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"description": "“What playthings do you have for me today?”\n\tDancing colours moved in wispy vapours, filling in the empty white. Shapes formed, indistinct for the moment, slowly building their quality until they had formed a tableau of flat wilderness, a harsh scrub land under a wet and white sky. I waited, patiently, until the rumble of the wind wound itself up into full volume, until the scent of dirt filled my nose, until the flat images popped into vibrant and vivid three dimensions.\n\tI looked down at myself, holding my arms out in front. Brown leather, worn and cracked, encased my hands. I flexed my fingers. Ah, I thought. They were gloves. It took me a moment to understand the feel of them. The rusted metal on my arms would be chain mail. And that weight on my hip?\n\tI unsheathed the weapon. Ah, now this was a sword alright. Long and heavy, with a blade that would kill with the force of its impact more so than from the cutting edge. It felt good in my hand. And in the back of my head I felt the buzzing itch of new thoughts sliding into place. I swung my arm and the sword went with it, with control and ease that I had not possessed a moment ago.\n\tI turned to look up at the brooding sky. “I’m having a fight, today?” I said.\n\tThe reply began like a distant echo. The beating of distant drums. The screaming of horses. The cries and shouts of men. The shriek of metal striking metal. I stood still, waiting for it, listening as the sounds grew louder. My nose filled with the stink of blood and shit. A wash of heat passed over me. I saw the shimmer in the air around me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, raising the sword above my head. I bellowed a mighty scream, of power and rage and blood lust, and brought the sword swinging down, opening my eyes.\n\tThe man before me crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony, his hand clutching his cleaved shoulder. I wrenched the sword free and swung it again, slicing the tip of the blade across his throat. Blood arced out above him, droplets falling down onto my face. The roar of battle was deafening now. All around me the fight raged, bodies slamming against bodies, a heaving scrum of murder. I stood in a small clearing, an eye in a storm. I was a shark among the minnows, swimming in a void through the swirling masses. My lips peeled back into an animal grin. I raised the bloodied sword.\n\t“Forward!” I cried. It felt good. It felt commanding, powerful. Around me, men yanked their swords free of their dying foes and turned to face forward, lining up in loose rows behind me. Ahead of us swelled the horde of enemies, the opposing army, differing in appearance only by the colour of the sash tied across their chests. Theirs was white. Ours was red. And as we dove forwards we converted them. We made their sashes red with their blood.\n\tI disappeared into the blind frenzy of it all, my heart pounding, my spirits high. I cut deep gashes into the bodies that piled up against me, dropping their corpses to my sides and heaving towards the next target. I felt no fear, no fatigue, no distress: only a soaring elation, the spirit of victory. I felt like I could live like this forever, caught in the perpetual destruction of battle.\n\tThe axe swung up to catch my sword and knocked it out of my grip, sending it sailing over the heads of my fellow soldiers. I stopped in my stride, struck dumb. I stared at my aching fingers, and at my dislocated thumb. The pain throbbed dimly, just enough to tell me that I was hurt. While the distant thunder of battle continued on, the sounds close by faded into uneasy silence. All around me, my men were standing and gawping, their weapons slowly lowering. And opposite us, the enemy were scurrying backwards, whispering amongst themselves.\n\tBefore me stood the Black King, a great snow wolf fully three feet taller than me, a giant amongst men. His crown gleamed gold. His fur blazed pure white. His eyes were dark marbles, staring down into me, drilling to my core. His mouth split wide, not into a snarl, but into an amused grin. He dropped the head of the axe towards me and touched the sharp corner of it to the underside of my chin.\n\t“Disarming me is a little unfair,” I muttered. “Where’s the game in that?”\n\tI dropped myself onto my knees, squelching in the blood and the gore and the mud of the battlefield. I tilted my head to one side, baring my neck, and stared towards the gathered men around me, boredom in my eyes. I waited for the swing of the axe, and for all this to dissolve away around me.