The Telemachus Story Archive

Part 5 - IV Epilogue

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- IV -

Rusty staggered into the clearing, out of breath. "Ah, Michael, there you are." Tim, Wes, and Michael looked up to Rusty. He was bent over and panting. "The whole Mansion is looking for you."

Although everything Tim and Wes had recounted sounded like a nightmare - the milking in particular - Michael had decided that he wouldn't take three more edgings. In Lucian's hands everything was a rock and a hard place. But at least the milking was the shorter of two evils.

"What for?" said Tim, when Michael didn't answer.

"Master Jeff and Sir Lucian want to see him. About this afternoon."

"Sir Lucian..." muttered Michael. He threw the acorn he'd been fidgeting with into a patch of bracken.

"What about this afternoon?" said Wes.

"I don't know, Wes. Master Jeff wants Michael in his study. That's all I know." said Rusty.

"Fine fine. Tell 'em I'll be there in ten minutes." said Michael.

"Make that five minutes." said Tim to Rusty, who darted off.


Master Jeff stood in front of the assembled Mansion, on the main playroom's makeshift stage. At the cock end of the edging bench to which Michael was strapped down sat Lucian, wearing his military leathers. On a small oak table, to the side of the head end of the bench, lay several slick chastity belts, made in equal parts of shiny steel and black rubber.

"My dear boys," said Master Jeff, "This afternoon I'm delighted to present to you a new form of discipline: punishment milking. Michael has, after some gentle persuasion, agreed to be the recipient of this demonstration. Most of you have been milked before as punishment, either by being forced when you didn't want or weren't allowed to cum (with all the dire consequences to suffer); or repeatedly, either by James or machine (both as uncaring as relentless), until you begged for it to stop. That's what boys who complain too much that they need to cum get in this House. This milking is quite different though. Lucian, I believe, has perfected the ruined orgasm. Calling it an orgasm is doing it a disservice: it is no such thing. From what I was able to observe many years ago, it is a discharge, nothing more than a feeble leak, trapped between the extreme edge and the first, never-to-occur contraction of ejaculation. It is nothingness, orgasmic limbo. Quintessential frustration."

Master Jeff grinned. He was, perhaps, laying it on a bit thick.

"This treatment does a few things at once: it resets your time in denial, clears your plumbing, punishes you for whatever you need to be punished, and it makes and keeps you hornier than you can stand. And once punishment is over," Master Jeff ambled to the table and picked up a belt, "you may be locked into one of these. In this House, we don't trust boys at the edge of horny despair."

Master Jeff was expecting a boy to faint, tumbleweed to bounce through the room, and a harmonica to wail in the distance. Instead he saw several bulges mushrooming under the boys' assorted gear. All perverts. He loved them.

"These devices," he said, fondling one, "contain years of refinements, years of honing and adjusting to force the wearer to be able to think of one thing only: to get out of this very device. It teases, confines, tortures, and fondles cocks in ways designed to drive the wearer desperate, without any chance for relief or escape."

Jeff showed the inside of the belt to the room of frozen boys, then slid one of his fingers in and closed his eyes. He chuckled. It felt sexy, even to a finger.

"Inside are nubs to stimulate pressure points; thin, flexible tendrils of soft rubber to tease the tips of your leaking, desperate cocks; smooth, gliding, tantalising surfaces denying any stimulation where you most desperately need it; and rubber rings to constrict, contain, and deny you any budding erection - all of this adjustable from the outside, tailored to make sure that your cocks can never forget that they are trapped, pointing down, unable to get fully hard, unable to be stroked, fondled, and made to cum. Yet there's nothing else in this world, once in this belt, you'd rather be doing. They are German made. Solid, inescapable, and - I've been told - very comfortable. Perfect for long-term storage of horny cocks." Master Jeff put the belt back on the table. It was heavy enough to thunk.

