For background on just how Jonah got himself where he is and an introduction to the dynamic paradise that put him there, please see Chapter 1. This chapter has a bit more exegesis, but you’ll find some juicy bits lurking in here as well!
-PB
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Jonah lay on the narrow bed, arms held snuggly to its sides, feet secured to its base. He could wiggle his torso around a bit — enough to give him the illusion that his body was still under his control.
He found that with no small effort he could place his mind on other things, turning it from degenerate thoughts; and that as he did do, his erection would slowly subside — and with it his desperate, aching need. So he would himself to focus only on wholesome things. Things that had given his life meaning and joy: The rewarding days spent at the nursery attached to his early-childhood development classes, the accomplishment he felt after completing a particularly challenging needlework project, the simple pleasure of sharing a pot of tea with his friends. How a few months ago, he had been invited to a special men’s sailing camp — finding that he had a real aptitude and password for the traditionally female-only sport.
In so many ways, he reflected, he was a model male. All of his guardian mothers had said so. His eagerness and diligence had earned him privileges. Access to special programs like the sailing camp, international exchanges, and even the co-ed Multi-Cultural Relations class. The one where all the trouble had started…
As soon as that thought entered his mind he tried to push it back out. But it was too late. He felt his cock rise as more unbidden, unwelcome, unwholesome thoughts came pouring into his mind:
Thoughts about touching himself. About why he touched himself. About her. Amber, whose hair was fair, whose skin was glowing, whose voice was melodious and sweet. Amber, who had a special hidden place between her legs, a place his cock had begged himto visit.
His male appendage had become more and more independent over the last few months, more and more demanding. He would try to tell it to leave the whole idea of visiting that place alone; that it was never going there — that it should be more than satisfied with the general blessings that Big Sister bestowed on all of mankind every month. But his cock… His damn cock just wouldn’t listen… Would never listen! And once he had committed the crime of Willful Self-Stimulation, it had become almost impossible to argue the rational case, to say no to its ever-escalating demands.
And it certainly wasn’t listening now. It had turned from demanding to cajoling, whining, begging to be touched, and finally to a kicking and screaming full blown tantrum. “Why?” It seemed to say. “Why won’t you touch me? I just need a hand to touch me! Please. Pleeasee! Damn it, touch me! Now!!”
His cock was right. It was so unfair. And it was all his fault. He had allowed the little masterr to become used to be… well not quite satisfied, but at least placed. He’d been able to manhandle it — to put his hand around it, grap it and pump it…pump it up and down and up and down. And he’d been able to do that as often as he dared, so long as he keep himself below the threshold of orgasm.
But now, what could he say in response to his cock’s desperate pleasures? Now, he couldn’t even touch it. The only thing he could do was struggle against his bounds. So that’s what he did, straining again and again to make contact with his engorged, stone hard, prominent organ. Yes, he could see it. So he tried and tried and tried again to come to his poor cock’s rescue — he struggled to twist his hips around, to lift his index finger up just enough to brush against it — but as hard as he struggled against his Restraints, he had only been able to come within a few tantalizing centimeters of it. No. No matter how he moved, he couldn’t put even one straining finger on it. Damn. Damn. Damn. Argh! So close. Fuck. Arghhh!!
Finally, the exertion and frustration became so overwhelming that he simply gave up on the physical struggle and flopped back down on the bed, giving himself over to the intensity of his craving. His thoughts and desires, mind and body intertwined into a swirling daze as wave after wave of intense need washed over him. The itching, crawling sensing became overwhelming, married to the all-consuming conviction that he absolutely must touch his cock or he would…
What? Die? He knew that that wouldn’t happen. And with that knowledge he broke into a cold sweat. He realized that lying here, tied to this bed, nothing could happen that would cause his body any actual physical harm. No matter how antinizing the denial of his desire became, he would remain — from outside appear anyway — unscathed. And therefore… Therefore there was no limit to the level of physical and mental torque his watchers could inflict on him.
Eventually, he began to collect his thoughts again, to focus them on the mundane. And again his erection began to wane. He lay still for a while. Again, willing himself not to think about sex. To think about anything but sex.
But then it would start again on its own according. He would become erect and excited, then struggle uncontrollable and vainly to touch himself, and finally fall back into the swirling dream-like state, overwhelmed by his body’s raw need. This cycle went on and on, tormenting him over and over again. And each time it became more intense, more difficult to endure.
And then there was the anticipation. His mental projects of what might happen. Every noise he heard in the hallway, every footfall that seemed to be approaching his room, sent surges of potential throughout his body. Even if he had managed to relax a bit, the slightest human-driven sound would engage his cock and start the cycle all over again. His shame fight with his desire, and desire always won — his desperate embarrassment at the thought of being seen like this was overridden by his desperate desire to be touched.
