Releasing Tension by Hephistian
Subject: M/M, M/machine
WARNING: Contains adult material and sexual situations.
Story is sole property of the author, and cannot be displayed or reproduced without consent.
Author's Note: Having ducked out of the "story business" for a few years, I was contacted by a massage therapist who provided me with some experiences and insights that helped inspire this adventure. It's more his story than mine, but something to think about and enjoy. Of course, the author cannot be held responsible for any sudden erections you may experience during future massage sessions.
The human body has always fascinated me. Anatomy and physiology were my favorite subjects in school, and while nursing was my intent, it ended up that massage therapy was a lot more rewarding to me. I'd always found touch to be a powerful and useful tool in healing, and so after a few years of doing the "salon-spa thing," pawning my skills in back of people giving perms and pedicures and making little money, at 32, I decided to open my own business out of my home. And it was the best move I ever made.
Now, I'm what I guess you would call "bi," though I think limiting yourself with labels is ridiculous. The body is beautiful, whether male or female, and I believe this has truly helped my business with a diverse clientele. And I should point out that whether rail-skinny, or lean and muscled, or sporting some extra padding, the body and its intricate design are simply amazing to me; it seemed that people of all walks were comfortable on my table. But what I found most interesting was the way the body responds to touch -- in particular the way men react to it.
See, women are very receptive to touch, allowing themselves to "live in the moment," giving themselves over to the sensations and not so reserved about relaxing and vocalizing their enjoyment of the massage. A moan, a sigh, or even the gasp of discomfort, they were all expressed freely.
Then there were the men, who always seemed to have something to prove. They'd typically "just lay there and take it," as if the massage was some right of passage, a test of their manhood showing that they could unplug themselves from the experience. And honestly, it became annoying to me. I found myself getting an odd pleasure from having their bodies betray their calm composure, watching their penises twitch and throb under the sheet, seeing it rise and drip as I calmly and professionally worked the groin as though I didn't notice. And soon, having a guy loose himself in the feeling of the massage, hearing him groan in pleasure, seeing the precum gather on the tip of his penis, this became a guilty pleasure of my own.
So for the past few years, I have been studying the "art" of the "Penis Milking Torture." Well, not really a "torture--" as every guy I've introduced to it has enjoyed the experience immensely, and many come back for future sessions. After years of trial and error, the best setup and tools that I use are a custom-made, black, luxuriously padded massage & restraint table that accommodates the client face down (with a nice face hole) with his legs spread apart about two feet and the Venus 2000 from Abco Research.
My subject this evening is Dean. Dean is a white male, 19 years old, married, has one child and is a carpenter. He is 6 feet tall and of average build and looks, with short-cropped blondish-brown hair. While hardly what I'd call "hot," he's got great dimples, an easy smile, and that kind of personality that you just enjoy being around. He's quick with a laugh, and sports the big hands and small gut that tells of hard working weeks and hard drinking weekends. I instantly liked him. Dean has never gotten a professional massage before and we talk to kind of loosen things up a bit.
It seems that Dean lost his footing while decking a roof, and in catching himself from falling off the trusswork, he pulled his groin and hamstring. Not unusual. But as we talk, he starts telling me more about his background, his problems at home, a recent DUI, and other tensions. He asked if I could help with that as well, and I said of course.
Now truth is, Dean was referred to me by a mutual friend who has been "milked" by my setup three times, and he begged me to introduce Dean to the process. My professionalism forced me to say no, but upon meeting Dean, I was starting to think differently.
I introduce him to the massage room, which is an upstairs spare bedroom in my house near a park. The idle chitchat becomes talk of the table and the standard questions. I ask him if he is comfortable and to disrobe and lie face down on the table, naked if he'd like but underwear is okay if he'd prefer. I leave for a few minutes, check voicemails, come back, knock lightly, and re-enter the room.
Dean is face-down on the table, covered by a light sheet, and listening to the New Age music on the CD player. He seems relaxed, so I spread some warm oil on my hands and his back and begin. I find he is suffering from serious tension, so I work the knots in his back and shoulders for a while, hearing his breathing soften and his sudden intakes of breath as I hit a sore spot; but true to form, he mostly remains quiet and still. After working my way down his back to his legs, notice he has removed all his clothes as I suggested. My mind thinks ahead to the possibility of milking the boy, but again, I try to remain professional and focus on his trouble areas. But honestly, his obvious effort to keep stoic is annoying me. I want to hear this guy make some noise.