"Lucian will, after this demonstrative punishment milking, lock one on Michael..." (Michael moaned) "and possibly lock one too on those boys who turn out to find these proceedings a bit too fascinating." A few boys were adjusting their cocks, trying (and failing) to make their bulges less conspicuous.

"Michael will only have to wear his for three days. That's what we agreed to. Then he'll be allowed to cum. Perhaps that might teach him to keep his tongue in check." Master Jeff slapped Michael's arse. "Won't it, Michael?"

Michael, muzzled, mumbled an already desperate "Yes Sir."

"Right. Stephen, dim the lights and switch the screen on. Maestro, he's all yours."

Jeff got off the stage and the lights in the playroom went out. A beamer projected Michael's cock, huge, enlarged, on the wall. A clear drop of precum scintillated in tiny pixels. Lucian set to work.

Apart from Michael, only a few of the boys, years ago, had seen or experienced Lucian's edging. Michael was a pleading, wretched mess in a few minutes - going two weeks without cumming and having been worked on by James and Lucian had made him vulnerable to any stimulation. A breeze tickling his balls would have made him desperate to shoot. Precise stimulation, administered to make him feel as close as possible to orgasm, was something his body was no longer capable of taking. After every gulp for air, his voice cracked. He humped, he tugged at the straps, he strained until he shrieked. The bench clattered and creaked. Projected on the wall, Michael's cock stood motionless, the bench keeping it immobile. So were Lucian's hands. The tiny motions of his thumbs on Michael's frenulum - grotesquely enlarged - caused disproportionate suffering. It was a still life of economy of action. Michael gasping, clattering, shrieking and pleading, while Lucian, unmoving, forced him ever further to suffer the vicious, oppressive urgency of the edge.

Michael couldn't take it any more. The first minute, the first easing, preliminary edges, as they always did, had lulled him into the illusion of imminent relief. It had felt like a human, free-willed sentiment: behind the edge - mere foreplay - orgasm was waiting. Foreplay wasn't there to last. Edges were to be resolved. Orgasm took care of that. But Lucian's edges did not resolve. Once he'd been strapped into the stifling, padded cell of boiling urgency, any illusion of relief and choice squashed, animalistic need consumed him. He hated performing in public, displaying his vulnerability and burning need, but his unabashed body humped and groaned, and his mind, cornered, had followed. He stared, pleading for it to stop, into the room, hitting upon a wall of mesmerised boys, none of whom could grant him mercy. He tried to lose himself in the torture - it often worked with pain - but he was being drowned, and there is no losing oneself in drowning. All he craved was a liberating gulp. It was a matter of survival, if only of his sanity. He had to cum.

Lucian's fingers quickened. Michael, in a fleeting shred of feverish perception, felt he was about to cum, gasped, and held still for the first time since he'd been restrained.

For the first time too he could see the silver lining of orgasm. His body smelled it, leaped for the edge of the cliff.

The chain snagged.

Lucian stopped.

One twitch.

He gasped.

Another, feebler one. Oh no. Oh please no. Please, please no...

Before it became too late - damn hope, making him wait - he thrashed and strained, swore under the muzzle, and squeezed every muscle around his cock that he could control, then, keening, strained every muscle of his body that he could control. It was there, tantalising him, taunting him. He just had to fucking reach. Just a bit further.

It slipped.

By reflex, he strained more, desperate, well aware that it was out of his reach, and wailed when he felt Lucian's fingers return, dragging him back, screaming, to be chained into the cell.

The boys had seen it happen. When Michael had felt that onset of orgasm they had felt it too - it had shimmered through the room. The strand of precum had turned opaque. It hadn't pulsed, it hadn't streamed, it hadn't even oozed. It had thickened, dangled untouched for a few seconds, then Lucian continued. The second time there was no twitch. Michael didn't see, smell, or hear orgasm. He didn't strain either. He clawed at the bench in the leather mitts, gasped, and lost more cum, oblivious to what his cock was doing, paddling in circles on an ocean of infinite need. There was no longer a line between edge and leak. All was burning torture. In a sense the discharge, torture on its own, was now the only moment of relief he got: his cock was left alone. When Lucian resumed the milking he started weeping. The ordeal of three lingering leaks later - the air was strangled with continuous, droning begging for it to be over - Lucian nodded to master Jeff.

