Gym-Buddies by MBPanda Sweat ran down Brigitte Lindholm’s brow, and she wiped it away with the end of a towel slung over her shoulders. She stood, her chest rising and falling in quick shallow breaths, as her friend and Overwatch partner, Brok Ferroson, lifted some free weights. His biceps curled and popped in a display of strength and perfect form. He was one of the few that could give her a run for her money in the gym.
Brok stood a full head taller than Brigitte—a feat in and of itself. His short-cropped blac…
“I trust you aren’t having any ideas about release,” she grinned wickedly as she put the last belt through the metal clasp and tightened it. “I was not joking yesterday when I said that any time you are brought down here, you will not, ever, be granted that.”
The chair from yesterday had been exchanged for an X-shaped wooden frame upon which he lay, four thick leather straps on each limb that held him firmly down, barely allowing him the freedom to move his head and fingers freely. Spread eagle and naked – save for the fur-lined metal collar around his neck and the fat gag in his mouth – he was perfectly vulnerable in every way, at her mercy and without any hope of preventing what was to come.
The dungeon was far from dank, rank or moist, though it had a prevailing scent of something ancient and dry that he knew would slowly but surely weaken the longer he was down there. The temperature was comfortable to his naked flesh, the braziers, torches and candles around warming the oblong chamber as well as illuminating the grey stone and the assortment of nefarious contraptions and furniture lining the walls and stacked in the corners.
Snickering with her mouth closed, the jailor – she had never given him her name, only her apparent title – rose to her full height when she was satisfied the final strap was sufficiently tight, her heels making her half a head taller than what he was when standing straight.
Clad in burgundy boots that hugged her upper thighs firmly, with gloves, panties and top to match, the jailor, as usual, showed a lot of skin, something he’d realized was as much a reason for this clan’s desire to invoke lustful stares as it was due to the balmy temperatures they maintained within their keep. The colours were not a stark contrast to her grey, smooth skin, but they complemented her well. She wore a collar, too, red like the rest of her garbs, with a metal hoop at the front, but there was no mistaking her armour-like choker for the demeaning prisoner’s variety he and those other women he had seen were wearing.
She glared down at him, that menacing smile lingering on her pink lips while her penetrating red eyes bored into his soul. Licking her lips, as she did so often whilst in a state of arousal, he could only imagine what twisted, torturous ideas milled about her head beyond her long black tresses. [click link]
“I mean that,” she emphasized. “Within this room there’s no use hoping or praying for an orgasm. It will not happen.” Her smile widened. “In here you will be tortured without pity, and your muffled cries for one will only spur me on to take you to greater heights of frustration.”
In the back, by the circular doorway through which the staircase to the upper level of the dungeons led, one of the Dark Elf guards snickered. Like all of them, even though hers was far more armoured and utilitarian, she was showing quite a lot of skin, her skin-tight black top doing a good job of pressing her large breasts up and together. Down her hip, over the skirt of studded leather, a short dagger rested comfortably in its sheath; an unnecessary insurance against him resisting. He knew there was no use. Even if he could somehow break free and overpower the two of them in this immediate room, there were dozens more Dark Elves between here and even the lower level of the keep atop the dungeons.
And they were all female. For whatever reason there was not a single male Dark Elf in this clan.
He was the only man present, and he was human.
It appeared this all-female clan of Dark Elves preferred non-Dark Elf prisoners, although he had no clue as to what they needed prisoners for. He assumed they either ransomed off their captives to their friends and family, or perhaps the Dark Elves were more interested in servants and the immoral business of slave-trade. Either way he did not know. He had not seen those other girls that had been captured, and what was being done to him seemed not to please anything other than the private lusts of the jailor.
He’d been taken quite by surprise just before the sun dipped behind the western sea, nearly immediately after he had finished pitching his tent and had started a small campfire in order to cook his supper – what had happened to the rabbit he’d caught he had no idea, but he assumed his elven captors had taken it – when he’d been alerted to the sound of approaching hooves. It was unexpected, but not unheard of. The region he was in and indeed the path he was on was frequently used by travelers going to and from the capital on the shore, half a day’s ride north.
It was unexpected, to say the least, that a Dark Elf raiding party were to come upon him so far from the usual regions upon which they preyed. As he would learn from the other captives – all young women, most of them human – when he rode in one of the several prison carts, the Dark Elves had struck several villages and hamlets, taking captives and disappearing before any meaningful resistance could be offered by the locals, and before any garrisons close by could hope to catch up with them.
Two elves, dressed very much like the one guarding this dungeon – most of these female warriors had very athletic, muscular bodies, physiques that were testaments to their lifetimes of martial perfections without robbing them of their femininity – with spears levelled at him broke from the rest of the convoy and promptly cornered him. With one of them binding him as the other kept the point of her spear uncomfortably close to his throat, other elves had rummaged his camp as he was led away and unceremoniously shoved into one of the carts with the other prisoners, and then rocked and bumped for close to a full week before the caravan arrived at their mountain citadel.
He’d been stripped and, essentially at swordpoint, been forced to take a bath in a natural hotspring within their labyrinthine citadel that had been shaped into a proper bathhouse. In fact, everything within this mountain resembled nothing like caves or holes. The Dark Elves were elves, and thus inclined to live in spacious, luxurious surroundings. Every stone surface was polished to a mirror sheen, and obnoxious furniture and art added colour to their surroundings. After he had washed himself, his hands still bound, in the view of two guards who kept staring unashamedly at him as they made lewd suggestions, he had been put in a cell for the night.
Food had been left for him in the morning – yesterday – and several hours later, the jailor had appeared to make herself known.
Strikingly beautiful, her devious mind was the only thing that could distract one from her physical appearance. She was, she explained, the matriarch’s appointed master of all her prisoners, though she made no mention as to who this matriarch was, nor indeed offered up any more information about herself.
She had taken him to the room he was in now, and naturally his alarm had risen at seeing all the restraints and devices. Until now he had been, perhaps unreasonably so, calm regarding his captivity, assuming that at worst they would enslave him for some menial purpose or other. He had not really considered torture.
And torture him she did, but it was a kind of torment he had never before considered, nor ever believed would be so effective. Had his captor wanted any sort of information from him he would have been more than ready to answer after the first two hours – not to mention the total five hours she had worked on him, strapped to that chair – but as it would appear, the jailor tortured him for no other reason other than that it gave her extreme pleasure to do so.
It was so evident by her expressions, her gleeful giggles and her immersion that torturing him fulfilled her like nothing else could.
What was worse was that she was so talented at it.
For five hours she played with his straining cock, using not only her body, but a variety of tools, to bring him over and over to the edge of orgasm, more often than not letting him linger for many agonising seconds, before ceasing all stimulation, denying him orgasm.
What made the ordeal that much worse was not knowing why she did it, and her wicked laugh as she stood over his sweaty, straining restrained body did not help matters either.
“But don’t let that deter you from pleading me,” she continued, trailing a gloved finger down his thigh between the two straps holding it against the wooden frame. “I take such pleasure in hearing you beg and moan and whimper.” She flashed her teeth and touched her finger to his erection. When she fetched him in his cell a little earlier, binding his hands behind his back, she had wound a leather string around his cock and balls, and to his bafflement, as the minutes went by his member had swelled and risen despite his desire to keep it down.
