Tales of the Tyrant

When I'd caught my breath from the first, the tyrant grabbed my sensitive cock and grinned as he used his hands to give me a second orgasm. It came much faster, much harder, and lasted much longer than the first. I may have screamed. My cock hurt now, it was so sensitive, and my balls were throbbing again. I told him of the agonizing sensitivity.

"I'll give you a choice then, Avin," he said. "I'll let you hang there and wait, and tell me when you're ready to go again... or, I can shrink your cock with ice. If we use ice on your cock, the ribbons will come off, and I'll have to tie them on as soon as you're hard again."

This first time, I chose to wait. The tyrant sat and watched me calmly as the congestion passed. I signaled him when I felt brave enough, but as soon as he put his hand on my cock, it was as if I'd never cooled off. He'd barely started to touch me when I came again, violently, still unable to ejaculate. I thrashed against the web helplessly. When at last the ecstasy finished with me, I begged him to use the ice. The next two orgasms were less formless and more spontaneous and perpetual--starting when he touched me, and ending only when ice was applied.

"This is the end, for today," he said, cooling down my poor gonads after the fifth. "We'll resume tomorrow, and you'll take your remaining fifteen orgasms over the next three days. But until your punishment is over," he continued, "You'll be too sensitive to not wear this." And to my surprise and gratitude, he toweled off my shriveled penis and locked it into chastity tube exactly like all the other studs wore. It was probably the greatest mercy he showed me that week.

The regular studs will complain to no end about how chastity warps their perception, and makes them think constantly of sex in one way or another. "Everything looks like a pussy," they say, or words similar. Well, this punishment of pleasure left me saturated with afterglow, yet still desperate to come again. After the second day, my whole skin seemed to become a sex organ. Everything I touched, every carpet, every breeze aroused me. My nipples were perpetually erect. I began to feel as if my whole body was becoming a cock, and would learn to ejaculate through some other orifice (perhaps my navel?), since the organ responsible was not performing as intended.

On the third day, I was fitted with a wooden bit gag, so I would not bite my tongue. After my third orgasm, when I hung limp and still so brutally hard from the leather, my master took my face in his hands and spoke to me.

"I broke a spy like this, once, you know," he confided in me. "Dry orgasms, long strings of them, sometimes relieved with ice, around the clock, until he broke. It was just more pleasure than he could handle."

(You could hear the smile in his voice.)

"Even after he broke, even after he told me everything, I still didn't let him ejaculate," the tyrant gloated. "I locked him in chastity. When he kept begging me, I invited him to join my studs. You might get to ejaculate if you're a stud, I told him. So he became a stud."

The tyrant laughed. "I think he had to wait until Midwinter," he added.

I don't know how I held together between the third day and the fourth. I do know that at the final session, I fainted after my first orgasm, and woke up on the floor, where I completed my punishment. My body was a mass of cramps and twitches, and my gonads seemed to scream through my whole nervous system. My master locked up my cock again, turned me over, and began to knead out my knotting, exhausted muscles. I cried and begged him to stop, not because it hurt, but because my body found it too arousing. "Isn’t my punishment over?" I pleaded.

He kissed me very tenderly, and told me I would get to ejaculate the next day.

The next day, I was mainly spoiled by handlers: I was bathed and thoroughly massaged, fed fruits and dainties, and generally made to relax. I wasn't sent to the tyrant until after (his) dinner, and then my arms were bound up, as if I was a common stud with his cock out. My body was less overstimulated, but still just as desperate for release.

He sat at the edge of the bed, still wearing the silks and leathers he’d used to impress whoever he’d dined with, and beckoned to me with a big smile. I ran to him like a child, and he sent me to bring back a bottle of lubricant with my mouth. He opened his trousers, and applied the lube to his own organ, straightening, lengthening, and thickening it, and then he drew me onto his lap.

There was a mirror directly across from the bed, so surely he saw my cock was still locked up? He spread my thighs around his, and pulled my buttocks closer. In the mirror, I could see him guiding his erection up, and then I felt him enter me.

"Master-?" I said softly.

"Your punishment is over, and I mean it," he promised me. "You'll get to come properly."

He thrust into me, root-deep, and I was perfectly full of him. I love this position, riding his lap, and he knows it. He reached over my thigh to fondle my balls as I rode him, but they were still too sensitive. It was quite enough to have his cock in my ass; it was a form of stimulation I hadn't felt since before Midwinter. I almost didn't care whether or not he let me come.

When his strokes slowed, he paused at the plateau, and carefully unlocked the tube confining my penis. It grew hard and desperate in the time it took for him to reach for the bottle of lube and put a little in his hand. I cried out when he grabbed my erection, and his hips began to move in time with his hand. I thrust back against him, and very shortly an orgasm took me with more violence than I have ever felt. I screamed as I came, bucking and convulsing in his lap, and my clenching and thrusting triggered his orgasm. I felt him spew hot fluid into me as my back arched against him, and then he had to hold me so that I didn't fall face-first onto the floor as the ecstasy rode me.

If I had not been pampered and soothed all day, I would probably have fainted during that climax. He petted and touched me as I sat astride his lap with his softened cock still inside me. My own was rising again, very rapidly, and he watched it in the mirror over my shoulder as he played with my balls again.

"I hope you enjoyed that one," he spoke into my ear. "Because you'll have to drink the rest of them."

"The rest?" I echoed.

"I'm going to empty these out," he swore, in that gloating voice again, and squeezed my poor testicles gently. "I'm going to feed you your own semen until your dick just won't stand up."

I considered this for a few moments. "But, how will I keep it up tomorrow?" I asked.

"Well, that will be a challenge, won't it?" he smiled. And over the next few hours, he emptied me right out.

The only methodical part of this purge came when my master would catch my semen in a glass, and make me drink it. The rest of the time, because this was the tyrant, I was made to maintain an unusual posture, or hold something in my anus, or both, as my cock and balls were stimulated. I wanted the tyrant to fuck me again, but he didn't seem to be in the mood. I came five more times that night. For the last orgasm, hog-tied and stuffed with a bottle of some kind, I required nearly half an hour of sucking, kissing, stroking, ticking, pinching, and even some whipping to spurt one last load into the glass. Now my testes ached from emptiness and fatigue.

Besides being part of our training, the tyrant believes that drinking come ensures our sexual vigor by filling us with masculine juices of some kind or other. As if our balls aren't already backed up with masculine juices.

After my last serving of semen, my master untied me, and spent another half hour trying to trying to rouse my exhausted cock, before calling it quits and sending me off for bath and bed.