by Wolfero
« Back To Free Stories Archive
Dear Mr. Affleck,
We are glad to invite you to the
celebration that we will he holding
in your honour next Friday afternoon.
We sincerely hope you can attend.
Your most fervent admirers
wish to pay a tribute to you...
...reads the card Ben Affleck is seizing in his fingers. He is examining it again, flattered and intrigued, as it was his first impression. The signature at the right-bottom corner of the card reminds of a kind of "W", though too twisted to tell. He strokes the card surface, feeling its texture, so smooth it electrifies his fingertips. He then turns the invitation to look at its other side, where the sender has identified himself as "T.C.", if that can be called identifying, and there is an address. Precisely the address where he is being driven now.
"Anything wrong, Mr. Affleck?", asks Dave, his bodyguard, who is sat beside him in the back seat of the car. He has just become aware of Ben's absent-minded expression. Ben shakes his head, and he is going to remind him to call him Ben, but thinks better. It is thankless to ask Dave to do without formalities. He has been in his service for nearly a month, but his persistent staidness makes Ben wonder if he would still be calling him "Mr. Affleck" even though it had been a year.
Startled by Dave's question, Craig, the chauffeur has a look at the back seat through the rear-view mirror. His eyes meet Ben's and check that it is a false alarm. Just Dave's paranoid care, for whom every distracted face means that his boss has been no less than poisoned.
Soon they reach the neighbourhood indicated in the card. It is a quiet residential area, with sumptuous detached houses scattered through the greenery. T.C.'s site is a wide two-storey building surrounded by neat gardens.
Ben gets off the car as soon as Dave and Craig have done so and checked the safety of the surroundings. While the trio cross the road and approach the building, Ben fastens his tie and smoothes his shirt on his bulky body, whose juicy muscles stand out under the weave. That well-built body, dressed smartly for the occasion, moves with the confidence of a winner who, nevertheless, has not let success go to his head.
At the entrance hall of the building, whose access is a revolving door, a rather exquisite atmosphere can be breathed. Ben tells his escort to wait by the door while he presents himself. There is a receptionist behind a desk. The man, too busy putting invitations into envelopes, doesn't realize Ben's presence until he speaks to him.
"Good afternoon", Ben greets him, "I've received an invitation"
The receptionist gasps in surprise and overwhelms Ben with excuses and thanks for having attended. Ben feels quite embarrassed, as corresponds to his rather shy nature.
"The reception committee has been waiting for you, Mr. Affleck!", explains the man while he shakes Ben's hand. Next, he comes from behind the desk to assist the guest as is proper.
"May I?", asks the man approaching him, and with a sudden movement, he pulls Ben's shirt from under his trousers. Ben has no time to react before the man's hands slip under the shirt and his fingertips stoke his tummy swiftly.
"WHAhahaha...!!" laughs Ben, shocked with tickles, and he writhes trying to keep away from the man, who goes on tickling him with determination. Ben grasps his wrists and tries to contain him while he calls his bodyguard. Just then, Dave comes from behind Ben and grasps his arms, holding them up! Ben can't believe what's happening. Now he can't protect himself, the man goes on attacking his abdomen, stroking with unmerciful fingers Ben's belly's skin hastily, skilfully.
"HA, HA, heh, heh, heh!", Ben cackles, "STOpppffhaha thisjoke hga no Noha ha... !", as he squirms, trying to kick the man and get loose.
Just then, Craig joins the trio. He bends down and grabs Ben's legs so that he can't kick his torturer. Ben, shocked and alarmed, thrashes about even harder when the receptionist begins to tickle his armpits, which he can't protect since his bodyguard keeps his arms up by force from behind.
"Hah what hahaha ha hehheheeh ENOUGGHHAAA ha HaahaHA!!", he yelps, twitching, while he is lifted up and carried as a burden by his escort. The tickler redoubles his attack, while the others carry his victim and prevent him from defending. Ben contorts with laughing spasms but can't get loose. He is led to a side room and the tickler gives his pits just a fleeting rest to lock the door, and then he resumes his exasperating task. The struggling Ben is laid down on a kind of operating table, and he understands, if there's something understandable in all this, that it's now when they are going to do their utmost on him. The tickler works his tummy with one hand, while with the other unbuttons Ben's shirt, in order to gain access to more intimate parts of his skin. Ben protests, screams, moan, laughs, LAAAUGHS, scuffles frantically
Craig holds his legs firmly, keeping one under each armpit, despite Ben's frantic efforts to free himself. Dave does his part with Ben's arms. When the tickler finishes to unbutton and open his shirt, his fingers sink deep into the fleshy tissue. Ben, in hysterics, cries and gasps out of breath.
