I just woke up from the hottest dream, my cock already hard, thinking about my new neighbour I met three weeks ago. Lucas. He was right there in the gym with me, telling me to go for another rep on my back squats, not giving me a choice, just telling me, I loved his assertiveness. He looked so hot the day we met--short brown hair, clean-shaven, muscles popping out of his vest as he carried boxes with ease. He'll be here at 8:30 for todays session, but theres no way I can go the gym without getting this dream off my mind. I lay there, stroking myself slowly, letting my mind wander through a few scenarios.
A rush of excitement coursed through me. I'll play one of my favourite predicament games. Exactly what I needed to clear my head before facing Lucas. I glanced at the clock. 7:02. If I was quick, I had time for a 30-minute session. With a deep breath, I pulled my hand away, tossed off the covers, and headed straight for the spare room--my "play room." Kicking my boxers off on the way, I felt my erection spring free, hard and eager in front of me.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the back wall: lean but toned, my dark hair a little unruly from sleep, eyes still heavy-lidded. The faint stubble along my jaw hinted at late nights, and I could see the tension I was holding in my shoulders, my posture a bit too rigid. This room was where I could let go of all that, where I didn't have to be anything but myself. A ring hung from the ceiling, and discreet rings had been bolted into the floor, they told the room's story.
I walked over to the chest of drawls and reached in for my favourite restraints and began the ritual of locking them on each wrist and ankle. This was one of my favourite parts of the process, the satisfying weight already settling me. The polished steel looked incredible, cold and unyielding, hugging each limb in perfect symmetry. I'd had them made specifically for my sizes, so the fit was perfect. I then reached for one of my weighted steel ball stretcher and locked it snugly around my scrotum, feeling my full, heavy balls hang down, anticipation building with every lock that clicked shut.
I'd normally spend more time enjoying this process, but today I needed to rush if I was going to get off before Lucas arrived. It was still enjoyable, but my preferred sessions were over multiple hours.
I then took a specific length of rope and threaded it through the ring in the ceiling. Getting the length just right was essential--it needed to provide just enough tension to add discomfort without relief. Satisfied, I locked each ankle to a spreader bar, securing my feet a challenging distance apart. Standing straight would be impossible, which would only deepen the challenge once I was in place.
I set up the vibrating wand, mounted on a pole with a snug cock sleeve attached to it. I adjusted the position so that once I leaned forward, I'd be unable to pull away from it. The tight sleeve would keep me right where I needed to be--caught in place, where finishing too soon would only make things that much harder. I didn't have long, I'd usually play for much longer, so I set the wand to its most intense edging setting. I'd have thirty seconds on full power, followed by twenty seconds off.
The real genius of this setup was the magnetic timer lock I'd designed and manufactured myself. It was a crucial part of a lot of my setups and allowed me to play alone, for as long as I liked without having to worry about involving anyone else. I'd rigged it so that it would keep me locked in position for exactly 30 minutes--no way out until the timer released. I attached the rope from the ring in the ceiling to the cuff around my balls, running it taut from the spreader bar at my ankles. The other end of the rope dangled just behind me, fitted with one half of the magnetic lock.
Once I leaned forward and pressed my wrists together behind me, locking them onto the magnet, I'd be stuck. Bent forward in this position, the strain would start almost immediately, every muscle forced to work harder than usual. Trying to stand straight would only make things worse, pulling the rope down and tightening the relentless pressure on my balls. Five minutes would be bearable--just. But every minute after that would feel like exquisite torture, exactly the kind of challenge I craved.
And with the vibrator's programmed pattern ready to kick in at any moment, I knew it would push me right to the edge quickly. I slipped a large ring gag into my mouth, strapping it tightly around the back of my head, then took a deep breath, savouring the anticipation, I look to the big digital clock on the wall, waiting for its bright red numbers to hit 7:20 exactly, then leaned forward and pressed my wrists to the magnet, feeling the satisfying click as it locked me in place.
As soon as I hear that click, a wave of thrill courses through me--I'm fully committed now, truly stuck in this position until the timer releases me. The timer is merciless; it doesn't care about my groans or any discomfort, only ticking down the minutes without pause. I look back at the clock, it's 7:21, I'll barely have half an hour to pull myself together, get dressed, and meet Lucas for the gym. But for now, it's just me, this predicament, and the intoxicating thrill of it all.
My thoughts drift to Lucas as I make small, careful thrusts into the tight sleeve gripping my cock, just enough movement to keep the sensation building. Then, with a sudden hum, the vibrator springs to life, sending jolts of pleasure that make my pulse race. I do my best to angle myself just right, making the most of every vibration with tiny adjustments, each one bringing me closer.
