Bukake
The young man's shorts were very short, very black, very tight. The invitation seemed obvious. "Well. ?" he began.
"No. We shall not."
"But "
"You thought wrong. You're a geek; you never had a chance."
Dinner, with drinks and dessert, had been close to three hundred dollars. "You might have said so in the first place."
"I never pass up a free meal. But let's face it: a guy like you will never get near a young man like me."
"We'll see about that."
The short, tight black shorts were gone now. The young man was, in fact, completely naked. Heavy, impersonal steel manacles held his ankles, his knees, his wrists. These manacles were affixed to thick, rigid steel cables which kept the young man's naked meaty body aloft, suspended in midair.
The only illumination which penetrated the dark gloom of the chamber was a single white spotlight which directed its malevolent gaze onto the young stud’s trembling form. His arrogance had vanished along with his clothing. An hour earlier he had been haughty and proud; now he was on the verge of tears.
Directly in front of the young man's mouth was a cock. It was not a human cock, but rather a cold, uncaring steel phallus. It hovered menacingly in front of his face, completely dominating the local airspace. Its purpose remained opaque, but he had no doubts as to its sinister nature. Thick steel tubing connected this mysterious metal penis to a strange pedestal which stood about two meters in front of the young man's meaty, fleshy crotch. This item resembled a small drinking fountain; its function was entirely unclear to him, but he sensed with a sinking certainty that it was designed to do him harm.
Smaller steel cables were clipped to both of his nipples and to his swollen purple cock head. The purpose of these connections was, alas, only too clear to him. He had awakened to discover that these cables were delivering steady, low-intensity electric current to the three most sensitive, vulnerable points on his delicious meaty body. The pain was mild and manageable, but he understood what it meant. It was a promise.
Before him stood the man he had jilted. An hour ago he had been flaunting the power which he had over him; now he smiled gently as he savored the radical inversion which had occurred in their relationship.
"Please," he whimpered. "I'm sorry I treated you so badly. Just let me go, and " The man held up his hand, silencing him with a gesture. Then he pointed at someone or something outside the circle of light. The bound stud howled as sharp shocks stabbed into his thick pec steaks. He screamed as ruthless, relentless current ravaged his long fleshy cock.
His big meaty body bucked wildly in its bonds as the shocks divided, multiplied and disper
sed themselves throughout his exquisite frame. Pain! He had never known such ruthlessly intimate agony. It was right there, right in the parts of him that mattered, in the tender pink nipples, in his meaty sex rod. And from there it had access to every inch of him, every corner of his being, for his nipples and his cock were the gateways by which any man or any force could gain entry to everything that he was.
Meanwhile, he discovered that the steel cables which held his wrists and ankles were retracting, growing tighter. The cables were not simply for bondage, then. This was actually a high-tech rack. And it was, as he began to discover moments later, a highly effective one. In no time at all, the cables had him spread-eagled and stretched to the point of pain. Burning ligaments protested in his shoulders, in his hips. The cables knew exactly what to do. They stretched him slowly and steadily until it really started to hurt--then held him there, and let him suffer. They would do him no permanent damage--not yet, at least.
He spent a good deal of time screaming, then. His screams did not diminish the pain in a
ny way, but it did feel good to express the agony. After a while, however, his screams started to die down as he realized the futility of this practice. Soon he was reduced to soft, subdued sobs. And that is when he finally spoke.
"Do you know what Bukkake is?" he asked. He was in too much pain to respond. "It is a rather remarkable Japanese art," he explained. "I suppose you could think of it as a kind of face painting. Here, allow me to demonstrate."
Another gesture into the void beyond the light brought a new player onto the stage: a "barely legal" Japanese teen, his long dark hair swept up into a ponytail, his wrists handcuffed behind his back. This slender, naked yellow stud fell immediately to his knees. When the man unzipped his fly and presented him with his turgid staff, he engulfed it without hesitation and began to fellate him with remarkable enthusiasm.
The tortured stud could only whimper helplessly. He had denied this man the pleasures of his body. Very well; he would have his pleasure nonetheless. He would allow this nubile teen to satisfy him, as he watched his stretched, shocked, shackled date twist and suffer.

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