She trailed the finger down the length of his shaft, all the way from the tip to the base, and her touch was sparking. It took all his will to deny her the satisfaction of a grunt. The finger continued down, causing him to involuntarily shudder when it had passed over one of his testicles and brushed against his asshole.
Despite himself, despite fearing what he was in for, as soon as she grabbed his cock with a very light grip, he wished she would take her top off, like she had done well into yesterday’s session. She had magnificent breasts, very large and shapely and, as he had learned through his torturous tribulation the previous day, warm and soft to the touch when she used them on his dick, something she did with terrible cunning.
Satisfied that he was hard enough to start working on, the jailor unwound the slim narrow thong she had wound around him, letting the leather string fall to the ground. The hand gripping him was giving him a few slow strokes to encourage his straining manhood, mindful to keep her grip light so as not to give him too much stimulation at the moment.
The theory was that the potential gains increased dramatically with prolonged tease and denial, so as such it was paramount to not give the prisoner an accidental orgasm too soon, and thereby invalidate the hours of teasing that had gone into the ordeal. That was why the jailor had been chosen for the task; only she had the necessary expertise, as the matriarch called it, to prepare a male for the ritual.
The process worked on women, that’s why they so far had exclusively captured females, but on a whim they had decided to capture this man when they came upon him, and now the matriarch and her high sorceresses were dying to see whether or not a male would prove an untapped goldmine. If he wasn’t, nothing of consequence was lost, if he was, the question then became whether or not he was as effective as a woman. Again, if the answer was “no”, nothing of actual relevance was lost, only the time it had taken to research it. If the answer was “yes”, on the other hand, many of the elves would surely be bitter for years for not having attempted the ritual with a male before.
At the moment none of these considerations weighed significantly on the jailor’s mind. She was quite content – ecstatic – to be employing her talents on a stiff cock once more. It was her only interest she had missed in the centuries following her uprooting from her previous life when she joined the matriarch’s hive of equal-minded women. Tormenting women was all well and good, but…
They were not men. Men tended to get far more desperate. It was a desperation she lived for, one she had forgotten she craved like a musician craved inspiration until this man was handed over to her with the matriarch’s orders to cocktease him beyond tears and without mercy.
Licking her lips, she intended to do just that, and reading the limited body-language of her charge told her he had learned much about what to expect – and dread – since the two of them got acquainted the previous day.
Mentally going through what she intended to do to him today had her panties overflowing in seconds.
Holding his cock with a feather-like grip, feeling it pulse, wishing she could feel the warmth of it through her gloves, she grabbed a bottle of slick, heated oil from the stone floor and poured it over the straining dick. She bit her lower lip at seeing the viscous fluid, heated to be body-temperature, slide down from his reddened cockhead down the shaft, over her fingers and onto his balls. Tossing the bottle aside, she gave him a couple of firm jerks, spreading the lubrication and causing him to shudder.
For the moment he refused to make a sound. She knew it wouldn’t last long. It amused her that he was trying.
Positioning herself properly between his spread legs, smiling wide, her other hand came up to cup his testicles, and then she said, “I’m going to torture the fuck out of your cock now.”
***
He had made it all of ten minutes without begging, but such was the male anatomy’s enslavement to his sexual organ, and the jailor’s prowess in her art, that he could not keep himself from desperately wanting release. Using her hands on him, the smooth gloves aided by the oil on his cock and balls, she had started out more forceful than the day before. Now that she knew all of his most sensitive spots and how to manipulate them for the greatest effect without letting him orgasm, she had brought him to the brink of orgasm and kept him there – defying reason with her skill – for several minutes straight before she let him come back down. Then she had given him a short moment to breathe, her oil-coated fingers trailing his inner thighs, before taking him to the edge once more, holding him there even longer, perfectly dancing her fingers and his sensations to leave him a hair’s width from climax without actually letting him.
It was a skill that should be impossible, and yet she mastered it like an archer could master what was perceived to be an impossible shot. Without letting her prey slip over the edge to orgasm, and without letting his cock lose sensation and thus take itself from the edge, she could keep him, perfectly, on the cusp for several minutes.
Those minutes were the longest ones in his life, and she did this on and off for over a full hour, laughing when he begged, tears, drool and pre-cum wet testaments to his frustration and her complete power over him. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and groans, her malicious laugh and the wet noises of oily hands sliding up and down on his cock.
After the last edge she gave him a longer pause, but only a pause in the sense that she didn’t touch his jerking manhood. She assailed his other senses with her touches, her sweet, evil murmurs and her scent. As she walked around the frame upon which he was bound, she flicked his nipples, she brushed her breasts against his face, she licked his ears and neck, she caressed his belly and she rubbed his thighs.
When she got back into it, she used her mouth. The wet, tight hole created by her lips sucked him like a starved whore, her tongue eagerly lapping up the sweet taste of his pre-orgasmic juices. His long groans vying for an audience with his larynx together with his desperate moans were music to her long ears, and with her hands dexterously juggling his balls and squeezing his thighs, she brought him once again to the very edge of an explosive climax, using nothing but her tongue and lips on his cockhead to let him linger, denying him orgasm yet keeping him agonizingly close to it.
When her mouth was satisfied, she picked out some tools that had proven very effective yesterday. She immediately applied the two feathers to his cock, one ticking the underside of the head and the other drawing slow circles on his balls. [click link]
This manner of stimulation was far less intense than what she had done so far, but as she had proved yesterday, it was no less effective. It just took far longer to coax him, and time was something she had in ample amounts to spend with him. In fact, a slow build towards the edge only added to his frustration.
Feeding on his groans and his whimpers, she pitilessly teased his dick with the points of the feathers, knowing full-well how the minute touches was barely enough to produce results. But knowing how receptive his body was after the initial tease, and gauging the reactions she saw in the muscles of his cock, she was satisfied that the feathers were serving their intended function of taking him, maddeningly slow, to yet another denied orgasm.
Feeling the soft quills on his swollen, begging manhood was indeed driving him to madness. The cunning brushes over his tip and shaft battled his logic, for surely such inconsequential touches should have no such power over even his most sensitive organ, but damn this woman if she couldn’t use feathers the way she used her fingers. There was no getting away from it, and while the approach towards an orgasm he knew he wouldn’t get yet continued to pray for was horrifically slow, it still made his poor cock crave more, made him crave more, made him strain with all his might against the restraints only to find he was impotent to do anything but weather her torture as his mind turned to much, wanting nothing in life except the mercy of release.
Behind them both, the guard – her job entirely superfluous given the prisoner’s helpless state and the jailor’s apt martial strength – fought her own rising arousal. Time and time again she had to will her hands to keep from drifting to her nether regions as her clansmate continued her wondrous torture, and she felt quite sure that before the jailor was done she would have bitten a hole through her lower lip. Knees periodically drifting closer to each other as though that would help quench the urges of her womanhood, the guard, like so many other of the women in their coven, realized that a male victim was far more fun than they had believed.
As the feathers guided him steadily yet unfathomably slowly towards the edge, the jailor was relishing every second of his sexual frustration. Every tremble of his muscles, every gagged sob, every drop of sweat coating his muscular, young body all over only fueled her desire to make him suffer. While her own desires wanted nothing more than to climb on top of him and ride him through the night, she knew that no sexual pleasure of her own could rival the delight she took in tormenting him. Every orgasm she denied him caused a surge of pleasure through her, as though every time she brought him to the edge and forcing him to remain there, seeing how his entire body wanted to burst through the restraints made her, on some level she did not understand, have a climax of the mind. It was nothing like cumming from the tongue of a female prisoner against her clit, but it was exhilarating and addictive all the same.
