The Dark

By DX

Copyrighted, 6/2003, all rights reserved.

Story may not be reproduced electronically or otherwise without author's written consent.

A man wakes and discovers he's locked in a bondage chair, in a vault, with no light or sound. Everyday he is milked for his seed by his tormentor and angel.  He doesn't know why. Worse, she demands he do better, or face a more horrible, unknown fate.
Can he escape? Erotic horror!
bodymod, male hucow, penectomy, milking, bondage, torture!

"In the dark I had no concept of the passage of time. It was maddening. Strapped in the chair unable to move a muscle, I could only wait until she came, my torturer. 

“Most men wouldn't think of it as torture. Most men would enjoy having this ravaging beauty with soft, delicate hands and gentle enchanting voice to visit them. For me, it only added to my feeling of helplessness. My despair.

"I was a normal guy, living a normal life, when they came to my apartment, took me down with stun-guns and chloroform and carted me off to the dark. I was scrubbed raw with antiseptic, pasted with electric pads and sensors, sealed in a thick, latex cat-suit and strapped into the chair. It was more of a frame than chair, really. Straps around my ankles, below and above my knees, thighs, across my stomach, my chest, my wrists, forearms, biceps, neck and forehead. If that weren't enough, there were straps over my shoulders attached to the strap across my chest. My head was sealed in a latex helmet, my breathing channeled through long rubber hoses snaking off behind my head somewhere. My view of the world, such as it was, was through two tiny goggles. My mouth was packed with a fat, spongy ball with a tube that on a timed schedule force fed me a disgusting soup that kept me hydrated and nutritioned.

"Only my manhood was exposed. It hung in the empty space where the chair seat should be. My legs were secured wide apart leaving me completely exposed. My wastes were only liquid and simply went down the drain set up just for that. I would sometimes pee just so I could have its tinkling sound to entertain me.

"My muscles twitched to the electric pad's eclectic rhythm that kept my limbs from atrophy. Their pain was random so I never became accustomed to it, and although the current was slight, when there is no other sensory input, its tiny pin pricks soon grew from a mere annoyance, to excruciating.

"Only darkness, pain and discomfort. 

“It became my horrible existence. I desperately willed myself to die. 

“I could not. I could only sit, and wait.

"For her.

"Once a day, perhaps ten times a day, I don't know, she came. Light filled my tiny chamber as she swung open the heavy steel door. I was in a tiny room, just big enough for my chair; grey, concrete walls and floor with a steel vaulted door— as if I could escape the chair.

“When my eyes adjusted to the light and I could see, she would be there, smiling, her eyes filled with stars, her cheeks adorned with dimples. Her lips, soft, sweet succulent lips, cooing and purring for me, so happy to see me. She always wore blood red glistening lipstick, to match her blood red glistening latex body suit and her amazingly tight, breath stealing corset. She walked easily on her arch breaking high heeled leather ballet shoes.

"Her hair, like black wet tar, was pulled back tightly against her head and spewed from the top of her head in a long single braid that almost touched the ground. Her long lashes slowly fanned her sapphire eyes; sharp, wintery eyes that could cut through flesh, down to the bone with only a glance.

"'How are we?' She would ask. Her voice like cough syrup, sweet, a little fruity, and a lingering bite that bubbled within you. She would fuss over me as she checked my hoses and tubes, leaning her breasts so close, I could imagine her perfume. Her glacier eyes peering deep into mine, making sure she had my complete attention. It was then she brought in her milking stool and set it before me. She would settle herself before me, and with a ruler and calipers, carefully measure my cock and balls, noting it carefully in her little diary.

"Once this was done, she'd look up, her eyes peering devilishly from behind her fan of lashes as she poured the lubricant into her rubber gloved hands.

"Soft as a whisper, so slight, so gentle and sensation deprived as I was, it was like a lighting strike. She would shush my grunts, and moan sensually, as if she could feel my wonderful passion as she worked me in her hands. I could feel my soul draining into her touch, building to her oh so delectable, feathery strokes. Just the tips of her fingers, tantalizing, tempting, teasing, taking forever to do the job. Letting the wave grow.

"Eternity passes and I am frothing, my eyes threatening to fall back into my head, shivering, shuddering, thrashing into my unyielding fetters before she smiles and lets the tsunami hit. 'Oooo! What a good boy!' She says as she catches my fluids in a beaker, teasing every last drop. She holds it up and checks its level, color, texture, then after she notes it in her log, corks the bottle and puts it into her little carrier. There are others, I guess, somewhere. She never mentions them, or anyone, for that matter. As if she and I are the last people on Earth. Assuming I am still on Earth. But I know that I am not her only client, her only prisoner.

