The Klinik Chapter One
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The Klinik Chapter Four free porn video
Arran hung from the web of creaking chain at a shallowly inclined angle above and to their front, suspended and immobile above the floor, an object of silent scrutiny for the three masturbatrixes below. A cone of torchlight within the gloomy vastness illuminated him in sharply defined and capering contrast, his white muscled flesh flickered and seemed to tremble within its stark light, alternating with inky black shadow as the inquisitive beam travelled across its contoured surface.
The silence of their mutual contemplation was broken.
A slow reverberating staccato sound, that of Chloe-Celine’s spike heeled boots contrasted and competed in the vast empty space with that of his suddenly laboured breathing. Tightly cinched bands of chrome buckled leather, supple, thick and encasing prisoner Ashe’s entirely mummified head, stretched and relaxed in time with heaving uneven whistles of breath as she approached the elongated and outstretched ‘X‘ of his pale, ghostlike form.
Up close, his radiated body heat warmed her flushed cheek. She could almost taste the salt-sweet perspiration that dripped pitter-patter upon the dusty concrete floor below.
She stood before him, aware more acutely now than ever before, of an aching sensitivity dually centred upon her wet lipped sex, and the tightly drawn points deforming an otherwise smoothly cuspate pair of latex skinned breasts beneath a partly unbuttoned tunic jacket. The focus sapping pleasure-ache induced a curious sort of lethargy. A static laden buzz, it transmitted itself across the narrow seam of dead air that separating her from the hanging subject.
His cockstem reacted to her close proximity like a weather vane to a sudden breeze. A shivering tremble ran along the swollen shaft causing it to slowly sway this way and that in an erratic, indiscernible and shifting rhythm.
For what seemed like an eternity she could not force herself to act.
Spellbound.
“Frau Colonel?…”
Frau Schwester Mariel Weitz’s low voiced, whispering enquiry betrayed a hint of apprehension.
Her companions edged imperceptibly closer, holding their collective breath, ready to intercede on her behalf. An atmosphere of visceral, almost palpable tension further electrified the already static charged air.
“Frau Colonel?…Celine?…Are you able to continue? Is there anything wrong?”
The spell was broken.
Chloe-Celine tilted her neck slowly, gracefully upward, lips softly parting, eyes closed, as if in preparation to a performance of some sweetly drowning aria.
As suddenly as it had crowded in, the static charged atmosphere dissipated in an exhalation of relief from the two anxiously watching masturbatrixes.
From tip-toed vertiginous heels, and upward through striving limbs, the pink-wet tip of Chloe-Celine’s tongue extended to its fullest point to reach the pale shaft above, straining upward to haltingly paint the length of its trembling underside from head to thick rooted base with delicate, finely applied brush strokes.
But as suddenly as it had begun, the artist’s daubing ceased.
Chloe-Celine relaxed, recovering her over stretched limbs to resume a more normal height, allowing a few moments of much needed respite for burning muscles to recuperate.
She regarded her work closely, inwardly pleased by a small but clearly visible increase in distension to what had been an already engorged cockstem.
Her deftly applied tongue-tips brief dalliance had drawn him to a thickly curving bone of pallid wet flesh that slowly dripped its freshly applied coat of saliva and oozing milt upon the cupped palm of one gloved hand.
A low, muffled groaning seeped from within the constraining straps of leather above her.
“Rachel,…Schwester Mariel,…Thank you, I’m fine. ..Could one of you pass me the control unit please…”
Made black with lust, the thin disks of Chloe-Celine’s emerald green iris’s ringed her heavily dilated pupils. They delighted in the effect she had so easily induced within him.
Vulnerably exposed to her gaze, his now massively swollen cockstem swayed and bobbed reflexively desperate for the deliciously pleasurable sensation to be resumed.
The fingers of her right hand tested the slippery viscosity of his leaked emissions idly, she wanted to do that to him again.
Soon.
Chloe-Rachel as requested, pressed a slim, palm sized tablet of brushed steel between the waiting Chloe-Celine’s outstretched fingers, retiring to join Mariel Weitz in silent anticipation of her colleagues ability replicate an ’Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’.
To be able to induce a second such fount of milt in quick succession would be definitive proof, if everything went well, as to the efficacy of their combined conditioning of the new student Arran Ashe, as required by Dr. Ilse Webber.
“Thank you, Rachel…”
In compliance with Klinik standards of practice, Rachel also knew that any subsequent ’Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’, could only be considered as being properly achieved when; “…varying and different forms of arousal stimuli as to that which had been employed in the initial conditioning response were used“. Only then, a valid, and crucially for them both, certificated achievement would be awarded.