Thrice she took him to the edge with the feathers, a process that took two hours, and by now the prisoner was so beyond despair he was positively frothing around his gag. Giving him a generous five minutes to catch his breath without any stimulation at all on his body – something she deemed necessary so as not to cause him physical harm – the jailor then sultrily removed her top, letting her mounds fall free of the constricting garb.
Her hard nipples, like always, were pierced. Today she wore two wide rings with a metal ball at the bottom of each curve, the silver ornaments swinging gently after the covers came off. Kneading her boobs with her hands, feeling more pleasure course through her, she gave her nipples a tug and a squeeze, purposefully letting out a seductive moan as she did.
The prisoner loved her tits, she had determined that yesterday. It was a terrible mistake to have revealed that to her through the excited bounces of his cock and the stares he had given her, for it made her all the more equipped to turn her breasts into yet another tool of his torture.
Coating her large mammaries with more oil, she slid his hardness between them and, savoring his look of pure desperation, massaged his drooling cock in her cleavage, making sure to let out plentiful sounds of female arousal, giving him enticing facial expressions and generally making things as unbearable for him as she possibly could.
It did not take even a dozen strokes of her tits to get him to the edge. He was so overstimulated now that it seemed a mild breeze blowing across him could be enough to set him off. It was a gamble to hold him at the precipice as well this far into his torment, so as soon as she felt the telltale pulses of his manhood the stopped moving, content to keep the cock trapped between her pressing mounds, feeling it so sexily throb in her cleavage.
Being in the constricting, warm valley of her shapely breasts should be as heaven to him, but feeling the soft womanflesh stroke and massage his pulsing cock and knowing deep within that she wouldn’t allow him to orgasm was but yet another thing that made him all but lose his mind.
It would be delightful to actually cause him to erupt between her boobs, but she dismissed that idea as soon as it had formed.
In this room there were no orgasms for prisoners. No exceptions.
Particularly not for the first male prisoner to grace the clan with his helpless presence.
She worked on him for two more hours, alternating between using her breasts, hands and mouth – a few times even using frayed ends of ropes to brush against him. Instead of slowly taking him to the edge and keeping him there, she was now trying to edge him as many times as possible without risking an accidental explosion of sticky white mess. She got him to the edge and then stopped for a few seconds before taking him back, hardly giving him the time to breathe before starting again.
His entire body was shaking in his bonds, his mind had ceased all coherent thoughts in favor of the incessant need to orgasm that overshadowed his ability to even recall his own name or where he was. Time wasn’t a factor anymore, because for all he knew he had been strapped to the wooden X for a full week without stop. Again and again she edged him with only seconds between each one, each edge so unbelievably close to setting him off and each feeling as though it was more intense than the last, although his body could surely not get any more sensitive than it had already been hours ago.
Giggling, snickering and laughing, she edged and edged his tortured cock, sometimes scooping up the thick strings of pre-cum to taste it, keeping each pause between edges as short as she could without accidentally giving him that one touch that would ruin the entire session.
When the five hours were up, having lost count long ago how many times she’d brought him close to cumming, the jailor stopped. With an evil smile, she put her top back on, her oil-coated boobs squeezing together once more.
She turned to leave, but before she vanished through the tunnel that led farther up into the dungeon she turned back to look at him. “Until tomorrow, my pet.”
Like yesterday, it took a good long while before sanity reasserted itself in him, but he could not begin to guess how long it actually took. It took about as long as his hypersensitive dick took to realize it wasn’t going to get touched anymore, and like a beggar shrinking away into his hole to avoid the disapproving gazes of more important people marching past, it finally went flaccid, as exhausted as the body it was attached to.
When this happened, the guard approached, having stoically stood at her post throughout everything, and attached the cage on his cock again. It had been placed on him after the previous day’s session with the jailor as well, and had remained on until she had fetched him in his cell earlier, taking it off and handing it to the guard before tying the string around him to force an erection.
It was a simple thing, but its function was quite clear. Simply to prevent him from stimulating himself in any way. It was made of steel and formed much like an actual cage would be. It was slipped over his cock and locked into place with a ring that was initially two halves until joined behind the base of his manhood and his balls. When secured, he had no way to take it off without the key, and, cruelly, when he inevitably grew to a full erection again within the steel length of it, he could do nothing to relieve himself.
With the cage in place, the guard started removing the straps holding his flushed, defeated body to the frame. He had not the strength to resist in any way – the marks the belts left on his skin was not only a testament to how tight they had been, but to his futile fight to break free – and the guard knew this perfectly well, which was why she took her time in tying his wrists behind him with rope. Had he been able to fight her he would have, but she was confident she could handle him.
At any rate, assistance in the form of other Dark Elves was not far away.
Defeated and with balls that ached for release, he was marched back to his cell.
***
The next day the torture had started again, but “only” for three hours. Once the jailor finished her last torment – which was circling her tongue without relent around his cockhead – she was aided by no less than four other guards to release him from the suspension-bondage that had him dangling in this room where he would never be allowed to cum, and taken to a part of the mountain citadel he had so far not visited.
It seemed there were more guards posted around every corner and turn. Here and there he believed he could see members of the upper echelons of the Dark Elves’ order, naturally all of them women. At a few places he came across other prisoners, collared like him, and it would seem the elves cared little for the race of their slaves, for he could see all sorts. Most were elves of other creeds and convictions, however, and there were quite a few humans, some of which he recognized from the carts he had ridden in. Some of them seemed to be common servants, running to and fro with food and drink or correspondence or equipment. He glanced into a room they passed and caught brief glimpses of two guards sitting with two slaves kneeling in front of them, presumably using their mouths on the flushed women’s clits.
Throughout his barefoot march on the stones, the four guards escorting him behind the jailor took any liberties they felt like taking with him. They seemed especially enamored with his buttocks, and frequently grabbed, stroked and smacked it, although they also found much pleasure in flicking his nipples and his erection, chastising him if he tried to squirm away when they were too rough with him, often rewarding him with more of the same.
At long last he was marched onto a stone platform that protruded from the mountainside like a tongue, and brought into the still night air. Mercifully to his naked flesh there was no wind, and hardly a sound could be detected anywhere under the moonlight. A round wooden table on iron legs had been placed in the middle of the platform. On the opposite side of the table, close to the edge of the platform which fell maybe as much as a couple of hundred feet straight down, the matriarch of the Dark Elves and one of her sorceresses waited for them.
Standing behind her mistress, the Dark Elf sorceress watched the new arrivals with an impassive face, yet within her calm, purple eyes the black-clad magician was rearing to go. Her long dark tresses nearly brushed the floor beneath her, and matched her scant, black clothes and boots that covered her up more than many Dark Elves in this citadel, yet showed more than enough skin and cleavage.
The matriarch, on the other hand, was smiling evilly with her entire face. Her sparkling purple eyes – a colour common to those born with the spark of the arcane – eyed the only male person in this citadel of hundreds with growing intrigue, finally about to discover whether or not her theory held water. Brushing her locks of thick, black hair behind her long ears, the purple cape behind her fluttered down her shapely body. She had the largest breasts by far by the women present, and they were pressed together by a skin-tight purple corset that made her cleavage positively bulge towards anyone who looked at them.