\n\t“Silly little thing,” hissed the Black King. I shot a look back up to him. He wasn’t meant to talk.\n\t“Excuse me?”\n\tHe lifted the axe above my head and turned it horizontal. He swung it down towards my skull, the flat of the blade rushing towards me.\n\t“Wait a second!”\n\tAnd in the next moment I was somewhere else, my head throbbing with a faint ache, with a burning taste of iron on my tongue. I was in a room, surrounded by stone walls that dripped wet with condensation, lit by the flickering orange glow of a spluttering torch mounted on a sconce opposite me. My feet dangled off the floor. My wrists were shackled with heavy irons above my head. I could feel the strain in my elbows, but it didn’t hurt, not really.\n\t“Hey now, this isn’t right,” I said. “Come on now, take me back to the battle.”\n\t No answer came, but I wasn’t expecting one. I was expecting for the blood and turmoil of the battle to return. That didn’t happen either. Instead, the barred wooden door at the far end of the dark and dirty room thudded open, and in strode the Black King, his ears nearly touching the beams above.\n\tAside from his crown, which still gleamed atop his head, he was completely naked.\n\t“Hey, what’s going on? This is-”\n\tHis hand moved faster than it took me to blink, reaching out to grab my muzzle, clamping it shut between his big fingers. But he didn’t squeeze down hard. The measure of control he seemed to have was a shock. Such fine co-ordination in such a big hand. The surprise would have silenced me if his hand hadn’t.\n\t“Quiet now,” he whispered.\n\tI lashed out with a clumsy kick, aiming for his balls, but falling short and instead hitting his knee. I thought it was quite a good kick. My boot was strong, with a thick wooden sole, with nasty hobnails. But he didn’t react to the impact, and the white fur on his knee was unbloodied and unmarked.\n\t“Tut,” he said, and nothing more. He kept his hand wrapped around my muzzle while the other began to tug at my clothes, undoing leather thongs to peel away my tunic. The fastenings for my chain mail under-shirt were on my spine, but he didn’t seem to care: his claws sunk down through the metal and tore the rings apart like they were paper. He stripped me down to naked fur while I writhed helpless to stop him, feeling the chill of the cold air and the wet wall at my back. I stank of blood and sweat and dirt, and the fur of my body was filthy with dirty streaks.\n\t“Do not speak,” he said. His hand lifted away from my muzzle. I considered defying him, and opened my mouth to do just that. But in that moment his hand moved again, faster than I could follow, and in the next moment I discovered that my balls were now firmly enclosed in his gentle but threatening grip. I closed my mouth again.\n\tVery gently, his fingers began to knead my balls, while his thumb lifted up to stroke against the underside of my sheath. I bit my lip and rested my head back against the wall. Unlike the mute sensation of pain, this was full force electric pleasure, and it was far too strong for my liking. I twitched my legs and bumped my heels against the wall. A soft moan escaped my lips, a moan which became a whinny as he moved his fingers up to stroke against my emerging cock.\n\t“Stop,” I gasped, and he ignored me. The expected punishment for speaking when he had told me not to didn’t materialise. “Please...this isn’t right.”\n\tHis hand closed around my shaft and started pumping. I heard a soft popping noise that made me jump. I looked, vision wavering as the room and the wolf seemed to shimmer. He held a small glass bottle in his other hand, the cork loosened and now dropping to the floor. He upended it, pouring a clear, oily liquid down onto the head of my cock. I felt the heat of it even before it touched my skin. The moan that came out of me was not dignified in the slightest.\n\t“Please stop,” I whispered. “Don’t do that...oh fuck.”\n\tHis slick fingers slid up and down my shaft in slow strokes. My body shuddered, far beyond any conscious control. I balled my fists and clenched my eyes shut, turning my head away, not wanting to feel the shame of his burning stare, the mocking of that sinister grin. I tried to imagine myself somewhere else, away from this dungeon room, somewhere where I was powerful and in control of myself. I thought of the glory of the battlefield, of the blood and the triumph, of the roaring freedom of the open air and the taste of the cool air on my tongue. But I couldn’t shake the mildew stink of the room, nor the spiced aroma of the warm oil, or the heady scent of the wolf’s fur and the musk rising up from his naked crotch. I shook my head, trying to clear it, biting back timid whimpers. If maybe I could exert some willpower, I could override this situation and get everything back to normal. But his stroking sped up, his fingers gripping tighter, and I felt my balls tighten and my cock throb, and I knew that helpless release was moments away.