To have his cock [and lock it?] (3)

This is where they ended up in  the last instalment: 

You can't come, boy, echoed in his mind. Marie was laughing. You can't come until I tell you too. That's what you wanted, slut boy. She seemed both a little angry and amused, happy and a little contemptuous. Ian wasn't sure if this was a memory or a fantasy. He moaned, 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 sometimes it turned her on to say yes too. He tried to imagine her saying ''yes'', tried to hear her voice, conjure that permission, but it didn't work. He moaned louder, his muscles tensing, shaking, straining, the desire turning into pain. ''Please, Ma'am... ohhh god, please, please... I need it so bad....'' he felt himself turn to 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 futile search for relief. 

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

****

Marie was waiting for him in what the OC-Lab called ''guest lounge'', and when he emerged she jumped up from her seat excitedly and almost run to him, a big smile on her face. 

Ian hesitated. His erection had subsided now, but the feeling of a nearly overwhelming and frustrated desire, of the desperate need to come, of the way his body shivered and tensed and whimpered on that bed, overlooked by cameras and attached to various wires, was still very much there, churning his insides and blurring his vision. Seeing Marie here brought it all to the forefront of his mind. For a split second he wanted to yell at her, for another - longer - he wanted to drop to his knees right here in front of her and plead for permission. 

She embraced him warmly and he could feel her soft breasts against his chest, her arms around him, the smell of her perfume and her skin, her whisper in his ear, ''That was so fucking hot, boy. Watching you there. I can't wait.'' She slid her knee between his legs and dragged it up and down along his rapidly returning erection. He groaned. 

''Or maybe we should get it out of the way now,'' her knee pressed harder and she bit his ear briefly, ''I've been thinking of having you come just here,'' her tongue was doing weird things on his neck behind his ear while the fingers of her right hand grasped his nipple. ''I came, imagining that, just before I drove to pick you up,'' Marie twisted his nipple. His low groan turned into a stifled whimper, ''I imagined telling you to come in your pants before we even got to the car,'' she was panting a bit now and he realised she was nearly as aroused as he was, ''I know how much you want to come, slutboy, I heard you whimper,'' Ian's head was spinning, his hips moving involuntarily, seeking stimulation of her touch, his cock painfully hard again, dampness of the precum noticeable in his pants. He was desperate to come, but he didn't want it to happen here, with others possibly seeing him, and he thought, as much as he was capable of thinking, that the occasion demanded more of an event. 

Marie stepped away, ''I decided not to, though. C'mon, boy,'' she pulled his arm and he followed, a huge frustrated erection throbbing in his jeans, his hands shaking. 

*

Ian was reclining on their bed, completely naked, his back supported by few pillows. His wrists were tied to the headboard, his legs spread wide and also restrained, albeit loosely, with ties stretching to the legs of the bed. 

His cock was painfully hard (again), precum dripping in a continuous trickle (again), the skin on the top stretched so tight that it felt like on the edge of splitting, his balls tight and full, his whole body trapped not just in the physical restraints (to which he submitted willingly) but in an invisible net of frustrated desire (to which he had submitted enthusiastically too).  A desire that could only be satisfied at Marie's will and whim. 

She was sitting on the side of the bed, watching him, her pupils dilated, fingers of her right hand twisting a nipple clamp attached to his chest. He groaned, waves of stinging pain spreading through his body, distracting him from the pulsing need in his cock. She reached down and stroked his shaft, her fingers flitting briefly over the cockhead. He bucked his hips, instinctively trying to prolong the stimulation. She laughed, a low chuckle of joy, and slapped his cock, hard enough to make it bounce. 

"I love this. I never realised how much I'd love this," she panted and lowered her head over him, her soft, wet lips closing on his cock, her tongue swirling. 

He moaned, unable to stop himself, ''Please, Marie... Ma'am, please... let me come... please...''

She lifted her face up and looked at him, ''No. I love you like this.''

''Please...''

''No.''

''Please......''

It felt like each ''please'' made her more aroused, made her breathing faster, each ''no'' coming out more rapidly on a sharp exhale, each subsequent lick slower, each slurp more ravenous. She was feeding her desire with his desperation, literally, gasping and sighing her delight every time he whimpered or tensed up. And he was yielding, letting her have her way with his body, with him, and now she was taking him more fully, climbing on top and sliding her wet, warm cunt onto his cock, clenching and releasing, her hips rocking back and forth, the fingers of her left hand fast on her clit. 

She moaned, letting out short, sharp cries, her left hand moving all over his body, grabbing, pinching, scratching. It felt like she was masturbating on his cock, and it felt like his cock wasn't his cock any more but her toy, an object she used for her own pleasure. He wanted to fuck her, to thrust and pound, but some part of him already knew that there was no point to this, that she would do it the way she wanted, and if she wanted him still and filling her cunt, that's what she'd have. 

Marie lifted her hips up and slammed her arse onto him, then gyrated. His cock spasmed, filling her throbbing cunt even tighter, suspended tight on the edge of release. She moaned louder, freed her right hand, leaned forward, grabbed his hair with her left hand and pulled his head painfully back. The slap came unexpected, hard and swift, then another one, his whole left cheek burning, her face above him, her mouth open in a grimace of pleasure.

''You...fucking... bitch... ohhhhh... fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck. My fucking slut... ohhhh,'' another slap, then her hand soft on his cheek. She slowed down, then stopped. Marie supported herself on her hands placed on his chest, leaning over him. Her hair, damp with sweat and tangled, fell on her shoulders and breasts and his chest, her eyes locked with his, huge, pupils dilated into dark vortexes, the narrow band of a steel-blue iris swirling with sudden violet. 

She was still now, the only movements the rhythmic falling and rising of her chest and clenching and unclenching of her cunt on his cock. She was smiling. 

"I'm yours, Ma'am. Yours. Your. Yours, '' he moaned into those eyes, into that smile. She placed her hand on his mouth, gently this time, and nodded. 

''Mine,'' the hand adjusted so the palm still covered his mouth while the fingers closed on his nose, restricting but not completely blocking his air intake. Her ass lifted again and dropped down, her weight transmitted through that hand pushing his head into the pillow, her hips shifting and rocking, a series of low sighs and murmurs of delight coming out of her mouth as she adjusted her body and started to fuck him again, this time in a faster, more regular rhythm, the nails of her other hand digging into his shoulder. 

Ian felt his mind starting to dissociate, detach from his body, the body she was using now and that wasn't his any more. He instinctively tried to take a bigger breath, slowly sucked in more air than her hand allowed, was pushed down harder, the nails digging deeper, her moans now loud, animal-like. She was nearly screaming, shaking, slamming herself onto him, slamming him into her, her hand removed from his mouth, nails dragging along his cheek and the side of his neck. He was sinking into a space filled with velvety electricity, floating away from the pain and torment that his body was subjected to. The pleasure and the pain melded together and he felt his control - all of it, not just his ability to ejaculate as he felt he needed to - receding further, then disappearing. 

---tbc, maybe

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.