The Assignment
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Everyone Has A Price, Ch. 2: The First Assignment free porn video
I shifted uncomfortably between the two men on the couch with me. I was wearing a revealing sheer crotchless bodystocking with a bare back and midriff, and my modest endowment was tucked into the pouch of thong underwear that left my buttocks entirely bare. I was wearing a lace-trimmed collar, hooked to which was a metal chain with tiny links - more symbolic than effective as a leash, but it d****d along the floor over to an ebony giant of a man lounging in a spacious chair, d****d in a meticulously tailored suit.
Two hours earlier I had been dressed smartly for dinner at a restaurant I typically couldn’t afford, but I was being treated this evening by this man, who had purchased my loyal service several months earlier, and who, as much as I tried to fight it, I was desperately eager to please in any sexual manner he wished, however shocking.
This man, Cyrus Martin Winter, was watching me with a slight grin, fondling the chain leash distractedly, as the two gentlemen beside me watched a large-screen television attentively. On that screen was a video of me, in a luxurious hotel suite, being ravaged by Cyrus and four muscular men, who I would later learn were the trusted security detail for the specialized law firm Cyrus had founded. The firm had a reputation among extraordinarily wealthy clients, not only for discreetly solving difficult legal problems that come with wealth and influence, but also for satisfying the perverse tastes of some of their more trusted clientele.
“As you can see, Ashley is a very limber and eager submissive, somewhere between a man and woman, defined by her desire to please rather than by sex or gender. Don’t let her age deter you. Her maturity and intelligence give her a special insight into her clients’ needs, as you can see here.”
I wondered if Cyrus scripted these exchanges?
As he finished talking he gestured to the screen, where I was suspended off the floor, naked, with my legs spread and head pulled back by an elaborate array of cables and cords. I was urinating in spurts as a muscular naked buck was driving his cock mercilessly into my ass, pulling my hair back. In front of me, another man, well-dressed but with a cock protruding from his pants, was laughing and choking me with his thick shaft as his partner thrust into me.
The video faded to another scene, of Cyrus himself mounted above my submissive form, but the men seemed to be convinced, and weren’t watching the screen. Instead they’d stood up and where shaking hands with Cyrus, who handed them the chain leash and made his way to the door. The video ended, the screen was blank, and I was alone with two well-dressed older gentlemen, watching me intently.
Time to work.
Earlier that evening ...
“Glad you could come. Please, sit.”
The “please” seemed superfluous. I sat where he gestured, trying my best to look composed.
It had been almost four months since this man, Cyrus, had paid me a ridiculous sum of money to do things to me that I never imagined I’d submit to.
Not that I was a stranger to sex with dominant men. In my everyday life I’m a gentleman approaching 40, rather attractive, although not in a traditionally masculine sense. I have a lithe physique and do quite well in my career as a consultant to specialized financial firms. While I have several lovers in the various cities I often travel to, in my early thirties I began to feel a desire to explore same-sex encounters, and in those occasional trysts I felt myself drawn to men who were unquestionably masculine, and very aggressive. I realized that this was in fact a desire to explore submission, but my occasional submissive bisexual encounters were not something I felt defined me. They were an occasional itch I’d scratch, discreetly, always while traveling, and very much separate from the rest of my life.
Cyrus lived in a city uncomfortably close to me, and to several of my regular work clients. Having anything to do with someone like that was always a strict “no” in the past … until one of my regular lovers, a young dominant buck named Tyler in a city several hours away, called me. His uncle, Cyrus, had found out about me and wanted to taste the goods. Little did either of us know his aim was more complex. I had been offered $100,000 to let Cyrus and his men do pretty much anything to me, on condition I give some of the money to Tyler. That evening had changed both of us.
Tyler had been told by his uncle to watch, for most of the night, as Cyrus broke my body and my spirit, and managed to turn me from a successful gentleman with occasional submissive bisexual desires into a wanton submissive whore desperate to please Cyrus. The point that changed our relationship had been fairly early on in the evening in question. Cyrus, a muscular giant of man, had pinned me to the bed underneath him, pushing apart my thin legs and violating my tender anus. We had been facing toward the chair where Cyrus had put his nephew, and I remember the feeling of helplessness as he tightened his massive arm around my neck and pulled my hair back with his other hand, so Tyler could see my face. He told me later I had an expression of both terror and wanton lust, and I believe him. Tyler had started to stand up at that point, concerned for my safety, but Cyrus, in a shockingly powerful tone, had told him to sit, and his nephew instinctively obeyed. “I want you to see this,” Cyrus had explained, as he held me impaled on his engorged cock and trapped under his impossibly massive bulk of a chest.