"NOOnohahah hehe nohn nha ha HA Hga mmm HA HA !!"
His voice, as well as the process he is undergoing, is reaching an acute crescendo, when suddenly it is chorused by a most incongruous sound a roar of applause!
The torture has ceased, as if its performer were bowing to the acclamations. Ben gasps for breath while he gradually opens his wet eyes, and sees the room is full of people, who stand in a circle around the table where he is kept immobilized. It seems to be the reception committee that was mentioned.
Before he can even gather saliva in his mouth to shout his indignation, he is forced to stand up and he is handcuffed in front of a young man who seems to be in command. After an approving look to the captive, he addresses to him.
"Welcome, Mr. Affleck. Please apologize me for not shaking your hand. You can call me Wolfero and"
"What the fuck d'you think you're doing, you asshole?!", yells Ben, outraged. "Set me free right now or I "
Wolfero sighs and keeps silent while his helpers proceed to gag Ben, who shakes his head in protest. His bodyguard and his chaffeur, each by one of his sides, hold his arms to keep him in place.
"As I was saying", Wolfero goes on, "you're the guest of honour of our reception. As you may have inferred at this stage, T.C. stands for TICKLE CLUB. And this is a very exclusive club, restricted to selected members. As far as you're concerned in this matter well, you are our tickle slave from this day on. Yeah, that's it, don't look at me so incredulously. You've been chosen by popular vote among all the celebrities in the country. And just to satisfy your curiosity, your nearest rival was Greg Kinnear. Many members seem very keen on tickling that lovely man."
Ben is sweating profusely. Just the word "tickle", every time it is mentioned, makes him shiver terrified. Tickles are his weakness, an excruciating sensation that neither his body nor his mind can endure. They leave him frail, insane with laughter, wishing to shriek without end.
"You'll never leave these premises", Wolfero is saying. "And let me emphasize "never". You'll spend with us the rest of your life. When you die, you'll be incinerated and you ashes put into an urn that you'll share with your predecessors and successors. However, we expect that time is far. You've been a dear acquisition, and an expensive one. Not only did we have to buy off your escort, but also influence on the selection process so that they could come into your service. Oh, and we've also paid them to erase all track of this visit from your agenda, so don't you expect any rescue team led by neglected clues to ever find you. To the eyes of the world, you've vanished in thin air, and your disappearance will remain a mystery forever, except, of course, for the few who'll enjoy your company and other charms here."
"In a moment, you'll be led to your lodging, which you'll dwell permanently. I hope you'll find it cosy. It has all comforts and, attached to it, there's a gym at your disposal so that you keep fit. You'd better make use of it. I warn you that, if you ever lost your carnal delights, we'd be obliged to get rid of you by tickling you to death. And I mean it."
Ben looks intently into his eyes and he knows he means it.
"You already know Gregory" adds Wolfero pointing at someone. It's the receptionist of cruel fingers. "He is a very enthusiast assistant. I'm sure you'll get to know each other well, since he is in charge of this subsidiary. I thus commit you to his care."
Gregory devotes Ben a malevolent smile. At a signal from his hand, a man from the public approaches Ben. He diligently unfastens Ben's belt and unbuttons his trousers. He has to draw back due to Ben's kicks, but another man comes to hold the prisoner's legs while the first one pulls his trousers his trousers to his knees. Next come his briefs, with which Ben's splendid cock is exposed to the eager public. Everyone can see the involuntary erection due to the tickling stimulation he has just received, and there are many grins around. Ben blushes furiously by the humiliation, despite the fact that he shouldn't care about those people's consideration. He quivers when his shaft is manipulated by fingers that slightly open the lips of his tender prepuce to insert a kind of cap. It comes with a ring which goes around the head of his cock and tightens. Ben can't but watch in disbelief the lid which is now hermetically sealing the orifice of his organ.