The trigger word, the amyl nitrate, could both be used singularly, or in combination, but getting him to that state of extreme arousal a second time had to be subtly different from his first, and this is where Rachel feared Chloe-Celine might lapse. She’d seen that dazed, blank look of unthinking lust fill her friends eyes on occasion before, but never as strongly expressed as she’d seen it just a minute or so before.
She’d witnessed the sheer straining physical effort and indecent relish with which Celine had stretched herself upward on tip-toe, like some earthbound humming bird, in trying to sip the nectar of his seeping milt with her tongue from the tumescent, stamen-like sex above her head. It was giving rise to a fluttering of butterfly wings in her tummy beyond that which she’d tried to steel herself.
Celine had to resist the urge use her lips and tongue upon him again.
It was an urge Rachel had a great deal of sympathy for, but frustratingly for the both of them, could not be surrendered to.
Not for a while yet at least.
Rachel regarded the tableaux intently, more acutely aware than ever before of her own stickily-wet arousal. Her friend’s display had induced more than professional anxiety within her, and the future sensual possibilities of such an erotically charged situation as now presented itself gave an almost infinite number of lust fuelled scenario for her fevered imagination to speculate upon.
She continued to look toward the slim, almost waif-like uniformed figure clad entirely in tightly clinging black latex and leather. A mirror image of herself.
She concluded her musing, not unhappily, upon her doppelgangers probable course of action.
Celine would necessarily, if an ’Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’ were to achieved, have to rely solely on a combination of dextrously applied manipulation, a skill at which Rachel knew from experience she excelled. That, and a strange looking series of flexible interlocking loops connected with a curiously shaped bulb tipped stub of a tail. The e-stim unit to which an ever efficient Mariel, at her behest, had previously fitted Arran to so deftly.
Chloe-Celine thumbed one of several small red dials on the control unit in her palm, from 0 to 3, and awaited his response.
Celine knew this novel form of stimuli to be a lightly flickering pulse of modulated electrical current passing through the stretched, gel like conductive surface of his harness, and thence into the pallid flesh upon which it clung.
She had a good idea in theory, but only in theory, of what level of intensity and variation of this new stimuli to apply.
It‘d been on a fascinating, but now frustratingly dimly remembered video she’d seen as part of her syllabus that she’d first been witness to the prolonged application of E-Stim, or Electro Therapy. Applied by current Senior Nursing sister Rijksonn upon a former male student it had demonstrated unequivocally that in the hands of an experienced practitioner the climactic results of such skilfully administered stimuli could be violently, and spectacularly, messy.
However, the climactic video captured finale, (a spurting deluge of milt that managed to soak both Katja and student alike), was to be avoided at all costs given her ultimate goal of an Involuntary Auto Ejaculatory Response in this instance. But how far could she, dare she, push him in pursuance of such an objective without tipping him over the edge in the video?
Celine desperately tried to recall Katja’s detailed accompanying narration as the scene had unfolded.
At least trying to think, to concentrate and focus her mind upon a subject of such vital importance, even one so erotically charged, seemed to help in temporarily suppressing the overwhelming urge she’d had to abandon whatever objectives Ilse Webber had set, and surrender herself to selfish pleasure.
It was a temptingly sweet prospect and it refused to go away completely, insinuating itself at every opportunity into her thoughts.
In her minds eye Celine played out the fantasy over and again. A sweetly insistent temptation that saw her tease and taunt the leaking cockstem ever so very, very slowly with lips and tongue-tip as before, to eventually induce within him a similarly video worthy climax of calamitous proportion as to that she‘d witnessed Katja Rijksonn deliver up. A violently expressed deluge of milt, that would soak both subjugated prisoner and grateful masturbatrix alike.
She had to resist.
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Katja Rijksonn and Sophie Eval sat side by side, nervously awaiting the return of Frau Dr.Ilse Webber. Each contemplating the dire consequences to their respective careers should the deficiencies revealed in the unexpected audit of pharmaceuticals become the subject of disciplinary action.
The crisply bright Alpine morning outside the Klink Direktors office illuminating its minimalist décor in broad swathes of dazzling sunlight did nothing to lighten either of the two young women’s mood.
The door behind them swung open suddenly, momentarily startling the waiting pair.
“ Please remain seated ladies…”
She swept past them, taking a seat behind the gleaming expanse of desk to their front.
“…well! An awkward situation.”
Her cobalt blue eyes glittered with suppressed mischief.
“Missing Retardexel is a very serious matter…”
She allowed the words they least wanted to hear hang in the air for extra squirm inducing emphasis.
“…However, …I may be able to smooth things over with the audit team if I can rely upon your discretion in the matter?”
They assented eagerly.