“This is what it is to break a truly submissive boislut. To take an attractive, successful man and turn him into a wanton effeminate whore who will do anything for you. You have to ask yourself if you have the strength, resources, and the will to do that.”
That night had changed both Tyler and me, and certainly our relationship. I had split the money evenly with him, and had passed through town a few times to see clients since this encounter. I sucked his cock once, but I got the clear message that he was no longer interested in me sexually. We talked over coffee, and he was going back to school for graduate studies, eventually a professional degree. There was a seriousness about him now.
Perhaps he’d become like his uncle, and eventually build a successful career that would let him explore his sexual dominance the way he’d witnessed when his uncle broke me. Or perhaps he realized that he was just a young open-minded man who enjoyed rough sex with women and some kinds of men, but didn’t really want to dominate someone.
That night, as Cyrus had choked and grind-fucked me into abject submission, he had told his nephew that dominating someone required pushing them beyond reason, beyond instinct, showing them you are completely, totally, unquestionably in control of their body and soul. Tyler may have realized he liked using my body, but had no interest in melding me into a purely submissive sexual being. As his uncle demonstrated, that kind of commitment requires will, resources, and responsibility.
For my part, I still had no desire to merge my everyday life with my depraved alterego, “Ashley,” but when I did think about sex all I could think about was pleasing Cyrus. I thought less and less about the attractive mature women and couples, waiting for me, their refined North American lover, their professional ‘friend with benefits’ in cities like Paris and Frankfurt and Manhattan. It seemed that, while he hadn’t transformed me into a full-time submissive sex slave, Cyrus had indeed taken control of my mind, my spirit. Insofar as I was a sexual being, I was his white submissive femmeboi whore.
… which explains why, against all good reason, I replied to a message from Tyler, telling me to meet his uncle at a ridiculously expensive restaurant in my nearby city, earlier this evening.
“Sure, I’ll be there” I had texted back.
A few minutes later I’d received an email at my “Ashley” account, from Tyler, giving me more instructions: smart casual dress wear for dinner, but be shaved, lubed, and ready to “please clients.”
So, here I was, scanning the restaurant and immediately finding Cyrus at a small, intimate table for two toward the back of the restaurant. A server had already found me and directed me back. I sat, as instructed, and waited, awkwardly.
“ I have no interest in taking over your life, Ashley … may I call you that?”
“Um, yes … sir” I answered, awkwardly.
He smiled. “Good. Good slut.”
My groin involuntarily twitched at that and I shifted slightly. Of course he noticed.
“As I said, I have no interest in dominating your entire life. Tyler tells me you are rather successful, travel a great deal, have clients around the world. I also gather you are single, and lead a normal life for an accomplished but lonely 30-something expert in your field, who has never settled down, found a wife and had a family.”
“I … work a lot” I replied. “I have relationships, sure, but work comes first, then … well, then sex.”
“But lately …” he continued for me.
“Lately I’ve been obsessed with what happened, with you. With Tyler. How much you paid me … us ... how much that changed …”
I couldn’t finish because I wasn’t sure what, exactly, that had changed, besides earning more in one night than I typically make with a complex, multi-month contract in my field.
“Let me speculate,” Cyrus began.
“In some respects you and I are very much alike. We have both found considerable success in our careers, and we both have developed … unconventional sexual tastes. I have had somewhat more success, by luck and experience, and I have explored my sexual needs more fully than you. My needs involve sexually dominating effeminate white men like you. Yours, I think you are finding, involve complete sexual submission to men like me.”
I was shaking slightly as he spoke, his deep, confident baritone voice resonating inside me.
“As I said, I have no interest in changing your professional life. I am not interested in making you a slave, or humiliating you by exposing your needs. But I do get what I pay for, and I will treat that payment several months ago, which you generously shared with my nephew, as a retainer for future services.”