He got on the stage, crouched in front of Michael and undid his muzzle and the straps around his biceps. The boy blubbered. Master Jeff massaged him where the straps had been, speaking softly, then stroked his hair and neck, rocked the small of his back. Lucian unfastened the rest of the boy while Master Jeff kneaded him. Wrapped in a heavy fleece-lined leather blanket, his wrists cuffed behind his back, two boys guided him off the stage, into one of the playroom's comfy chairs.

Master Jeff leaned against the bench.

"In other Houses, for other Masters, Lucian would have continued." he said with some hush on his voice. "I've been told that punitive edgings after such a milking get disproportionately nasty. I've seen it done, on this stage, and I don't think that you, my boys, deserve this sort of treatment. Yet..." Master Jeff pushed himself off the bench, and now leaned on the small table.

"We won't lock Michael up now. I think he deserves a bit of respite, if only to go soft. So. That leaves us with two extra devices, oh so eager to be filled with horny boy-cock." Master Jeff picked one up and again slid one of his fingers in the tube - the sensations were addictive. "It would be such a shame to let them go unused. Poor things." He scanned the playroom. The boys were trying to will themselves invisible.

"Thomas. Come forward please." The boy, in a shiny tracksuit, shuffled to the stage. "When I milked you two days ago, I didn't think you were quite needy enough. Twelve days not enough for you, boy? Perhaps you're missing James' special treatments? Or perhaps, perish the thought, you've sneaked in a surreptitious bijou wankette, hoping no-one would notice?" The boy started mumbling something, Jeff cut him short. "Whatever the reason may be, we'll see if this belt helps you to rekindle your fierce fires of lust."

"Who else?" Master Jeff locked his gaze to the side of the huddling boys, sucked in his lips, then licked his teeth. "And Vivian, our little chastity slut. On the stage too please. It would be unfair, I believe, to deprive you of this delicious opportunity to sample the delights of a bespoke full belt. As the resident expert in chastity paraphernalia, I'd like your professional opinion on how punishing this device is. With your approbation, I might acquire a few more." Jeff thought of tumbleweeds again. "Perhaps," he mused, "I should make these belts part of your uniform. Like the leather chastity shorts of old. James would certainly approve..." (Cue harmonica.)

Both boys shuffled, sheepishly, in front of the stage.

"Come on boys, on the stage. And if you'd be so kind as to divest yourselves of your nether raiments, once you've mustered the effort of getting your good selves up here, I'd be most appreciative."

With a string of echoing "Yes Sir"s and "Sorry Sir"s both boys clambered on and stripped. A flowery Jeff was one to be reckoned with.

Thomas - the first victim of the belt - gasped when Lucian slid his cock in the rubber-lined tube. With an expensive, smooth click, the front plate locked to the waistband. Lucian got a small, oddly-shaped screwdriver out of the inner pocket of his trench coat, knelt in front of the boy, and fiddling in little slots, adjusted the tube's shape. At every other turn of the screw and Lucian's tugging and tapping at the device to settle the boy's cock, he let out a squeaky moan. Vivian got hard watching the adjustments. He was holding his belt, handed to him by Jeff to appreciate the inner detail before it got locked on, and was probing the tube with his fingers. If he'd been able to, he would've been rock hard.

"How does it feel?" said Master Jeff when Lucian was done with Thomas.

"Very... frustrating, Sir." Thomas adjusted the belt around his hips. The front plate holding his cock down didn't move. He moaned. (So did Vivian, clutching his belt, fingers fucking the tube.)

"Excellent." Jeff smacked him on the bum. "Off you go then." As the boy got off the stage, Jeff threw him his tracksuit bottoms he forgot to put back on. Then it was Vivian's turn.