\n\tAnd then he stopped. His hand lifted away from my cock. And I cried out in wordless mourning for the orgasm that I hadn’t wanted in the first place, but now so badly needed. I opened my eyes to glare at him, but instead the look that I gave him was one of pleading. And in return, he smiled at me like he had won a great victory.\n\t“Please,” I whispered, and if pressed I wouldn’t have been able to say what I was pleading for: release from my restraints, or the release of orgasm.\n\tHe watched me, his own cock standing hard, twice as long and twice as thick as my own. I tried to keep my eyes off it, trying to keep them locked onto his own stare, but I felt an inexorable drag pulling my gaze downwards.\n\t“This is wrong,” I gasped. “You’re not meant to do this. You’re meant to die, or you’re meant to kill me, one of those two things. Not this! Where did you get the idea to do this?”\n\tI was talking to him as well as not talking to him. He didn’t react either way, except to move his oil covered hand to his own cock. He rubbed it until it was slick and glistening from root to tip, and I stared at it, hopelessly unable to look away. I watched as he slid his fingers along his shaft in quick, powerful strokes, while my own cock throbbed against my tummy, aching for him to do it to me instead of himself. I watched as his commanding composure cracked ever so slightly with a shudder of pleasure and a long drawn out growl. His hand moved in a blur. His cock swelled between his fingers, shiny and slick with the oil, and then his orgasm hit. He tipped his head back and howled. Thick ribbons of sticky cum erupted towards me and over me, splattering across my face and chest and stomach, dripping down to tease and tickle the head of my cock. The stink of musk flooded the room. I couldn’t escape it. It filled my nose and made me dizzy. I rocked my hips with animal need, trying to thrust against the air, looking and feeling like a complete fool, a slave to my own animal desires.\n\tBut he ignored my need. He turned away, back towards the door, shaking his oily, cum-covered paw, sending droplets in a spray to land on the stone floor.\n\t“Wait, damn it! Finish me off!” I cried. “Kill me or make me cum! Don’t just leave me!”\n\tHe wasn’t listening. The door closed behind him, a bolt thudding securely into place. I was alone, dropped back into the silence of the empty room, left with my own heartbeat and the aching hardness of my denied orgasm for company. I had only one thing left to do: I tried to relax. If I could do that, then I could calm down. And once I had calmed down, I could fall asleep. And that would be my escape.\n\tBut sleep was the hardest thing in the world for me to obtain now. I buzzed with energy. I felt faint with need. Every breath filled my nose with the potent musk of wolf cum. It didn’t even help to breathe through my mouth. I could taste it in the air, and it tasted like wild feral sex, pure and unrefined, tapping into the animal hindbrain that rode along underneath my civilised thoughts. It poked and prodded at my synapses, triggering the instinctive need to fuck and rut and breed. It made me swing on my chains, rocking my cock against nothing, trying with mindless need to find something to rub against, to satisfy the itch, the craving, the hunger. I even tried rocking to the side, trying to swing around to hump the wall behind me. But my wrists were bound too far apart and I couldn’t twist far enough.\n\t“Please!” I cried, as loudly as I could. “Let me cum! It’s not fair! This isn’t how it’s meant to go at all!”\n\tAnd on it went, for the longest time. I felt no hunger, nor thirst. Just the constant aching need for orgasm. The oil stayed warm, tingling ever so slightly, alive with the chemistry of essential oils. It kept me hard and aching. It kept me teased right at the brink, keeping me hopeful that if I could just thrust enough, just think about the sexiest fantasy I could imagine, I could tease a release for myself.