I nodded, unable to speak. The sounds around me seemed to fade away as I listened, rapt, to his voice.
“You are a consultant in financial services, and have incorporated yourself in that capacity. That much I did take the liberty of investigating. I have no interest in your outside life beyond that, but for the next, say, fifteen months, you will begin a process of finishing outstanding contracts, and you will not take on others. You will be consulting for us, and the terms of that contract have been prepared by my office. If they are acceptable to you, you may submit your digital signature. You can do it now, in fact, if you wish.”
I hadn’t bothered to check my work email at all after hearing from Tyler about tonight’s meeting. I reached into my pocket and fumbled with my phone. There was indeed an email from a law firm requesting my services, and a contract awaiting my digital signature.
The sensible thing to do, of course, would be to read that contract carefully, check my calendar, and then sleep on the offer. Instead, I typed in my digital code for the Adobe signature on the document, and sent it back from my phone.
“Done,” I breathed.
Unbelievable. Why on earth would I do that!?
Cyrus smiled, as if anticipating my self-questioning.
“You signed that because you trust me, as you did the other evening, solely on the word of my nephew. Your trust is well-placed. You will continue to be well-compensated for the work you do for me, and as with your prior contracts, this will involve international travel.”
I slid my phone away, and with a gesture Cyrus had a server approach, with a salad of some sort. Another server poured me a glass of chilled white wine.
“I took the liberty of ordering a light meal for you. I have already eaten.”
He began to rise, pulling his magnificent frame up over me. I was struck again by just how imposing he was.
“I will be seeing you again shortly.”
“Behind you is a table with two older gentlemen, tall, caucasian, and they will speak to you with accented english. Do not address them beyond simple greetings. When you are finished here, simply leave, and wait outside for them. They’ll accompany you to a hotel nearby.”
I nodded, and with that Cyrus walked out of the restaurant.
Back to the present ...
It was late. I’d already been spit-roasted by these two burly East European men. They’d started in on my right after Cyrus had left, using the chain leash to pull me over to the bed and take me. They’d taken turns using my mouth and ass, pumping what felt like hefty loads into their condoms. In the process I’d wound up naked, and they’d left me, panting and spent, lying on the bed with only my lace-trimmed collar and leash. They were laughing among themselves as they spoke to another man, then I’d heard the door close and footsteps approach.
“Get up, please.”
I did as I was told, looking up at one of the tall dark men with god-like muscular statures, who had fucked me so relentlessly that first night with Cyrus. This evening, however, he was wearing a dark, sleek suit.
“Please face the window, put your hands out, and spread your legs.”
I stumbled, still a bit unsteady, toward the huge picture window, and did as Cyrus’s security man asked. I was looking out on the city as I felt my feet being placed against something hard, and then my ankles secured. I felt this man’s breath on my neck as he reached around me, workman-like, and secured my wrists to some kind of cord secured above me. I felt the restraints tighten until the wrist-lines were snug.
“I’ll be inserting something inside you next. It will feel a bit … unusual, so please do your best to relax and let me in.”
I nodded breathlessly, then felt something cold and foreign being slowly but firmly inserted in my ass. Suddenly I felt a vibrating sensation deep inside me. It moved around slowly, searching inside me until --
“Is that it?” the man asked? I had gasped and tensed, and now my modest cock was hard, my hips shaking. Without warning I came, semen dribbling down my cock and on to the floor below.
“Good”. The vibration lessened, and I could feel it diminishing, and I breathed heavily, hanging from my wrists. Then suddenly I felt an almost-blinding pain as this vibrator jolted my prostate with a series of shocks.
“Please keep your hands on the window, and maintain proper posture.”
Again, I nodded, whimpering, and then I heard footsteps behind me recede, and the door close.
The pain of the shock had quickly receded, leaving a gentle vibration which felt quite nice, but already I could feel it slowly beginning to intensify. It’s hard to guess, but I’d say it was a cycle of about twenty or thirty minutes, peaking and driving me into spasms of dry orgasms, then letting me recover. It was exhausting, but I quickly learned that, if my hands left the window and put any weight at all on the cords binding my wrists, the blinding pain of the prostate shock would return.