As I work his thighs, I can see his penis poking down, mashed in next to his scrotum. My hands sweeping nearer and nearer his genitals, pressed tight under his body's weight, they make a few casual brushes against his cock and balls. He twitches at first, but quickly recovers, mutters something like "sorry," and I continue. My deep fingerwork finds its way closer and closer to his "taint," and as I continue to massage his obviously virgin glutes and between his spread legs, I notice his cock is growing tighter and smoother under him.
I suddenly say, "Here you go," and reaching under the table, release the padded panel aligned under his crotch. "That happens a lot with guys, don't worry about it."
As the panel opens down, his penis and testicles hang freely and slightly stiff under the table. I see his has a fairly average dick, maybe 6-1/2 inches when it reaches full erection, with medium balls in a tight sack, and everything dusted by a soft, bushy mound of light-brown pubes that are longer and straighter than most I've seen. But in the moment I spy his equipment, what strikes most me was the thickness of his cock -- it was clearly as big around as it was long, giving it a stubby, blocky appearance; and at the circumcised tip, a head that was so fat, it seemed almost square.
That was it, I had to do it. I would get this stump of a cock aching for release, and before I was done with him, the boy was going to cum for me.
I straighten up and say, "So, Dean, you are a mess of tension." He grunts an agreement. "I can certainly help you out, but it's going to take some unorthodox methods to get there. I can get it done now, no extra charge for it, but it'll take a few minutes to get set up. Are you alright with trying or would you rather wait?"
He grunts again, talking at the floor through the face-ring of the table. "No, that's fine. I need something, anything, to get rid of all this shit. Do whatever," he says.
I smile. "Okay, well, the first thing is to get you lined up straight on the table," I say. "Now part of this is to basically immobilize you so you remain aligned. Is that alright? I want you to be comfortable."
"Sure," he says. And I set to work.
With his cock and balls hanging conveniently down through the table, they will be easily manipulated, so I begin to immobilize Dean with padded Velcro straps (ankles, knees, thighs, waist belt, wrists, elbows, back strap, neck strap and head harness) and soon he is completely unable to move.
Returning to his taint, I begin working my fingertips in small circles, ever closer to his tight hole. I feel the area throb repeatedly, knowing his cock is twitching and waving under him. Over the next five minutes, I get closer and closer to his pucker, sweeping my hands over his ass, between his cheeks, and grazing his clenching anus.
"Okay, Dean, this is a tricky spot, and I want you to just relax," I offer.
"What are you doing?" he asks nervously. This is truly the tricky spot, but having gone this path dozens of times, I know the best things to say to keep the guys calm and receptive.
"As you can feel here," I say, rubbing his swollen and throbbing taint, "you've got some other tension that needs to be worked on. Probably from sitting, but also from stress. I'll keep it very short and if you experience any discomfort or pain, you tell me, I'll stop. Okay?"
"Yeah," he says uncertainly, but I also know this type of guy. He's out to prove something, and doesn't want to appear the pussy to another man. He'll "suck it up," even when his mind is pushing back. Perfect.
With plenty of oil on my hands, I quickly wipe some lubricant on my fingertips, and start the entry of Dean's ass. Slowly, gradually, my index finger massages his tight pucker, rubbing tiny circles over it. And after a few patient minutes, I gently push inside him. His hole folds inward, tight against my digit, and I feel his oil-slicked ass-hairs against my skin. His body tenses, probably knowing this intrusion was coming, and I gently slip my finger out.
"I don't think I--" he starts, but I'm ready for it.
"Just take deep breaths," I say, "in for three, hold for three, out for three, and again. You're doing great, Dean."
But then I push inside, deeper this time, then out. Deeper then out. And soon, two fingers are exploring Dean's firm prostate as he numbly breathes away the violation. With my other hand, I lean over him and continue rubbing and stroking his taint. I feel his ass push back, just a fraction of an inch, his hips trying to hump his thickening cock against thin air. It's nearly time.
We continue this for another five minutes or so. Dean is confused but cooperative under my touch, his body sending his mind signals it finds hard to translate. But his cock is having no trouble understanding it all. While not fully erect, there is a thin, clear line of precum connecting Dean's cock to the towel I folded under the table. It twitches with his pulse; I'm sure his heart is pounding away in his chest.
