Jim Anderson's Stories
Cock Torture by Jim Anderson
Cock Torture
I've been told that I ought to get treatment. For years, since my teens, I've had a growing love of tormenting my own cock. It started when it didn't stiffen as it should have done, causing me not only to be humiliated but also to miss the opportunity of fucking the prettiest girl I've ever nearly had. Nervousness of course (I never had trouble with the less beautiful), but it has happened more than occasionally since. What's worse, it's not even very big, but I am a very big and powerful man which makes its small to average size ridiculous. Locker rooms are places I avoid. I guess with a cock like this it's not so surprising what I've learned to enjoy. Not a feminised gay, as I suspect many genitally-challenged guys become, but something more unusual.
At first it was just tight bondage, which had the effect of sustaining my erections and making the cock look less puny. Elastic bands very tightly round the stem of the cock running one after the other all the way up to the head, with an especially tight elastic band around the base of the head. Staying like this for a long time always seemed attractive, but could be dangerous if the blood supply is cut off for too long. This probably contributed to its increasing flaccidity. So I experimented elsewhere.
It really started with a hooker. Sex without penetration has its own safety advantages anyway these days. Especially if you've no hope of penetration because the useless thing has shriveled to the size of an acorn. The bitch transformed my life. Firstly, she brought my liking for binding up my cock into the open - but did it for me, painfully, while insulting me with her contemptuous remarks (wiener, sissy boy, worthless, no woman would look at me, why not have it removed, you know that sort of thing). She trussed my balls up pretty well too, both separated from the cock, and each separated from the other, by several twistings of deliberately and painfully rough string. She tied my legs and arms down while I lay on my back along a low bench. She stuffed a massive ball gag into my mouth. She rubbed her skimpy thong up her pussy and ass, removed it, and secured it tightly with the crotchpiece over my nose. The smell was intense, and excitingly inescapable. And what a surprise, I had the stiffest erection I'd had for ages. I rather liked the sight of my cock straining at its tight bindings, engorged and purple, but unable to cum.
Helpless by now, and without having agreed limits with the woman before we began (something I was getting very nervous about). I also became conscious that there was someone else quietly entering the room, where I couldn't see. I loved that feeling of helpless exposure of my worst pervertedness, even though it scared me. It was probably another man, but I didn't really care.
The hooker brought out some previously lit large, thick candles, each with a big pool of hot wax about to spill over. She gave a very cruel grin, and poured a liberal dose of hot (very hot) wax straight onto the exposed underside of my cock. I shrieked, but with little effect through my ball gag. It sure did burn. But not for long, I discovered. And it was much more sensitive afterwards, in its scalded state. She rubbed soothing cream onto my cock afterwards, before then doing the same thing again. This was repeated several times, until the wax ran out. But she lit the candles again, in case of more later.
This wasn't enough for the bitch. She then brought out a springy switch, that she brandished alarmingly before bringing it down hard onto my exposed and very tender (but still very stiff) cock. On the underside. On the head. And not just once but again, and again. And several times more again. More muffled shrieks came from me, but they made no difference. Mercy wasn't on her agenda. I began to get really worried that my cock might never work again - or even that she might cut it off while I could do nothing. But I was still loving it, just loving it. So, I think, was the mystery visitor in the room, whom I never saw but heard breathing very heavily. So, strangely, was my very sore cock.
After quite a long time, she removed my cock bindings, which had the distressing effect of making it shrivel. Probably trying to escape more pain. Not even big enough to hit accurately, she declared in disgust - missing a few times on purpose and catching my balls instead, the unbearable pain of which encouraged me to agree to her next suggestion. This was that I should take a sexual stimulant to help maintain an erection. I agreed. Anything to keep the bitch away from my more tender balls. But I thought she meant a pill that I swallowed.
Worse, much worse. She meant what is called an intra-urethral pellet, that had to be inserted manually inside the cock through a narrow tube that has to go all the way down through the urethra. She proceeded to show me how - deliberately clumsily. The pellet had to get near to the base of the cock to have full effect, which is why the tube had to go right down inside the cock, all the way from the head. She said she'd lubricated it, but it didn't feel like it. I nearly ate my ball gag as she slowly and deeply penetrated my cock with the tube. For once I was glad it was shorter than average. But once she'd got the tube way down there, the pellet worked. Complete stiffness, without any binding. She said it would make it impossible for my pathetic little cock to hide by shriveling, while she whipped it some more. And she was right. The rest of me was wiped out, but not my increasingly battered cock. And whip it and whip it she did, until it was covered with a latticework of red wheals. In between, she would rub more soothing cream on to it, but only to help it keep responding to the switch. The cock had also almost doubled in thickness from swelling under the blows. I still loved it. Mad mad mad. I even began to fantasise about her cutting my cock and my balls off.
Her final insult was to run a tube from the head of my cock into my own mouth, through a hole in the middle of the ball gag revealed when she removed a plug, pushing it slightly down my throat too. So that, when the whipping finally made me cum, it ran into my own mouth and down my own throat. There was a lot of it. Just her idea of training, I discovered. Having drained me literally, and left me with no sexual desire left, she removed the tube from my mouth and brought round her mystery heavy-breathing companion - a very swarthy man - who had been watching and who had an enormous and pulsating cock in his hand. He placed this hairy livid monster just outside the ball gag, by the hole through it. His cock must have been three times the size of mine. He swiftly spurted. His cum was never-ending, thick, lumpy, strong smelling (as he squirted some onto the woman's thong still tightly over my nose), and slid slowly through the hole down into my mouth. I had to swallow to avoid choking, there was so much.
But the bitch refused to release me until I had swallowed every slimy drop.
Subsequently released, and cleaned up, I found myself seeking out the bitch's services on a regular basis for a long time afterwards.
She even provided a free performance, as long as I accepted a different mystery observer in the room each time. We arranged for the final cum swallowing step only to occur if I gave my consent - but I usually did, as the complete and painful subordination gave me a more intense pleasure than anything I've experienced before or since.
Treatment. Who needs it! I like being a pervert.
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