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was going insane. For two days he had been locked up in this prison
cell. Oh, it was a very comfortable suite: thickly carpeted, with a
soft bed, television and radio, well-stocked kitchen area, books to
read, in fact it was extremely luxurious - but it was a prison cell
nonetheless. He wasn't bored, and it wasn't the fact that he was
locked in here which was driving him out of his mind - it was that
he was so fucking horny - and there wasn't a single thing he could
do about it.
When he'd regained consciousness after passing out from that
searingly intense orgasm he'd had while he'd been strapped to the
wall, he'd found himself lying on the bed here in this suite. The
first thing he'd noticed when he'd opened his eyes was his
reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Staring back at him was a
good-looking punk boy with a short blond mohican. All he was wearing
was a couple of leather wrist bands - locked on - and a very
strange-looking pair of shorts. Each of the leather bands had a
slight lump on one side, but apart from that they were featurless.
The shorts, however, were very odd - they appeared to be made from
thick rubber, and they were padlocked onto him at the waist and at
each leg. They fitted very tightly, molding to the contours of his
hips - but the most extraordinary thing about them was the crotch:
the part covering his cock and balls was solid and rigid - and it
was enormous. It protruded perhaps eight inches from his body in a
rounded pyramid between his legs. Lying there on the rubber-covered
bed, Craig looked down at himself and shook his head in disbelief.
"What?" He said.
He lowered his right arm to feel the front of the shorts - and
yelled in sudden pain as a very unpleasant electric shock shot
through his balls. Quickly he withdrew his hand, and the shock
stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Very cautiously, he tried the
other hand, slowly approaching his crotch - and the same thing
happened. Obviously there was some kind of magnetic device on the
wristbands which triggered the electricity. The shock was intense,
and there was no way he could keep his hand closer than a few inches
from his cock. He closed his eyes and sighed. What were these sick
bastards up to now?
Craig was still exhausted from his ordeal on the wall, and not in
the least bit horny, but he realised that he wouldn't stay that way
for long, and the shorts - ridiculous as they looked - did feel very
sexy. He was thirsty, and decided to look around for a drink, so he
rolled off the bed....
... and got the shock of his life. Suddenly it felt as if there were
ants loose inside the shorts. Something was tickling his cock and
his balls - tiny fingers were stroking him lightly all over. He
froze and, after a few seconds, the tickling stopped. Still in the
same position, on all fours on the floor at the side of the bed, he
moved experimentally - and the tickling started again. Drained as he
was, he felt his cock begin to respond and harden inside the front
of the shorts, and as it did so he could feel it pushing through ...
things.... as it lengthened. It was like tiny, thin, flexible rubber
spikes. They caressed and stroked his cock on all sides, and got
into every crevice of his anatomy underneath the black rubber. It
Slowly, he stood up and explored the suite. The bedroom gave onto a
short corridor. To the right was a small but well-equipped kitchen,
where he helped himself to fresh orange juice from the fridge; and
then he padded back past the bedroom into a lounge. He stood and
looked around. Every wall and ceiling in the suite - including the
corridor, the kitchen, and this lounge - was completely mirrored.
Wherever he looked he saw reflections of himself. And he looked hot.
Those shorts fit him as if they'd been sprayed on, and he looked
dead hunky with his tight muscular body, six-pack, clear blue eyes
and blond mohican. He gazed at himself for a while, and for the
first time it struck him that he was, in fact, a very good-looking
boy indeed. It had never occurred to him before to consider himself
sexy, but now he grinned at what he saw in the mirrors.
The door was - predictably - locked, and he thumped on it
ineffectually for a few minutes, swearing at the perverts who had
got him here, before giving up and turning back to the room. It
seemed he was not going anywhere for a while.
