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Jeff lay spread eagle, naked arms and legs splayed wide and taut, corded muscles stretched and involuntarily flexed, on his back chained to a wide white table of some cold indeterminate substance. An overhead light on a ball jointed swivel could be adjusted to a bright glare that illumined every hill and valley of the tall stud or plunge him in mellow shadow- with or without attendant heat to make him run rivers of sweat or just lie there in air conditioned ‘comfort’. His back arched painfully, bubble butt pressed firmly against the unyielding surface and, on a whim, I adjusted the suddenly flexible table to bow slightly, apex at the small of his back, wrists and ankles pointed only a few degrees downward, just enough to cause a bit more discomfort but also to afford a more dramatic view of arched ribs, impossibly flattened belly, cramping muscles in his spread thighs and, of course, the magnificent thrust of totally exposed pelvis- crowned by his prodigious manhood; thick penis now resting against a spread thigh, slack balls hanging between his legs just above the suddenly revealed pucker of his tightly clenched ass hole. For all of the bright surfaces and modern convenience, the young marine was effectively secured to a rack and I underscored the point by increasing the tension on the four points of restraint- wrists and ankles- causing him to rumble with a low groan of mounting agony.
Satisfied, at last, with the mode of display I spent the next hour having fun with a variety of neurowands; each seemingly innocuous, merely a coloured plastic rod about six inches long with artistically worked hard rubber insulating handles fitted with a red button and dial for adjusting intensity. There were maybe two dozen of the wands (with instruction booklet) hung in a glass-fronted cabinet on one of the walls and each was colour-coded according to the sensation it would deliver when brushed against the skin of my terrified and completely helpless jarhead. One of the wonders of the wands was that they worked by direct neuro-stimulation, so that, though the jolt of pain delivered was staggering in its intensity (depending, of course, on how I set the dial), no actual physical damage was done- when the wand was withdrawn, the pain ceased and Jeff was left panting with exhaustion, only to sample a different ‘flavour’ a few moments (or seconds) later. I began with the prosaic- selecting ‘electric’ and working select points on all of the major muscle groups from his bull-like neck to the tendons in his hairy toes; marvelling at the way the wand, with its simulated current of raw electricity, caused the muscles of my spread eagled stud to twitch and jump. ‘Fire’ (appropriately bright orange in colour) and ‘Ice’ (cool blue, naturally) were fun, though I definitely had a preference for ‘Fire’. ‘Tickle’ I ignored with disdain, tried out ‘Pinch’ with a sense of amusement, made mental notes regarding ‘Slice’ and ‘Rip’, and then something really exotic caught my eye; ‘Scorpion Sting’ might have some real possibilities! I nuzzled the yellow-brown nozzle of the wand hard against the seamed back of Jeff’s ball sack and pressed the red button. The result was dazzling! A high-pitched yelp of surprised agony immediately preceded that magnificent ass lifted straight off the table- despite the fact that he was stretched and bound tighter than James West in his worst wet dream- only to slam back down a second later with thunderous force. ‘Fark!!!’ I exclaimed, clearly impressed, let’s try that again…
As I said, I played with the neurowands for an hour or so before sensing that my big, tough USMC buck might do with a short break and, besides, I needed one myself- all of the excitement of the day had begun to take its own kind of toll. I left Jeff, mighty chest heaving with ragged breaths, silently pleading with his eyes, strapped naked to the table and, after stroking his buzz cut hair, the stubble on his clenched jaw and a fast rub down of his torso from pecs to pubes, I reluctantly left to check the mail and run some necessary errands.
Returning a couple of hours later I found Jeff- surprise- just where I had left him, though his breathing had steadied a bit and his beautiful gray-blue eyes were closed. They opened with weary resignation when he heard me approach. Stark naked and completely helpless, the twenty five year old marine lay spread eagle on the table awaiting my pleasure. I lightly stroked the long shaft of his cock and began to formulate another plan only to be interrupted by the plaintive voice of my immobilised victim, ‘Please, man…you’ve hurt me…bad. Just let me go…please…’ Fading to a hopeless whisper as I hefted his testicles, rolling each between my fingers, edified as his whole long body shuddered with revulsion. Before the break I had spotted an interesting looking set of toys clearly related to the neurowands as they were stored next to them and in similar fashion. These, however, were fewer in number and much smaller with flattened contours as opposed to the cylindrical wands. Each was only a few centimetres in length and only a few millimetres wide, perfect- as the instructions explained- for insertion. Intrigued, I selected a pack labelled ‘Fire’ and then grinned as several tiny packs fell from the larger one variously labelled ‘Cayenne’, ‘Killer Chilli Pepper’, ‘Glowing Ember’, ‘Lit Fuse’…and ‘Molten Lava’. Why settle for second best? Eagerly ripping open the tiny package labelled ‘Molten Lava’, I was gratified as four or five of the small suppositories clattered to the table. I carefully read the instructions and learned that activation of the neurostimulator was triggered by scraping one’s fingernail over the surface of the lozenge much as one would reveal the lucky number on certain kinds of lottery tickets. After that it was a matter of five minutes before full strength was achieved, giving the sportsman plenty of time for insertion without himself getting in the way of the violent reaction. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained!!! Firmly grasping the jarhead’s reluctant penis, I abraded the surface of one of the suppositories and quickly inserted it into the piss slit, which I forced open with thumb and forefinger. Though still oblivious as to what was really coming down, Jeff had the wherewithal to groan his displeasure at the invasive procedure. Going for broke, I repeated the operation and shoved a second stick up his puckered ass then stepped back waiting for some results. Curious, I checked my wristwatch.