By the time I heard voices in the hall and the door open, I must have cycled through six or seven of these cycles and was dizzy and disoriented with exhaustion, knowing only that I must not move my hands and arms. The men had obviously been drinking, and from what I could hear they were not alone: it sounded as if two women were also in the room, and before long I could make out the sounds of delirious drunken passion, with grunts and moans, the creaking of the coach and the bed, laughter. I remained on this twisted cycle of mechanically forced orgasm, even as my exhausted little cock was unable to maintain anything resembling an erection. I heard one of the women ask why I was shaking like that? The man explained the vibrator, and I heard all of them whispering and laughing. I felt a small, cold, delicate hand on my scrotum, playing and squeezing, then with a giggle tugging as I cried out.
I then felt a much larger, rougher hand stuff a cloth in my mouth.
“Watch this” said an accented voice.
I uttered a muffled scream as my world exploded into blinding pain. Clearly there was some kind of remote override for this twisted dildo of misery inside me, and I could feel myself lose all control as my legs crumpled and my uncontrollably-shaking naked body slumped against my wrist restraints. I hung there, my ankles holding my legs apart as they quivered violently, the rest of my glistening smooth body writhing in pain. I vaguely remember urinating wildly in spasmed bursts as I jerked violently on the brutal device in my ass.
When I came to, I was lying on the bed, my head dangling over the edge. I could still feel the deep vibrations undulating inside me. There was a naked woman giggling as she played with my limp cock and fondled my smooth balls absent-mindedly.
“He’s awake” she said. Within moments I felt a hand on my throat and a condom-sheathed cock forcing its way into my mouth. I swallowed as he pushed his way deep into my throat, fucking my face with remarkable aggression. His cock pulsed and I could feel his orgasm, thankfully emptied into a condom and not my throat. He pulled out and his friend quickly took his place, fucking my throat just as aggressively.
When the two men had finished face-fucking me, I could hear one of the men telling the ladies to get dressed, and within a few minutes I was alone on the bed, my hips still heaving uncontrollably as the vibrator cycled through it’s routine. After one more cycle of that, I heard the door open, and two hands flipped me over, unceremoniously pulled out the vibrator, and untied my collar.
“You’ll find your things in the bathroom.” Cyrus’s man told me. Take the time you need to clean up, then I’ll escort you out.”
Another job, two more clients satisfied.
I stumbled to the bathroom, wondering how Cyrus would use me next.
Two hours earlier I had been dressed smartly for dinner at a restaurant I typically couldn’t afford, but I was being treated this evening by this man, who had purchased my loyal service several months earlier, and who, as much as I tried to fight it, I was desperately eager to please in any sexual manner he wished, however shocking.
This man, Cyrus Martin Winter, was watching me with a slight grin, fondling the chain leash distractedly, as the two gentlemen beside me watched a large-screen television attentively. On that screen was a video of me, in a luxurious hotel suite, being ravaged by Cyrus and four muscular men, who I would later learn were the trusted security detail for the specialized law firm Cyrus had founded. The firm had a reputation among extraordinarily wealthy clients, not only for discreetly solving difficult legal problems that come with wealth and influence, but also for satisfying the perverse tastes of some of their more trusted clientele.
“As you can see, Ashley is a very limber and eager submissive, somewhere between a man and woman, defined by her desire to please rather than by sex or gender. Don’t let her age deter you. Her maturity and intelligence give her a special insight into her clients’ needs, as you can see here.”
I wondered if Cyrus scripted these exchanges?
As he finished talking he gestured to the screen, where I was suspended off the floor, naked, with my legs spread and head pulled back by an elaborate array of cables and cords. I was urinating in spurts as a muscular naked buck was driving his cock mercilessly into my ass, pulling my hair back. In front of me, another man, well-dressed but with a cock protruding from his pants, was laughing and choking me with his thick shaft as his partner thrust into me.
The video faded to another scene, of Cyrus himself mounted above my submissive form, but the men seemed to be convinced, and weren’t watching the screen. Instead they’d stood up and where shaking hands with Cyrus, who handed them the chain leash and made his way to the door. The video ended, the screen was blank, and I was alone with two well-dressed older gentlemen, watching me intently.
Time to work.
Earlier that evening ...
