The Handboy's Tale Ch. 01

He went into the bathroom. Looking back, he must have been thinking that the door would provide some measure of protection, some kind of privacy. He stepped into the shower and turned the water on. Again, he imagined that somehow the cloaking sound of water would protect him. He lay down in the tub and began to work his hand up and down on his cock.

Oh, it felt so good. Knowing that he would be giving himself release increased his sense of shame -- but perversely, that shame only aroused him more. Faster and faster his hand went on his cock, and then he would back off for a while, again savoring the feeling of control he felt over his own body's reactions.

Finally, he knew it was time. Knew that he was about to put himself in the company of the worst of the SocioSexual criminals. He went up and down, up and down, just ready to push himself past the edge, up and over the precipice. Faster and faster. Almost.. almost.. now!!

It seemed that they came from every direction. The window exploded. The door crashed open. The shower curtain was yanked off the rod. Standing over him were a squad of women clad in black skinsuits emblazoned with bright blood-red shields. Uniforms that brought shivers of dread to any man who even glimpsed them. They were the Sisters of Perputual Menstruation. And they had come for him.

They'd turned the water off. He lay there in the bath tub shivering. They looked at him impassively, appraisingly. He was naked, his unsatisfied cock curled up into his body, desperately trying to hide itself from their cold, uncompromising stares.

They'd bundled him up in transparent confinement wrap and hustled him to the door. He remembered with horror now how they had paused deliberately inside for a few minutes, waiting for a crowd of neighbors and passer-bys to gather. And then how they had paraded him out to the waiting van. Thrust him in the back and secured him with crash webbing. And then...

He woke up from this nightmare suddenly, and into another one.

Becky had grabbed a hold of his cock and his full attention with it. She tightened her grip and began moving her hand up and down on it slowly. She did that for a while, slowing her pace to an agonizing crawl.

"How's that, Jonah? You like that? Is that a good pace for you?"

He knew it was a trap, but he also couldn't stand it, he needed her to speed up as well.

"I... could you go a bit faster please? I can't... That doesn't feel right."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Her hand began moving more quickly on his cock, and then more quickly still, her fist hammering up and down on his cock in a frenzied parody of the motion he made when he was about to bring himself to climax. It was the motion that told his body that he was ready, that it was time to finish things.

He'd been moaning semi-consciously for some time now, he knew, and now those moans turned into words, words that indeed made him sound needy and juvenile. "Oh god, thank you, thank you, thank you..." But he didn't care. His heart was full of gratitude toward this unlikely angel -- an angel of mercy and lust-fulfillment.

His whole body kicked into the orgasm drill -- he was already flushed, his heart beating rapidly, and now his ass tightened, he felt something in his balls shift-open, he felt a welling deep inside. Finally, the orgasm that had been interrupted so horribly and unforgettably a few days earlier was finally getting it's day. The force of this longed for orgasm began to gain an unstoppable momentum, any will-power or self-control he had left was bring washed away by the strength of his need. He could feel his semen running over the spillway of the dam, eroding it's edges, cracking the foundations, and pushing the entire structure over, releasing the vast reservoir of semen that had been stored behind it. It should be starting to pour out now.

"Oh god, yes. Oh oh oh oh." He knew he was babbling and mewling. Private, shameful sounds that no-one else should ever hear.

His body was a symphony of motion and feeling now all gathered together in a crescendo. And then there it was -- the rising notes that he knew would form that last stirring tonic chord.

Except. The music had fallen silent all of a sudden. The conductor had thrown down the baton and walked off stage. What? What the fuck?!

He was back in reality now. Tied up on a strange small bed in a large room, two burly women looking at him with expressions of what could be interpreted equally well as good-natured mirth or sadistic delight.

"Oh sorry, honey, my hand must have slipped."

She didn't look sorry.

He, one the other hand was very sorry. He felt himself thrash around on the bed. He couldn't control the motion of his hips, and he wouldn't have bothered to even if he could. They knew his need.

Katy looked at her watch.

"Oh, well, will you look at the time, Katy? We've got to get down to the cafeteria before everyone eats all of the humus. Listen, um, Jonah. You don't mind if we finish this up later, do you?"

He lay there, his balls boiling, his libido shredded, his need over-whelming. But he couldn't give them the satisfaction of begging. And he knew that it wouldn't make any difference if he did.

"Oh, sure. Okay."

He even managed a weak smile.

"Good then. Okay, you have a nice rest. There will be many opportunities for us to get to know each other better."

They tidied up a bit, ignoring him now, discussing a weekend bike-trip up the coast as they headed out of the room.

"Time to pull the hog out of storage, Katy."

"Yep, I'll have her tuned up and purring like a kitten, Becky."

And he lay there, strapped to the bed, his pants still around his knees, his cock pointed at almost exactly ninety degrees from his torso. Miserable. Helpless. And more aroused than he'd ever been in his life.