The pair of them were all but licking their lips when the prisoner was brought before them, and without delay the matriarch ordered him to be restrained on the wooden table.
He offered no resistance – he knew the futility, even though his heart was racing with fear – as the guards and the jailor used rope to tie him down, legs spread wide, in moments having him immobile and exposed in a vulnerable position. He had endured the jailor’s teasing already today, and his cock remained insistently hard, demanding orgasm after three days of denial.
“Keep him interested while we prepare the ritual,” the matriarch told the jailor, indicating the staff-wielding sorceress behind her. “Do not stop until I tell you to.”
Nodding her understanding, the jailor eagerly returned her attention to her captive cock, coating it with lubrication and then using her fingertips to tickle it up and down, brushing them against the glans and massaging the balls, causing her gagged prisoner to groan within seconds.
To facilitate his frustration further, she used one hand to deftly undo her top, letting her heavy, pierced tits plop free.
In front of him where he lay, once more enslaved to the begging sensations of his teased manhood and wanting nothing in life but the sweet relief of that orgasm that was always kept just out of reach, he noticed with some trepidation the stances of the matriarch and the sorceress, and heard the unintelligible mutterings forming on their lips.
He was not a magically adept man, but he had seen enough of it from time to time to recognize when magic was being employed. While he had no idea what was going on, it seemed the two elves were in trances of deep concentration. The very air around all of them appeared to vibrate and drag towards the pair as though sucked up by an invisible force into their bodies. Even the guards at the very edges of the platform felt something unseen tug on their scant clothes as the ritual continued.
“Don’t worry about them,” the jailor said, flicking her tongue against his cockhead between fingers and words. “You just concentrate on that urge to cum and how mean I am for not letting you.”
He didn’t need encouragement to focus on that, especially not when the jailor stood bent over toward him so that her spectacular cleavage dangled close to his face whilst her devilishly adept fingers – the gloves coated in slick, warm oil – played all over his manhood, up and down, slow and fast, the alternating techniques keeping him on his toes and on edge.
“Hold him on the edge!” the matriarch ordered, her eyes luminescent with magical blues, violets and golds, all vying for dominance in her arcanely astute pupils.
With an evil grin plastered on her face, the jailor effortlessly got him to the edge of orgasm and kept him there, her luscious lips working in tandem with her tongue and fingers, one hand lovingly cupping and massaging his testicles as she rubbed the cock onto her mouth. She laughed in pleasure when he sobbed in desperation.
After a few agonizingly long minutes of being forcibly kept at the cusp of orgasm, the jailor’s horrific skills making his heart thunder as his body drenched itself in sweat, the matriarch gave the order.
Straightening a bit, wrapping her hand tightly around his shaft, the other taking hold of the balls and, gently, pulling them away from his body, the jailor laughed sensually and wickedly. [click link]
A single powerful stroke was all that was needed, but she stroked him without stop as the orgasm took hold over him.
Positively screaming into his gag, unaware how he was tensing every fiber of his body and oblivious that he was pressing so hard against the ropes that they hurt him, he weathered an orgasm that was unrivalled to anything he had ever before felt, one that surely was beyond what any other man before him had experienced.
Erupting like a long dormant volcano, his dick belched rope after rope of thick semen that shot into the air with incredible speed. Whilst pumping his meat hard and fast, the jailor angled his cock as far down towards his feet as she could make it, ensuring that the tip was aimed at the matriarch. Such was the violence of his ecstasy that the strings of gooey cream had no trouble flying all the way over to the leader of the Dark Elves, splashing against her face, breasts and belly, the substance so thick it hardly ran down her skin.
As he came and his mind whited out in unadulterated bliss, he lost consciousness mid-orgasm, his manhood still spewing even after he was no longer around to enjoy it. In a way, even his orgasm was denied him.
As the powerful orgasm reverberated the sensitive magical winds in the chamber that the matriarch – with the added talents of her sorceress – guided into herself, she was nearly overwhelmed by the force. This manner of siphoning energy from non-magical creatures had long since been believed only to be feasible through women, because women could cum more often than men and ofttimes with more intensity to each orgasm. But when the theory was raised that perhaps a single male orgasm, if the male was properly denied beforehand could be worth the magical output of several female orgasms, the matriarch decided there was nothing to lose in seeing what would happen.
And now she was taken aback with the magnitude of the energies she was absorbing from this man’s orgasm. This single climax gave her easily the same level of power she could achieve from three female orgasms. It was intriguing to say the least, and most assuredly worth researching more. Spurred on by this success, feeling the additional arcane force course through her body, feeling powerful enough to topple a city with a single spell, the matriarch let her mind wander at the possibilities offered her by the male orgasm.
In time, perhaps daily edges would yield a forceful enough orgasm for the male to have his seed harvested every in order to feed her magic, but before he’d be able to survive the amount of hours he’d have to be edged in a single day, every day, in order to offer up a powerful enough orgasm, she had to continue experimenting on how prolonged teasing affected him, and thus how it affected the power she could take from his orgasm.
Drenched in cum, her hands dropping to her sides as she gasped with the spectacular magical power she had converted from the human’s mighty climax, the matriarch, grinning, looked at her jailor.
“Starting tomorrow, edge him six hours a day for a full week. On the eight day, bring him back here.”
The jailor, letting go of the human’s still erect cock, her glove smeared with his seed, smiled wickedly. “My pleasure.”
The chair from yesterday had been exchanged for an X-shaped wooden frame upon which he lay, four thick leather straps on each limb that held him firmly down, barely allowing him the freedom to move his head and fingers freely. Spread eagle and naked – save for the fur-lined metal collar around his neck and the fat gag in his mouth – he was perfectly vulnerable in every way, at her mercy and without any hope of preventing what was to come.
The dungeon was far from dank, rank or moist, though it had a prevailing scent of something ancient and dry that he knew would slowly but surely weaken the longer he was down there. The temperature was comfortable to his naked flesh, the braziers, torches and candles around warming the oblong chamber as well as illuminating the grey stone and the assortment of nefarious contraptions and furniture lining the walls and stacked in the corners.
Snickering with her mouth closed, the jailor – she had never given him her name, only her apparent title – rose to her full height when she was satisfied the final strap was sufficiently tight, her heels making her half a head taller than what he was when standing straight.
Clad in burgundy boots that hugged her upper thighs firmly, with gloves, panties and top to match, the jailor, as usual, showed a lot of skin, something he’d realized was as much a reason for this clan’s desire to invoke lustful stares as it was due to the balmy temperatures they maintained within their keep. The colours were not a stark contrast to her grey, smooth skin, but they complemented her well. She wore a collar, too, red like the rest of her garbs, with a metal hoop at the front, but there was no mistaking her armour-like choker for the demeaning prisoner’s variety he and those other women he had seen were wearing.
She glared down at him, that menacing smile lingering on her pink lips while her penetrating red eyes bored into his soul. Licking her lips, as she did so often whilst in a state of arousal, he could only imagine what twisted, torturous ideas milled about her head beyond her long black tresses. [click link]
“I mean that,” she emphasized. “Within this room there’s no use hoping or praying for an orgasm. It will not happen.” Her smile widened. “In here you will be tortured without pity, and your muffled cries for one will only spur me on to take you to greater heights of frustration.”