I close my eyes, the image of Lucas front and centre in my mind, every bit of control now out of my hands.
I can feel my orgasm building, too fast and too strong. Off and on the vibrator goes, following the same programmed pattern relentlessly. Thirty seconds on, followed by twenty seconds off. I have to hold my orgasm back for as long as I can, if I let go too soon, I'll have to suffer through the pain of overstimulation. I'll hold for as long as I can, but theres no way I'll make it through the full 30 minutes without blowing my load. My back already aches, my arms are starting to burn, and I have no idea how much time has passed--though it can't have been more than ten minutes.
I'm right on the edge now, my whole body tense, when suddenly, almost too perfectly, the vibrator cuts out. I'm left hanging there, pulsing with need, denied at the last second. It's unbearably hot, and somehow even more arousing. I can't help but imagine Lucas in control, his finger hovering over the switch, watching me strain and squirm. He'd have that cocky grin, edging me mercilessly, seeing just how much I could take.
After what feels like an eternity, the vibrator kicks back to life. Relief mixes with desperation as the tension in my shoulders builds; it's intense, but I'm grateful for even a momentary distraction from the relentless pull on my balls. I open my eyes for the first time, catching my reflection in the mirror, raw and vulnerable, and manage to glance at the clock. Only 16 minutes have passed. I'm constantly moaning, shuffling and trying to find comfort in the discomfort. It's relentless teasing driving me to the edge over and over.
Fuck. Time's moving too slowly, and I need release, now. I focus, willing the toy that traps my cock to keep going, to bring me over the edge. And then, finally, it happens. The sensation builds, unstoppable, until it erupts--my legs shake, the steel cuffs rattle against my ankles, and a thick stream of cum spills onto the laminate floor beneath me. One pulse, then another, each release loud and intense, followed by a third as I tense, trying to draw every last ounce of pleasure from the moment. A fourth, slower drip hangs down from my cock, and I'm still hard, the vibrator mercilessly coaxing more.
I force myself to exhale, catching my breath as I look up at the clock. 6 minutes to go. My cock is hyper sensitive, but the vibrator doesn't care, it's relentless, on and off, on and off, this is the game I've set up for myself. I set the timer when I'm lost in desire, knowing I'll be here, bound to every second, stuck with no choice but to endure. Why do I do this to myself? The vibrator that moments ago was giving me insane pleasure is not a source of pain.
Sweat drips from my forehead, and I'm gasping, now I'm really feeling it. I can feel my eyes rolling back into my forehead, the vibrator just doesn't quit. The edging setting knows me perfectly and right now it knows that full power is exquisite torture. Just four more minutes. Four very long minutes. I tug at my wrists instinctively, even though I know it's useless--every piece of gear in this room is built to withstand whatever I throw at it, especially now when I'm too worn out to even hope to break free.
I try to refocus, letting the numbness in my cock dull the sharp edge of overstimulation. The pain lingers, deepening, the kind that takes longer and longer to fade with each round. I force myself to glance up at the clock. One minute left. Thank god. I can hold on. Another orgasm feels impossible, so I stop thinking about that and focus on the tension in my balls, the ache that's become a kind of twisted relief in itself.
Then, finally, the clock hits 7:50, the magnets should release any second, and that moment is going to feel like the biggest relief I've ever known. I start planning my release--first turning the vibrator off, then unlocking the cuff from my balls. My shoulders burn, numbness creeping in. I can almost feel a trickle of something warm, and I have a fleeting thought of blood, but I daren't look.
I wait, breaths shallow, ready for the release. But it doesn't come. I shift, heart pounding, and glance at the clock again--7:51.
Why hasn't it released me? I twist around to check the timer plugged into the wall socket. It reads 269 minutes remaining. I'm so confused, I must be reading it wrong. It's hard to look around and see the timer, due to the position I'm in in this corner of the room, but I manage to look again. It says 268 minutes now. How can that be? It doesn't make sense, I set the timer for 30 minutes, and locked myself in at 7:20, its now 7:52, putting two and two together I realise that in my rush I must have set 300 minutes instead of 30.. thats 5 hours! Fuck! How could I be so careless? I'm usually so meticulous--that's part of the thrill for me. I've never messed up this badly before. So many thoughts flash through my mind. How am I going to endure the vibrator on full power for another four and a half hours? What am I going to do when Lucas comes looking for me at 8:30 for our gym session?
I try to think, to concentrate, but my cock won't let me. The teasing pressure from the vibrator has started again and pulling me back into that maddening edge, making it impossible to focus on anything except the constant, torturous pleasure coursing through me. Why did I set it to the most intense setting, a less powerful setting would have been more than enough to get me off, but the temptation to do more extreme things is always so strong.