There was a television set in the corner, so he punched the remote
and dropped onto the soft settee. His cock was now fully hard, and
the little rubber spikes (or whatever they were) seemed to have
organised themselves to tickle and tease the most sensitive parts of
his cock - there were several rubbing wonderfully against the
underside of his glans, more touching the very tip of his cock, and
others stroking gently along the shaft. There was one particular one
which had caught the very edge of his foreskin and was sending jolts
of horny pleasure through his brain. He found himself making small
thrusting movements of his hips to keep them moving.
The TV came to life - and Craig stared. There on the screen was a
huge, muscular skinhead, built like a brick shithouse and as ugly as
sin, and with a badly-executed and obviously home-tattooed barcode
across his forehead. He was strapped to a strange wooden chair. Its
seat appeared to be the back two-thirds of a wooden toilet seat, and
each of the skinhead's legs - spread very wide apart - were strapped
in five places to the legs of the chair. The chair back reclined at
an angle, and the boy's arms were secured with thick leather straps
to the back legs of the chair, which ran down from the top of the
backrest. It was a very odd design - but Craig saw that it held the
big lad immobile, and in an extremely vulnerable position. His arse,
balls and prodigious cock (which was strainingly erect) were all
devastatingly accessible to anyone who wanted to play with them. A
leather thong had been wound several times very tightly around the
base of his cock and behind his balls, pushing them forward even
further and making the veins stand out on the throbbing shaft. The
circumcised cockhead was bulbous and purple, and threads of thick
precum hung from it like syrup.
The skinhead was gagged, but from the murderous look on his face,
the spit running down from the leather gag, and the way his muscles
were straining with the effort to escape, Craig could see that he
was not a happy boy.
The camera pulled back then, and a second person came into view.
Dressed in a white uniform similar to a dentist's, this man was
middle-aged, balding, and could have been the original nine-stone
weaking. The skinhead could have picked him up with one enormous arm
and flung him out of the window without any effort at all. The man
pulled up a chair and sat down between the huge, muscular boy's
widely-spread legs. He made little effeminate noises as he gathered
together items into a tray which he set down on a small table beside
him. The look in the skinhead's eyes was pure, unadulterated hatred.
The thin man pulled on a pair of black rubber gloves and then,
carefully selecting two long feathers, leaned forward and rested his
elbows on his knees. With intense concentration, he touched the
first feather to a precisely-targeted spot just behind the flange of
the cockhead and stroked it gently round and round, and then applied
the second to the back of the bull balls, tickling there at the same
The skinhead went ballistic. Even though the chair legs were splayed
to give extra stability to the device, the whole thing shuddered and
rocked as he thrashed and struggled in his restraints. Every one of
his huge muscles bulged and strained in his effort to escape what
the thin man was doing to him, and he threw his head back, yelling
and swearing into the gag.
It was clear that this was not the first time the thin man had
worked on the skinhead - he knew with horrifying accuracy the lad's
most vulnerable spots - and Craig wondered how long the boy had been
strapped there, enduring what was obviously for him, unbearable
torture. On and on it went, the thin man teasing and tickling those
two spots mercilessly and continuously. Occasionally he would lean
forward, grip the base of the huge cock with one rubber-gloved hand
and, gently pulling it towards him, lightly lick the precum from the
engorged cockhead with a thin, mobile tongue. Whenever he did this,
the skinhead would whimper and make pleading noises behind the gag.
Craig suddenly realised he was as horny as fuck again. He found the
sight of that powerful skinhead, helpless and being driven out of
his mind with nothing more than a couple of feathers, by that thin
wimp of a man intensely horny. That was the first time Craig wanted
to cum. While watching the screen, his hand automatically went to
his cock - and the shock brought him back to reality with a start.
