I
The first thing you are aware of is that you are naked.
No - not exactly naked. There's something soft against your skin, gripping you lightly above and below your knees, pressing gently into your chin and ringing every finger. You shift and that soft grip doesn't yield: every limb is delicately immobilised; you're dressed in silk chains. But warm air stirs against your balls and prickles the hair on your calves and chest. As good as naked, then.
And you're standing, feet planted comfortably, arms lightly bent in front of you, eyes shut. You sense beyond your eyelids only silent darkness.
You're almost ready to start thinking again. There's something heavy lying over your mind, though, dragging you back into sleep. You sink down into dreams.
II
You dream about paper. Good, quality paper, cushioning the ball of your pen as you sign. Paper that folds in a very satisfying way, clean and straight. Expensive paper, that slides into its envelope without complaint. Paper that glides without wings through the mouth of a postbox.
You think, 'Should I ask my aunt what the law says about CONSENT?' CONSENT is in bold capitals, underlined in black ink, embossed deeply onto good, quality paper.
You think, 'I can't afford her rates anyway.'
The postbox smiles at you but offers no opinion.
III
This time when you wake up your eyes start open. You straighten up. Soft cords pull around every joint.
You panic, jerk wildly, kick and buck. Your toes twitch and slip on the floor; your cock brushes your thigh. But the cords are like steel. You're trapped.
A few heavy breaths and then you've mastered yourself again.
As you blink bleariness from your eyes, indistinct black becomes line and form. In front of you are two grey pillars. Not pillars: lintels to a doorway, only arm's length away. Beyond that, a stretch of smooth floor and another doorway, open but utterly black within. Within your doorway you can see only featureless grey walls, curving close around you. This is hardly a room at all, more like a cell.
Your head won't turn sideways, but as you experiment you find you can push your forehead just slightly forward. You could spit and not wet your front, if you wanted. But you don't need to spit. Actually, you realise, you don't need to eat either, and you're not at all tired. Just alert, tense, a little heavy in the limbs. Your stomach tightens distantly.
You look down and in the faint light see that you are indeed naked. You can't make out much more than that; the light is too poor. You move against the restraints again, much more gently, and this time they give a little. It's enough to loosen your legs and arms, flex your fingers. You're relieved.
As you sigh, you notice that the sound is very flat. There's no echo. The thought drops from your mind straight away, though, because the floor outside your door is beginning to lighten. The relaxed padding of bare feet is the first sign you get of another person in this place.
You've misread the signs. There's no person approaching.
But now in your doorway there is a man wearing nothing but a black leather strap across his dark chest. You take in a silhouette of strong shoulders, sculpted thighs, and cropped hair framing pale eyes. Your eyes widen as you realise his are glowing like blue fire. You open your lips to speak, but only a faint moan comes out.
He steps through the doorway and puts one hand against the wall. Lights flare above you. He is directly before you and his breath and heat are tangible. You see eyes ablaze like a blowtorch, a soft mouth in a wry smile, dark brown skin over a smooth jaw. But what you smell is something overpowering, organic, animal. It will come to you later that it is the smell of the first sweat after washing, fresh and intimate. In this moment, you only notice that you have breathed in very deeply, filling your lungs with that scent, and that your cock feels suddenly heavy.
You try speech again as you breathe out. You produce only a gentle low. He smiles widely.
"You are welcome in this place," he says. Turkish accent, you think straightaway. Then that you don't know anyone Turkish with eyes like that.
You grunt, trying to ask what the hell is going on.
He lifts one arm in front of your face, palm open at eye level - God, what beautiful hands he has - and he lowers his forefinger to the top of your chest.
"I will return very soon, once I have completed my duties with your neighbour," he says. You hardly hear him; the tip of his finger resting against your skin is like the kiss of a flower. It blooms on your chest. Your eyelids flutter and your whole skin comes alive.
He dips his head down. His cheeks lift in a grin. He raises dark-lashed eyes to meet yours. His finger slides down, takes a languorous turn around one nipple. Your chest pushes into his touch; you haven't even thought about it. His finger stops just above your navel. Your cock pulses; you feel it rising to an erection.
"Please contain yourself until I am ready," he says evenly. He withdraws his finger, turns silently and walks out. You collapse against your restraints, and feel cords slip and hold around the top of your thighs and under your triceps. Your cock slaps heavy and hard against your hip.
'What the fuck was that?' You think, 'What the fuck is going on?'
Then, 'When is he coming back?'
IV
Through exhausted silence and dimming light, you find yourself once more. The pulse of sex through your cock abates. Time passes and you stand fully on your feet.
Your mind clearer, you examine your restraints more closely. By tilting your head forward as before, you can see your hands and arms are not tied with silk, but covered in a loose, clear mesh that rings every joint from fingertip to shoulder. Gently shifting your head, you can feel it continues up your neck, over your scalp and around your chin. The mesh does not hurt or rub, but yields just half an inch to let you adjust position.
Looking down, you are shocked to see yourself. Beyond where the mesh holds your chest and hips, it opens on a swollen half-hard cock which you barely recognise. The marbling of veins, the shape of the head, the soft mound of pubic hair are all familiar, but everything is grown to twice its normal size.
You breath in sharply in surprise, and your balls swing pendulously under you. The sensation of them moving makes your stomach twist, jerks on your cock again. You moan gently - your cock is already rising, filling out, hardening, just from that spare motion.