“Good. I knew I could rely on you to do the right thing for the reputation of the Klinik…”
Frau Dr.Ilse Webber smiled conspiratorially.
“…I’ll need your cooperation in a delicate matter in order to account for the missing Retardexel ladies. Something a little out of the ordinary perhaps, but in essence a simple but effective little diversion that would balance up the pharmaceutical account nicely….”
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A tiny red LED flickered fitful and bright from the bulb tipped stub. Its dim vacillating light illuminating a narrowing v-shaped wedge of flesh from splayed thigh to tightly muscled cheek in pulsing waves.
Within its tremulous, rose tinted glow his pale flesh appeared to quiver and writhe.
Chloe-Celine stayed her hand, unsure as to how much more of this he could be expected to take. Her fingers remained poised and ready upon the dials as she intoned her softly spoken suggestion for a third time.
“…You remember that special smell, …that special word don’t you?…”
Her voice was calm, reasonable. Modulated with sympathy for his evident suffering.
She didn’t however wait for any sort of muffled reply from the anonymously hooded male subject before continuing on her one sided discourse serenely.
“…Yes of course you do… You know that only when you feel the vapour take you to me as you breathe it in, and hear that special word,…can you be allowed to spill for me…. You must suffer a little while longer if you want to receive that very special gift…”
Time now for Chloe-Celine to push him to the very furthest edge.
Carefully she thumbed a dial on the remote unit, switching from ‘double phased climb’ [as enamelled in red gothic German lettering], to ’triple phased massage’. Deftly easing off on the intensity, frequency, and wave form duration of the previous pre-set program as she did so.
Chloe-Celine began to apply this new variant to an arsenal of alternative electro-stimulation patterns, with what she hoped was the right degree of professional caution given the state of perilous extremis to which she had driven him thus far.
“You are almost ready,.. but not quite. You must wait for me a little while longer..”
The red LED flickered and pulsed to a fresh and impenetrable rhythm atop the short gel stub.
Slowly, almost gingerly, and with delicate precision, latex clad fingers on control dials deftly manipulated him to her will.
“..Not yet…”
A low, gurgling groan of despair filtered through the folds of tightly cinched leather that hooded her abject prisoner in concert with the introduction to his senses of this new and less travelled pathway to ultimate pleasure.
“..Good boy!”
She constantly, carefully, scrutinised every twitching inch of the grotesquely swollen phallus and over ripe sac, hanging pregnantly heavy below it. Checking for tell tale physical signs of a prelude to an unauthorised spillage.
Chloe-Celine moved slowly beneath him as close as she dare, to better observe every tremulous shudder and fat droplet of milt as it fell.
She needed to balance poor Arran’s obvious and almost overwhelming need to spill against her skill to constantly adjust his electro stimulation, so that he remained teetering on the edge of a orgasmic abyss for as long as was possible.
She desperately wanted to match the peerless exhibition of absolute control previously demonstrated so ably, not to say beautifully by her dearest friend and co masturbatrix Rachel.
Chloe-Celine vividly recalled from the training video Senior Nursing sister Katja Rjiksonn’s matter of fact descriptions, delivered in her unmistakably clipped Teutonic tones, of what the various electro-stimulation patterns she unflinchingly inflicted upon the hapless, but nonetheless willing male volunteer, would feel like to him.
The gathered student body were treated to a lurid running commentary as an adjunct to her demonstration of how electro stimulation could and should be applied for the purposes of procuring an extended delay to male orgasm by an expert practitioner.
“When initially placed upon a standard automatic ‘climb’ pattern at a relatively low modulation and intensity level,…the subject will at first typically experience a grouped series of pleasurably tingling sensations around the points of contact with his harness,…both rapid, rhythmic and fixed in style and duration,… they repeat as if on a loop,…growing in amplitude, strength and duration for each successive cycle…”
Just like Katja’s male student the soft, gel like structure of Arran’s e-stim harness wrapped itself around both sac and shaft at its root. Separating one from another like some coiled parasite that clung to the pallid flesh as it snaked upward between his legs, it’s thickly truncated form ultimately necked by a tight ring of anal muscle as it disappeared within him. Between those splayed thighs, his perineum, gloved by translucent gel, still revealed it’s delicately ridged contours to her inquisitive gaze in the dim flickering of rose tinted light.
“…until,… At the apex of it’s cycle the electro-stimulation pattern induces what has been variously described by previous male student volunteers as being akin to,…an intensely rhythmic, throbbing ache…. That is both darkly frustrating,…and supremely pleasurable at the same time….”
In that very instant Chloe-Celine desperately wanted to reach out to that short, flickering stub tail. To test the resilience of Arran’s tightened ring of slippery pink muscle, and then to listen. To hear him moan with reluctant pleasure at her gentle touch, and simultaneously witness the involuntary reflexive shudder that would surely convulse his tortured body.