I gently pull my fingers out, and run my other hand tenderly down his back. His hole clenches a couple times as I withdraw, and he visibly relaxes before me. Kneeling next to the table, I ask, "How are you feeling, Dean?"
"Okay, I guess," he replies, his voice cracking slightly at first. "Guess I'm pretty tense inside, too, huh?" he jokes and tries to laugh. This is obviously not the type of massage he had imagined, but he's too polite and too proud to let on.
"Good, good," I say. "You're doing really well. Just relax. In fact, it looks like you're doing very well." I playfully tap his semi-hard cock.
He jumps slightly and laughs nervously.
"Now this next part will help with that and all your tension," I promise. "Just relax, and when we're done, you'll feel more relaxed than you've probably ever been." I glance at a foot locker strategically placed under the table. "In fact, I promise you will feel completely `released,'" I tell him, using an industry term for a massage that comes with an orgasm. "You could even say you'll feel pretty drained." How true that is.
I reach under the table and touch his rubbery dick. It's hot to the touch, and he lurches slightly in the restraints. He can't move much, and this realization probably only now hits home. Time to act.
"So, Dean," I say calmly, never letting go of his dick. "Keep breathing like we talked about, and just relax." My attitude is straightforward and professional. My voice, firm and reassuring. I see his head try to turn slightly as I speak.
"Dude," he begins. "Dude, I'm not wanting--"
"Oh, this?" I ask, squeezing his dick. "No, don't worry, this is just part of the massage. A specialized technique that has some tantric roots. But no, I'm not gay," I half-lie, "and you're safe. I promise, you're not going to get a handjob from me."
He laughs again, that pitiful, nervous laugh that's as much to ease his own mind as it is for my benefit. Without missing a beat, I continue to gently stroke and squeeze his dick with one hand and quietly get two squirts of lube on my hand from a pump bottle under the table.
By now the subject is semi-hard and at least very curious as to what is going to happen. I thoroughly lube up his cock with the Astroglide that matches well with what's in store for this helpless teen. Opening the small foot locker box under the table reveals the true tools of my torture device -- the device that will forever change the way Dean looks at dairy cows. He alternately tenses and relaxes as my fist coats his cock with lube.
I slide his slippery rod into the liberally lubed "receiver" -- a sheath inside a clear plastic tube that is just longer and wider than Dean's stiffening cock. The receiver's velvety smooth texture sliding along his prick makes his cock almost rock-hard now. The receiver is connected by a very flexible hose to the Venus 2000 (check it out at www.sybian.com) that I purchased for my own self-pleasure. Because of health and safety concerns, I use new receivers for each victim -- er, uh, subject. This wonderful device is the ULTIMATE male milking machine, period.
The penis is encased in an enclosed soft latex liner inside a clear tube that will stroke at practically any speed and depth. The basic principle is that the penis is sucked and stroked by using a closed-air system. The diaphragm in the power unit moves air in and out of the receiver. This makes the receiver go up and down on the penis shaft. The very, very soft rubber liner has the texture similar to a silken rubberband. When lubricated, it is indistinguishable from the sensation of having your cock inside an actual person -- in fact, it actually feels much better! The amount of suction and length of stroke can be adjusted by adding or removing air from the system. This is done with a large syringe connect to another tube. The entire air system is closed so lubricant and cum juice cant "gum" up the works. Yes, you can blow your load right down its throat without removing the receiver! Very well-engineered and thought out.
With his cock in the receiver and my hands on the remote controls (connected by cord to the power pack) we begin. The receiver needs to be set as to not come off at the long end of the stroke so we take a little air out of the enclosed system by pulling back on the syringe handle.
I start out slow-- about 60 strokes a minute, just to get the juices flowing-- "Oh shit... dude, aw, man... what are you... aww!" I can tell my subject is beginning to get into to the stroking because his hips are attempting to thrust his now throbbing cock deeper into the receiver with every up stroke.
I hear him moan and he says, "Faster-- please, a little faster!" I oblige him and increase the speed to about 90 strokes per minute. He says, "Oh my God! that is the best... AW!" His fists are now clenched.
