This story is total fantasy, based on some of my experiences. Part VI is not finished, so it could be a couple of days after this before it's posted.
You can contact me at kink_330@yahoo.com
All rights reserved. I'm submitting this to the Yahoo group menstrippedanddisplayed, to the Nifty Archive for the bisexual authoritarian section and to Altairboy because each of them serves a different audience that might be interested in this story. I give each of these sites a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancelable license to display the work. Contact me if you think this should be posted anywhere else. I might enjoy discovering new story sites rather than not knowing where someone else has posted.
No Break by Master Lou
Part V
Mark woke Sunday morning with his once-a-day wood. Since I locked him into the CB2000 chastity device on Tuesday, he had spent his first two days physically prevented from any erection except for the involuntary morning hard-on that caused him unbearable pain in his cock until it was iced down. Thursday, Friday and last night, the cage had been removed at night to spare him that cock torture. He had come to accept the price of that relief. He was required to watch me jack off and then help me clean up all my cum with a towel and washcloth in exchange. He also accepted that, with the cockcage removed at night, I demanded he be tied down to his bed in the hotel room, unable to reach his cock with his hands or even rub it against anything. So after two days without any erection, he had endured the next three days with this once-daily boner each morning. This was way less than the 21 year old, testosterone-loaded college wrestler was accustomed to having.
His body must have make up for the greatly reduced quantity of erections by giving him outrageously fine quality wood the one time each day it was possible. I knew the hunk's frustration had to be enhancing that quality.
I heard Mark firmly calling me to wake up. Looking over, I saw him yet again laying on his back on his own bed with arms stretched spread-eagle, tied by his wrists, bare-assed and vulnerable. His cock stood stiff as the sturdiest 2X4 you could find. His legs were bound just as strongly as his wrists but with more slack for movement. I saw by the clock that we were barely on time for the morning jog we had committed to taking and I guessed Mark had been laying there awake, waiting for the time to arrive and enduring his complete frustration in the face of the solid morning erection. I didn't question what was going through his mind. That was up to him to deal with unless he asked for my help.
If my reader is bored by now with my report of this daily ritual, skip the next few paragraphs and continue from there. As for me, I was excited by it. Each morning presented new possibilities for exposing him and I savored the significance of Mark's acceptance. Like the Pavlovian dog at the sound of the bell, he was being conditioned to tolerate and even expect his morning humiliation.
At least he knew where to find the ice machine that morning. However, he was betrayed by his accurate timing in waking me. The two twinkies across the hall in the hotel anticipated when to expect him. With hands tied behind his back and the boner curved once again toward the ceiling, he held on to his ice bucket the best he could as he stepped, still nekked, into the hallway. He hoped the ice would once again give him some relief from the insistent hardon. The fags across the hall hoped to catch his magnificent vulnerability for the second time. They succeeded.
Their door was propped open once again. I took the opportunity to grab my room key and step into the hallway myself in my usual boxers to introduce myself. The guys were noticeably wary of me. My gym-built muscles were probably the least of the reasons for their intimidation. They saw me dominating Mark's powerful body, sending him hard and bound into the public hallway each morning. They must have worried about just how kinky I could get. They warmed up enough to at least introduce themselves as Greg and Shannon when I suggested their interest could be put to good use each morning if they wanted to help me with Mark's training.
So, when Mark returned from the service room with his full bucket of ice held behind his back and his even more full cock straining for some attention, he looked taken aback to find the three of us waiting for him in the hallway. He waited meekly for me to remember the cardkey in my hand and open our door. Shannon and Greg might have been disappointed that I ushered them into the room ahead of Mark because they had to turn their backs on Mark's magnificent physique. I wanted to prolong Mark's exposure in the hall and to make him realize up front that these two young gays would participate in a bigger part of his humiliation.
Our neighbors were most willing to hold the bag of ice against my roommate's stiffie and balls. They showed disappointment that I wouldn't let them actually play with Mark's cock. For Mark's part, he accepted his new abusers resignedly, wanting simply to get things done as quickly as possible. He even agreed, as the chastity cage was put back in place, that Greg and Shannon would be his "deputy keyholders" and could check up on Mark to make sure he was behaving and staying locked up securely. He figured he had no real choice and he was not thinking clearly because of his embarrassment.
Mark dashed for his own underwear the moment his hands were untied. Just for fun, Shannon insisted on practicing his duties and taking a last look down the front of the boxers before returning to his own room. Obviously, Mark was still locked into the cage just like he should be. I admired Shannon's taking the game to heart. I let the twinks know that Mark would most likely need the ice at the same time each morning.
On the beach that afternoon, it was fun to watch Mark eyeing the sexy women in their tiny bikinis. Especially fun because both he and I were aware that if he connected with any beyond an on-the-beach acquaintance, he would not have his cock to satisfy her with and he'd never get the orgasm he had grown to expect for himself. He looked powerful and sexy as hell. I believed his sexual frustration was making him even sexier to everyone, not just to me. Everyone lets go of their inhibitions and acts a little wilder on spring break. The year before, that had lead Mark to an arrogant, full-of-himself attitude. This year, the attitude was completely different because of the cockcage and repeated humiliations. His sexual charge was obvious. Yet instead of acting aggressively, he was more attentive to all the scantily dressed women and men on the beach -- especially to me, his keyholder. He simply was sexy, not trying to act that way.