She forced herself to concentrate.
“…Sensation is reportedly found to be unfocused in nature,…except upon the general area of application of course…But more importantly,… not to say crucially,… for the purposes of today’s demonstration,…the ’climb’ program is an ideal tool to utilise when conducting Tease and Denial Therapy Sessions…”
Chloe-Celine smiled in fond remembrance.
A thin runnel of milt traversed the slick underside of Arran’s cockstem. It travelled slowly, inexorably, gathering upon the jellied thickness of harness at its base.
Mesmerised, smile fading, a dew like droplet splashed upon her upturned face.
“You cannot spill yet…Resist a little while longer and you shall have your reward.”
Chloe-Rachel felt the warm breath and nuzzle of lips at her ear.
“Perfect…Perfect…”
Purred Frau Schwester Mariel Weitz.
“…The Frau Colonel Chloe is an exceptionally talented masturbatrix…Almost as good as yourself Rachel.”
Behind her, Rachel felt the softly insistent press of Mariel’s body against hers and relaxed into it, relishing the sensation of protective feminine warmth, tingling with excited anticipation and ill concealed pleasure at the journey her beautiful blonde colleagues latex skinned fingers made beneath a now unfastened tunic jacket top.
Button by button, each tipped swelling of breast had marked Mariel’s adept progress, stiffening to resemble sharply pointed declarations of her intense arousal. They ached horribly now, needing to be touched, to be caressed by her gentle fingers.
“…Look at him yet,… Rachel…How he trembles and moans for his release…Look at his cockstem Rachel !…See how much it leaks it milt for her, yet cannot spill …Perfect …So very perfect…”
Rachel luxuriated in her heightened state of arousal, assaulted by a multitude of visual, tactile and aural sensations, combining to pull her down, to drown with a sweet and sinking pleasure.
Mariel’s softly spoken, awestruck adulation of Chloe-Celine’s skill directed her thoughts. Drawing her focus to a point in such a way, that although physically separated by a channel of dead air from both Arran and Chloe-Celine, Rachel’s lust fuelled imagination allowed her to experience vicariously the drip and spatter of leaking milt as it fell upon her friends upturned face.
As if it were Chloe-Rachel beneath him.
As if it were her lips tasting the hot-salt flurry of droplets.
“…The ’Massage’ program is also cyclical ladies. …But! And I emphasise, ’But’, should be very judiciously applied if you are attempting to delay, extend or deny male orgasm…”
Above Chloe-Celine’s upturned face a viscous strand of pale milt extended from the swollen crown in a contiguous line. Swaying pendulum like with every rhythmic pulse of the phallus to which it was precariously tethered.
She stood motionless beneath, bathing in his a****l heat. It radiated in waves upon her already flushed cheek.
He was so close now.
Even with powerful pharmaceutical assistance, from this point on, delaying his burgeoning need to spill for very much longer would rely exclusively upon her own skill as a masturbatrix. On what she could recall of Katja Rijksonn’s master class in the application of electro stimulation.
“…modulated and pulsed,… with a range of intensity,… and graduated by frequency, electro stimulation is delivered sequentially to produce an effect similar in nature to a rolling wave… This unique cycle of sensation,… commonly applied via a triple point harness as we have here,…is experienced as a fast travelling wall of stimuli flowing from anal probe,…to perineum and sac,…upward along the subjects phallus and back.”
Instinctively, Chloe-Celine smoothly manipulated the dials by which she controlled him.
Reacting to each successive lurching jag and pulsing tremor with precision. Prolonging, extending his tortured pleasure minute by minute, second by frustrated second.
“…Please remember ladies,…this particular e-stim program is specifically designed to procure spillage,…Not to retard it.”
Arran’s agonised moaning accompanied shuddering spasms. They racked his swaying shaft and rent the static filled air in a continuous rolling peel of anguished constraint like thunder in prelude to a violent summer storm.
Now made wet, her shadowed features, variously streaked and spattered with emission, flirted with the ghostlike crease of a cruel and knowing smile.
He was ready for her now.
Chloe-Celine took in a deep lungful of air and held it.
She thumbed the dials to zero, cutting all stimuli dead in an instant.
Motionless and silent, she waited.
“Do you remember that special word?…”
Smoothly, she pocketed the control unit within her tunic jacket, extracting in its place a small brown bottle.
“…Are you ready for your medicine ?”
Muffled groaning signalled his form of defeated, desperate eagerness to comply to her will. She uncapped the bottle, offering it up before small breathing slits cut into the fitted hood where a nose should be. His leather masked face strained forward, and creaking with effort, sought out the vaporous essence within.