"Say bye-bye to ejaculations, Ben.", comments Wolfero. "Contentment is reserved to the members, not to our slaves. We guarantee that all our toys undergo compulsory abstinence. And that device is the seal of approval. You won't be able to remove it without our special key. You'd better assume it soon, my friend. You must comply with our rules and never try any kind of stealthy relief. Otherwise, we'll have to take drastic measures."
Ben bites his gag and trembles while hearing about all that terrible fate that's being outlined. This can't be happening! There are crazy people in the world, but he has always been sure to be safe from them. He was so confident that, from his position, such a gruesome situation was utterly unthinkable
"Well, Ben, we'll meet again soon." concludes Wolfero. He then leans his head near the captive's ear and lowers his voice. "I'll give you a last hint. We know you're an actor. But we don't want you to act. We want your genuine reactions to our treatment. So be yourself, all right? And now, try to rest and gather some strength. Tonight you'll have quite an intensive session."
Despite his muffled protests, Ben is taken away and followed by a chorus of excited whispers.
The tickle torture, the tension, the impressions . no wonder poor Ben is exhausted. And it's not surprising either that, after his hands are released and he is confined into his new lodging, he falls asleep on the bed. He sleeps like a log for some hours, until a key on the lock of his room/cell wakes him up with a start.
They come for him. He faces them and does his best to resist, like a caged lion if someone came to tickle his balls, but their numerical superiority subdues him. He is undressed and carried out despite his muscled constitution and youth, and the desperation that possesses him.
His wrists are again handcuffed behind his back before he is taken to the loo. When facing the lavatory pan, someone removes the repressing device from his cock and allow the urine to flow out. But ONLY the urine, of course. As soon as Ben's bladder is empty, the cock lid is reinstated, in case some other fluid attempts a flight.
Next stop is a shady room, one of whose walls is of transparent crystal. Ben is trying hard to foresee what cruelty they have in store for him, but before his imagination has worked on it, he has been forced to lay on his back on a mat that faces the glass wall.
"You'll regret it, guys", he threatens uselessly, "You'll wish you'd never got involved in this shit!"
He still tries to sound tough, but panic in about overwhelming his voice. It's about tickles Jesus, it's all about tickles!
Gregory is there to supervise the operation. With folded arms, he looks impassively at how two subordinates grab Ben's legs, and how he fights mightily when he finally discerns what is to come. No matter his efforts, the assistants force his bare feet through two round hollows that open on the glass wall, almost at ground level. Each is surrounded by a rim of rubber that tightens around his shins when it's pumped with air, leaving his exposed feet outside, in the corridor that is behind the crystal pane.
And so they leave his nude body laying there, feeling more vulnerable than ever, his hands tied behind his back and unable to defend, his feet trapped and beyond his reach. He sighs desperately at the intolerable sensations, not materialised yet, of the impending torment that is gonna be inflicted on him.
Then Gregory opens the door of the room so that a middle-aged man enters. The man looks at Ben with open lust and winks an eye to him. To Ben's repulsion, he begins to undress himself with notorious joy and anticipation of something that Ben can only dread.
His attention then focuses on the steps that are coming down the corridor. A guy is walking towards the glass wall. His face is not unfamiliar to Ben, he is some big shot. It is true then that T.C. has very exclusive members. That arouses a terrible thought to Ben. If important people come so gladly to mortify him, they certainly trust in the club's discretion and its confinement measures, and there must be no hope someone ever escaped from their claws.
The guy smiles mischievously to Ben through the windowpane and slowly kneels down on a cushion that he was carrying. He has also brought a small case that remains a first-aid kit, and he leaves it on the floor beside him. He then closes his eyes and inhales deeply the manly scent of Ben's feet. His breath on the soles of those feet is enough to make them shiver uneasily. And when the man opens the case with a click, Ben grunts anguished at the sight of its content. There are brushes and feathers of all sizes, hard pointed tools, smooth and rough surfaces that's nothing less than a tickle kit! But all those instruments are for further use. To begin with, the man opts for the manual treatment, wriggling his fingers and approaching them to the sensitive flesh.
"L-leave me alone!", Ben protests. An involuntary smile has begun to crack his lips even before he has been touched. His whole body quivers in rejection. The fingers linger some unbearable moments, then they reach him and he chortles despairingly.