\n\tI had no way of knowing how long I hung there, delirious with need. The torch opposite me burnt itself out eventually, emitting a wispy black smoke that made my eyes water and my throat burn. The total darkness that followed made things worse for a while: into that void my imagination projected the memory of the Black King stroking his cock, spraying his cum, howling in pleasure while I wriggled in denial. Eventually, the darkness became a blessing. My longed for calm finally arrived. I felt my eyelids dropping. I tried not to get excited, trying not to sabotage the approach of sleep. I emptied my thoughts as best as I could.\n\tYou can always feel the approach of sleep, but can never know the precise moment it actually arrives. I disappeared into the emptiness of unconsciousness, and awoke a moment or a minute or a million years later, staring at the white plastic interior of my pod.\n\t“Finally,” I breathed.\n\tI couldn’t move, but this wasn’t a surprise. My arms were at my sides, my legs were straight, and the firm embrace of the impact padding was present all around me, tight and comforting. What was a surprise, however, was the continued ache of my cock, confined within the snug steel tube of the pod’s waste recycling receptacle. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all.\n\t“Control,” I breathed, hearing a quiver in my voice. “Control, do you read?”\n\tI waited, counting down the thirty-six seconds needed for the round trip signal delay, plus a few seconds or more for them to formulate their response.\n\t“Pinabug, this is Control, we read you.”\n\tI took a moment to compose my thoughts. In my limited viewpoint, I could see the smooth and furless skin of the shiny black survival suit that gripped my body, encasing me from tip to toe in advanced nanotech synthetic rubberised biomesh. It maintained my skin and fur, bathed me, massaged my muscles, and kept my body functioning. But most importantly, it suppressed my sensory nerves, cutting off all sensation to leave me in complete sensory deprivation, so that the direct brain interface could take over and provide me with all the simulated stimulation and diversion I would need to pass the days and weeks and months and years of my journey. Why build a spaceship with living quarters and complicated, expensive and heavy life-support systems when you could seal your crew of one in a small coffin-sized pod and provide the total freedom of simulated comforts instead? Around me, the Pinabug Mars Explorer sailed through the void, a solid block of machinery and equipment, devoid of living space, automated and efficient, while I slept in the centre and dreamed my happy dreams.\n\tThat was how it was supposed to be. I most definitely was not meant to be feeling the ache of an erection out here in the real world. I licked my lips, tasting the dry rubber coating, and composed my response.\n\t“Control, I am experiencing physical sensations that indicate a partial malfunction of the survival suit. I have withdrawn from the simulation. Please advise.”\n\tI waited. My cock ached, just as it had in the dungeon room. My thoughts drifted back to the Black King, to the rich musk of his arousal and release. I could almost imagine that I could taste and smell it even now.\n\t“Pinabug, please stand by.”\n\tI waited. And with my cock aching as it did, it felt like forever.\n\t“Pinabug, we are assessing the feedback data now. It does appear that there is a slight malfunction in the suit’s operation procedures. We suggest that you return to the simulation while we perform diagnostics. We suggest that you avoid any environments that provide high levels of stimulation. We will contact you shortly.”\n\t“Confirmed, Control.” I tried to put some lightness into my tone, even though I didn’t feel it. If I had any feeling or control over my body, I knew I would be trying to hump the wall of my pod. “I guess I will do a little light reading. I am returning to simulation now. Pinabug out.”\n\tI took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let my thoughts drift into nothing, waiting for the simulation to take control.\n", "description_bbcode_parsed": "“What playthings do you have for me today?”
\tDancing colours moved in wispy vapours, filling in the empty white. Shapes formed, indistinct for the moment, slowly building their quality until they had formed a tableau of flat wilderness, a harsh scrub land under a wet and white sky. I waited, patiently, until the rumble of the wind wound itself up into full volume, until the scent of dirt filled my nose, until the flat images popped into vibrant and vivid three dimensions.