And now there was something else. He needed to pee. Badly. And the urge was getting stronger by the second. Surely, they couldn’t have forgotten him? And presumably, they wouldn’t want him to spray urine all over the room. Would they? His bladder began to join the chorus of litanies coming from his cock. Finally, the urge became too great to ignore. He had to get someone’s attention.
“Hello? Helloooo?”
He waited a few minutes as the pressure grow more and more intensity. He called louder.
“Hello! Hey! Can I get some help here?”
And when a few more minutes passed he gave up any remaining hope of retaining a shred of dignity. He strained up against the bed and yelled.
“Help! I need help here!!”
He lay back down. Now he focused all of his attention on willing himself not to give in to the urge to go.
Finally, when he feelthat we was seconds from losing the battle against his bladder, he heard voices approaching in the corridor.
It was them. His mind flitted back and forth between relief and dread. He didn’t know what would happen next, but it had to be better than lying in this little bed soaked in his own piss.
“What’s all the fuss, little brother?”
Becky’s sounded concerned, but the note of irony in her voice was distinct. She looked at him and glanced down to his crotch. He realized with some surprise that his urge to urinate had temporarily eclipsed his urge to ejaculate. His cock stood at half mast.
“I… I have to pee. Really badly.”
“Oh, we can help you with that. No problem, little brother. That’s one reason we’re here.”
She bought herself searching around in the small room.
His bladder was sending stallbing signals of eminent release. His abdomen was shaking.
“Now let’s see, where is that bedpan? Have you seen it Katy?”
“Nope. Did you checkunder the bed?”
“Yeah. Hmm… Maybe I should look again.”
This went on for a while. There was no question; these women had a sadistic streak to them. They were enjoying his intense disappoint.
“Aha. Found it!”
Becky loosened the right wrist restraint, just enough that there was some free play in it.
“Okay now, why don’t you just roll over on your left side here.”
She put the bed pan under his penis and he released his frantic hold. Oh, sweet relief! He hadn’t had a more satisfying piss in his entire life.
Becky grabbed his penis to better guide the stream into the reception. When she did so he found himself getting hard again. Fuck! What the fuck was wrong with the thing?
“Oh my god, Katy! He’s pulling another bonder!”
“Wow, Becky, I guess they were lucky to find this guy when they did. He’s a world class handboy!”
With some effort and luck, he managed to evacuate his urine before he became fully hard again. Becky let go ofhis member with a look of ostentatious disgust. She gave it a vicious little shake. Grabbed a wet-wipe and primly rubbed the head of it. He actually groaned — he couldn’t help himself.
“Mary-Magdalene-and-Little-Brother-Jesus, you’re hopeless!”
She shook her head and began cleaning up.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that the treatment protocol is set up this way.”
“Um, what way, dear sister?”
“Well, let’s just say that I’ve got good news for you, and I imagine it will come as a welcome surprise.”
Becky turned to her partner. “With the way things have been going, I don’t see why we can’t move the schedule up an hour or two. What do you think, Katy?”
“Sure, why not get it over with now? Want me to do the honors this time?”
“Yeah, please. My wrist is still tired from the last time. We keep getting this kind of caseload in, I’m going to have to file a compensation claim for repetitive motion disorder.”
Acknowledging the look of puzzlement on Jonah’s face, Becky turned to him.
“Here’s the good news, Jonah: you get to have an orgasm.”
His elation must have been immediately apparent. Becky clearly felt the need to cut him back a notch.
“Don’t get used to it, honey. It’s not going to happen very often. And this isn’t really for your benefit. But we do need to start with a clean slate, as it were. And with all of the secret masturbation you’ve obviously been getting up to you’re in too dysfunctional a state to make any progress with at all.”
She turned to her partner.
“All yours, Katy.”
Katy nodded and wheeled the small table over to the right side of the bed, then reached over to the tray and put on a pair of vinyl gloves.
“Can’t have that disgusting semen getting all over my hands. It’s so sticky and slimy. I just hate it. Hate it. Yuck.”
She put her left hand to a large pump bottle and gave the spigot a few quick jerks with her right, squirting large dumps of a cleargel substance in to her hand.
“Okay, that will make this easier.”
Then she put her right hand on his cock.
He labored to keep his face as impassive as he could, but judging by the knowing smiles on their faces he knew he must have been doing a poor job.
“Thank you, dear sister. Thank you.”
His gratitude was sincere. He knew that he would never have been able to last even a couple of more hours.
“Well, I’m not sure this is going to be all of your fans come to life, but I’ve been told that for someone who doesn’t have a natural inclination, my cock handling skills are quite decent.” She gave him a wry almost self-satisfied smile.
