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I can’t…
I ca—
…fell on deaf ears, my ears.
Ears tuned to every breath, every damn barefoot step, pacing fup fup fup, the linoleum begging no don’t go, don’t leave me please…
The door snicked shut.
You can feel the locks, did you know that? They register different, odd, like thieves in the night cloaking your fantasies and your security in denial. No, you can’t, not now… not ever.
The door. My egress. My last refuge gone, vacuuming air from my lungs.
It hurt.
It fizzed and sizzled and sliced. I thrummed with it, my cock bulged, begged, ballooned with it.
Please…
Do it.
Do it now.
Story 1: The Thin Red Line
The soul-sucking whimpering rasped my throat dry, shredding it so bits of yes, no, maybe, oh fucking hell no I can’t…I can’t…
I ca—
…fell on deaf ears, my ears.
Ears tuned to every breath, every damn barefoot step, pacing fup fup fup, the linoleum begging no don’t go, don’t leave me please…
The door snicked shut.
You can feel the locks, did you know that? They register different, odd, like thieves in the night cloaking your fantasies and your security in denial. No, you can’t, not now… not ever.
The door. My egress. My last refuge gone, vacuuming air from my lungs.
It hurt.
It fizzed and sizzled and sliced. I thrummed with it, my cock bulged, begged, ballooned with it.
Please…
Do it.
Do it now.
Sssh.
Slow strokes. Confident. Leather thick and rigid registered subtle taps and adjustments and a hiss of satisfaction.
Sometimes he gave himself away, allowing ingress to his agreement, to his needs, to the contract, the covenant, the holy grail of punishment and pleasures too rare and glorious to be contained in the crisscross of straps and iron cages and the bulging bit, the rigid rod ramming roughshod in air heated to molten with my silent screams for pity…
Do it.
It, it, it… clogged my throat. Wrong, so wrong to feel it there. There was fear, not desire, not release. There was me and the final portal to my weakness.
Growl it.
Groan it.
Stop it.
No, no, no…
The nail, ragged and blunt, carved a trail, a misdirection, a prod to the neck, the prominence pressured…
Pressured.
God, god, gods help me, help me breathe…
He left his presence lodged tight, so tight it startled in its harmlessness, in its meaningless envy of pain refocused. I lost all sense of time and place. Lost feeling. Lost sensation so severe, so beautiful and pure and holy and perfect, nothing else mattered but please morphed to more, more please, more.
The glance was downward, down down down, imagination and senseless sensation rocketing imagination to new heights, new lows, until all that remained was that single protuberance, that one interconnectivity of current, and though blind I saw what he promised.
It was too much, the offering was too much, more than I deserved, all that I needed, and I whistled past the gag and the lump and the hideous evidence of desire, my body’s betrayal a joy and a disgrace, and I longed for it to be over so I could hide my inner self under the coating of cum and sweat and blood and his insatiable appetite for capitulation.
War, war is like that, isn’t it? Parry, retreat. Attack, withdraw.
The first trickle of current hit. A tease, only a fucking tease, sensation feeding ass to cock to ass, looped through wires and rods and devices all at his command.
Slow strokes. Confident. Leather thick and rigid registered subtle taps and adjustments and a hiss of satisfaction.
Sometimes he gave himself away, allowing ingress to his agreement, to his needs, to the contract, the covenant, the holy grail of punishment and pleasures too rare and glorious to be contained in the crisscross of straps and iron cages and the bulging bit, the rigid rod ramming roughshod in air heated to molten with my silent screams for pity…
Do it.
It, it, it… clogged my throat. Wrong, so wrong to feel it there. There was fear, not desire, not release. There was me and the final portal to my weakness.
Growl it.
Groan it.
Stop it.
No, no, no…
The nail, ragged and blunt, carved a trail, a misdirection, a prod to the neck, the prominence pressured…
Pressured.
God, god, gods help me, help me breathe…
He left his presence lodged tight, so tight it startled in its harmlessness, in its meaningless envy of pain refocused. I lost all sense of time and place. Lost feeling. Lost sensation so severe, so beautiful and pure and holy and perfect, nothing else mattered but please morphed to more, more please, more.
The glance was downward, down down down, imagination and senseless sensation rocketing imagination to new heights, new lows, until all that remained was that single protuberance, that one interconnectivity of current, and though blind I saw what he promised.