The receiver moves up and down the victim's cock and is tight enough to see the veins starting to pop out on his rod. The wide, fat head of his prick is getting much well-deserved attention because the air-tight cavity keeps the lubricated rubber liner pressed against the entire penis surface. Most guys never have this kind of stimulation on their dicks, at least not without being in control of it.
"Faster!" he says-- so I bring the speed up to a ball-shaking 150 strokes per minute. His reaction is shocked and immediate. "Oh fuck!" he blurts, his view limited to the floor before him. "I think...aww...I think I'm...oh fuck!...I'm going to cum...aw shit!!" His whole body quakes in rhythmic motion as the unmerciful receiver keeps sucking, stroking, and sliding up and down his stiff cock. Its soft velvety texture brings every nerve ending to complete arousal.
He's stopped breathing, prepping for the impending ejaculation. He's totally at the mercy of the humming pump of the Venus, entirely linked to its relentless sliding. Its non-stop rhythm keeps going despite his paralysis, and then, his body locked in the embrace of a forced orgasm, he lets loose with low, growing moans --"Ohhhh... mmmm... mmmmmm!... MMMMM!!! AWWW!!!" -- and string after string of white semen exits his prick. The receiver jolts and wags, never stopping, up and down, up and down, pulling the cum out of the 19-year old's pulsing cock. Up and down...
I watch his body jerking face-down on the table, hearing the Velcro straining and the table creaking as Dean tries to thrash, to add his own movements to that of the receiver but it makes no difference, Venus doesn't care, it strokes hard or soft, fast or slow, ready to cum or totally spent, and wont stop until I turn it off. The machine keeps right on going. Now here is where the good part begins.
Normally, the human male wants to stop thrusting because the penis has just shot its load. But the Venus 2000 doesn't understand that-- it wants more. It just keeps stroking, sucking, and grinding the cum out of this poor guy's twitching cock. So I do what every guy wishes he could do himself, but his body won't let him -- I speed it up; this is why it is called "milking torture."
His moans and cussing from cumming are still at their peak when I ask casually, "I'm sorry, did you still want faster?" I crank the dial up to 200 strokes per minute, which is over three strokes up and down his tender cock every second as it tries to spew out the last of its cum.
The room is filled with the loud humming of the Venus, quickly joined by a sound from Dean like gasping choking as his mind tries to deal with the new, intense sensations from his battered prick.
"NO! NO! Stop!" he cries in anguish. Dean tries in vain to pull away from the sliding suction action but he can't move since he is strapped down. The receiver keeps slamming away. Its strong suction action won't let him shake it off now matter how hard he tries. "STOP! STOP!" he yells. The straps are pulled taught by his now wrenching body. His toes curl and he yells, "Please STOP! I can't...! oh God, no, please...! please...I can't...take it anymore!" The receiver unmercifully keeps right on stroking, squeezing every drop of boyjuice out of his cock.
Dean's wailing drowns out the sounds of the Venus's incessant suction. I watch, as fascinated as I always am with my victims, as Dean thrashes and begs, as he cusses and screams, as his body tries to reject the onslaught of pleasure that the Venus impersonally delivers.
No doubt Dean's cock is growing numb -- or trying to -- but the Venus is unimpressed and demanding, and continues its assault. Then, something happens that Dean would have never expected. He cums again.
In the middle of his screaming fit, not a minute after his first orgasm subsided and his torture began, the nonstop stroking and suction of the Venus's receiver has begun coaxing a fresh load of cum from my client. I lean back and watch it unfold, hearing Dean's cries climb from agony to ecstasy in an instant.
"PLEASE...! Oh fuck please... turn it off... uh... dude please...! UH! I... OH FUCK... OH FUCK!... I wuh... I wuh... EI-UH... EEIIIYYYYYYYY!" As the boy's body spasms and shakes, the blur of the receiver under him is crowned with splatters of hot cum dripping and flying from the end. This continues for what I estimate is the better part of 10 seconds, until, his semen glands depleted again, his body suffers the aftershocks for long afterward. A bizarre and erotic sight -- two orgasm, truly back-to-back, in less than three minutes. Amazing.
After 30 seconds of the most intense cock-exploding, non-stop orgasm, and almost tearing the restraints out of the table, I slow the unit down to about 60 strokes a minute. I notice the sweat on Dean's back. His rapid, panting breathing.