That had been two days ago. Since then, apart from going to the
bathroom (he'd found a bell-push with which he could call the
perverts who would restrain his hands behind his back, hood him, and
take him there) he'd worn the shorts non-stop - and he'd been
constantly hard and horny since then. Everywhere he looked were
images of boys being teased, tickled, and brought off, shooting
their spunk in pearly arcs onto their stomachs - all the magazines
and books in the suite had pictures and stories of it; the 'radio'
played non-stop soundtracks of boys being tortured and milked and,
even when he could stand it no more and switched the radio and the
TV off, there were his constant reflections in the mirrors. And if
he left the TV off for too long it came on by itself, showing more
scenes of bikers, punks and skinheads being strapped down, raped,
tormented, tickled, sucked off, and having volcanic orgasms.
It was the evening of the second day, and Craig didn't know where to
put himself. The fiendish spikes inside his shorts, which he'd loved
to start with, were now pure torture. The rigid, rubber-covered
metal front was full of precum, and he'd tried everything to get
himself off. He couldn't rub his cock against anything - the solid
front made that impossible; he couldn't get his hands to his cock,
or get the shorts off; there wasn't enough friction from the spikes
to let him cum no matter how much he thrust himself about - in fact
the smaller the movements he made the more effectively they seemed
to tease him - but they constantly teased and tickled his cock and
balls, keeping him close to orgasm and driving him insane.
He was lying on the floor, one leg in the settee and the other on
the coffee table when they came for him. Three silent, masked,
leather-clad men (he wondered if one of them was the same man as
that first time, whose mask he'd shot his load over) gagged him,
hooded him so he couldn't see anything, cuffed his wrists behind his
back, and marched him out of the suite and along corridors. They
entered a warm room, and Craig felt his shorts being removed. At
last! They were going to let him cum! He was placed onto a padded
table, strapped securely in place, the hood was removed, and his
head was fixed so he couldn't move it.
He found himself lying on an operating table in a room with lots of
complicated electronic gear standing around. One of the men wheeled
a table towards him, on which was an Apple Macintosh computer with
an unusually large monitor. He carefully applied lube to Craig's
hard cock and then, slowly and precisely, slid a thick black rubber
sheath over the entire organ. A metal device screwed to the table
held it - and his cock - in place and immobile, and wires and tubes
ran from the end of the sheath to some machinery under the computer.
The second man was sticking small electrodes to various places on
Craig's body: his nipples, the sides of his head, and his perineum;
and the third was attaching larger ones to the soles of the punk's
feet, his armpits, the insides of his thighs, and to three places on
There was apparently a hole in the table, as the first man then went
underneath, and Craig felt a lubed device being gently inserted into
his arse hole. He knew from his experience on the wall what that
was, and he moaned into the gag as he felt it press lightly against
his prostate. By now Craig had given up swearing at the fucking
perverts - it made no difference, and anyway he was gagged. He
contented himself with planning their downfall when he got out of
their clutches - long, slow, painful revenge was foremost in his
The men had apparently finished preparing him for whatever it was
they were going to do to him now. One of them switched on the
computer and waited for it to boot up. The screen came to life and
showed several different sections, with displays similar to an E.E.G.
machine - Craig could make out his heartbeat and breathing in a
couple of the windows, but the rest meant nothing to him. The man
pulled a large TV monitor down and positioned it above Craig's head
- it filled his field of view and, as he couldn't move his head,
there was nothing else to look at. The screen was black at the
He heard a couple of the men leave, and the remaining one using the
keyboard. Suddenly the TV monitor lit up, and he was looking at the
huge skinhead again. He was still strapped to that strange chair,
but it was obviously much later than the last time he'd seen him.
Sweat covered his body, it looked as if he'd pissed himself at some
point, and drool had run down from the leather gag and pooled on his
chest. The thin man was nowhere to be seen.
Craig jumped as he felt movement around his cock. A gentle,
pulsating sucking had started, and small rubber fingers were rubbing
- seemingly at random - along the length and over the end of his
cock. Gradually, over a period of a few minutes, Craig became aware
that the movements were becoming less random, and were homing into
the kind of stimulation which turned him on most. The fucking
computer was learning! It must be sensing his responses, his level
of horniness, and adjusting its technique accordingly, he realised.