"HffffffWAITheheheggnnhaHAHA !! NGGAAHAHA ! MmmffFHEfEHE !!"
Ben pouts pitifully and shakes his head. In no time at all, he has lost control over his body, his reactions, his pleads
"WAITWAAAIiIEEHE ! ! IBEEEEGHEHEEHEHEYOUUUAHAHAHA ! !"
His fit of laughter has almost made him forget the bare man that is in the room with him. But he becomes painfully aware of the watcher when he lays down on him and embraces him! He presses his nude body against Ben's and holds him tight, as he would hold a lover, riding him while Ben bucks convulsively,
"LETMEEEEeeeHEHEHEyoufaggott !!"
Ben's good-looking face, already red, blushes more furiously with this added humiliation. For the rider, it is the sweetest ecstasy to hug someone tight while he is being tickled savagely, and such a cute boy to hug well, this is beyond rapture. He constantly hushes Ben and pats his back, as if Ben were a baby with a tantrum. The man's hard cock throbs with delight on grazing Ben's stifled crotch, which shows a considerable hard-on much despite himself.
"M-MERCYIIIIIEEEEEHEHEHAHAHHAAA !! PP-pleEEEzZEEEEHEHE !!!"
When the man in the corridor begins to use the tickling gadgets, Ben just goes berserk and guffaws at the top of his lungs. The delicate bristles of some kind of tool tease one sole with tantalizing persistence, while the hard teeth of a comb take care of the other.
"NOM-MOOREEEEHEHE h-HEHENONONOOOHFFGG OHHOHOO HUAAAGHHAHAHA UAAAGHAAA MyFEEEEHEHEHETTTHE EEEEE ! ! !
After a prolonged ordeal, he gets a bleak break while they swift positions. The holder runs out of the room, heading for the corridor, and the tickler dashes to become holder, already undressing on the way.
And when he opens the door where the corridor begins, Ben's tearful eyes have a terrifying glimpse of the queue that awaits down the corridor.
The days that follow only carry further the rigours of this proceeding.
People he knew before his captivity come now to tickle him, even some colleagues who have been cast mates or some other director Ben had worked for. The night a party is held, he is hanging by his wrists to the ceiling while the guests approach to tickle him whenever they feel like it and there is room for more wriggling fingers. And so he is subjected to all kind of tickle vexations under the supervision of Gregory or some other, so that nobody overdoes it and literally kills the goose of the golden eggs, whose cackling brings so much fun and excitement.
Afterwards, they make him drink bitter syrups to alleviate his irritated throat and the hoarseness due to his high-pitched laugh. They take good care of him and try hard to leave him fresh for the next session. His feeding is controlled, so that he doesn't get fat but doesn't lose weight either. Some days he just feels like fasting and letting himself die, but the menace of a tickle execution soon forces him to swallow his meal.
What he has now that he lacked before is a lot of leisure time. His room is equipped with a TV set and a video player, and they have left a bunch of video tapes as the only available viewing. The first one he tries is "Night of the Tickling Dead", where an army of zombies stretch their arms towards any guy they meet in the streets, and tickle him to death. Their victims also become tickle zombies and follow the horde. It almost elicits another nervous breakdown from Ben. The rest of the video tapes turn out to be snuff tickle movies, where poor actors find too late that they have been tied, not to fake some torrid bed scene, but to undergo the most intense tickling until breathing their last. Just what Ben needs to see right now.
The radio could be another option, but the only station he can tune constantly transmits a chilling recording with shrieks of laughter and deranged begging. And the magazines that are left at his disposal don't help either. Just the cover of one of them, where a photomontage shows Mark Wahlberg trapped in a sea of feathers, is enough to make Ben hide them all from view.
His erection is a matter of the most pressing consideration. It's a most unhappy shaft, regularly fondled, tickled, but kept gagged. Never allowed to evacuate the juices of pleasure, its growing seems to thrive on its restriction. Its throbbing makes him sweat and tremble as an irrevocable fever. Before they lead him to the toilet, he tries by all means to excite himself so that, when they remove the lid, he can expel at one go more fluids than urine. But his captors are extremely cautious, and if they notice his crotch is too hard, they keep him waiting to pee till it's more manageable.