Like the day before, a contest in the evening provided the most intense experience of the day. Mark and I noticed an advertisement for a wet t-shirt contest at a bar not far from us. Last year, we got rowdy and appreciative of the babes who showed off their racks in the nearly invisible shirts and then joined in ourselves for the men's version that followed. I had won a beer and $50 for my own efforts. The DJ announced the contest for this bar and it sounded pretty similar. Mark and I showed our appreciation for a couple of the beauties with their chests moistened to dripping, their young firm tits stretching the fabric and their nipples erect from the cool water as they danced on the stage at one end of the bar. As hot as I was from the very good show the women were putting on for the crowd, I was focus more on the anticipation of getting Mark on the stage in his cockcage. It was easy enough to talk him into it after a couple of beers and a reminder of our success last year -- both on stage and with two of the girls from the audience afterward.
Here, the girls had been provided with identical white t-shirts and pink thongs for their costumes, so we weren't surprised when the male contestants were asked to gather in the employees' locker room before our own contest began. Mark froze up when each of us guys were given a long white "A" style shirt with a blue number printed on them. Mark was number "7" and I was "6". We also were handed a new royal blue men's thong with the tags still on them and a leather strap about seven inches long with a couple of snaps on the ends, each sealed in plastic packaging. He wasn't prepared to change his pants in front of a group. It took a little encouragement from me, reminding him it was just another locker room and that the women were going to want to see his ripped muscles. So what if a couple of guys noticed his unit. They might not even see if he changed his shirt first.
Mark collected his nerve and stayed with the group of eight men who got selected by the bar manager. A couple of them were average guys and the rest were above average in looks. The manager eliminated the few others that might have been booed off the stage before the show even got off the ground. We were then told that we would all wear the same costume, including the leather cockstraps. We should be thankful for the straps, he told us, because they'd help us show off a little more for the women when the water in our shirts and thongs cooled off. No guy wants to be faced with shrinkage in front of a crowd and the women had certainly not been shy about showing off as much of their assets as they were permitted.
The employees' locker room was too small for eight guys at once and in his concentration to get the leather strap fixed around the base of his cock and balls the guy right next to Mark collided with him. The guy felt his butt hit the solid cockcage and looked to see what he'd bumped. His laughter and loud exclamation about the hard plastic contraption locked with two small locks on Mark's equipment brought everyone's attention, even the manager's. Mark turned three shades of red and turned his back on the room as I stepped in front of him and joked that it was what happened to the loser of wet t-shirt contests and Mark was looking forward to passing it on to the chump who finished behind him tonight. The guys shook their heads and laughed, two or three of them making nasty comments about "loser" and "queers". Still, Mark and I looked to be the strongest of the bunch and nobody acted in any way that was actually threatening toward us. By the time I stepped aside, Mark was in both the thong and the t-shirt. The bar manager agreed that the cockstrap would have been pointless for him.
The DJ brought on a woman as emcee for the male contest. She introduced each of us by first name and school as we swaggered on to the stage. When the music started, we danced provocatively for the crowd in our shirts and underwear as each of us got sprayed with water. Our arms were already exposed in the sleeveless shirts. The water revealed our chests and abs and even the outline of our cocks, plumped up and held out by the cockrings. Obviously, Mark's crotch showed only an unremarkable lump. The song ended and the pretty emcee walked over to the guy numbered "1" with a microphone. A short bit of small talk allowed him and the next contestant to demonstrate a little of their personalities.
The emcee's question for the third barely dressed male was, "What is the strangest thing you've seen here in Florida?"
Mark turned as white as his shirt when the guy responded, "Contestant number 7." He then went on to tell the whole crowd that Mark was wearing a chastity device. The crowd roared.
I don't even remember my own brief conversation with the emcee after that. Everyone was in a hurry for her to get to Mark. Then the crowd started chanting, "Take it off!" The emcee stated into her mic that there'd be no health code violation if Mark took off his thong. He'd still have his penis covered. Three of the other contestants held him while a bartender produced a pair of scissors and the emcee with much flourish snipped away the last of Mark's dignity. The shirt was long enough to covered his crotch. However, it was soaking wet and see-through and the emcee made a point of snatching at the bottom to lift it up a couple of times while she spoke with him.
Mark regained a huge amount of his dignity by keeping his cool and joking with the woman about his stupidity in making a bet and about how wild his equipment was that locking it up was the only way to tame it. By the time number "8" had a chance to speak, the crowd was really excited, laughing at Mark and encouraging him with cheers at the same time and ignoring the last contestant.
The final dance music was perfect for a bump-and-grind kind of show, with each of us flexing our muscles and pumping our hips in time with the song. The crowd was watching Mark the whole time, men and women both trying to catch another glimpse of Mark's exotic cage and appreciating his magnificent wrestler's build. I shouldn't have to tell you who won the male event. Mark drew many times the amount of applause than the rest of us together.
My only regret was allowing Mark to hightail out of the bar straight from the locker room after we dressed.