“Euphoria.”
Chloe-Celine whispered it, allowing him to feed upon her votive offering of amyl nitrate in deeply inhaled draughts.
“Euphoria.”
The silence of their mutual contemplation was broken.
A slow reverberating staccato sound, that of Chloe-Celine’s spike heeled boots contrasted and competed in the vast empty space with that of his suddenly laboured breathing. Tightly cinched bands of chrome buckled leather, supple, thick and encasing prisoner Ashe’s entirely mummified head, stretched and relaxed in time with heaving uneven whistles of breath as she approached the elongated and outstretched ‘X‘ of his pale, ghostlike form.
Up close, his radiated body heat warmed her flushed cheek. She could almost taste the salt-sweet perspiration that dripped pitter-patter upon the dusty concrete floor below.
She stood before him, aware more acutely now than ever before, of an aching sensitivity dually centred upon her wet lipped sex, and the tightly drawn points deforming an otherwise smoothly cuspate pair of latex skinned breasts beneath a partly unbuttoned tunic jacket. The focus sapping pleasure-ache induced a curious sort of lethargy. A static laden buzz, it transmitted itself across the narrow seam of dead air that separating her from the hanging subject.
His cockstem reacted to her close proximity like a weather vane to a sudden breeze. A shivering tremble ran along the swollen shaft causing it to slowly sway this way and that in an erratic, indiscernible and shifting rhythm.
For what seemed like an eternity she could not force herself to act.
Spellbound.
“Frau Colonel?…”
Frau Schwester Mariel Weitz’s low voiced, whispering enquiry betrayed a hint of apprehension.
Her companions edged imperceptibly closer, holding their collective breath, ready to intercede on her behalf. An atmosphere of visceral, almost palpable tension further electrified the already static charged air.
“Frau Colonel?…Celine?…Are you able to continue? Is there anything wrong?”
The spell was broken.
Chloe-Celine tilted her neck slowly, gracefully upward, lips softly parting, eyes closed, as if in preparation to a performance of some sweetly drowning aria.
As suddenly as it had crowded in, the static charged atmosphere dissipated in an exhalation of relief from the two anxiously watching masturbatrixes.
From tip-toed vertiginous heels, and upward through striving limbs, the pink-wet tip of Chloe-Celine’s tongue extended to its fullest point to reach the pale shaft above, straining upward to haltingly paint the length of its trembling underside from head to thick rooted base with delicate, finely applied brush strokes.
But as suddenly as it had begun, the artist’s daubing ceased.
Chloe-Celine relaxed, recovering her over stretched limbs to resume a more normal height, allowing a few moments of much needed respite for burning muscles to recuperate.
She regarded her work closely, inwardly pleased by a small but clearly visible increase in distension to what had been an already engorged cockstem.
Her deftly applied tongue-tips brief dalliance had drawn him to a thickly curving bone of pallid wet flesh that slowly dripped its freshly applied coat of saliva and oozing milt upon the cupped palm of one gloved hand.
A low, muffled groaning seeped from within the constraining straps of leather above her.
“Rachel,…Schwester Mariel,…Thank you, I’m fine. ..Could one of you pass me the control unit please…”
Made black with lust, the thin disks of Chloe-Celine’s emerald green iris’s ringed her heavily dilated pupils. They delighted in the effect she had so easily induced within him.
Vulnerably exposed to her gaze, his now massively swollen cockstem swayed and bobbed reflexively desperate for the deliciously pleasurable sensation to be resumed.
The fingers of her right hand tested the slippery viscosity of his leaked emissions idly, she wanted to do that to him again.
Soon.
Chloe-Rachel as requested, pressed a slim, palm sized tablet of brushed steel between the waiting Chloe-Celine’s outstretched fingers, retiring to join Mariel Weitz in silent anticipation of her colleagues ability replicate an ’Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’.
To be able to induce a second such fount of milt in quick succession would be definitive proof, if everything went well, as to the efficacy of their combined conditioning of the new student Arran Ashe, as required by Dr. Ilse Webber.
“Thank you, Rachel…”
In compliance with Klinik standards of practice, Rachel also knew that any subsequent ’Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’, could only be considered as being properly achieved when; “…varying and different forms of arousal stimuli as to that which had been employed in the initial conditioning response were used“. Only then, a valid, and crucially for them both, certificated achievement would be awarded.
The trigger word, the amyl nitrate, could both be used singularly, or in combination, but getting him to that state of extreme arousal a second time had to be subtly different from his first, and this is where Rachel feared Chloe-Celine might lapse. She’d seen that dazed, blank look of unthinking lust fill her friends eyes on occasion before, but never as strongly expressed as she’d seen it just a minute or so before.
