elemental pain that rocked the very core of him.

At one point the man walked over, adjusted the position of one of the electrodes on his hips by a millimetre, and then went back to the machine. When he tried that one again the pain was even more intense and now seemed to flash through his entire lower body – even down to the soles of his feet.

Cruciatus nodded in satisfaction at the screen. By the time the man had finished the ‘test’ Rick was bathed in sweat and already hoarse from screaming – but his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life before. This was efficient, scientific torture. Oh fuck, it was what he’d dreamed about for a long, long time. Precum was running down the shaft of his cock onto the wooden table.

The stimulation stopped. “That all seems good. Almost ready to begin. Just one last thing.” He selected two buttons from the row and slowly turned the knob.

A pulsing started in Rick’s arse, and another on the head of his cock. It felt like he was being wanked off in the most perfect way possible. Rick’s cock suddenly stiffened even more and his hips began to thrust – he knew that this would make him cum very quickly indeed. “No - be careful – I’ll cum.”

“That is the intention.”

“What?” Rick didn’t understand.

The man turned the knob down a little, looked up and smiled. “Oh yes. You must cum first.”

“Huh? No! Why?”

The man’s voice sounded surprised, as if it were obvious. “Pain is much easier to deal with when you’re horny. The endorphins flooding your brain make the torture sexy, and therefore easier to stand. Once you’ve cum that will not be the case, and it will be much more difficult.”

Rick began to struggle in panic. “No! For fuck’s sake don’t make me cum!”

Cruciatus simply smiled, and turned the knob back up, higher this time. “Believe me, the pain is much worse after you’ve cum. Much worse.”

Rick fought against the machine with everything he’d got, but the thought that this guy intended to make him cum him before torturing him - for the specific purpose of making it more unbearable - was turning him on like fuck. And in any case he had no choice in the matter: the pulses were milking him very efficiently and completely irresistibly. In less than ten seconds his body was convulsing and he was shooting his load into the air.

“Good. We’ll do that again every hour or so, to keep you sensitive.” The man stood up. “Allow me to get comfortable.” He opened the front of his trousers and pulled out the small, wizened cock that had been nestling between his scrawny thighs, then sat back down in the office chair.

Rick was still shuddering from the receding orgasm. He’d cum buckets, but the pleasure had been nothing like as great as he’d expected. However, it had done its intended job – he had zero interest in pain now, and his body felt horrendously vulnerable.

“This room is completely soundproof, so please feel quite free to express yourself.” His fingers hovered over the controls as if deciding which delicious chocolate to choose from a large selection, then he pressed one. He raised his faded eyes to the boy and turned up the knob slowly. His free hand went to his cock. It didn’t look as if it was even capable of getting hard.

Rick’s eyes were staring wildly in panic. A low gurgle started in his throat. Very soon it had turned into a desperate scream of pure agony. He tore at the restraints.

The man watched him closely. The knob was a third of the way round its dial. He turned it up slowly to half way. The shrieks coming from the boy increased markedly. Cruciatus knew that soon the subject would be longing for unconsciousness.

The thought occurred to him that what he did was a kind of edging: keeping a subject as close to passing out from the excruciating pain as possible, but not allowing him to get the relief of unconsciousness. He smiled - he was very good at that.

He was old, and he took a very long time to cum at the best of times, but the way this boy was screaming told him that he was unusually responsive. This was an opportunity too good to miss - he would make it last even longer than usual. He settled back in the chair, smiling sadistically beneath the rubber mask at the buttons on the machine. So many possibilities, so much unbearable pain.

His gnarled fingers gripped the knob and turned it slowly upwards.