“Glad you could come. Please, sit.”
The “please” seemed superfluous. I sat where he gestured, trying my best to look composed.
It had been almost four months since this man, Cyrus, had paid me a ridiculous sum of money to do things to me that I never imagined I’d submit to.
Not that I was a stranger to sex with dominant men. In my everyday life I’m a gentleman approaching 40, rather attractive, although not in a traditionally masculine sense. I have a lithe physique and do quite well in my career as a consultant to specialized financial firms. While I have several lovers in the various cities I often travel to, in my early thirties I began to feel a desire to explore same-sex encounters, and in those occasional trysts I felt myself drawn to men who were unquestionably masculine, and very aggressive. I realized that this was in fact a desire to explore submission, but my occasional submissive bisexual encounters were not something I felt defined me. They were an occasional itch I’d scratch, discreetly, always while traveling, and very much separate from the rest of my life.
Cyrus lived in a city uncomfortably close to me, and to several of my regular work clients. Having anything to do with someone like that was always a strict “no” in the past … until one of my regular lovers, a young dominant buck named Tyler in a city several hours away, called me. His uncle, Cyrus, had found out about me and wanted to taste the goods. Little did either of us know his aim was more complex. I had been offered $100,000 to let Cyrus and his men do pretty much anything to me, on condition I give some of the money to Tyler. That evening had changed both of us.
Tyler had been told by his uncle to watch, for most of the night, as Cyrus broke my body and my spirit, and managed to turn me from a successful gentleman with occasional submissive bisexual desires into a wanton submissive whore desperate to please Cyrus. The point that changed our relationship had been fairly early on in the evening in question. Cyrus, a muscular giant of man, had pinned me to the bed underneath him, pushing apart my thin legs and violating my tender anus. We had been facing toward the chair where Cyrus had put his nephew, and I remember the feeling of helplessness as he tightened his massive arm around my neck and pulled my hair back with his other hand, so Tyler could see my face. He told me later I had an expression of both terror and wanton lust, and I believe him. Tyler had started to stand up at that point, concerned for my safety, but Cyrus, in a shockingly powerful tone, had told him to sit, and his nephew instinctively obeyed. “I want you to see this,” Cyrus had explained, as he held me impaled on his engorged cock and trapped under his impossibly massive bulk of a chest.
“This is what it is to break a truly submissive boislut. To take an attractive, successful man and turn him into a wanton effeminate whore who will do anything for you. You have to ask yourself if you have the strength, resources, and the will to do that.”
That night had changed both Tyler and me, and certainly our relationship. I had split the money evenly with him, and had passed through town a few times to see clients since this encounter. I sucked his cock once, but I got the clear message that he was no longer interested in me sexually. We talked over coffee, and he was going back to school for graduate studies, eventually a professional degree. There was a seriousness about him now.
Perhaps he’d become like his uncle, and eventually build a successful career that would let him explore his sexual dominance the way he’d witnessed when his uncle broke me. Or perhaps he realized that he was just a young open-minded man who enjoyed rough sex with women and some kinds of men, but didn’t really want to dominate someone.
That night, as Cyrus had choked and grind-fucked me into abject submission, he had told his nephew that dominating someone required pushing them beyond reason, beyond instinct, showing them you are completely, totally, unquestionably in control of their body and soul. Tyler may have realized he liked using my body, but had no interest in melding me into a purely submissive sexual being. As his uncle demonstrated, that kind of commitment requires will, resources, and responsibility.
For my part, I still had no desire to merge my everyday life with my depraved alterego, “Ashley,” but when I did think about sex all I could think about was pleasing Cyrus. I thought less and less about the attractive mature women and couples, waiting for me, their refined North American lover, their professional ‘friend with benefits’ in cities like Paris and Frankfurt and Manhattan. It seemed that, while he hadn’t transformed me into a full-time submissive sex slave, Cyrus had indeed taken control of my mind, my spirit. Insofar as I was a sexual being, I was his white submissive femmeboi whore.
… which explains why, against all good reason, I replied to a message from Tyler, telling me to meet his uncle at a ridiculously expensive restaurant in my nearby city, earlier this evening.
“Sure, I’ll be there” I had texted back.