"Perhaps, before we lock you in - again - it would be better if you were milked. How long's it been since you came?"

Vivian raised his eyebrows, looking down. "Came, Sir?" he said. "I was drained by James, about three weeks ago."

"Too long." said Master Jeff. "On the bench boy."

"Now, sir?" Vivian bit his lip.

A glare was a sufficient answer.

"Now, where's that key to that tiny pink plastic thingy of yours..." Master Jeff got out a fractal collection of keys hanging from rings clipped to other rings, searched through them, took off a key, and handed it over to Lucian.

Vivian got on the bench, in his chastity, and Lucian strapped the boy in, leaving him unmuzzled. He got the cock-holding pads and rods out of the way, and unlocked him.

Getting Vivian hard was not necessary. By the time Lucian had set the chastity device aside, the boy was dripping. His cage had been well self-lubricated; now released, it all oozed out of the no-longer constricted boy. He had a well-shaped and, considering the tiny cage he wore, rather large cock. The boy moaned when Lucian adjusted the frustrating, cock-restraining pads. Not muzzling the boy had been the right decision. His voice treacled like honey.

Even the otherwise theatrical, stony Jeff raised an eyebrow when Lucian, after some gentle, erotic edging, started massaging the boy's prostate. If he'd leaked honey before, he now gushed molasses. He sighed and winced, mainly, and huffed airy, high-pitched moans whenever Lucian massaged large globs of precum out of him. When the precum got milky, Vivian started giggling and rocking his arse.

"Could you gag him?" said Lucian to Jeff.

"Sure," he said. He got some leather gloves from his pocket, slipped them on, and grinning, hugging the boy's face from behind, leaning on the boy's back, covered his nose and mouth. "I'll do a bit more than just gagging," said Jeff, "just so you know."

The boy started struggling. Lucian worked faster. Jeff let him gasp. Lucian fucked Vivian's prostate, quivering over it with his fingers. Jeff allowed him a few breaths, then gloved him when he got vocal. Vivian struggled now, tried to rip himself away from Jeff's suffocating hold onto Lucian's light, flicking fingers. Too many hands at one side, not enough at the other. His moans got urgent. He jerked back, as far as the bench permitted and froze, straining both for air and orgasm. Jeff clamped down. Lucian released. Struggling, pleading into the gloves, the boy leaked. A defeated, three-week strand of cum globbed down. He gasped and blubbered when Jeff let go. Lucian didn't touch him again. He watched the still dribbling cum splatter on the wooden boards with sadistic glee. Looking into the pack of hypnotised boys, he felt at ease and horny for the first time since he was back at the Mansion.

Vivian, frustrated but strangely content, floated off the stage, locked in his new toy. Michael, the last one to be fitted, was not quite as happy.

Master Jeff, true to his suggestion, introduced the belts as part of the uniform. After Michael had been through his three days, another boy was made to sample the delights of the German Belt. (Vivian moped when he had his belt taken away. A normal belt was frustratingly unfrustrating.) Other boys were locked into the old, well-used leather chastity shorts.


"How was your night?" said Michael.

Wes grumbled, munching some flakes.

"Mine was good. Excellent even. Thanks for asking."

"You're not in a belt."

"No. Not even in shorts. And how wonderful that is. Liberating..."

"No need to be obnoxious about it. Enjoy it while it lasts. This three-belt rotation-schedule might change once Master Jeff orders new ones. I've heard Lucian go on about more advanced models. With circuitry. Vibrators, sensors, electro-stim, wifi, app-controlled. Stuff of fucking nightmares."

"Vivian would disagree."

"He's a freak. He gets off on not getting off. Last time he got punished was by having his precious belt taken away." Wes sighed. "Can you imagine? The whole Mansion in high-tech belts? Non-stop teasing and monitoring? Imagine James at the commands, he'd be plastered to his screen. Nothing would get done!" Wes shivered.