There are times, in the loneliness of his confinement, when some nervous reflex unleashes and he begins to laugh uncontrollably. Fearing mightily for his sanity, he bites his pillow to muffle his unstoppable guffaws, which leave him shaking with sadness and anguish.
"W-Wolfero-ohoho !!", he fights to utter one day in the middle of a session. "I-I wana talkkkahahhaha to himmmffheHEHEHEHEHE !!"
He would resort to anything, to anyone, to escape from this hell. If he has to sign a pact with the devil, someone bring him a pen.
"You think you can bother him just like that?", asks Gregory, observing impassively how a client blows raspberry after raspberry on Ben's tender tummy.
"Let meHE HE HE seeehehehEE him Ple-eeasszZEEHEE pleAASSZZHEE ! !"
"No way, man. He's too busy for your pleads. And anyway, he is abroad. Just shut up and laugh, which is what we want to hear."
Despite his obstinate insistence, all he gets are the same refusals on and on, until one day
"Leave us alone", Wolfero orders his employees when they have brought Ben to his office. They do as they are told and Ben is left there. His ankles are tied and his wrists handcuffed in front of him to prevent any rebellious movement. He waits quietly while the man he has come to see finishes revising the paperwork that lies on his desk.
After so many pleads with his captors, Ben has been granted an audience with the director, who seemingly has just returned from overseas.
"Hi, Ben. You look good. But I've been told that you're having trouble adapting to your situation. Is that so?"
Ben looks at him aghast. "Trouble adapting", what kind of euphemism is that?
"Shall I remind you it's a permanent situation?", asks Wolfero.
"Listen !", exclaims Ben in despair, "I absolutely can't stand it. I-I'm going MAD, man. Please, PLEASE, don't tickle me any more, just don't tickle!!"
"I haven't laid a finger on you"
"I mean DON'T let them tickle me!"
"I see, Ben, that you've missed the point here."
"I'll pay you I have millions, man! Let me go and I'll pay you anything. Just tell me an account number and I'll transfer the money straight away. All I have in the bank! And I won't tell anyone about the club, I swear it to God! You can blackmail me with the videos you've recorded when I was laughing like a hysteric teenager "
Wolfero lets him speak, but doesn't seem to really listen.
"What you ask for, my friend", he finally butts in, "is not negotiable. I thought I had left it clear. And anyway, it's not about money. I mean, it's not JUST about money. Certainly, it's business, you're our most valuable asset and our clients pay dear to have fun with you. But that's not the principle on which our guild was founded. We obeyed our instincts. There was a fantasy we all shared. The one you've been a subject of lately."
"But why me?", asks Ben. "I've gone through enough, haven't I? Now give me my life back !"
Imploring, he is looking intently into Wolfero's eyes, where there seems to shine a kind of sympathy. An odd one which, seemingly, is not stronger than his determination. Wolfero smiles sadly and says:
"Dear Ben, I know that, from your current position, you can't be impartial, of course not, but try to picture it. What does the suffering of one represent if it provides with pleasure to so many others? Isn't it appropriate to sacrifice your welfare so that we satiate our thirst? We could make you happy and enjoy it, but unfortunately for you, it doesn't work that way. Your comfort is not our source of delight. We bask in your helplessness, in the weakness of your skin to our touch, in your lack of freedom, of sexual satisfaction "
"BUT IT's NOT FAIR !", protests Ben vehemently.
"I agree with you. Fairness is not a factor here. We don't look for it and, therefore, we don't find it. You shouldn't expect it either. Get that into your head once and for all. Look, I won't deny I feel certain esteem for you, but there's nothing I can do. I abide by rules. I can't do just what I want."
"How can you say that?", whines Ben. "You're the one who signs the papers! You deal with kidnapping the victims! If you decided to set me free, they'd obey you !"
"Listen, Ben. I've just came back from the London's subsidiary, where I've worked on the arrangements to abduct your colleague Jude Law. Once he falls into our hands, he will become our main attraction there, just as you're the main attraction of this subsidiary. The members of the club select the preys according to their whims. They ask for them. I just comply with their preferences. They decide how the prisoners should be treated, when they should be punished They don't obey me, as you say. It's me who obeys them."
Ben shakes his head in negation. He is next to tears at this blind alley.
"At least", he begs, "let me CUM. I have to. I'm exploding. You can't imagine how I need " his voice fails with humiliation and his eyes fix on the floor. Wolfero spends some time thinking before speaking again.