It was too much, the offering was too much, more than I deserved, all that I needed, and I whistled past the gag and the lump and the hideous evidence of desire, my body’s betrayal a joy and a disgrace, and I longed for it to be over so I could hide my inner self under the coating of cum and sweat and blood and his insatiable appetite for capitulation.
War, war is like that, isn’t it? Parry, retreat. Attack, withdraw.
The first trickle of current hit. A tease, only a fucking tease, sensation feeding ass to cock to ass, looped through wires and rods and devices all at his command.
I nearly wept with joy.
Are you ready?
No, I don’t know, god, I don’t…
You will be.
“You don't like elevators.” The soft voice in his ear startled him out of his rising panic. “I think I can help you with that.” A firm hand grasped the back of his neck, pinning him in place against the cool metal of the door.
He was torn between submission and outrage when his pants were unfastened and tugged down, leaving his ass bared to the world below. “Are you worried they can see you?” He drank in the comforting scent of smoke and pine, echoes of bonfires and wide open spaces. “But you like it. You're already hard for me.”
The only sounds were the rasp of a zipper and his gasps for air. He was unwilling to examine whether his breathlessness was due to fear or excitement. The stretch and burn of penetration only made him harder, his cock painting sticky trails of precum across the shiny metal. “Hands behind your head, no touching.” The pressure on his neck eased as he followed instructions. And then the cock inside him began to move. Hard and insistent, it drove all thought from his mind. “Sorry to rush, but if we stay still for too long someone will come and investigate. I'm sure you don't want that.” That thought, coupled with the unerring brushes of his prostate had him teetering on the edge.
Sharp teeth latched onto the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder and he was undone, cum painting abstract patterns on brushed aluminum. The answering rush of warmth deep inside brought the first smile to his face. The softening cock withdrew, only to be replaced with the unyielding hardness of a plug. “It wouldn't do to have you leaking all afternoon. Besides, I like the idea of my cum inside you.”
“No peeking.” The elevator once more began to move. “Don't forget to clean up your mess” The door slid open and a large body brushed past. “Same time next week in the sky tower north elevator. And don't worry, we'll soon have you past this little problem of yours.”
The door slid shut, leaving only a parting echo. “See you at home. I'll pick up Chinese.”
Are you ready?
No, I don’t know, god, I don’t…
You will be.
Story 2
Bad enough his destination was on the 26th floor, forcing him to take the elevator. That it was one of the glass walled models only increased the churning pool of dread in his stomach. Don't look, don't look, it's perfectly safe. The refrain drummed through his brain, dissolving into meaningless babble. Eyes squeezed shut, he studiously ignored the bodies pushing past him as they came and went on the slow crawl upwards. Nearly there. An arm brushed his and the death box ground to a halt.“You don't like elevators.” The soft voice in his ear startled him out of his rising panic. “I think I can help you with that.” A firm hand grasped the back of his neck, pinning him in place against the cool metal of the door.
He was torn between submission and outrage when his pants were unfastened and tugged down, leaving his ass bared to the world below. “Are you worried they can see you?” He drank in the comforting scent of smoke and pine, echoes of bonfires and wide open spaces. “But you like it. You're already hard for me.”
The only sounds were the rasp of a zipper and his gasps for air. He was unwilling to examine whether his breathlessness was due to fear or excitement. The stretch and burn of penetration only made him harder, his cock painting sticky trails of precum across the shiny metal. “Hands behind your head, no touching.” The pressure on his neck eased as he followed instructions. And then the cock inside him began to move. Hard and insistent, it drove all thought from his mind. “Sorry to rush, but if we stay still for too long someone will come and investigate. I'm sure you don't want that.” That thought, coupled with the unerring brushes of his prostate had him teetering on the edge.
Sharp teeth latched onto the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder and he was undone, cum painting abstract patterns on brushed aluminum. The answering rush of warmth deep inside brought the first smile to his face. The softening cock withdrew, only to be replaced with the unyielding hardness of a plug. “It wouldn't do to have you leaking all afternoon. Besides, I like the idea of my cum inside you.”
“No peeking.” The elevator once more began to move. “Don't forget to clean up your mess” The door slid open and a large body brushed past. “Same time next week in the sky tower north elevator. And don't worry, we'll soon have you past this little problem of yours.”
The door slid shut, leaving only a parting echo. “See you at home. I'll pick up Chinese.”
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