To have his cock and lock it? (2)

Previous part here: http://skinshallows.blogspot.co.uk/2017/02/to-have-his-cock-and-lock-it-1.html

***

His next memory was of coming to in bed of what felt like a cross between a modern hotel room and a fancy private hospital room. Ian could feel the cool, smooth sheets, the low, warm light and a light blanket or sheet over his body. It was only when he tried to move that he realised that he was naked and that there were wires stretching out and flat pieces of metal - electrodes? - stuck to his skin in several places. On his head, chest, hips, belly, feet, inner thighs. Other places. Including his cock. At least his cock was still there, he thought as he reached down to make absolutely sure. He had no idea what had happened, couldn't remember anything between the time in the waiting room and now. He had no idea how much time had passed or even if he still was in the same building.

Yet he wasn't scared. Not as scared as he should have been, all things considered. He looked around the room and saw a camera, no, two cameras, suspended from the ceiling and clearly pointing towards him.

Someone must have seen that he was awake now because the door opened and someone walked in. A tall, dark haired middle-aged woman he vaguely recognised, but didn't remember.

''Hello. I'm glad you are with us again… fully, this time,'' she smiled.

''Ummm… what… I don't remember anything!'' Ian blurted out. His voice felt hoarse, straining. 

''No. You would not. I can assure you everything went according to plan. Your treatment appears to have been completely successful. Of course, we won't know until some time in… the real world passes, but you can leave as soon as you are ready.''

''So… excuse me, who are you?''

''I'm Annika Marsden. We met before, but the whole process tends to cause a degree of amnesia that temporarily extends beyond the procedure itself. The procedure will remain inaccessible to your conscious mind at all times. I have all the documents, including your consent forms, here,'' she placed a folder on a bedside table. ''You can look through it any time you want, and of course your partner was kept informed at all times. ''

Ian remembered now. Dr Marsden. The creator of the program and co-owner of the OC-Lab. He reached out to take the documents, the sheet covering him slipping down. He nervously pulled it up. Annika Marsden smiled at him. It felt like an indulgent smile, ''Don't worry about modesty. We have seen… quite a lot of your body, throughout the last few days,'' the smile looked just a little bit more like a smirk now. Ian shivered, his mind trying desperately to remember, remember anything at all.

''You remember WHAT we did, Mr Fergusson?''

''Yes… yes, I do…''

''For the next ninety days, give or take a few, your partner will have a complete proscriptive control of your orgasm.''

''Proscriptive control?'' Ian flinched.

''You will be unable to orgasm without her explicit permission or instruction. She will also have some prescriptive control, which means that it should be significantly easier for her to make you orgasm if she wishes to. This feature of our neural conditioning program for biological males is not quite fully develop yet, and for now comes as a… side effect of the process. Most of our customers welcome it, but some never choose to explore the opportunities it presents,'' Dr Marsden seemed a little sad at this lack of customer adventurousness. 

All this was said in a matter of fact, professional tone. Ian felt the implications sink in. 

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He's done it. THEY have done it. Marie had a full control now. He actually won't be able to come without her permission. He felt his blood flow to his cock and an erection growing quickly, tenting the thin sheet covering him. He tried to conceal it with his hand, discreetly slid under the sheet, the embarrassment making him harder even faster.

''Yes… yes… I remember,'' his cock was now fully erect under his fingers. Dr Marsden was ignoring it, even though she obviously could see what was going on.

''Before you get ready to leave, we usually recommend that our customers test the bind we have created. I suggest you masturbate now, Mr Fergusson,'' she glanced at the sheet in his crotch area now, ''and check for yourself. We have cameras here, and the feed is available to your partner too. We can also switch them off, if you prefer. Though we'd rather not miss the opportunity to monitor your progress,'' she smiled beatifically, ''Or you can just go home immediately. ''

Ian felt his cock pulsing at the thought of Marie - and this woman, and possibly others - watching him masturbate. He believed what she said earlier, yet he didn't feel completely convinced. He'd never had problems orgasming. Even that one time when he was locked up in a chastity device by a professional domme keyholder, he experienced small orgasms, not very satisfying, but orgasms nevertheless. The idea that he would be denied without any physical constraints, however convincing the science spiel, was still a little preposterous.

''No, no… The cameras are OK. I'll… I'll try, I'll do it now,'' he groaned, his fingers grasping his rigid cock almost without his mind's participation. It felt completely normal, warm, hard, throbbing a little in anticipation of the pleasure. 

''Excellent, Mr Fergusson. I hope you enjoy your new wiring,'' Annika Marsden stepped away from his bed and walked out of the room.

Ian grabbed his cock firmly and started to stroke. He thought of the cameras above him, and threw the sheet off, arching his back a little and cupping his balls, full and heavy, with his other hand. He imagined Marie seeing him on her laptop screen. She liked watching him masturbate, and sometimes made him perform for her, dictating rhythm and count, teasing him or hurting him as he stroked. He shivered, his cock pulsing in his hand, precum drops appearing on the tip. He closed his eyes and sank into the sensation, his hand on his own flesh, waves of pleasure washing over him, his breathing getting deeper, faster, his movements getting into the old, familiar, perfect rhythm that he preferred and that always got him to the edge and over it without fail.

Images filled his head, not a specific narrative, but disjointed flashes; Marie straddling him, her hand on his throat, panting, her teeth exposed in a grimace of furious lust; her nails on his back, the sting of her crop on his butt, the names she called him and the low whispers of encouragement and praise that turned him on as much or maybe even more than the name calling; and other women, bodies and faces over him, perfect feet in heels so high that she just laughed at the idea of ever putting them on; a sequence of wet cunts pushed in his face to lick and pleasure until his jaw ached. 

His arousal reached its peak, his whole body electric with need, his whole being focused on one thing only, that thing he had to have, had to have now.

And he couldn't. 

However hard or fast he rubbed, and whatever image he called to his mind, he couldn't come. If felt like his balls would explode with the accumulated tension, the skin on his cock rubbed raw, stretched close to splitting, copious precum streaming down the shaft. Overwhelming pleasure turned into pain, even as frustration, paradoxically, made him even more aroused. He moaned, then swore, then whimpered. 

You can't come, boy, a voice echoed in his mind. Marie was laughing. You can't come until I tell you to. That's what you wanted, slut boy. She seemed a little angry and very amused, happy but a little contemptuous. Ian wasn't sure if this was a real memory or a fantasy. 

He moaned again, louder than normal, his cock getting sore, his arousal unabated. ''Please… I need to come so bad… please… please….'' he knew she liked him to beg, he knew it turned her on to say no, but it turned her on to say yes too. He tried to imagine her saying ''yes'', tried to hear her voice, conjure that permission. It didn't work. He moaned louder, his muscles tensing, shaking, straining, the lust morphing into pain. ''Please, Ma'am... ohhh god, please, please... I need it so bad....'' he felt himself turn onto his side, curl up, then turn over, his painfully hard, dripping cock rubbing against the sheets, the humiliation of all the people that were watching his predicament flooding his mind, tears of frustration making his face wet as he humped the bed in a futile search for relief. 

He was fucked. He was completely fucked and he had only himself to blame. It was perfect. 

***

I'd love any feedback, particularly from males who could comment on the physical sensations of frustration as I am, for obvious anatomical reasons, a little shaky on the detail there. Either comment, or email me via the contact form here.