"Oh my GOD!" he shouts. "I have never, ever cum like that! EVER!" I notice the cum dripping out of the ball-check of the receiver end-cap. I use Astroglide as a lubricant since in all of my experiments it has worked the best. I have an old Windex type bottle set on "stream" to give a few shots of fresh lube on the flesh of his almost-flaccid cock. The Venus is still stroking, sucking, and pulling on his member. With the addition of some fresh lube, the receiver now goes down farther on his shaft.
"Dude, hey, what are you doing?" he asks, slightly panicked.
"Just a little added attraction," I reply. Then back to business. A little more air out of the receiver acts like a penis pump that strokes too. His cock is raw and plump. The adjustment keeps it that way.
"You aren't going to do this to me again?!?!" He's obviously never considered that I wouldn't stop. Obviously never had to deal with the overload of sensation from his screaming cock.
"Not me," I say calmly. "The machine. It wants your cum. Just relax and let it come to you. Feel the pressure building within you. Let it collect, and then give it away."
He grunts and strains in the straps. "Aw fuck... FUCK!"
Dean's rubbery cock is making a desperate, slow crawl toward his body, trying in vain to escape the sliding motions, trying to go limp. But it's no use. The receiver's negative pressure keeps his cock "inflated" and receptive. The pump under the table driving the receiver over his dick and driving Dean toward another unwanted cum.
The Venus doesn't care about recovery periods and post-orgasm sensitivity. And for the moment, neither does Dean's body. His cock is harder by the second and looking to be drained once more -- despite the agonizing pleasure that's making him bounce in the straps.
A little faster now, back to 90 strokes a minute. "Holy fuck!" he shouts. "No, don't," he begs. "Please, not again..."
His breathing is shaky, coming in ragged pants. He's taking what sounds like gulps of air, then moaning in between. Then with all of the veracity of a bull in a rodeo stall trying to buck its way out, he cries out as his cock shoots dribbles of juice in one explosive wave after another. And no matter how he pushes or pulls or twists, the sleeve continues to stimulate his flagging prick. In seconds, he is shoved from unbelievable pleasure to inescapable agony. Yet, as I watch his bare white ass in front of me, his body continues to offer more and more spunk to the heartless device, his asscheeks clenching and releasing in a spastic rhythm only his raw cock understands.
As the last of his cum exits the open end of the tube, I slide the dial back up to 150 strokes a minute.
"Hooohaaaaah! Jesus! Oh...oh...oh my God!" The receiver keeps pulling to get more semen out of his rock-hard manhood with even greater intensity. Up and down, unwilling to stop, uncontrollable, unmerciful. His body wants to give more, but cannot. He's dry, spent, and suffering. The Venus continues, each second it slides up and down and up and down and back up ... second ... after second ... after second.
He definitely knows who is boss now. I let this period between agony and ecstasy last for another full minute, Dean babbling meaningless syllables. As I slow the unit down and slowly bring it to a stop, I see the big spot of cum under the table on the towel and dripping from the open end of the tube. His thick, spent cock is still twitching inside the diabolical device, bouncing with the aftershocks of his third "unnatural" cum. Dean's body, a masterwork of nature and physiology, has been milked -- even raped -- by a machine. And still, his cock aches for more.
I slide the receiver off his dripping, swollen member. Being careful not to touch the engorged, twitching, and very sensitive organ, I begin releasing the restraints. His skin is marked where the straps were and he is covered in sweat.
I place a towel over him and ask him to lie there for a while until his strength returns. After 10 minutes of becoming reoriented with his surroundings, he walks into the adjoining bathroom for a shower that continues for nearly ten minutes. Then he slowly returns and flops down on a chair in the corner, his clothes still forgotten after the intimacy of this experience.
So, Dean, what do you think?
"Dude," he says slowly. "Fuck that." He laughs. "Fuck no, never again."
"I can fit you in next Thursday at 4:00," I say.
Dean laughs and rubs his sore penis. He looks at the floor and touches his cock again. Squeezing it from the base, he pinches a tiny glob of cum out of his dick. He smiles and shakes his head in disbelief, then leans back.
"Sure."
Got him. I pause and lean against the table. "Or," I say. "We could go again now. I've got another hour before me next client's due."
"Hour?!" he says. But I can see he's actually considering. And was it just me, or did Dean's cock just twitch again...?
(c) Copyright Hephistian (hephistian@excite.com)