At one minute Jeff’s face began to flush and there was a bit of squirming as he ground that magnificent ass into the table. This continued for a while (and provided a wonderful show of ‘muscles in movement’) but by three minutes I began to notice some other, remarkable, changes. For one thing, his splayed body was now bathed in a bright sheen of new sweat, breathing elevated once again and a wild, very uncomfortable look in his terrified eyes. His back arched repeatedly off the table only to slam down with gathering force as if, somehow, he could either fuck the overhead light and, thus, relieve the pulsing incandescence in his dick, or dislodge the mini-nuclear reactor that was rapidly melting down in the depths of his ass. Whatever, both efforts were futile. The first guttural scream came at exactly four minutes and thirty seven seconds…and these would continue for a good twenty minutes, when the demonstration suddenly ended. Damn, that was a blast…wonder what other kind of stuff is laying around in here…? I was ready for more, but glancing down at the naked, helpless form of Jeff, stripped of both dignity and, now it seemed, stamina face-up on the table, I realised that the precise facsimile of the ‘real Jeff’ (whatever the guy’s name might be?) worked two ways- my man could think and feel- and that was great- but it also meant that he had his limits and, let’s face it, I had put him through some pretty gruelling paces. ‘Tell you what, man…’ I almost said I would let him go, but stopped in mid-sentence. Still, catching my tone, he looked up with hope in his beautiful eyes. My heart melted and then and there I modified the plan.
The ‘milking machine’ was a Rube Goldberg fantasy gone baroque. I had reckoned that I would reward Jeff with some pleasure instead of pain (well, not counting the intense humiliation involved in being force milked…by another man, but this was a torture chamber after all), but suddenly was not so sure. Donning rubber gloves I had manually stimulated his cock to erection with the help of a very special cream that further sensitized the already receptive skin of the shaft and head. He tried, of course, to resist my ‘advances’…but there is no stopping the course of science! Soon, rock hard, he sported a very respectable erect prick at least ten inches in length, thick, gracefully (not grotesquely) arched, and pulsing with manly power. Seizing the moment, I wrapped a form-fitting viscous sleeve of indeterminate substance around his penis from root to head, which immediately began to harden around the exact contour of his captive member. Attaching several colour-coded receptor wires to the sleeve (much like arming a plastic explosive) activated its various chemical, volitional, and even structural potentialities; all aimed at maximum stimulation of Jeff’s stiff dick. I was careful to adjust the control settings to ‘low’ as I didn’t want him over-stimulated or cumming too soon (I was still thinking of giving my boy some pleasure as a reward for his fine performance earlier) and, in retrospect, I now realise that that may not have been a mercy… Each of the buck’s large testicles was clamped with a specially chosen, pre- measured, sort of ‘basket’, which, when wired and activated, delivered ultra-sonic and other types of motivational stimulation to that area and, seeing him wince as the clamps were applied, I lightly stroked his torso, once again from chest to pubes, in an attempt to calm, if not console. Finally, all that remained was insertion of the ‘anal prod’- six inches of ice cold bright metal capped with a knobbed ball on the receiving end and a gaggle of red wires spilling from the half inch that protruded from between his spread legs after insertion, which I duly fiddled with, attaching each as I had all of the other devices to a kind of mobile console tower. At last we were ready to begin the milking process. I had carefully set all three of the major stimulation devices to ‘low’ settings and, so, reckoned I had some time before the…err…climax occurred. Paging through the illustrated manual, I was fascinated to learn that it was an anti-gravitational function, not simple suction, that would ultimately channel all of the extracted man juice from its first explosive emergence from the head of Jeff’s throbbing cock to the small plastic sack that hung like a kind of synthetic, transparent scrotum among all of the tubes and wires that bristled from the mobile console. Glancing over at Jeff, I noted a familiar look of dreamy concentration in his glassy, unfocused eyes and smiled…my boy deserved some pleasure and, already, a steady stream of clear precum ran its amazing uphill course and began to dribble into the artificial scrotum. I marvelled, once again, at how handsome he was, as the stubbled jaw clenched…with angry humiliation? Mere concentration of the ‘task at hand’? Maybe even getting off on it…just a little? One could hope…the narrow hips began their instinctive, involuntary thrust, and fresh sweat bathed his pale skin. A low groan, like the deep rumble of an earthquake, issued from Jeff’s throat. ‘Please…please!!! Make it stop…I can’t…’ I sighed. ‘Well, I had hoped to give you a kind of break, but if not…no going back now.’ He didn’t answer; merely turning his head away, panting, now, as if running for his life and out of precious breath.