OK, so he was in for a monumental orgasm. He could handle that. He
grinned and relaxed to enjoy the show.
The computer was indeed learning. It was also being kept advised of
how close to orgasm he was at any second. The software had been
developed by John and Adrian, two of the masked men, and could be
either the ultimate jack-off machine, or the most horrifyingly
effective torture device imaginable. It was to this latter mode that
it was now set.
Blissfully ignorant of this fact, Craig watched the screen. The thin
man had appeared again - naked now, his puny body ridiculous with no
clothes on, and his long, thin cock hard and waving in the air. Now,
however, he had an assistant. The assistant was not weedy at all -
he was a hunk - and wearing the perviest rubber gear that Craig had
ever seen: black shiny waders, into which were tucked very loose
rubber jeans, a rubber jacket, and a long black rubber cape, open at
the front. On his arms he had elbow-length, shiny, thick black
rubber gauntlets. As Craig watched, the thin man pressed a switch
and the wooden chair to which the skinhead was strapped rose on a
motorised platform until the boy's cock and balls were at the level
of the thin man's chest. This time, he selected a feather and a
small vibrator, and went to work on the skinhead's cock - touching
the vibrating rod lightly and intermittently to that spot just
beneath the cockhead, while tickling the back of the boy's balls
with the feather. At the very first touch, the skinhead screamed
into the gag, and he strained with every muscle to escape or to make
himself cum. But the thick leather straps held him helpless.
The assistant stood close behind the thin man, and began to caress
the puny body with his rubber-gauntleted hands, pressing himself
against the man's back and legs, so that he could feel the hunk's
rubber all around him. His hands stroked all over the man's body -
the thin chest, his sides, the stomach, the insides of the man's
thighs, and reached through between his legs to grip his cock.
The skinhead was desperately trying to close his legs, to get away
from the unbearable tickling and teasing of his cock and balls, but
couldn't do a thing. Every time the vibrating rod touched that
sensitive spot his enormous cock heaved and bucked and throbbed in
unspeakable ecstasy - but the thin man was an expert and sadistic
torturer, and always removed it before the big lad could cum, going
back to tickling the huge, freely-hanging balls with the soft,
Craig was mesmerised - this was the horniest thing he'd ever seen.
All right - it was fucking queers, and he was straight - but there
was something about the image of that enormous, strong, muscular,
ugly skinhead helpless and being teased to insanity so effortlessly
by such a wimp of a man that made Craig want to cum! And the hunky
assistant's rubber was so fucking pervy! Craig was getting close.
The rubber fingers working on his cock seemed almost to be in
synchronisation with the images he was watching - It was almost as
if he were experiencing exactly what the skinhead was feeling. He
prepared himself for the orgasm of a lifetime.
But the computer had other ideas. By now it had learned exactly how
to stimulate this victim's cock and prostate to produce the absolute
strongest responses. Electricity poured into the boy's prostate at a
level which varied from second to second, to make him need to cum as
urgently as possible; the small rubber fingers inside the sheath
rubbed gently and irresistibly over his hypersensitive glans,
rotating unpredictably and gently jacking him off with inhuman
skill; the whole rubber sheath sucked and slurped his cock shaft
like a talented whore, and the large electrodes on his armpits, the
insides of his thighs, his balls, and the soles of his feet tingled
and tickled wonderfully. However, at the same time sensors monitored
Craig's level of arousal, and the machine was set to torture mode.
It would not allow him to cum.
Craig's breathing had speeded up - he was close. God, it felt
fucking amazing! He was indescribably horny! Another couple of
seconds and he'd shoot the biggest load of spunk ever. He hoped it
wouldn't fuse the machine.
Closer - closer -
Then everything began to slow down - the rubber fingers, the
sucking, the pulses of electricity through his prostate - slower and
"YES! - YES!!!!!!!" Craig was holding his breath - he was a
heartbeat away from the orgasm of his life...