A few minutes later I’d received an email at my “Ashley” account, from Tyler, giving me more instructions: smart casual dress wear for dinner, but be shaved, lubed, and ready to “please clients.”
So, here I was, scanning the restaurant and immediately finding Cyrus at a small, intimate table for two toward the back of the restaurant. A server had already found me and directed me back. I sat, as instructed, and waited, awkwardly.
“ I have no interest in taking over your life, Ashley … may I call you that?”
“Um, yes … sir” I answered, awkwardly.
He smiled. “Good. Good slut.”
My groin involuntarily twitched at that and I shifted slightly. Of course he noticed.
“As I said, I have no interest in dominating your entire life. Tyler tells me you are rather successful, travel a great deal, have clients around the world. I also gather you are single, and lead a normal life for an accomplished but lonely 30-something expert in your field, who has never settled down, found a wife and had a family.”
“I … work a lot” I replied. “I have relationships, sure, but work comes first, then … well, then sex.”
“But lately …” he continued for me.
“Lately I’ve been obsessed with what happened, with you. With Tyler. How much you paid me … us ... how much that changed …”
I couldn’t finish because I wasn’t sure what, exactly, that had changed, besides earning more in one night than I typically make with a complex, multi-month contract in my field.
“Let me speculate,” Cyrus began.
“In some respects you and I are very much alike. We have both found considerable success in our careers, and we both have developed … unconventional sexual tastes. I have had somewhat more success, by luck and experience, and I have explored my sexual needs more fully than you. My needs involve sexually dominating effeminate white men like you. Yours, I think you are finding, involve complete sexual submission to men like me.”
I was shaking slightly as he spoke, his deep, confident baritone voice resonating inside me.
“As I said, I have no interest in changing your professional life. I am not interested in making you a slave, or humiliating you by exposing your needs. But I do get what I pay for, and I will treat that payment several months ago, which you generously shared with my nephew, as a retainer for future services.”
I nodded, unable to speak. The sounds around me seemed to fade away as I listened, rapt, to his voice.
“You are a consultant in financial services, and have incorporated yourself in that capacity. That much I did take the liberty of investigating. I have no interest in your outside life beyond that, but for the next, say, fifteen months, you will begin a process of finishing outstanding contracts, and you will not take on others. You will be consulting for us, and the terms of that contract have been prepared by my office. If they are acceptable to you, you may submit your digital signature. You can do it now, in fact, if you wish.”
I hadn’t bothered to check my work email at all after hearing from Tyler about tonight’s meeting. I reached into my pocket and fumbled with my phone. There was indeed an email from a law firm requesting my services, and a contract awaiting my digital signature.
The sensible thing to do, of course, would be to read that contract carefully, check my calendar, and then sleep on the offer. Instead, I typed in my digital code for the Adobe signature on the document, and sent it back from my phone.
“Done,” I breathed.
Unbelievable. Why on earth would I do that!?
Cyrus smiled, as if anticipating my self-questioning.
“You signed that because you trust me, as you did the other evening, solely on the word of my nephew. Your trust is well-placed. You will continue to be well-compensated for the work you do for me, and as with your prior contracts, this will involve international travel.”
I slid my phone away, and with a gesture Cyrus had a server approach, with a salad of some sort. Another server poured me a glass of chilled white wine.
“I took the liberty of ordering a light meal for you. I have already eaten.”
He began to rise, pulling his magnificent frame up over me. I was struck again by just how imposing he was.
“I will be seeing you again shortly.”
“Behind you is a table with two older gentlemen, tall, caucasian, and they will speak to you with accented english. Do not address them beyond simple greetings. When you are finished here, simply leave, and wait outside for them. They’ll accompany you to a hotel nearby.”
I nodded, and with that Cyrus walked out of the restaurant.
Back to the present ...
It was late. I’d already been spit-roasted by these two burly East European men. They’d started in on my right after Cyrus had left, using the chain leash to pull me over to the bed and take me. They’d taken turns using my mouth and ass, pumping what felt like hefty loads into their condoms. In the process I’d wound up naked, and they’d left me, panting and spent, lying on the bed with only my lace-trimmed collar and leash. They were laughing among themselves as they spoke to another man, then I’d heard the door close and footsteps approach.
“Get up, please.”