"Pft. Idle speculation." said Michael, "No such thing as sci-fi belts. They only exist in stories for sad perverts. Speaking of getting done, what's on the menu for you today? I'm in the kitchens."

Wes groaned for an answer.

"Edging - by Lucian?"

"No. Luckily not, no. Not that bad. I'm on milking duty with Jay. Both of us in sexy, tight, black leathers, bringing off Rusty and Dee." Wes buried his face in his hands, mock-sobbing. "And knowing Master Jeff, he's going to want us to take our bloody time. Tease the boys for ages. Pin them down in our leathers, and wank them ever so slowly. Smother them in our bulges, force them to lick them! And I'm in this fucking belt! Won't be able to feel the leather on my cock. It's not fair! I can't even get hard! And those bits at the tip!"

Michael sniggered. "Horrible, aren't they? Poor, poor you. Tossing off moaning, writhing boys while wearing sexy leathers, and not feeling anything but that hard, teasing belt on your cock." Michael sighed. "Puuure torture."

"Oh shut up." said Wes, and munched away in sulking silence.

Michael stretched (gratuitously) after finishing his coffee. As he took a piece of toast to spread it with marmalade, Master Jeff rang the side of his bowl with a spoon, produced a large cardboard parcel, and got up. The short-lived, box-related chatting subsided.

"Before we all get on with our daily toil, a short announcement. A special delivery arrived just this morning. I'd like to ask all the boys who are not in chastity to come to Lucian's study forthwith. Well, at your convenience, after you're done with breakfast, of course, but forthwith nonetheless... The rest of you can continue as usual. I'll see you all later."

Michael, still holding the piece of half-buttered toast, gaped in horror at the box being carried out of the breakfast room by Jeff. The packing label was in German.

Wes sniggered. "Idle speculation, you said?"

"Oh no." said Michael.

"Oh yes." drawled Wes.



"Oh, James! How wonderful to see you." Jeff bounced up from the table, hitting it with his belly (cutlery rattled), and hugged his slightly reticent (he had, after all, been in Germany for over three weeks) rubber butler. "Almost but not quite right on time for supper - I trust you're peckish. Sit down, sit down. You're earlier than expected."

"Yes. Traffic vas gut. Ze taxi made haste. I zuzbegt he vas ill at ease viz my clozing. And the flight vas early too."

"That's all quite unusual."

"I'm not complaining. Gut to be back. At last."

James, settling down next to Jeff, thanked the boy who handed him a steaming plate of aubergine risotto and fish-fingers. A strange (if surprisingly nice) combination. Undoubtedly one of the boys' concoctions.

"Tell me Jeff. Vat happened here? The atmosphere, it's... monastical? All ze boys looking down into their plates, no-one playing vis his food... or other bits."

Jeff drew his lips into a thin, smug smile.

"And it smells more of boy. Horny boy. Have you...? Are they...?"

"Yeees?" probed Jeff, leaning in.

"You vicket man!" said James, wringing his hands. "You haven't put zem back in ze shorts?"

"I have. I very much have. And belts."


"Yes, belts. From Günther."

James gurgled involuntarily.

"And there's more," said Jeff. "Lucian told me about Günther's latest models. High-tech stuff. They're still being worked on, but Günther sent me a couple anyway. Good enough for my boys, he said."

Sadism started seeping through cracks in James' smile. Jeff was afraid he might start drooling.

"Here, let me show you." Jeff squeezed for his cellphone, unlocked it, and opened an app with a sad, padlocked cock for a logo. James pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and leaned over. "See. Four boys are wearing a special belt. Names, estimated horniness levels, tease regimen, auto-edging settings, punishments... It's all in there, all tweakable. Lucian's calibrated them for all of the boys."

James twiddled his fingers. He looked ready to snatch Jeff's cellphone. "So... if you zelect, say... Geoffrey. And ingreaze ze stimulation?"