As your erection returns, you can hardly think of anything but your cock, and the mesh pulling on the inside of your thighs, and slipping lightly along your torso and under your buttocks, every part of you aflush with sensation.
Precum beads on the tip of your cock. You struggle to get a grip on your body, to remove yourself from the pleasure washing over you.
"You were requested to contain yourself," a voice sounds in the doorway. Eyes blaze ice. He re-lights the room and for the first time you have a full view of your gaoler. He is Michelangelo's perfect figure, writ in supple brown skin and dustings of dark hair across forearms, legs, chest. A dark vine spills down his stomach and around his cock.
His cock. Your own cock leaps and thickens at the sight. It is a match for your new appendage, but swaying low and soft against his balls. Blinded to thought, you strain forward, aching for it.
'I'm out of my mind!' Flashes through your head. And then you are weak again, slack against your bonds.
"Please, remain calm," he says, "Your body is still developing. You will not reach your peak for several spans yet. Until then I may grant relief only once. Please indicate if you wish me to do so now or in a short while."
You have no idea how long a span is, or if you could endure even one in your current state, but your cock answers for you. Swelling almost upright, precum begins to run slowly along your rigid shaft. You are on the edge of an orgasm simply stood still, looking at this man.
'Please,' you try to say; instead you manage a low growl.
"You are subject to selective induced aphasia. Please refrain from attempting speech," he replies, accompanying his oddly formal words with a sardonic tilt of the head. His lips part and his eyes rove over your groin and torso. Seeming to move from his hips, he steps into your cell, muscles sliding effortlessly, stomach tensing, that gorgeous cock bobbing beneath. He circles behind you.
The moist air of his mouth heats the back of your knees. His fingertips press lightly against the back of your thighs. Your cock strains and you grunt heavily at this first touch. His fingers make slow hot upward tracks, now driving in and out, now runnining under your buttocks. You are panting, your stomach taut, spasming.
He twists lightly at the cord on your hip and suddenly your legs are being forced to bend at the knee and your upper body is dragged forward. You huff heavily in surprise. You are bent forward, arms out as if to catch a rugby ball. This is no sport. Your buttocks part and thumbs slide between them. Hot breath kindles sensation from your balls to your asshole. Your cock jerks. You hear a spat of precum hit the floor. You're not looking; your eyes are closed; all you can think about is his fingers lying firm and hard on either side of your asshole, plying and probing.
The first place his mouth kisses is inside your right thigh, just above the knee. His lips caress the skin, moisten it, then slip up. They press again, harder, higher, and again. Sensation throbs through your leg, your asshole, your balls, your cock. Your cock is so fucking hard.
Just as his lips reach the rim of your ass, they vanish from feeling. You gasp, robbed. Then he starts again at your left knee, kissing and now kneading with his mouth. You sigh in relief. His tongue brushes a line of pleasure the length of your thigh, straight up -
'Unh!' His tongue is hot and wet, circling your asshole. You are lost to everything but his tongue, his mouth, reaching into your ass, hot, pushing, urging. Your ass contracts, your dick pulls up and digs into your diaphragm. You feel precum slicking your abs, his spit lubricating your ass, your ass opening desperately.
His fingertip presses against the bud of your asshole. You open for him, slippery, wanting to push down onto him. You can't: you are bound to his erotic scheme. He takes his finger, and gives his tongue again, reaching up and in. Your cock throbs with every thrust into your asshole. His hands cup your balls, wrap their base; already unbearably sensitive, they swell again against his grip. Your cock pulls down, the skin of your shaft tight and electric, charging with every probe of his tongue into you.
For half a moment you realise you are grunting like a bull in a cage. Then every muscle is rigid, your cock heaves, your ass opens and he pushes his lips and tongue into it. His tongue slips out; it scoops and releases your balls, meanders in wide licks over your taint. You breath hard and fast at this, every inch of your cock wildly throbbing. His palms push your asscheeks apart, pulling your asshole wide. Again, again, his tongue goes in. Your cock smacks against your stomach, the head slides over slick skin. Your fingers clench, your knees pull in against their fetters.
And you feel suddenly that you are going to erupt, hot sensation building at your asshole. Your balls pull against his shackling fingers, hard and full. Your eyes open for a second and see the head of your cock, huge, fat, dribbling precum, your whole cock rigid as a steel post. Your asshole fills and fills, his tongue pushing deeper - and suddenly you are over the edge. You feel the cum flooding through your groin, and pumping out onto your stomach. You gasp and jet more, splashing your chin, onto the floor. He pulls his mouth back and then thrusts it into you again. Your cock swells and shoots again. He is milking you, working your balls, your asshole. You can't stop. Nothing has touched your cock yet it is raging against your front, and you are cumming over and over. Relief, finally, release.
V
After some time, it abates. Your cock spasms weakly, squeezing a few final drips of semen which flow along your shaft. Your panting slows; your stomach and legs uncramp. He at last takes away his mouth from your ass and cool air washes in. You hear him standing - almost silent, just his hands brushing his sides, his heels dabbing the floor.
'Your seed is not yet fit for use in the embrocations. Please do not be offended. When you next receive relief it will be properly collected.' He walks around you and out of the door.
'Ungh!' You call out, trying to get him to give some kind of explanation for what has just happened, what the hell is going on.
He turns briefly, eyes aglow, 'You will be relieved again in three spans.' Then he disappears from view. Exhausted and confounded, you relapse into your restraints and sleep.