In the back, by the circular doorway through which the staircase to the upper level of the dungeons led, one of the Dark Elf guards snickered. Like all of them, even though hers was far more armoured and utilitarian, she was showing quite a lot of skin, her skin-tight black top doing a good job of pressing her large breasts up and together. Down her hip, over the skirt of studded leather, a short dagger rested comfortably in its sheath; an unnecessary insurance against him resisting. He knew there was no use. Even if he could somehow break free and overpower the two of them in this immediate room, there were dozens more Dark Elves between here and even the lower level of the keep atop the dungeons.
And they were all female. For whatever reason there was not a single male Dark Elf in this clan.
He was the only man present, and he was human.
It appeared this all-female clan of Dark Elves preferred non-Dark Elf prisoners, although he had no clue as to what they needed prisoners for. He assumed they either ransomed off their captives to their friends and family, or perhaps the Dark Elves were more interested in servants and the immoral business of slave-trade. Either way he did not know. He had not seen those other girls that had been captured, and what was being done to him seemed not to please anything other than the private lusts of the jailor.
He’d been taken quite by surprise just before the sun dipped behind the western sea, nearly immediately after he had finished pitching his tent and had started a small campfire in order to cook his supper – what had happened to the rabbit he’d caught he had no idea, but he assumed his elven captors had taken it – when he’d been alerted to the sound of approaching hooves. It was unexpected, but not unheard of. The region he was in and indeed the path he was on was frequently used by travelers going to and from the capital on the shore, half a day’s ride north.
It was unexpected, to say the least, that a Dark Elf raiding party were to come upon him so far from the usual regions upon which they preyed. As he would learn from the other captives – all young women, most of them human – when he rode in one of the several prison carts, the Dark Elves had struck several villages and hamlets, taking captives and disappearing before any meaningful resistance could be offered by the locals, and before any garrisons close by could hope to catch up with them.
Two elves, dressed very much like the one guarding this dungeon – most of these female warriors had very athletic, muscular bodies, physiques that were testaments to their lifetimes of martial perfections without robbing them of their femininity – with spears levelled at him broke from the rest of the convoy and promptly cornered him. With one of them binding him as the other kept the point of her spear uncomfortably close to his throat, other elves had rummaged his camp as he was led away and unceremoniously shoved into one of the carts with the other prisoners, and then rocked and bumped for close to a full week before the caravan arrived at their mountain citadel.
He’d been stripped and, essentially at swordpoint, been forced to take a bath in a natural hotspring within their labyrinthine citadel that had been shaped into a proper bathhouse. In fact, everything within this mountain resembled nothing like caves or holes. The Dark Elves were elves, and thus inclined to live in spacious, luxurious surroundings. Every stone surface was polished to a mirror sheen, and obnoxious furniture and art added colour to their surroundings. After he had washed himself, his hands still bound, in the view of two guards who kept staring unashamedly at him as they made lewd suggestions, he had been put in a cell for the night.
Food had been left for him in the morning – yesterday – and several hours later, the jailor had appeared to make herself known.
Strikingly beautiful, her devious mind was the only thing that could distract one from her physical appearance. She was, she explained, the matriarch’s appointed master of all her prisoners, though she made no mention as to who this matriarch was, nor indeed offered up any more information about herself.
She had taken him to the room he was in now, and naturally his alarm had risen at seeing all the restraints and devices. Until now he had been, perhaps unreasonably so, calm regarding his captivity, assuming that at worst they would enslave him for some menial purpose or other. He had not really considered torture.
And torture him she did, but it was a kind of torment he had never before considered, nor ever believed would be so effective. Had his captor wanted any sort of information from him he would have been more than ready to answer after the first two hours – not to mention the total five hours she had worked on him, strapped to that chair – but as it would appear, the jailor tortured him for no other reason other than that it gave her extreme pleasure to do so.
It was so evident by her expressions, her gleeful giggles and her immersion that torturing him fulfilled her like nothing else could.
What was worse was that she was so talented at it.
For five hours she played with his straining cock, using not only her body, but a variety of tools, to bring him over and over to the edge of orgasm, more often than not letting him linger for many agonising seconds, before ceasing all stimulation, denying him orgasm.
What made the ordeal that much worse was not knowing why she did it, and her wicked laugh as she stood over his sweaty, straining restrained body did not help matters either.
“But don’t let that deter you from pleading me,” she continued, trailing a gloved finger down his thigh between the two straps holding it against the wooden frame. “I take such pleasure in hearing you beg and moan and whimper.” She flashed her teeth and touched her finger to his erection. When she fetched him in his cell a little earlier, binding his hands behind his back, she had wound a leather string around his cock and balls, and to his bafflement, as the minutes went by his member had swelled and risen despite his desire to keep it down.
She trailed the finger down the length of his shaft, all the way from the tip to the base, and her touch was sparking. It took all his will to deny her the satisfaction of a grunt. The finger continued down, causing him to involuntarily shudder when it had passed over one of his testicles and brushed against his asshole.
Despite himself, despite fearing what he was in for, as soon as she grabbed his cock with a very light grip, he wished she would take her top off, like she had done well into yesterday’s session. She had magnificent breasts, very large and shapely and, as he had learned through his torturous tribulation the previous day, warm and soft to the touch when she used them on his dick, something she did with terrible cunning.
Satisfied that he was hard enough to start working on, the jailor unwound the slim narrow thong she had wound around him, letting the leather string fall to the ground. The hand gripping him was giving him a few slow strokes to encourage his straining manhood, mindful to keep her grip light so as not to give him too much stimulation at the moment.
The theory was that the potential gains increased dramatically with prolonged tease and denial, so as such it was paramount to not give the prisoner an accidental orgasm too soon, and thereby invalidate the hours of teasing that had gone into the ordeal. That was why the jailor had been chosen for the task; only she had the necessary expertise, as the matriarch called it, to prepare a male for the ritual.
The process worked on women, that’s why they so far had exclusively captured females, but on a whim they had decided to capture this man when they came upon him, and now the matriarch and her high sorceresses were dying to see whether or not a male would prove an untapped goldmine. If he wasn’t, nothing of consequence was lost, if he was, the question then became whether or not he was as effective as a woman. Again, if the answer was “no”, nothing of actual relevance was lost, only the time it had taken to research it. If the answer was “yes”, on the other hand, many of the elves would surely be bitter for years for not having attempted the ritual with a male before.
At the moment none of these considerations weighed significantly on the jailor’s mind. She was quite content – ecstatic – to be employing her talents on a stiff cock once more. It was her only interest she had missed in the centuries following her uprooting from her previous life when she joined the matriarch’s hive of equal-minded women. Tormenting women was all well and good, but…
They were not men. Men tended to get far more desperate. It was a desperation she lived for, one she had forgotten she craved like a musician craved inspiration until this man was handed over to her with the matriarch’s orders to cocktease him beyond tears and without mercy.
Licking her lips, she intended to do just that, and reading the limited body-language of her charge told her he had learned much about what to expect – and dread – since the two of them got acquainted the previous day.
Mentally going through what she intended to do to him today had her panties overflowing in seconds.
Holding his cock with a feather-like grip, feeling it pulse, wishing she could feel the warmth of it through her gloves, she grabbed a bottle of slick, heated oil from the stone floor and poured it over the straining dick. She bit her lower lip at seeing the viscous fluid, heated to be body-temperature, slide down from his reddened cockhead down the shaft, over her fingers and onto his balls. Tossing the bottle aside, she gave him a couple of firm jerks, spreading the lubrication and causing him to shudder.