The computer continued to slow everything down. The fingers were
sliding slower and slower over his cockhead; the sucking strokes
were becoming longer and longer; the electricity on his prostate had
"Oh God - I'm gonna CUMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!"
Then, suddenly, everything stopped completely. The sucking, rubbing,
pulsating - it all stopped. Even the monitor went black.
Craig was suspended on a plateau of ecstasy that made his
experiences on the wall pale into insignificance. His eyes were
screwed up tight, his mouth open behind the gag in a silent scream,
every single muscle in his body rigid......
.... but he couldn't cum.
His eyes still shut tight, Craig drew a deep breath and screamed
with frustration. He struggled and tried to thrust his hips, but
movement was impossible. Gradually he came down, and started to
Then the computer started the cycle again.
Suddenly Craig knew what he was in for. This machine was
irresistible - and programmed not to let him cum. It would bring him
repeatedly close to orgasm, and then stop, leaving him on the edge
and unable to cum every time. A shudder passed through him. He knew
he couldn't stand it - but at least it couldn't get any worse.
In that, he was quite wrong. The computer was still learning. That
first time it had erred on the side of safety and halted the
stimulation well away from the ejaculation point. As it became more
and more familiar with this victim's responses, it could get him
closer and closer every time - until.......
Craig realised what it was up to on the fourth cycle. Each time
seemed to be more intense, and left him hanging ever more impossibly
close to orgasm. The cunning little rubber fingers stroked and
rubbed, sliding irresistibly over the punk boy's cock head - one had
even found the piss-hole and was very gently caressing the edges of
it. If it had been moving faster, that one alone would have been
sufficient to bring him off. The pads on his balls tingled and
tickled and buzzed, sending waves of pleasure up his body. Craig was
helpless in the machine's embrace.
By the eighteenth cycle the computer had enough information about
him to keep him the absolute minimum distance away from orgasm
indefinitely. Had it been programmed to, it could have done this,
giving him no respite at all, and keeping him continuously at that
point where a single touch anywhere on his genitals would have
triggered an unstoppable orgasm - and it could have kept him there
forever, or until he suffered heart failure.
However, it continued its cyclic operation - bringing him to that
point, holding him there for twenty seconds or so, then backing him
off until his heart rate dropped to a reasonable level. But after
that, it would begin again. And it would continue this forever -
unless someone pressed the space bar on the keyboard to shut it off.
But there was no-one in the room any more. There was only the
unstoppable, untiring machine, and its helpless, suffering victim.
He tried to keep his eyes off the monitor screen over his head, but
it was impossible not to watch it. The images of the helpless
skinhead were turning him on like nothing had ever done before. Now,
the hunky assistant was unzipping his rubber jeans, getting his
rock-hard cock out, and rolling a black rubber condom over it. He
thrust it powerfully into the think man's arsehole and started to
fuck him slowly. Then he pulled the cape right around the man, so he
was totally enclosed in black rubber, and reached around and played
with the man's balls while he fucked him. The feel of the rubber
against his skin, and the hunky assistant's gloved hands sliding
around his balls was driving the thin man to greater and greater
heights of sadism with the skinhead, and he used his tongue on the
tip of the lad's cock while tormenting him with the vibrator and
tickling his balls with two feathers held in his left hand. The
skinhead was in paroxysms of frustration.
Craig prayed for unconsciousness. He prayed for a power-cut. But
most of all he prayed for orgasm.
How long this went on he had no idea. It could have been hours,
days, or months. Inside the rubber sheath his cock was jerking and
throbbing with a compelling, imperative need to cum - and it seemed
to go on forever. His whole body was demanding orgasm - NOW!!
Unseen by Craig, the door opened and two masked men entered. They
stood and watched for ten minutes, their hard cocks outlined clearly
inside their tight leather jeans - and then one of them went to the
computer and pressed some keys. The stimulation backed off, paused
for thirty seconds or so, and then began again. But now the machine
was running a different program.