"Seriously, Ben, you'd better learn certain lessons soon. Your orgasm would spoil ours. Can't you see how selfish that'd be? Our members need to have the feeling that you're deprived of release. Just by imagining your longing, they get excited beyond measure. They need a martyr. And you are the present one."
Ben opens his mouth to object, but the words sink under the weight of desolation before reaching his lips. It is all so useless... No mercy can be expected or required. Some button Wolfero presses under his desk summons his assistants to come and fetch the visitor.
Before they take him away, Wolfero shakes his hand. What the hell? Ben frowns on realizing that something has been left on the palm of his hand. It's a small object he instantly recognizes to the touch, since he has seen his guardians use it many times: it's the key that opens the cock-lid! The astounded Ben raises his head, but Wolfero has already turned to dodge his eyes.
"Now they'll serve you lunch, Ben", he says indifferently. "I hope you've found our chat useful. Don't forget the lessons. And have a toast to my health"
That afternoon, Ben's nervous system faces overcharge as an inquisitive feather explores a part of his anatomy that had been kept virgin so far. That rogue feather, wielded by a demanding member of the club, first fondles with intoxicating sadism the crack of Ben's ass, making him quiver terribly, and then slips through it, sending him into a frantic fit of convulsions. The position of his legs, tied one well apart from the other, makes it impossible to close the gap. For an hetero, the sensation can't be more intolerable. It'll will make him squirm forever in his wildest nightmares. It's as if the intrusive quill were tickling him from the inside, penetrating to the prostate that orifice where the light of day has never crossed. It naturally results in a disproportionate swelling of his penis, as if a spurt of magma were demanding an immediate outburst.
However, there's something Ben can hold on to while he nearly laughs his lungs though his mouth. A promise within his reach. Tonight, alone in his cell, he knows he'll be able to shoot his load at last. The key, that he has hidden under his mattress, will open the gates of relief. So now he strains to find comfort in that triumph, which also insinuates some hope in the process of his liberation.
Hours later, he lays on his bed, shattered and still muffling the hysterical guffaws that shake his throat. His pelvis still spasms occasionally. Just the memory of those fronds in wiggling contact with the hypersensitive flesh of his anal tract, makes all his self-control fade and his asshole twitch badly.
It's an enormous will effort to wait until the lights are turned off. Then, he stretches out one hand to the hidden key, trembling for fear that it is no longer there. But it is where he left it, and the contact with his fingers is like a spark of alleviation. While he pulls down his briefs, he worries wondering if it will work. What if the gift has been a cruel joke? He couldn't endure a let-down like that, it would end with his precarious sanity!
He is manipulating the device at the moonlight that comes from the high bars window, when a well-known click indicates victory. The lid is off!
But no sooner has the lid ceded, than he hears voices and hurried steps coming near. How have they found out?! Only then does it occurs to him that there must be a camera in the room, maybe even equipped with infrared sensors. Now there's a key in the door's lock! With a yell of frustration, he jumps out of bed and puts his back against the door, trying to keep it shut while he masturbates in a rush. The warders push mightily to come in and stop him. He is sat on the floor, trying hard to keep them out with his back while he shakes his penis vigorously. Come onnnn!! Waggle, waggle it, make it flow! Please just another seeeeeecond !!
But despite his feverish excitement, he has no time to accomplish his orgasm before they burst in and overpower him.
Barely ten minutes later, Ben lies on the operating table he was laid on when he arrived to this purgatory. He has been undressed and tied in a position he is very familiar with: arms and legs stretched, with his wrists and ankles tied to the extremes of the table. He raises his head to have a look at his cock, that stands up still invigorated by his futile waggling. They haven't bothered to insert the cock-lid again, and he wonders why, shivering at the possibilities.
What seems clear is that they are about administering him a punishment for his aborted devilry. Just imagining and fearing the details is the cruellest ordeal in itself. As usual, Gregory is there to supervise everything.
"We warned you about foolhardy attempts, didn't we?", he scolds Ben; "Now you'll deeply regret having stolen that key from our director's office."
"P-please...", supplicates poor Ben, "I didn't mean to..."
"Sssshhhh You must be disciplined. Those are the rules."