For the moment he refused to make a sound. She knew it wouldn’t last long. It amused her that he was trying.
Positioning herself properly between his spread legs, smiling wide, her other hand came up to cup his testicles, and then she said, “I’m going to torture the fuck out of your cock now.”
***
He had made it all of ten minutes without begging, but such was the male anatomy’s enslavement to his sexual organ, and the jailor’s prowess in her art, that he could not keep himself from desperately wanting release. Using her hands on him, the smooth gloves aided by the oil on his cock and balls, she had started out more forceful than the day before. Now that she knew all of his most sensitive spots and how to manipulate them for the greatest effect without letting him orgasm, she had brought him to the brink of orgasm and kept him there – defying reason with her skill – for several minutes straight before she let him come back down. Then she had given him a short moment to breathe, her oil-coated fingers trailing his inner thighs, before taking him to the edge once more, holding him there even longer, perfectly dancing her fingers and his sensations to leave him a hair’s width from climax without actually letting him.
It was a skill that should be impossible, and yet she mastered it like an archer could master what was perceived to be an impossible shot. Without letting her prey slip over the edge to orgasm, and without letting his cock lose sensation and thus take itself from the edge, she could keep him, perfectly, on the cusp for several minutes.
Those minutes were the longest ones in his life, and she did this on and off for over a full hour, laughing when he begged, tears, drool and pre-cum wet testaments to his frustration and her complete power over him. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and groans, her malicious laugh and the wet noises of oily hands sliding up and down on his cock.
After the last edge she gave him a longer pause, but only a pause in the sense that she didn’t touch his jerking manhood. She assailed his other senses with her touches, her sweet, evil murmurs and her scent. As she walked around the frame upon which he was bound, she flicked his nipples, she brushed her breasts against his face, she licked his ears and neck, she caressed his belly and she rubbed his thighs.
When she got back into it, she used her mouth. The wet, tight hole created by her lips sucked him like a starved whore, her tongue eagerly lapping up the sweet taste of his pre-orgasmic juices. His long groans vying for an audience with his larynx together with his desperate moans were music to her long ears, and with her hands dexterously juggling his balls and squeezing his thighs, she brought him once again to the very edge of an explosive climax, using nothing but her tongue and lips on his cockhead to let him linger, denying him orgasm yet keeping him agonizingly close to it.
When her mouth was satisfied, she picked out some tools that had proven very effective yesterday. She immediately applied the two feathers to his cock, one ticking the underside of the head and the other drawing slow circles on his balls. [click link]
This manner of stimulation was far less intense than what she had done so far, but as she had proved yesterday, it was no less effective. It just took far longer to coax him, and time was something she had in ample amounts to spend with him. In fact, a slow build towards the edge only added to his frustration.
Feeding on his groans and his whimpers, she pitilessly teased his dick with the points of the feathers, knowing full-well how the minute touches was barely enough to produce results. But knowing how receptive his body was after the initial tease, and gauging the reactions she saw in the muscles of his cock, she was satisfied that the feathers were serving their intended function of taking him, maddeningly slow, to yet another denied orgasm.
Feeling the soft quills on his swollen, begging manhood was indeed driving him to madness. The cunning brushes over his tip and shaft battled his logic, for surely such inconsequential touches should have no such power over even his most sensitive organ, but damn this woman if she couldn’t use feathers the way she used her fingers. There was no getting away from it, and while the approach towards an orgasm he knew he wouldn’t get yet continued to pray for was horrifically slow, it still made his poor cock crave more, made him crave more, made him strain with all his might against the restraints only to find he was impotent to do anything but weather her torture as his mind turned to much, wanting nothing in life except the mercy of release.
Behind them both, the guard – her job entirely superfluous given the prisoner’s helpless state and the jailor’s apt martial strength – fought her own rising arousal. Time and time again she had to will her hands to keep from drifting to her nether regions as her clansmate continued her wondrous torture, and she felt quite sure that before the jailor was done she would have bitten a hole through her lower lip. Knees periodically drifting closer to each other as though that would help quench the urges of her womanhood, the guard, like so many other of the women in their coven, realized that a male victim was far more fun than they had believed.
As the feathers guided him steadily yet unfathomably slowly towards the edge, the jailor was relishing every second of his sexual frustration. Every tremble of his muscles, every gagged sob, every drop of sweat coating his muscular, young body all over only fueled her desire to make him suffer. While her own desires wanted nothing more than to climb on top of him and ride him through the night, she knew that no sexual pleasure of her own could rival the delight she took in tormenting him. Every orgasm she denied him caused a surge of pleasure through her, as though every time she brought him to the edge and forcing him to remain there, seeing how his entire body wanted to burst through the restraints made her, on some level she did not understand, have a climax of the mind. It was nothing like cumming from the tongue of a female prisoner against her clit, but it was exhilarating and addictive all the same.
Thrice she took him to the edge with the feathers, a process that took two hours, and by now the prisoner was so beyond despair he was positively frothing around his gag. Giving him a generous five minutes to catch his breath without any stimulation at all on his body – something she deemed necessary so as not to cause him physical harm – the jailor then sultrily removed her top, letting her mounds fall free of the constricting garb.
Her hard nipples, like always, were pierced. Today she wore two wide rings with a metal ball at the bottom of each curve, the silver ornaments swinging gently after the covers came off. Kneading her boobs with her hands, feeling more pleasure course through her, she gave her nipples a tug and a squeeze, purposefully letting out a seductive moan as she did.
The prisoner loved her tits, she had determined that yesterday. It was a terrible mistake to have revealed that to her through the excited bounces of his cock and the stares he had given her, for it made her all the more equipped to turn her breasts into yet another tool of his torture.
Coating her large mammaries with more oil, she slid his hardness between them and, savoring his look of pure desperation, massaged his drooling cock in her cleavage, making sure to let out plentiful sounds of female arousal, giving him enticing facial expressions and generally making things as unbearable for him as she possibly could.
It did not take even a dozen strokes of her tits to get him to the edge. He was so overstimulated now that it seemed a mild breeze blowing across him could be enough to set him off. It was a gamble to hold him at the precipice as well this far into his torment, so as soon as she felt the telltale pulses of his manhood the stopped moving, content to keep the cock trapped between her pressing mounds, feeling it so sexily throb in her cleavage.
Being in the constricting, warm valley of her shapely breasts should be as heaven to him, but feeling the soft womanflesh stroke and massage his pulsing cock and knowing deep within that she wouldn’t allow him to orgasm was but yet another thing that made him all but lose his mind.
It would be delightful to actually cause him to erupt between her boobs, but she dismissed that idea as soon as it had formed.
In this room there were no orgasms for prisoners. No exceptions.
Particularly not for the first male prisoner to grace the clan with his helpless presence.
She worked on him for two more hours, alternating between using her breasts, hands and mouth – a few times even using frayed ends of ropes to brush against him. Instead of slowly taking him to the edge and keeping him there, she was now trying to edge him as many times as possible without risking an accidental explosion of sticky white mess. She got him to the edge and then stopped for a few seconds before taking him back, hardly giving him the time to breathe before starting again.