She’d witnessed the sheer straining physical effort and indecent relish with which Celine had stretched herself upward on tip-toe, like some earthbound humming bird, in trying to sip the nectar of his seeping milt with her tongue from the tumescent, stamen-like sex above her head. It was giving rise to a fluttering of butterfly wings in her tummy beyond that which she’d tried to steel herself.
Celine had to resist the urge use her lips and tongue upon him again.
It was an urge Rachel had a great deal of sympathy for, but frustratingly for the both of them, could not be surrendered to.
Not for a while yet at least.
Rachel regarded the tableaux intently, more acutely aware than ever before of her own stickily-wet arousal. Her friend’s display had induced more than professional anxiety within her, and the future sensual possibilities of such an erotically charged situation as now presented itself gave an almost infinite number of lust fuelled scenario for her fevered imagination to speculate upon.
She continued to look toward the slim, almost waif-like uniformed figure clad entirely in tightly clinging black latex and leather. A mirror image of herself.
She concluded her musing, not unhappily, upon her doppelgangers probable course of action.
Celine would necessarily, if an ’Involuntary Auto-Ejaculatory Conditioned Response’ were to achieved, have to rely solely on a combination of dextrously applied manipulation, a skill at which Rachel knew from experience she excelled. That, and a strange looking series of flexible interlocking loops connected with a curiously shaped bulb tipped stub of a tail. The e-stim unit to which an ever efficient Mariel, at her behest, had previously fitted Arran to so deftly.
Chloe-Celine thumbed one of several small red dials on the control unit in her palm, from 0 to 3, and awaited his response.
Celine knew this novel form of stimuli to be a lightly flickering pulse of modulated electrical current passing through the stretched, gel like conductive surface of his harness, and thence into the pallid flesh upon which it clung.
She had a good idea in theory, but only in theory, of what level of intensity and variation of this new stimuli to apply.
It‘d been on a fascinating, but now frustratingly dimly remembered video she’d seen as part of her syllabus that she’d first been witness to the prolonged application of E-Stim, or Electro Therapy. Applied by current Senior Nursing sister Rijksonn upon a former male student it had demonstrated unequivocally that in the hands of an experienced practitioner the climactic results of such skilfully administered stimuli could be violently, and spectacularly, messy.
However, the climactic video captured finale, (a spurting deluge of milt that managed to soak both Katja and student alike), was to be avoided at all costs given her ultimate goal of an Involuntary Auto Ejaculatory Response in this instance. But how far could she, dare she, push him in pursuance of such an objective without tipping him over the edge in the video?
Celine desperately tried to recall Katja’s detailed accompanying narration as the scene had unfolded.
At least trying to think, to concentrate and focus her mind upon a subject of such vital importance, even one so erotically charged, seemed to help in temporarily suppressing the overwhelming urge she’d had to abandon whatever objectives Ilse Webber had set, and surrender herself to selfish pleasure.
It was a temptingly sweet prospect and it refused to go away completely, insinuating itself at every opportunity into her thoughts.
In her minds eye Celine played out the fantasy over and again. A sweetly insistent temptation that saw her tease and taunt the leaking cockstem ever so very, very slowly with lips and tongue-tip as before, to eventually induce within him a similarly video worthy climax of calamitous proportion as to that she‘d witnessed Katja Rijksonn deliver up. A violently expressed deluge of milt, that would soak both subjugated prisoner and grateful masturbatrix alike.
She had to resist.
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Katja Rijksonn and Sophie Eval sat side by side, nervously awaiting the return of Frau Dr.Ilse Webber. Each contemplating the dire consequences to their respective careers should the deficiencies revealed in the unexpected audit of pharmaceuticals become the subject of disciplinary action.
The crisply bright Alpine morning outside the Klink Direktors office illuminating its minimalist décor in broad swathes of dazzling sunlight did nothing to lighten either of the two young women’s mood.
The door behind them swung open suddenly, momentarily startling the waiting pair.
“ Please remain seated ladies…”
She swept past them, taking a seat behind the gleaming expanse of desk to their front.
“…well! An awkward situation.”
Her cobalt blue eyes glittered with suppressed mischief.
“Missing Retardexel is a very serious matter…”
She allowed the words they least wanted to hear hang in the air for extra squirm inducing emphasis.
“…However, …I may be able to smooth things over with the audit team if I can rely upon your discretion in the matter?”
They assented eagerly.
“Good. I knew I could rely on you to do the right thing for the reputation of the Klinik…”
Frau Dr.Ilse Webber smiled conspiratorially.
“…I’ll need your cooperation in a delicate matter in order to account for the missing Retardexel ladies. Something a little out of the ordinary perhaps, but in essence a simple but effective little diversion that would balance up the pharmaceutical account nicely….”