Jeff nudged the slider. Geoffrey moaned. James looked up, grinning. The boy, his head thrown back, eyes closed, reached for his crotch, pushed it, but still moaned, biting his lip. James let his hand slip for his crotch and massaged it to the boy's moans. He squeaked a thin giggle. Jeff stopped bothering the boy with a flick of his thumb. The boy sighed. ("More, Jeff, more! Do anozer one!" "Finish your plate. It's going to get cold." "Grmph.")

"Lucian's installed the app on your computer. I know you're not a cell-phone person." said Jeff.

"In zis case," said James, rescuing a fish-finger from the expansive risotto, "I'd gladly make an egzeption. Speaking of vitch. Vere is Lucian?"

"Ah. Still working on a boy, undoubtedly. Preparing a little last-minute surprise for you."


"I might as well tell you. We've synchronised the boys' teasing schedules. Tomorrow, half of them are scheduled for release, the other half are one day away from it. I thought it would be fun to let you organise something on your return, with punishments for boys failing to cum or cumming when they shouldn't, or something entirely different. I'll leave it up to you. What do you think?"

James was the one to peer into his plate now. "You spoil me Jeff." he said.

"I thought you might like it."

Only James and a few boys finishing their pudding or having tea remained in the dining room when Lucian came in, carrying his plate. James shook his head and gestured and grumbled in disapprobation at Lucian's sloppy jeans and old t-shirt.

"Some things never change, you know." said Lucian. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Please do."

The boys, having finished, left; the last one tidied up.

"I've had the boys put the bench back in your study." said Lucian.


James' rubber creaking dappled the silence. When Lucian had finished his plate, James asked if he wanted some coffee to go with the pudding (a very bruléed crème brulée), and went to the kitchen to make some.

"I vas vondering..." he said, back with coffee, handing Lucian his espresso. He then sat down. "How to put this... I believe I could do with some... eh... recalibration."

Lucian smiled into the small cup. "I see." he said.

"Vould you be so kind?"

"Of course. I could even wear something a little bit more to your liking."

James shrugged. "Doesn't matter, really." He took a sip. "Ven are you leaving?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"I see. Vell. I'll see you in my study then."

"In an hour or so?"

"Ja. Gut."


James staggered to the small table bearing the crystal flask of standard cooking scotch, poured himself a solid shot, and crashed into the chesterfield.

"Is the trip making itself felt? You look a bit shaken." said Jeff. "I trust, knowing you're a man of irreproachable taste, that the raucous sounds that seeped out of your study have nothing to do with it?"

"Zat boy is a monster, Jeff." James stared in front of him, eyes wide open.

Jeff chuckled. "He is."

"It vas vonderful."

"How was orgasm?"

James glared. "Zere vas no such sing!"

"Oh?" This surprised Jeff. He'd heard some solid, ecstatic cries.

"I have boys to vork on tomorrow! Lots of boys. (Sank you again for zat.) I'll need all my concentration, cumming vould ruin it! You know it makes me more sadistic. And I now feel extremely sadistic."

"I see. You're a strange man."

"Pah! Kettles and pans!" James took a sip. "He alzo asked for a small favour."

Jeff put his book aside. "Hmm? And what might that be?"

"Tomorrow, at some point during ze entertainment, he said he wouldn't mind being wheeled in, used for my purposes. Strapped in a straitjacket, in a sleepsack, his cock pointing down, swathed in leather, perhaps with a boy working on it but not letting him cum. Hooded. Open mouth, of course. Lots of heavy, inescapable leather. You know what he likes."

Jeff tsked, shaking his head. "You're both hopelessly sentimental. I don't know whether I'll allow it..."

James grumbled something in German about cooking implements. Jeff had to fight to conceal a giggle. He loved winding up his butler. James ostentatiously turned his hardened gaze away from Jeff, sulking like the average Mansion boy.

"Oh all right then." said Jeff. "But know that I don't approve off all this..."

He picked up his book to hide his smiling. How could he refuse.

Pots and kettles indeed.

(IV 2020)