"Oh, fuck, ohhh... uh, shit, aaawwwlll dammit. Dammit, c'mon, please... oh, oh fuck, fuuuuucck... "
He's been grinning like a fool, babbling away merrily. About an hour, now... ever since the Lafrinex kicked in.
Heightened sensitivity, yessir. He took to it right off. On four times the recommended starter dosage, it's downright wasting him!
Unrelenting silk hands palpate his feet and thighs, riding unhurriedly.
A snug, seamless condom is stretched over his cock. Same material, same color. Tight silk, sliding a little bit with every involuntary push, the top half soaked with pre-cum. One layer hugs his rocket, and another gives him the bright acetate sheen to stare at. A glove pumping him off would make three slippery layers - but even without it, he's staying rock-hard.
What a drug. Wiped out that detachment he was trying to hide behind... demolishing walls within him -
He writhes again, and shudders. The tone of his voice goes up a few notes. The chair is too narrow to wriggle in. Wrists buried in rope, ankles firmly anchored... and a headrest forcing a close-up view of his fondled thighs.
Feet hanging way out in midair, all sides easy to reach and polish. These twenty fingers made him delirious. He can't stand to have the insides of his upper legs touched - and on this drug, lavish strokes are making him deranged. The irresistible kneading of his soles is fanning the flame... and he's feeling the silk far more than he used to. Fanatically aware.
Cellophane crinkling - another cigar, being unwrapped... stuck between his molars. Another hand brings up a kitchen match, pausing in its flight. His chuckling and raving don't show any signs of winding down. Listening to him mumble around the stogie is quite gratifying. He didn't cuss at all when he arrived here... three days ago.
After a gleeful minute, the match is dragged along the armrest of his sturdy, uncompromising chair. He's already titled his head back. A quick learner. Sucking it into life, it shows on his face how intensely the smoke's hitting him. Yeah, he's feeling everything more fiercely now.
Perpetual mild yuks, whimpered cursing. Silk on his feet, silk on his thighs, silk on his cock inordinately delighting him...
Back among the living, eh? He blinks a few times - and kicks out a long sigh. Smirking a little... apparently still feeling no pain.
Breathing slowly, his sleepy eyes and thick expression don't betray any aches, or feelings, cutting through the Lafrinex. Vigilance doesn't appear to be a goal, even if he could maintain it. Too relaxed, like a cat stretching out in the sun. So is he not remembering the wilder moments of the past few days... or is apprehension more than he can manage right now?
Analgesics do away with the soreness. The sensitivity of his nerves is cranked way, way up. Tactile receptors are magnifiying as well as compounding the silk's input.
A hand brings him a liter of water. He glugs it down dutifully... A bit dehydrated, so he won't be pissing soon.
There's still no silk in sight. But his body remembers. There he goes - his meat, coming to life. It's time.
Something arcs over his head. Lands on his left thigh -
Powder blue, round. Shiny. He squints...
How quickly he forgets. A pair of gloves cruise over and pick it up, unrolling it a little. And he starts to fight, vaguely, without hope. Cock getting longer...
Another minute, and the fingers place it over his tip and begin stretching it. His fidgeting continues, but they pull hard and tug it on him, taking their time. Making him moan.
Silk. Tight. The helping hands wander out of sight again. He stares at his rod for a while - a shiny blue-gloved flagpole. And he looks away, shutting his eyes. Trying not to think about it, maybe.
But the Lafrinex is winning - easily. Every wriggle rouses him... and the tiny spasms start. Concentrating hard, he can hold off a push. For twenty, thirty seconds.
Cellophane, again. Right alongside his head. He looks at the cigar, and his gaze wanders down to his meat - which results in four or five consecutive pushes. The stogie is wedged in place, a match struck and held for him...
Finally, his head eases back in a cloud of smoke - and almost smiles through another series of microbursts which soak the end of the condom.His cock wobbles up and down lazily.
By the time he's polished off the cigar, he's reached a fixed rhythm.
Beginning to thrust... Grunting louder, sweating freely, quickening his pace. Several more minutes of Lafrinex-laced pushing...
Forty-some minutes, and the silk condom - alone - explodes and milks him lavishly.
A cigar is stuck into his panting mouth. From over his shoulder, a pale orange tube shows up and lands on his belly.Number three is lavender. Tugged onto him ninety minutes ago, this tube has finally got the sweat running, the contractions right on top of each other. He's preoccupied with the excited nerves rilin' him up.
So a glove floats in front of him slowly, capturing his drugged attention... Pausing over his meat. He watches with agonzied hope, ready for help to go on and get it over with.
But it keeps drifting. Down. To... his left foot. Fingertips making contact with the center of the arch... and he groans.
Another hand touches his right sole, and they both begin to graze lightly. He grits his teeth, thrusts once... fists clenching, feet trying to twist. Body working toward climax, despite the hypersensitivity and the gentle fingers.
His wrists, his ankles no less caught than before. Feet hanging way out there, still held in place... and teased...
Stroke. Breaking into rhythm, growling low, anguished expression... and the gloves speed up, matching each push with two strokes of their own.
Another hand travels to his right side, begins touching his lower ribs... and now, silk traces up his left side too.
He starts laughing immediately. And pushes.
The hands move slowly, making him squirm. There's nowhere to go, and they keep roaming. The excitement would be welcome if he was having sex, but with his hands tied down it's crippling. He has no way to stop the gloves, which are free to pause and resume, suddenly start digging in, or coast down to some other ticklish place.
One of them teases around his right nipple. He moans and giggles, no longer able to push. But then he has to, can't stall any longer... Immediately the fingers rub with more pressure. A whoop slips out of his mouth - and then he's snickering hard. He grits his teeth and thrusts again and again.But the gloves are joined by others, rubbing his shoulders - once - and then grinding their palms against his skin as they slide. He responds with a loud wail, breaking up into frustrated, violent laughter.
His thrusts get more and more fierce. The gloves succeed in distracting him, as they always do. Within thirty seconds he's shaking with silent laughter...
The he's just gotta thrust again. Working hard at it, grunting louder, trying to finish... alternatively locking up as the gloves maul him more and more insistently. Eyes jammed shut, pouring sweat. Straining to come.Unbridled massage... long ragged groans, and feverish howls. Silk is counteracting his efforts with more and more force.
Suddenly, he gives up, sinking back in the chair, panting. The fingers ease up immediately, but they stay in place. A grunt slips out of him, and a weak thrust. Breathing so hard...
He looks at his cock. Wet lavender silk, stretched out of shape.The gloves massage slowly, waiting for his next thrust.
Stalemate.He groans soulfully. Behind him a cigar rises, shedding its cellophane.
The name of the drug has been changed since this episode was originally posted. (Some company put out a new drug with the original name I used.)
07jul1997