A string of saliva hangs from my mouth, and I'm sure the constant hum of the vibrator, along with the low, involuntary moans slipping from my throat, must make for quite a scene. The thought brings a strange mix of embarrassment and thrill.
I glance up at the clock again--8:01. Almost ten minutes have passed since I last checked, but each second has felt like an hour. I'm a mess; there's cum all over the floor, and the wand will not stop teasing me. I've been edged over and over again in last ten minutes. The thought that I'm truly stuck, that no one's coming to save me, pulses through my mind. The vibrator hums on, determined to keep me on edge, refusing to let me cum.
Desperation starts to take over, and I begin to thrash, testing every restraint, hoping that somehow this time something might give. But every move reminds me of the setup I've committed to--the rope taut and unyielding, sending bolts of pain through my balls each time I pull against it. There's no escape from the predicament I created for myself.
With every thrash, every struggle, I'm reminded of just how thoroughly I've bound myself, I built this system myself, with absolute security being key and a major part of the turn on. It's not the same if I can just release myself when it gets tough, this situation its real. The wands relentless edging doesn't let up. I'm barely getting twenty seconds to think before it powers back up and edges me again.
Then it happens again. This time I blow my load with more power than the first, every pulse from my cock shoots a string of cum directly onto the floor in front of me. My legs are shaking, I can barely stand now but the wand doesn't care, it wants to milk me dry. The remnants now hang from the end of my cock just left poking out of the sleeve. In any other circumstance I'd say it looks sexy, but today i'm in pain and it doesn't feel sexy at all, I want it to be over.
My cock is even more sensitive than after the first orgasm, but again, the wand doesn't care. I'd set it to its most intense setting and thats just what it was giving me. I had to find a way to escape. Running through the setup in my mind, I knew the knots of the rope would be too hard to undo without the full dexterity of my fingers, but maybe if I could shuffle around and use the mirror, I might be able to see a weakness. The sleeve of the wand was too tight on my cock, my rock hard cock unrelating as the vibrator began to edge me again. How much more could I take? Was it possible to pass out from edging? It certainly felt like it right now. Each break from the wand gave me twenty seconds to think, but I knew it was impossible. Each time I tugged at my hands the pain in my now very empty balls got worse, but I felt so so desperate.
On and off, on and off. Why didn't I go with a battery-powered wand? It'd be dead by now... but that never seems as thrilling. I like my gear to be serious, powerful, built to last. My whole body is slick with sweat, each pulse making it harder to keep still. Sweat pools under my feet, trapped between my skin and the laminate floor, making every shift unsteady. I'm acutely aware that if I were to slip, this situation would only spiral further out of control. Another ten minutes of pain and intense edging were followed by another powerful orgasm, weaker than the last, but still ripped through me. Most people couldn't dream of having an orgasm as powerful as these and here I was not being able to do anything about it. What looked like litres of cum now all over the floor, combined with a constant stream of drool from my mouth. I've never had three orgasms in a session before, but after 50 minutes of my most powerful vibrator on its most powerful setting, my balls have been well and truly milked dry.
Suddenly a loud knock at the door echoes through the house, cutting through the hum of the vibrator and jolting me back to reality. Shit! Lucas is here! My heart stops. No. I can barely comprehend it, but it's unmistakable. Of course he is. He might be my only chance of getting out of this mess.
The knock echoes again, and I feel a fresh wave of panic and humiliation twist in my gut. I can't let him see me like this. I'm naked, locked into my own bondage, with every inch of my body on full display. There's cum on the floor in front of me, drool trailing down my chin and onto my chest, and I know my face is a mess of sweat and desperation. The thought of Lucas seeing me this way--so completely vulnerable, exposed, and utterly helpless--makes my stomach clench.
I've got to make this decision quickly. Realistically he's my only chance of getting free, without suffering though another four hours of this relentless predicament. I don't think I can do it.
I close my eyes, almost wishing I could disappear. The whole setup, which had seemed thrillingly intense just thirty minutes ago, now feels like a trap, and I'm caught in it, forced to make a decision. My restraints are too good, too secure; I'd designed them to hold me, to keep me from any chance of escape, and now I'm realising just how effective they are. There's no way out of this without help.
My heart races as I picture his reaction--the raised eyebrows, maybe that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The thought makes me cringe. He'll see everything: my cum on the floor, the drool, my flushed, helpless face. He'll know exactly what I've been up to, what I was too embarrassed to admit. I look to the clock again, calculating how much time I have left. It's impossible.
Another knock.
And then I do it, I call out. My voice weaker than I'd like, but it's all I can manage, gagged and exhausted as I am.