There was one thing I could do that might console my weary young buck and that was to speed things up so as to, at least, end his ordeal sooner rather than later. I re-set to ‘medium’ and stood back to see what would happen. Immediately the rhythm of his thrusting hips increased as sweat seemed to pour from his straining body. Fearing dehydration, I was glad that I had had the foresight to attach a saline IV before initiating this procedure. ‘MY NUTS!!!! NUTS…on fire!!!!!!’ Jeff’s frantic shout echoed from the walls of the chamber as I looked on with fascination. ‘HELP ME!!!! Help…its tearing my dick off!!!!’ Concerned, I took a long look; his angry penis remained rock hard and had, perhaps, gained another three quarters of an inch in length. Encased in its clear sheath, Jeff’s throbbing cock aimed straight toward the ceiling, still drizzling a steady stream of precum and, to my relief, was firmly attached by its hairy root to his thrusting pelvis. The boy was merely delirious. Sorry that was the case but I had to admit, the show was a block buster…and we hadn’t even seen the grand finale! As soon as that thought flitted through my mind, Jeff shot his load and, I swear, if it hadn’t been for the penis sheath and anti-gravitational tubular channelling, he would have splattered the overheads…shit, might have blown off the roof of the Cube!!! Great gobs of scalding jizz exploded upward from the gaping slit in his cock. Guided by the anti-gravitational pull the ropey explosions slithered like pearly liquid neon along the tubular trajectory before finally swelling the bloated little artificial scrotum near to bursting. With a last convulsive dribble, the humming of the apparatus ceased and Jeff’s whole naked body went slack as he lay sobbing silently on the table. ‘Bravo!!!’ I applauded, ‘That, my boy, was nothing less than virtuoso!!’ And I meant every word.
I released my aching buck from his awkward position on the table and let him rest for a while, seated on a low stool rubbing chaffed wrists and ankles. All too soon the break ended and I re-arranged the mode of display; this time upright, arms raised, chained by his wrists to a tall metal post. We spent the rest of the afternoon as a threesome; me, Jeff, and a medium-gauge multi-strand whip…until, at last, I began to tire, reluctantly to be sure, but it had been quite a day. Jeff, by that time, moved in a daze of both unrequited pain and profound humiliation and was nearly past caring. To be honest, his lackadaisical response to my ever more creative flogging rankled just a bit and contributed to the sense that all things must eventually come to an end. I tossed the whip into a corner and released him from the post. Time to call it a day, dude… To which he sighed with unfeigned relief and, swaying with exhaustion, muttered, ‘You gonna let me go now?’ I scratched my head suddenly plunged into a philosophical conundrum, before replying, ‘Don’t know how I can exactly do that, man. See…technically speaking there is no ‘you’, so- ipso facto- there can’t be anywhere to ‘go’, at least if you understand Aristotelian causality with any measure of sense or clarity. And, since we’re at it, your odd manner of existence sets some alarm bells ringing and raises some really weird ontological, tautological and, what the hell, teleological concerns as well. Upshot being, I’m stumped for an answer to your question.’ He stared at me, both surprised and puzzled; clearly Jeff didn’t realise he was a holographic image. ‘This whole thing was your idea computer, help us out.’ I was really tired now and wanted nothing more than a nightcap and that pesky novel that I never seemed able to finish. ‘Not a problem, Amalaric.’ The soothing tones of the computer’s voice suddenly filled the room. ‘First, exit the torture chamber and close the door.’ I did so, motioning for Jeff to follow, and as soon as the door was closed and I stepped away it simply dissolved; hazy at first, swathed in rainbow light…then gone. The interior of the Cube was as it had always been. It was then that I noticed Jeff was also gone. In a way it was sad- we seemed such a good match. My telepathic computer, picking up on the wistful thought, interrupted the reverie. ‘Turn on your lap top Amalaric.’ Now it was my turn to be puzzled, but with a mounting sense of excitement I obeyed. There, on the desktop along with the other arrayed icons was a small thumbnail…of Jeff! ‘Computer…is it really…?’ ‘Right click the thumbnail, Amalaric.’ I did so and a very frightened, but also oddly defiant, Jeff sprang back into full blown holographic ‘life’, ready for some fresh action. Stripped to the waist with levis and briefs hiked down to his knees, the tall buck shook his head in confused denial. ‘What the FUCK???!!!’ He shouted, even as I closed the program, reducing him once again to his file on my lap top. I then created a folder, labelled it ‘Jeff’ and, laughing softly, went for that nightcap.