The rules! That reminds Ben of Wolfero affirming to abide by rules. And he surely knew there was a camera monitoring Ben's room, so he wanted him to be caught in sin and receive a penalty for it. He must have led him to this situation for some lesson he wanted him to learn.
While Ben comes to those conclusions, he squirms uncomfortably at a numbness that is spreading along his lower body.
"The pain killer is taking effect, hmm?", asks Gregory complacent.
Ben noticed a prick in his leg when they were carrying him there, but he thought it was just a tranquilliser to pacify him. Now he's told it was to save him pain...
Only when a man in a green apron and a plaster cast comes in does Ben fully understand his terrible situation. The drastic measures they threatened with consist on castrating him. That is the surest way to keep him from ejaculating ever again.
"NOOOOO NOT THAT!!!", he yells.
The surgeon smiles at him and then turns to examine the surgical instruments at his disposal. He is probably going to perform the procedure for free, since it will be such a gratification to deprive this celebrity of all sexual relief forever. Who knows if he has even paid for this enjoyment.
"W-wait, WAIT!!", claims Ben, "It's not my fault! It has been a trap!
He racks his brains frantically, thinking how to avoid the impending amputation of his manhood.
"Don't you worry about peeing", says Gregory, oblivious to his pleading; "You'll be perfectly able to do it in a sitting position. And we'll leave your testicles intact so that you go on segregating semen. Thus you'll keep you sexual desires, as we wish. There'll be no possible relief, I'm afraid. But you were not allowed to get it either, so this won't be a great loss."
With a sly grin, he pats Ben's shaft, which stimulates its prolonged arousal.
"I w-won't try it again!", Ben babbles, "I promise! I SWEAR IT!!"
He is fighting to contain the tears that well up in his eyes.
The doctor has already chosen his tool: a flashy scalpel whose sharp edge glitters chillingly in the cold illumination. Brandishing the utensil, he approaches the patient. Ben pulls at his bonds and sobs beyond desperation.
Then Gregory mischievously gets his fingers to Ben's armpits, so tender by the sustained tickling of last days. With swift, skilled motions, he begins tickling his pits while the scalpel gets near.
"N-NOOhhOHOHEHEH!! AARGGHHH!! DO-ON'T!! HEHEHEH IBEGGGGHEHE !!!"
"Naaahh, Bennie, forget about that little friend of yours. You'll be happier without it."
Ben tries to keep his eyes open to look at what is coming, and what is leaving. But Gregory makes him squint with his relentless caresses, circles and prodding. As if what's about to happen implied a lot of mirth, Ben can't stop howling and shrieking with laughter as they are about to cut off his sexual organ.
"Relax, Bennie, it won't hurt you", insists Gregory, "And you'll see you won't suffer more temptations. Kootchie-kootchie-kootchie"
"NHAHHAHAHGREGGGHGEHHEHEH !!!"
Meanwhile, the surgeon has examined briefly the organ to remove and gets ready to proceed. His steady hand places the scalpel at the base of Ben dick while he holds its head up with the fingers of his left hand. He begins slicing smoothly, slightly sawing the tissue. It's an awkward work due to the quivering of the body to which the member is still attached, but he is a real professional.
"NOOOOHOHOHO !!!"
Finally, with a swift motion, the doctor completely amputates Ben's penis. That's it! It's gone.
There is no physical pain. Just a deep feeling of lost, absence and everlasting frustration.
The severed penis is immediately incinerated, so that there can be no hopes of reattaching it. Ben's sobs only cease when he passes out by the commotion.
His awakening is slow, as if he no longer wished to be awoken. He finally open his eyes to find himself in the bed of his cell. There's a tube, coming from a bag of serum, connected to his arm.
He feels like crying again, but has to time to assimilate all his misfortune before someone opens the door. It's Gregory, accompanied by two men.
"Oh, our sleeping beauty is with us again!"
One man grabs Ben's arms and the other holds his legs, while Gregory brings down his pyjama and underpants. Ben hardly resists any longer, as if all his bravado has already been taken away.
Gregory examines the surgical stitches and nods satisfied. He explains to Ben that, since he has been unconscious for days, he is totally healed by now.
"And as I promised, we left you your balls. Or did you think we'd get rid of this lovely bag of giggles, hmmm?", he laughs tickling Ben's testicles with the tip of his fingers