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A tiny red LED flickered fitful and bright from the bulb tipped stub. Its dim vacillating light illuminating a narrowing v-shaped wedge of flesh from splayed thigh to tightly muscled cheek in pulsing waves.
Within its tremulous, rose tinted glow his pale flesh appeared to quiver and writhe.
Chloe-Celine stayed her hand, unsure as to how much more of this he could be expected to take. Her fingers remained poised and ready upon the dials as she intoned her softly spoken suggestion for a third time.
“…You remember that special smell, …that special word don’t you?…”
Her voice was calm, reasonable. Modulated with sympathy for his evident suffering.
She didn’t however wait for any sort of muffled reply from the anonymously hooded male subject before continuing on her one sided discourse serenely.
“…Yes of course you do… You know that only when you feel the vapour take you to me as you breathe it in, and hear that special word,…can you be allowed to spill for me…. You must suffer a little while longer if you want to receive that very special gift…”
Time now for Chloe-Celine to push him to the very furthest edge.
Carefully she thumbed a dial on the remote unit, switching from ‘double phased climb’ [as enamelled in red gothic German lettering], to ’triple phased massage’. Deftly easing off on the intensity, frequency, and wave form duration of the previous pre-set program as she did so.
Chloe-Celine began to apply this new variant to an arsenal of alternative electro-stimulation patterns, with what she hoped was the right degree of professional caution given the state of perilous extremis to which she had driven him thus far.
“You are almost ready,.. but not quite. You must wait for me a little while longer..”
The red LED flickered and pulsed to a fresh and impenetrable rhythm atop the short gel stub.
Slowly, almost gingerly, and with delicate precision, latex clad fingers on control dials deftly manipulated him to her will.
“..Not yet…”
A low, gurgling groan of despair filtered through the folds of tightly cinched leather that hooded her abject prisoner in concert with the introduction to his senses of this new and less travelled pathway to ultimate pleasure.
“..Good boy!”
She constantly, carefully, scrutinised every twitching inch of the grotesquely swollen phallus and over ripe sac, hanging pregnantly heavy below it. Checking for tell tale physical signs of a prelude to an unauthorised spillage.
Chloe-Celine moved slowly beneath him as close as she dare, to better observe every tremulous shudder and fat droplet of milt as it fell.
She needed to balance poor Arran’s obvious and almost overwhelming need to spill against her skill to constantly adjust his electro stimulation, so that he remained teetering on the edge of a orgasmic abyss for as long as was possible.
She desperately wanted to match the peerless exhibition of absolute control previously demonstrated so ably, not to say beautifully by her dearest friend and co masturbatrix Rachel.
Chloe-Celine vividly recalled from the training video Senior Nursing sister Katja Rjiksonn’s matter of fact descriptions, delivered in her unmistakably clipped Teutonic tones, of what the various electro-stimulation patterns she unflinchingly inflicted upon the hapless, but nonetheless willing male volunteer, would feel like to him.
The gathered student body were treated to a lurid running commentary as an adjunct to her demonstration of how electro stimulation could and should be applied for the purposes of procuring an extended delay to male orgasm by an expert practitioner.
“When initially placed upon a standard automatic ‘climb’ pattern at a relatively low modulation and intensity level,…the subject will at first typically experience a grouped series of pleasurably tingling sensations around the points of contact with his harness,…both rapid, rhythmic and fixed in style and duration,… they repeat as if on a loop,…growing in amplitude, strength and duration for each successive cycle…”
Just like Katja’s male student the soft, gel like structure of Arran’s e-stim harness wrapped itself around both sac and shaft at its root. Separating one from another like some coiled parasite that clung to the pallid flesh as it snaked upward between his legs, it’s thickly truncated form ultimately necked by a tight ring of anal muscle as it disappeared within him. Between those splayed thighs, his perineum, gloved by translucent gel, still revealed it’s delicately ridged contours to her inquisitive gaze in the dim flickering of rose tinted light.
“…until,… At the apex of it’s cycle the electro-stimulation pattern induces what has been variously described by previous male student volunteers as being akin to,…an intensely rhythmic, throbbing ache…. That is both darkly frustrating,…and supremely pleasurable at the same time….”
In that very instant Chloe-Celine desperately wanted to reach out to that short, flickering stub tail. To test the resilience of Arran’s tightened ring of slippery pink muscle, and then to listen. To hear him moan with reluctant pleasure at her gentle touch, and simultaneously witness the involuntary reflexive shudder that would surely convulse his tortured body.
She forced herself to concentrate.