His entire body was shaking in his bonds, his mind had ceased all coherent thoughts in favor of the incessant need to orgasm that overshadowed his ability to even recall his own name or where he was. Time wasn’t a factor anymore, because for all he knew he had been strapped to the wooden X for a full week without stop. Again and again she edged him with only seconds between each one, each edge so unbelievably close to setting him off and each feeling as though it was more intense than the last, although his body could surely not get any more sensitive than it had already been hours ago.
Giggling, snickering and laughing, she edged and edged his tortured cock, sometimes scooping up the thick strings of pre-cum to taste it, keeping each pause between edges as short as she could without accidentally giving him that one touch that would ruin the entire session.
When the five hours were up, having lost count long ago how many times she’d brought him close to cumming, the jailor stopped. With an evil smile, she put her top back on, her oil-coated boobs squeezing together once more.
She turned to leave, but before she vanished through the tunnel that led farther up into the dungeon she turned back to look at him. “Until tomorrow, my pet.”
Like yesterday, it took a good long while before sanity reasserted itself in him, but he could not begin to guess how long it actually took. It took about as long as his hypersensitive dick took to realize it wasn’t going to get touched anymore, and like a beggar shrinking away into his hole to avoid the disapproving gazes of more important people marching past, it finally went flaccid, as exhausted as the body it was attached to.
When this happened, the guard approached, having stoically stood at her post throughout everything, and attached the cage on his cock again. It had been placed on him after the previous day’s session with the jailor as well, and had remained on until she had fetched him in his cell earlier, taking it off and handing it to the guard before tying the string around him to force an erection.
It was a simple thing, but its function was quite clear. Simply to prevent him from stimulating himself in any way. It was made of steel and formed much like an actual cage would be. It was slipped over his cock and locked into place with a ring that was initially two halves until joined behind the base of his manhood and his balls. When secured, he had no way to take it off without the key, and, cruelly, when he inevitably grew to a full erection again within the steel length of it, he could do nothing to relieve himself.
With the cage in place, the guard started removing the straps holding his flushed, defeated body to the frame. He had not the strength to resist in any way – the marks the belts left on his skin was not only a testament to how tight they had been, but to his futile fight to break free – and the guard knew this perfectly well, which was why she took her time in tying his wrists behind him with rope. Had he been able to fight her he would have, but she was confident she could handle him.
At any rate, assistance in the form of other Dark Elves was not far away.
Defeated and with balls that ached for release, he was marched back to his cell.
***
The next day the torture had started again, but “only” for three hours. Once the jailor finished her last torment – which was circling her tongue without relent around his cockhead – she was aided by no less than four other guards to release him from the suspension-bondage that had him dangling in this room where he would never be allowed to cum, and taken to a part of the mountain citadel he had so far not visited.
It seemed there were more guards posted around every corner and turn. Here and there he believed he could see members of the upper echelons of the Dark Elves’ order, naturally all of them women. At a few places he came across other prisoners, collared like him, and it would seem the elves cared little for the race of their slaves, for he could see all sorts. Most were elves of other creeds and convictions, however, and there were quite a few humans, some of which he recognized from the carts he had ridden in. Some of them seemed to be common servants, running to and fro with food and drink or correspondence or equipment. He glanced into a room they passed and caught brief glimpses of two guards sitting with two slaves kneeling in front of them, presumably using their mouths on the flushed women’s clits.
Throughout his barefoot march on the stones, the four guards escorting him behind the jailor took any liberties they felt like taking with him. They seemed especially enamored with his buttocks, and frequently grabbed, stroked and smacked it, although they also found much pleasure in flicking his nipples and his erection, chastising him if he tried to squirm away when they were too rough with him, often rewarding him with more of the same.
At long last he was marched onto a stone platform that protruded from the mountainside like a tongue, and brought into the still night air. Mercifully to his naked flesh there was no wind, and hardly a sound could be detected anywhere under the moonlight. A round wooden table on iron legs had been placed in the middle of the platform. On the opposite side of the table, close to the edge of the platform which fell maybe as much as a couple of hundred feet straight down, the matriarch of the Dark Elves and one of her sorceresses waited for them.
Standing behind her mistress, the Dark Elf sorceress watched the new arrivals with an impassive face, yet within her calm, purple eyes the black-clad magician was rearing to go. Her long dark tresses nearly brushed the floor beneath her, and matched her scant, black clothes and boots that covered her up more than many Dark Elves in this citadel, yet showed more than enough skin and cleavage.
The matriarch, on the other hand, was smiling evilly with her entire face. Her sparkling purple eyes – a colour common to those born with the spark of the arcane – eyed the only male person in this citadel of hundreds with growing intrigue, finally about to discover whether or not her theory held water. Brushing her locks of thick, black hair behind her long ears, the purple cape behind her fluttered down her shapely body. She had the largest breasts by far by the women present, and they were pressed together by a skin-tight purple corset that made her cleavage positively bulge towards anyone who looked at them.
The pair of them were all but licking their lips when the prisoner was brought before them, and without delay the matriarch ordered him to be restrained on the wooden table.
He offered no resistance – he knew the futility, even though his heart was racing with fear – as the guards and the jailor used rope to tie him down, legs spread wide, in moments having him immobile and exposed in a vulnerable position. He had endured the jailor’s teasing already today, and his cock remained insistently hard, demanding orgasm after three days of denial.
“Keep him interested while we prepare the ritual,” the matriarch told the jailor, indicating the staff-wielding sorceress behind her. “Do not stop until I tell you to.”
Nodding her understanding, the jailor eagerly returned her attention to her captive cock, coating it with lubrication and then using her fingertips to tickle it up and down, brushing them against the glans and massaging the balls, causing her gagged prisoner to groan within seconds.
To facilitate his frustration further, she used one hand to deftly undo her top, letting her heavy, pierced tits plop free.
In front of him where he lay, once more enslaved to the begging sensations of his teased manhood and wanting nothing in life but the sweet relief of that orgasm that was always kept just out of reach, he noticed with some trepidation the stances of the matriarch and the sorceress, and heard the unintelligible mutterings forming on their lips.
He was not a magically adept man, but he had seen enough of it from time to time to recognize when magic was being employed. While he had no idea what was going on, it seemed the two elves were in trances of deep concentration. The very air around all of them appeared to vibrate and drag towards the pair as though sucked up by an invisible force into their bodies. Even the guards at the very edges of the platform felt something unseen tug on their scant clothes as the ritual continued.
“Don’t worry about them,” the jailor said, flicking her tongue against his cockhead between fingers and words. “You just concentrate on that urge to cum and how mean I am for not letting you.”
He didn’t need encouragement to focus on that, especially not when the jailor stood bent over toward him so that her spectacular cleavage dangled close to his face whilst her devilishly adept fingers – the gloves coated in slick, warm oil – played all over his manhood, up and down, slow and fast, the alternating techniques keeping him on his toes and on edge.
“Hold him on the edge!” the matriarch ordered, her eyes luminescent with magical blues, violets and golds, all vying for dominance in her arcanely astute pupils.
With an evil grin plastered on her face, the jailor effortlessly got him to the edge of orgasm and kept him there, her luscious lips working in tandem with her tongue and fingers, one hand lovingly cupping and massaging his testicles as she rubbed the cock onto her mouth. She laughed in pleasure when he sobbed in desperation.
After a few agonizingly long minutes of being forcibly kept at the cusp of orgasm, the jailor’s horrific skills making his heart thunder as his body drenched itself in sweat, the matriarch gave the order.