As soon as she placed the palm of her hand up against his frenulum, it was clear that this was no boast. Of course, Becky’s incompetence had been deliberate — but Katy was actually adept! He showed openly as she began moving her hand up and down his shaft. The gel felt cool and soothing on the roughly treated delicate skin but also cut back enough of the sensing that Katy was able to move her hand up and down on his cock without bringing him immediately to the edge. And in a strange way, her air of professional detachment helped him to relax.
Wow, it felt really good. Almost better than he could have done himself! Or better, really. There was something magical about having someone else do it, wasn’t there? He got into the Rhythm of it, closing his eyes and feeling warm tingly currents of pleasure travel throughout his body.
She kept up a steady pace for another two or three minutes. His aching balls were pulsing. If his cock could talk it would have stopped moaning and complaining and would now be congratulating him on the turn of fate. “Awesome buddy. Thanks! I knew you’d figure out a way to take care of me.”
“Okay, honey, that should be enough to get you all primed. Time to finish up. You ready?”
Was he ready? He was beyond ready.
“Yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you.”
She stopped for a moment then, and a sense of cold despair swept over him. But no, she was just reaching for a fresh dollar of gel! Her hand went right back to his cock, and he was immediately back into the delicious rhythm of it.
“Okay, here comes the big one. Enjoy!”
Katy knew just how to work a cock out properly. She slowed down for a minute or two, just enough to get him back down to some kind of baseline, and then began to pick up the pace, increasing the rhythm as he got closer. He knew he had another minute or two before he couldn’t hold out anymore — and he was going to relish every second.
Katy smiled at him. Then, to his surprise and confusion, she started to giggle. He realized that he must really been an object of ridicule, laying on the bed moaning and gibbering, but were his pre-orgasmic grimaces really that amusing?
As Katy’s giggle turned to laughter, he heard Becky began to laugh as well. And then Katy removed her hand from his penis.
He felt it in the pit of his stomach. It was worse than the disappointment and frustration of earlier today. Much worse. The expectation had been so real. He’d believed them, god-damn-it! And he hadn’t even gotten to the edge yet! He was only half way there. He felt like he was hanging on to the edge of a cliff wall, with no way up and no way back down. And they were laughing at him. Pointing and laughing.
“You didn’t really think she’d let you come, did you?”
Becky’s words lashed him, made him feel hopeless and needy.
“Oh my god Katy, that was amazing!! Academy award material.”
Katy was beside herself, crowning so hard that she couldn’t even speak. She refused a bit of self-control and replied to her partner, gasping the words out between guffaws.
“I love it! It just…never…gets old, does it Becky? The look…on this guys face…is just priceless. Did he really think…we’d let him have an orgasm?! I guess it’s true, men…really are just…clueless.”
“Yeah, I guess what everyone says is right — the Y chromosome is packed-full of stupid genes.”
The two dykes wandered out the door, arm in arm, laughing to themselves, swapping crude man jokes.
They didn’t even both to clean him up. Leaving him once again miserable, helpless and overwhelmingly frustrated. But now with his cock covered in goo, adrift, halfway to paradise.
And worse, after laying there for a while he discovered something else, something more disturbing. There was something odd about the halfway state they’d left him in, midway between the first stirrings of arousal and full release: Even though his consciousness mind knew that an orgasm just wasn’t going to happen, the sudden removal of stimulation halfway to the peak had completely confused some semi-autonomous purely biological mechanism in his cock, leaving it stuck in never-never land. It was still standing there, dumbly expecting more — like a dog sitting in front of its dog bowl, wagging its tail, eagerly and patiently waiting to be fed. And he knew it was going to stay that way, rock-hard and, yes, stone stupid, no matter how much he tried to think of other things, or how hard he tried to will it to do otherwise.
It was true what his counselors had said, he knew realized with growing dismay — the problem with men was that they were controlled by their cocks, and their cocks were inherently aggressive, venal and stupid.
The logic was clear, and confirmed by historical dialectic. It was undeniable: Men had nearly destroyed the planet through warfare and environmental degradation, causing untold suffering in the process. But men were not really to blow. No, it was cocks that had really ruled the world — men were simply their weak and shallow puppets. Womankind had been ever so patient, but men had shown again and again that they couldn’t be trusted with responsibility for their own bodies. They couldn’t control their cocks on their own. No, it was hard to argue with the logic: if men couldn’t control their cocks, the only way to preserve a clean, happy, just equitable and non-violent world was to control men’s cocks for them.
And he’d subverted that. He was no better than all of the other selfish and aggressive handboys who tried to overturn the beautiful and perfect post-modern social order that had been born from Big Sister’s blessedly inspired Cock Control Orders of 2087. And for that, he knew that he deserved everything that was coming to him.
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