I did as I was told, looking up at one of the tall dark men with god-like muscular statures, who had fucked me so relentlessly that first night with Cyrus. This evening, however, he was wearing a dark, sleek suit.
“Please face the window, put your hands out, and spread your legs.”
I stumbled, still a bit unsteady, toward the huge picture window, and did as Cyrus’s security man asked. I was looking out on the city as I felt my feet being placed against something hard, and then my ankles secured. I felt this man’s breath on my neck as he reached around me, workman-like, and secured my wrists to some kind of cord secured above me. I felt the restraints tighten until the wrist-lines were snug.
“I’ll be inserting something inside you next. It will feel a bit … unusual, so please do your best to relax and let me in.”
I nodded breathlessly, then felt something cold and foreign being slowly but firmly inserted in my ass. Suddenly I felt a vibrating sensation deep inside me. It moved around slowly, searching inside me until --
“Is that it?” the man asked? I had gasped and tensed, and now my modest cock was hard, my hips shaking. Without warning I came, semen dribbling down my cock and on to the floor below.
“Good”. The vibration lessened, and I could feel it diminishing, and I breathed heavily, hanging from my wrists. Then suddenly I felt an almost-blinding pain as this vibrator jolted my prostate with a series of shocks.
“Please keep your hands on the window, and maintain proper posture.”
Again, I nodded, whimpering, and then I heard footsteps behind me recede, and the door close.
The pain of the shock had quickly receded, leaving a gentle vibration which felt quite nice, but already I could feel it slowly beginning to intensify. It’s hard to guess, but I’d say it was a cycle of about twenty or thirty minutes, peaking and driving me into spasms of dry orgasms, then letting me recover. It was exhausting, but I quickly learned that, if my hands left the window and put any weight at all on the cords binding my wrists, the blinding pain of the prostate shock would return.
By the time I heard voices in the hall and the door open, I must have cycled through six or seven of these cycles and was dizzy and disoriented with exhaustion, knowing only that I must not move my hands and arms. The men had obviously been drinking, and from what I could hear they were not alone: it sounded as if two women were also in the room, and before long I could make out the sounds of delirious drunken passion, with grunts and moans, the creaking of the coach and the bed, laughter. I remained on this twisted cycle of mechanically forced orgasm, even as my exhausted little cock was unable to maintain anything resembling an erection. I heard one of the women ask why I was shaking like that? The man explained the vibrator, and I heard all of them whispering and laughing. I felt a small, cold, delicate hand on my scrotum, playing and squeezing, then with a giggle tugging as I cried out.
I then felt a much larger, rougher hand stuff a cloth in my mouth.
“Watch this” said an accented voice.
I uttered a muffled scream as my world exploded into blinding pain. Clearly there was some kind of remote override for this twisted dildo of misery inside me, and I could feel myself lose all control as my legs crumpled and my uncontrollably-shaking naked body slumped against my wrist restraints. I hung there, my ankles holding my legs apart as they quivered violently, the rest of my glistening smooth body writhing in pain. I vaguely remember urinating wildly in spasmed bursts as I jerked violently on the brutal device in my ass.
When I came to, I was lying on the bed, my head dangling over the edge. I could still feel the deep vibrations undulating inside me. There was a naked woman giggling as she played with my limp cock and fondled my smooth balls absent-mindedly.
“He’s awake” she said. Within moments I felt a hand on my throat and a condom-sheathed cock forcing its way into my mouth. I swallowed as he pushed his way deep into my throat, fucking my face with remarkable aggression. His cock pulsed and I could feel his orgasm, thankfully emptied into a condom and not my throat. He pulled out and his friend quickly took his place, fucking my throat just as aggressively.
When the two men had finished face-fucking me, I could hear one of the men telling the ladies to get dressed, and within a few minutes I was alone on the bed, my hips still heaving uncontrollably as the vibrator cycled through it’s routine. After one more cycle of that, I heard the door open, and two hands flipped me over, unceremoniously pulled out the vibrator, and untied my collar.
“You’ll find your things in the bathroom.” Cyrus’s man told me. Take the time you need to clean up, then I’ll escort you out.”
Another job, two more clients satisfied.
I stumbled to the bathroom, wondering how Cyrus would use me next.
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