Straightening a bit, wrapping her hand tightly around his shaft, the other taking hold of the balls and, gently, pulling them away from his body, the jailor laughed sensually and wickedly. [click link]
A single powerful stroke was all that was needed, but she stroked him without stop as the orgasm took hold over him.
Positively screaming into his gag, unaware how he was tensing every fiber of his body and oblivious that he was pressing so hard against the ropes that they hurt him, he weathered an orgasm that was unrivalled to anything he had ever before felt, one that surely was beyond what any other man before him had experienced.
Erupting like a long dormant volcano, his dick belched rope after rope of thick semen that shot into the air with incredible speed. Whilst pumping his meat hard and fast, the jailor angled his cock as far down towards his feet as she could make it, ensuring that the tip was aimed at the matriarch. Such was the violence of his ecstasy that the strings of gooey cream had no trouble flying all the way over to the leader of the Dark Elves, splashing against her face, breasts and belly, the substance so thick it hardly ran down her skin.
As he came and his mind whited out in unadulterated bliss, he lost consciousness mid-orgasm, his manhood still spewing even after he was no longer around to enjoy it. In a way, even his orgasm was denied him.
As the powerful orgasm reverberated the sensitive magical winds in the chamber that the matriarch – with the added talents of her sorceress – guided into herself, she was nearly overwhelmed by the force. This manner of siphoning energy from non-magical creatures had long since been believed only to be feasible through women, because women could cum more often than men and ofttimes with more intensity to each orgasm. But when the theory was raised that perhaps a single male orgasm, if the male was properly denied beforehand could be worth the magical output of several female orgasms, the matriarch decided there was nothing to lose in seeing what would happen.
And now she was taken aback with the magnitude of the energies she was absorbing from this man’s orgasm. This single climax gave her easily the same level of power she could achieve from three female orgasms. It was intriguing to say the least, and most assuredly worth researching more. Spurred on by this success, feeling the additional arcane force course through her body, feeling powerful enough to topple a city with a single spell, the matriarch let her mind wander at the possibilities offered her by the male orgasm.
In time, perhaps daily edges would yield a forceful enough orgasm for the male to have his seed harvested every in order to feed her magic, but before he’d be able to survive the amount of hours he’d have to be edged in a single day, every day, in order to offer up a powerful enough orgasm, she had to continue experimenting on how prolonged teasing affected him, and thus how it affected the power she could take from his orgasm.
Drenched in cum, her hands dropping to her sides as she gasped with the spectacular magical power she had converted from the human’s mighty climax, the matriarch, grinning, looked at her jailor.
“Starting tomorrow, edge him six hours a day for a full week. On the eight day, bring him back here.”
The jailor, letting go of the human’s still erect cock, her glove smeared with his seed, smiled wickedly. “My pleasure.”
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Orgasm-Control---Mean-Girls-and-Their-Playthings by J-Cal
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Fending off a flurry of sword-strikes and high kicks, Red Robin, one of Gotham’s masked protectors, had backed himself into a tripwire. Activated by his passing hee…
Feeling-Burn by usermechanics Amélie truly thought that a hard workout of heavy weight lifting would be enough to slow down Lena just a bit.
It wasn’t that Amélie didn’t admire Lena’s speed; it was incredibly practical for her as a member of Overwatch, and arguably Lena’s most prized asset as a killer. She loved it, actually; with it, Lena was easily a partner in crime that worked wonderfully, considering Amélie was one to admire assassinations herself.
It was just that whenever Amélie wanted to talk, or find time…
The-World-Could-Always-Use-More by DiceCasden Sitting cross-legged on a couch, and wearing bright yellow tights and a brown bomber jacket, a gorgeous thin woman smiles cheekily at the camera.
“And who do we have here today? What’s you’re age and where you’re from?”
“My name is Lena Oxton, but my mates call me Tracer! I’m 26 and I’m from the good old UK!” Lena says with a grin.
“Well Tracer, what brings you here today?”
“Well my girlfriend Emily had this crazy idea that I could be really famous if I went into…
A-Dominant-Morticians-Mummy by SmutKnight You awoke with a start, your gasp stifled by the thick linen pulled taut against your mouth. You were naked, the cold smooth stone of the slab you lay upon caused you to squirm uncomfortably as you tried to remember how you had got here. You couldn’t remember your name, only flashes and glimpses of memories, disjointed and muddled. There was an inkling of an accident, the sound of a started horse. That’s right, you had been transporting a cart full of grain along the river towards town when you…
Aerith-and-Tifas-Tentacular-Trouble by Roo Hundreds of miles away from Shinra's totalitarian glare over their former home, Cloud and the rest of his friends in Avalanche had stopped at a quiet lakeside campsite on their hunt for Sephiroth. That morning, Tifa departed from the camp to join in the sun's early glow over the serene, crystal-clear lake waters. In the peaceful blue, it was there, clothed in the dawn's light fog, that Aerith awaited her. Beneath blushed cheeks and a fidgeting posture, the dirty brunette held an incredible secr…
Overwatch-Sunday-Service by JohnnyFiverton Hana Song looks into the mirror one final time, making sure everything is in order before her big stream. Her make-up today looks almost professionally done, which after about an hour of painstaking work, she feels it ought to be. Usually she didn’t feel like bothering to make it ‘perfect,’ she didn’t really need it after all, she had plenty of natural beauty, but...today is Easter! She might as well look her best.
Truth be told, she’d rather spend the day with her friends and family, …
Orgasm-Control---Mean-Girls-and-Their-Playthings by J-Cal 1 - Operation
All of her best friends had joined her for her latest assignment; the dark of night, the overcast sky, and the black-within-black shadows, all of which assisted her as she walked on soundless feet across the compound.
Hugging the walls of what her pre-mission briefing had labelled some sort of administrative structure, the deadly end of her handgun with a built-in suppressor leading the way, the black clad operative stalked towards her target, her controlled, practised b…
My-Little-Guinea-Pig by AlexMarkov “You might feel a little prick.”
“Ow!” Ren resisted the urge to pull away from the needle in his arm.
“I did warn you,” Tae smirked, dabbing away a drop of blood with a cotton swab, “Is my little guinea pig still squeamish after all this time?”
Ren rubbed at the tiny spot of pain and refused to answer her. This wasn’t the first time she’d teased him after a shot, nor would it be the last. Not that he minded; getting to hear her favourite term of endearment was reward enough.
…
Fistpounding-New-Girl by Tsvitok It would have been a lie to say she had been thrilled about joining Overwatch. Brigitte had essentially been dragged into it by an old coot with a fetish for glory. It hadn’t mattered because there had been no talking him out of it, and so she just found herself tagging along and finding herself adopted into a new family. She had met most of them before, but it had been years and years and...
Some of them have changed so much. The older girls that she had followed around and tried to im…
Jenn-and-Teachers-Pet-schoolgirl-bondage by Rakked “Suzy Braden's totally a teacher's pet,” Cindy whispered, her high-heeled pumps clicking on the hall floor.
“What? When?” her friend Jenn asked excitedly.
“Just this morning,” Cindy replied confidentially. “Johnny texted me from Mr. Wagoner's class. He's finishing her up now, I think.”
“Really?” Jenn squealed, picking up the pace. “C'mon, hurry! I want to see...”
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As they entered the classroom, Suzy desperately played her last card. “My mom wo…
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