“…Sensation is reportedly found to be unfocused in nature,…except upon the general area of application of course…But more importantly,… not to say crucially,… for the purposes of today’s demonstration,…the ’climb’ program is an ideal tool to utilise when conducting Tease and Denial Therapy Sessions…”
Chloe-Celine smiled in fond remembrance.
A thin runnel of milt traversed the slick underside of Arran’s cockstem. It travelled slowly, inexorably, gathering upon the jellied thickness of harness at its base.
Mesmerised, smile fading, a dew like droplet splashed upon her upturned face.
“You cannot spill yet…Resist a little while longer and you shall have your reward.”
Chloe-Rachel felt the warm breath and nuzzle of lips at her ear.
“Perfect…Perfect…”
Purred Frau Schwester Mariel Weitz.
“…The Frau Colonel Chloe is an exceptionally talented masturbatrix…Almost as good as yourself Rachel.”
Behind her, Rachel felt the softly insistent press of Mariel’s body against hers and relaxed into it, relishing the sensation of protective feminine warmth, tingling with excited anticipation and ill concealed pleasure at the journey her beautiful blonde colleagues latex skinned fingers made beneath a now unfastened tunic jacket top.
Button by button, each tipped swelling of breast had marked Mariel’s adept progress, stiffening to resemble sharply pointed declarations of her intense arousal. They ached horribly now, needing to be touched, to be caressed by her gentle fingers.
“…Look at him yet,… Rachel…How he trembles and moans for his release…Look at his cockstem Rachel !…See how much it leaks it milt for her, yet cannot spill …Perfect …So very perfect…”
Rachel luxuriated in her heightened state of arousal, assaulted by a multitude of visual, tactile and aural sensations, combining to pull her down, to drown with a sweet and sinking pleasure.
Mariel’s softly spoken, awestruck adulation of Chloe-Celine’s skill directed her thoughts. Drawing her focus to a point in such a way, that although physically separated by a channel of dead air from both Arran and Chloe-Celine, Rachel’s lust fuelled imagination allowed her to experience vicariously the drip and spatter of leaking milt as it fell upon her friends upturned face.
As if it were Chloe-Rachel beneath him.
As if it were her lips tasting the hot-salt flurry of droplets.
“…The ’Massage’ program is also cyclical ladies. …But! And I emphasise, ’But’, should be very judiciously applied if you are attempting to delay, extend or deny male orgasm…”
Above Chloe-Celine’s upturned face a viscous strand of pale milt extended from the swollen crown in a contiguous line. Swaying pendulum like with every rhythmic pulse of the phallus to which it was precariously tethered.
She stood motionless beneath, bathing in his a****l heat. It radiated in waves upon her already flushed cheek.
He was so close now.
Even with powerful pharmaceutical assistance, from this point on, delaying his burgeoning need to spill for very much longer would rely exclusively upon her own skill as a masturbatrix. On what she could recall of Katja Rijksonn’s master class in the application of electro stimulation.
“…modulated and pulsed,… with a range of intensity,… and graduated by frequency, electro stimulation is delivered sequentially to produce an effect similar in nature to a rolling wave… This unique cycle of sensation,… commonly applied via a triple point harness as we have here,…is experienced as a fast travelling wall of stimuli flowing from anal probe,…to perineum and sac,…upward along the subjects phallus and back.”
Instinctively, Chloe-Celine smoothly manipulated the dials by which she controlled him.
Reacting to each successive lurching jag and pulsing tremor with precision. Prolonging, extending his tortured pleasure minute by minute, second by frustrated second.
“…Please remember ladies,…this particular e-stim program is specifically designed to procure spillage,…Not to retard it.”
Arran’s agonised moaning accompanied shuddering spasms. They racked his swaying shaft and rent the static filled air in a continuous rolling peel of anguished constraint like thunder in prelude to a violent summer storm.
Now made wet, her shadowed features, variously streaked and spattered with emission, flirted with the ghostlike crease of a cruel and knowing smile.
He was ready for her now.
Chloe-Celine took in a deep lungful of air and held it.
She thumbed the dials to zero, cutting all stimuli dead in an instant.
Motionless and silent, she waited.
“Do you remember that special word?…”
Smoothly, she pocketed the control unit within her tunic jacket, extracting in its place a small brown bottle.
“…Are you ready for your medicine ?”
Muffled groaning signalled his form of defeated, desperate eagerness to comply to her will. She uncapped the bottle, offering it up before small breathing slits cut into the fitted hood where a nose should be. His leather masked face strained forward, and creaking with effort, sought out the vaporous essence within.
“Euphoria.”
Chloe-Celine whispered it, allowing him to feed upon her votive offering of amyl nitrate in deeply inhaled draughts.
“Euphoria.”
Angelica
- 29.09.2021
- 10
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