"I can only watch helplessly as she packs up her stuff, blows me a kiss, then leaves, closing the heavy door behind her, throwing me back into darkness. After she throws the many locks, properly securing my prison, there is only silence.

"And waiting until she returns.

"How much time passes, how many times we have done this, I don't know. Months, years? But after uncountable sessions, she looks up to me with disappointed eyes. 'You're going to have to do better.' She blows me a kiss and leaves me in the dark. Do better? What that means, I have no idea. On subsequent visits, she smiles sadly, looking at my offering in her beaker. 'You have to let yourself go, let the medicine work.' Something in the soup they pump into me I guess. 'If you don't pick up, you'll be...' She seems truly frightened, glancing around, whispering as if someone will hear. 'You'll be re-assigned.'"

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Copyrighted 6/2003, 12/2023, all rights reserved.

The Starfish Affair

By DX

Karen, Alice's lab assistant, stole not only Alice's grant money and ruined her career, but also helped herself to Alice's Breast Enhancement formula.  But what Karen doesn't know is during a trip to the South American jungle, Alice developed a taste for a rare delicacy!

Mad-Science, erotic horror, wild torture and cruel torment!  This over the top story has it ALL!  

Copyrighted Feb 2000, 10/2023, all rights reserved.  Story may not be duplicated without written consent from the author.

Karen shivered in the cold, damp air. She could see the waves of goose pimples ripple across her melonous breasts, as her nipples swelled to the size of thumbs.

It wasn't the cold that made her shiver.

She didn't try to protest. It would have done her no good even if they had not ripped the tongue from her mouth a week or so ago. They had strapped her to a post, secured her head and body with thick, leather restraints, then rammed a heavy gauge steel ring through her tongue, which was then hooked to a come-a-long.

It surprised her, as it always had, that she was not beyond feeling. The never-ending cycle of pain would always renew and refresh in its delivery of unimaginable trauma. How could her charred, shredded throat still scream with such volume, spiraling upwards as the torment turned up a notch, was beyond her.

Her tongue was stretched slowly as they took their time, clicking the handle of the ratchet with intended affect. Her tendons strained and stretched, pulling her tongue out beyond imagination. She was choking as her neck pulled too far, and her tongue still going further.

It exploded with a fine shower of blood as her tongue finally gave way and ripped from her mouth, leaving a stringy trail of tendons and veins.

The last time they removed her tongue, they had nailed it to a table and let hungry rats nibble it off. The time before that, they nailed it high on a wall, then let her hang from it until her own, pain wrought thrashing caused it to finally tear.

Now, in the cold, cold cellar, she waited her fate. Ahmed busied himself by testing the mechanism that would release the guillotine over and over again, giggling madly each time the blade slammed home.

She felt the Professor's hand on her shoulder push her forward. Karen didn't resist. She couldn’t.

She didn’t really want too.

Karen gazed distantly, unresponsively at the monstrous machine before her. Polished wood and gleaming brass brackets and screws handsomely made up its base like a collector's piece of fine furniture and not a butcher's toy of death. Its blade, locked in its casement above, glimmered like a mirror, its edge wickedly sharp. A heavy spring coiled against it so when the trigger was thrown, it fired down with tremendous force and ensured a crisp, clean cut.

Karen had laid her breasts before its blade before and felt the steel slice through her flesh. They had been her pride and joy; her mammoth, attention grabbing breasts were worshiped, even adored, but they were only quivering mounds of flesh, locked in the guillotine's unyielding embrace. Unable to move away she could only watch the gruesome fate. With a snap, it was over, faster than an instant. Suddenly slicing her open to a quickly flooding torrent of pain. A white-hot iron seared her flesh and kept her from bleeding to death, and adding to her seeming never-ending, nightmare of pain.

They force fed her for months and fattened her up. When they had put enough weight on her, they brutally harvested her arms with a chain saw. Her new grown breasts were put into the breast guillotine and with a snap of the flashing blade, her massive breasts popped of and dropped into the basket.

That had been months ago.  Her breasts had re-grown to a lovely size and shape, but she knew it wouldn't last because they would continue to grow, becoming monstrous and unbearable before they finally cut them off for their Breast Beacon breakfasts. Her arms were already re-grown. 

The re-growth was happening faster.

As Karen stared painfully at the guillotine, its single hole where her neck would rest before her, she was unable to decide if she should be happy or distraught. This was it, the torment would be over. She wondered why they didn't harvest her breasts before the final act? Although they were not their usual over ripe size, they were plenty large enough.

Pushed closer to her fate, to the blade, the final torment, her mind reeled back to the day it all began.

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Copyrighted, 2000, 2019, 2023, all rights reserved.