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Chapter 4: "My First Orgasm--Helpless"
From the very first episode of 'Naked T', I would get somewhat aroused from my exposure and beatings and my little penis would thicken and extend. I thought it particularly unfair, therefore, when Arthur would constantly refer to me as "needle-dick the bug-fucker'--he called me this to my face, in front of his friends, in front of his sister, even in front of his parents. When he first said it before them, his father, my uncle, slapped him hard across the face. Arthur looked stunned and began to cry. I smirked at this poetic justice. The next episode of 'Naked T' was particularly brutal and I learned not to smirk at Arthur. But by this second session of punishment my penis was getting harder and for longer periods. Arthur might say 'get rid of that' and whack my extended penis with his belt. I would yelp and the tears would flow.
Then one day about a month or so after what might have been the fourth session I was working on a little woodshop project in the basement. I had a board clamped to the work table and was sanding it. Somehow the vibrating sanding machine touched my groin and I knew I was on to something. I had been practicing self-bondage for several months, since just after the first session of 'Naked T'. Since I was alone in the house I added an extension cord to the sanding machine and carried it over to my mother's clothes lines a few feet away. I unclamped the sand paper from the sanding surface of the machine. I found a length of rope and fed it through the clamp at the front of the sanding machine that was used to hold the strips of sand paper to the vibrating surface. Then I stripped off my clothes. I carefully tied the rope around my waist, dangling the sanding machine directly over my penis. I switched on the vibrating machine, and instantly felt a surge of pleasure between my legs, and a tingle of forbidden excitement climbing right up through my body to my head, which began to buzz.
Sensing that something momentous was about to happen, I quickly reached up, took two of the parallel lines of clothesline rope hanging above my head, wound them around one another and inserted my wrists between the twists of rope. Suddenly, I was helpless. But I was getting scared. Desperately, I tried to free my hands, but I couldn't do it. Then I felt a great rush of pleasure and white liquid began to spurt from my hardened penis. I was shocked! I wondered whether the vibrations had turned my pee a milky white. I was frightened that I had damaged myself. I struggled with my bondage and eventually freed my bound wrists, switched off the machine and wiped up the mess. Soon I realized I had not hurt myself--the sensation just felt too good.
I was extremely eager to share this mysterious experience with my cousin Artie, as he now liked to be called. Artie came over, I took him to the basement and told him what happened. He laughed mockingly at my confusion and ignorance: "So! Needle dick finally had an orgasm!" I was furious at him for belittling me, but he demanded that I let him tie me as I had tied myself a few days earlier. Reluctantly (eagerly!) I agreed. Soon I was naked and strung up, but as arranged by Artie there was no chance of my getting free. Artie tied the sanding machine around my waist and flipped the switch to on. Immediately I started to erect and orgasm was not far away. I groaned and started to pump my hips forward as if trying to intensify the experience. As my breathing grew heavy I watched Artie pull his belt from around his waist. Immediately he began beating me with it across the chest and belly. On the third slash I screamed in pain and pleasure and came.
I stood there, drained and in pain. I begged Artie to turn off the machine, because my penis was now extremely sensitive (and it always is right after I cum. For instance, I can't stand to have my dick tip licked post-orgasm.) Artie just sneered at me. He opened his fly, pulled out his prick, moved up close to me and, after a few jerks, spurted his cum over my belly, over the machine and onto my legs. I was fascinated and disgusted. I struggled to free myself but was unable to release my bound wrists. As I writhed, tormented by the infernal machine, Artie went to the laundry area, found a towel and cleaned himself off. He zipped his fly and started puttering around the basement as I begged in vain for mercy. Then I heard him call out, "Hey! I found something!"
He came over to me and held up a tube of airplane glue before my eyes.
"I wonder what this would do to you?"
I shook my head 'no', but Artie was inspired. He turned off the cum-covered sanding machine and removed it from my penis. I felt tremendous relief, but it lasted only for a moment. Artie unscrewed the tube of glue, stepped up to me and squeezed the glue onto my balls. For an instant the glue felt cool. Artie took a small piece of wood from the floor and began to spread the glue over my scrotum. And then the fire began. I had become used to pain over the past few months, but this was unparalleled and unbearable, a roaring, searing heat.
I bellowed in fear and agony, jerking wildly at the bonds holding my arms above my head. Artie realized from by howls and begging for help that something was seriously amiss. He ran to the laundry area, wet the towel he had used a few minutes earlier, and put a cold compress over my balls. This helped a little bit, but the pain, more intense than I had ever felt, lasted more than a half hour, during which time Artie held a compress of ice cubes over my tortured sac. Still he had not released me. My pain and my relief were both entirely in his hands. Finally, just minutes before my parents walked in the door, Artie let me down. Furious, I lashed out at him, but he just danced away and laughed. Then he marched up the stairs and out of the house. I could hear him kick up the kickstand on his bike and ride away down the driveway, leaving me to cleanse myself and the floor of cum. I pulled my pants over my still-burning crotch just as my mom called to me. Red-faced and aching I climbed the stairs. Mom told me she met my cousin in the driveway and said Artie told her I was a little 'burned up' at him over something or other. I got the joke, but I wasn't laughing. Mom proceeded to lecture me on not being rude to my cousin.
Dinner was hell, and I was relieved to be allowed to take my plate to the kitchen and head upstairs to do my homework. However, I found it extremely difficult to concentrate that night, instead playing over in my mind my helplessness and humiliation as my body was overwhelmed by a machine and I was forced to orgasm, just as I had been a week earlier, the first time in my life I had come. I think my twisted sexuality sprouted from those two first spillings of seed. Forever afterward, to this day, I have been thrilled by the prospect of having a vibrator or some other device used on me against my will, forcing me to come when I wanted control and delay.
How many times have women I desperately wanted to enter instead tied me up and made me spurt my seed into a towel, on the floor, on the ground in the woods or sometimes into my own face? How many times have I become a human party trick, bound and forced to orgasm for a group of friends and strangers? How many times have I been warned not to come and then been strapped when I could not heed the warning? Many times--every one of them delicious!
And perhaps my ultimate machine-force is the one in which I am bound and attached to a milking machine in an old barn. Cattle on either side contentedly chew their cud. Farmhands, men, women, girls and boys, casually go about their business. And I am helpless, my pleas ignored, as my machine jerks me to repeated Orgasm. In my fantasy I am a celebrity, maybe a rock star, captured for my sperm, which will be sold on the black market. Each day I am milked, rubbed down, fed and constantly aroused by gorgeous girls or sneering lads who will not let me come until the next time the lubricated sucking device is slid over my hard penis. Then the girls will mock me and dance naked before my eyes as the inevitable climax approaches. The girls will be sweet or taunting, soft or cruel. They will kiss me or whip me, suck my nipples or slide their fingers up my ass. Then can be whatever they want, but I can only be a sperm-slave. Eventually all the orders for my stolen sperm will be filled, and I will be thrown from a car, blindfolded, handcuffed and naked, my body covered with welts, a hundred miles from the secret location of my relentless drainings and humiliation. And I will be endlessly frustrated because I will never be able to find my way back for more.
More to come, including my adolescent purchase of John Willy's "Sweet Gwendolyn," its discovery by my mother, and my discovery by my girl cousins. I will continue writing this story, but please give feedback; so far I've heard almost nothing from readers of "My Perv." Reader comments, pro or con, or reader suggestions, are greatly appreciated and very helpful.
Thanks,
Tough93013
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