Under the monitor, Craig watched as the assistant detached himself
from the thin man, and knelt between his legs. He took a fistful of
lube and reached up, enclosing the man's rock-hard cock with his
slippery, smooth, rubber-gloved hand. Then he began to jack him off.
The thin man adjusted the vibrator, slowing it down and decreasing
its intensity, and then held it against the skinhead's cock - in
just the right place beneath the glans. The skinhead began to moan,
then struggle, as the vibrator brought him very, very slowly towards
Inside the sheath around Craig's cock, the fingers started to rub
and stroke again. Not fast, in fact very slowly. The suction matched
their movements, the larger pads tickled, and the prostate
stimulator came into synch with everything else. Craig began the
long, slow, final approach to orgasm.
On the screen, the thin man held the vibrator in place, not tickling
the boy's huge balls any more, but letting it do its work slowly and
excruciatingly. The skinhead got nearer and nearer to cumming -
moaning, shaking his head slowly from side to side and foaming under
Craig knew that this time they would let him cum. The machine felt
different. Eyes staring, he watched the screen, not even blinking.
The assistant was pumping the thin man's cock now - the black rubber
sliding up and down the full length of the shaft. Then he suddenly
gripped the man's balls with his other hand, and the man closed his
legs around the hunk's rubber-clad arm. That made him begin to cum.
Small gobs of rust-coloured spunk fell out of the tip of his cock
and dribbled to the floor while the thin man's body jerked
uncontrollably. But he kept the vibrator on the skinhead's cock.
Craig was near - God, was he near - but it was so fucking slow! He
knew he was going to cum this time, and every nerve was tingling
with anticipation - but he wanted the machine to speed up, not slow
down, as it was doing. He squirmed in his restraints as he neared
the edge of orgasm for the hundredth time. He was exhausted from
hours of overstimulation, but all of his concentration was centred
on what was being done to him. He whimpered as orgasm approached -
so close - so close.........
The big skinhead was about to cum - his cock head suddenly enlarged,
his balls moved upwards visibly - and the thin man slowed the
vibrator down even more. Now it was hardly moving at all against the
boy's most sensitive spot - and the skinhead was in an agony of
need. He thrashed in his restraints, gurgled and fought with all of
his strength, but the vibrator continued to buzz ever more gently,
slowly and coaxingly. His approach to orgasm was like a ball rolling
up an incline, in slow motion - as it got higher and higher, it got
slower and slower...... but it still went up.
Craig was experiencing exactly the same thing. The fingers in the
sheath were now hardly moving against his cock. He was at the very
apex. He could not get closer to cumming. The machine held him there
for what seemed like an eternity - and then......
With an animal roar and a convulsion which threatened to break every
one of the leather straps holding him down, the skinhead passed the
point of no return. His huge cock took on a life of its own, and the
thin man had to hold it against the vibrator as it jerked and jumped
about. The piss slit opened, and torrents of thick white spunk
pumped out with a velocity that was unbelievable, showering the thin
man and his assistant in hot, sticky cum. The lad shuddered and
shook in his restraints, and his spunk continued to arc through the
Craig came. The fingers had almost stopped completely - and then the
one on his piss-slit stroked once, firmly, across the very tip of
his cockhead. That was enough to trigger the most violent orgasm he
had ever experienced. Immediately the rubber sheath began sucking
with renewed vigour, the fingers began to move quickly, and the
prostate stimulator buzzed with electricity. Craig's body vibrated
and danced on the table as he shot his pent-up load of spunk into
the hungry rubber mouth of the machine.
It went on and on and on, and the computer milked him dry.
For the second time in his life, Craig experienced pure,
mid-shattering ecstasy - and, his face contorted and with every
single muscle as rigid as steel, he plunged into unconsciousness.
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