\tI looked down at myself, holding my arms out in front. Brown leather, worn and cracked, encased my hands. I flexed my fingers. Ah, I thought. They were gloves. It took me a moment to understand the feel of them. The rusted metal on my arms would be chain mail. And that weight on my hip?
\tI unsheathed the weapon. Ah, now this was a sword alright. Long and heavy, with a blade that would kill with the force of its impact more so than from the cutting edge. It felt good in my hand. And in the back of my head I felt the buzzing itch of new thoughts sliding into place. I swung my arm and the sword went with it, with control and ease that I had not possessed a moment ago.
\tI turned to look up at the brooding sky. “I’m having a fight, today?” I said.
\tThe reply began like a distant echo. The beating of distant drums. The screaming of horses. The cries and shouts of men. The shriek of metal striking metal. I stood still, waiting for it, listening as the sounds grew louder. My nose filled with the stink of blood and shit. A wash of heat passed over me. I saw the shimmer in the air around me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, raising the sword above my head. I bellowed a mighty scream, of power and rage and blood lust, and brought the sword swinging down, opening my eyes.
\tThe man before me crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony, his hand clutching his cleaved shoulder. I wrenched the sword free and swung it again, slicing the tip of the blade across his throat. Blood arced out above him, droplets falling down onto my face. The roar of battle was deafening now. All around me the fight raged, bodies slamming against bodies, a heaving scrum of murder. I stood in a small clearing, an eye in a storm. I was a shark among the minnows, swimming in a void through the swirling masses. My lips peeled back into an animal grin. I raised the bloodied sword.
\t“Forward!” I cried. It felt good. It felt commanding, powerful. Around me, men yanked their swords free of their dying foes and turned to face forward, lining up in loose rows behind me. Ahead of us swelled the horde of enemies, the opposing army, differing in appearance only by the colour of the sash tied across their chests. Theirs was white. Ours was red. And as we dove forwards we converted them. We made their sashes red with their blood.
\tI disappeared into the blind frenzy of it all, my heart pounding, my spirits high. I cut deep gashes into the bodies that piled up against me, dropping their corpses to my sides and heaving towards the next target. I felt no fear, no fatigue, no distress: only a soaring elation, the spirit of victory. I felt like I could live like this forever, caught in the perpetual destruction of battle.
\tThe axe swung up to catch my sword and knocked it out of my grip, sending it sailing over the heads of my fellow soldiers. I stopped in my stride, struck dumb. I stared at my aching fingers, and at my dislocated thumb. The pain throbbed dimly, just enough to tell me that I was hurt. While the distant thunder of battle continued on, the sounds close by faded into uneasy silence. All around me, my men were standing and gawping, their weapons slowly lowering. And opposite us, the enemy were scurrying backwards, whispering amongst themselves.
\tBefore me stood the Black King, a great snow wolf fully three feet taller than me, a giant amongst men. His crown gleamed gold. His fur blazed pure white. His eyes were dark marbles, staring down into me, drilling to my core. His mouth split wide, not into a snarl, but into an amused grin. He dropped the head of the axe towards me and touched the sharp corner of it to the underside of my chin.
\t“Disarming me is a little unfair,” I muttered. “Where’s the game in that?”
\tI dropped myself onto my knees, squelching in the blood and the gore and the mud of the battlefield. I tilted my head to one side, baring my neck, and stared towards the gathered men around me, boredom in my eyes. I waited for the swing of the axe, and for all this to dissolve away around me.
\t“Silly little thing,” hissed the Black King. I shot a look back up to him. He wasn’t meant to talk.
\t“Excuse me?”
\tHe lifted the axe above my head and turned it horizontal. He swung it down towards my skull, the flat of the blade rushing towards me.
\t“Wait a second!”
\tAnd in the next moment I was somewhere else, my head throbbing with a faint ache, with a burning taste of iron on my tongue. I was in a room, surrounded by stone walls that dripped wet with condensation, lit by the flickering orange glow of a spluttering torch mounted on a sconce opposite me. My feet dangled off the floor. My wrists were shackled with heavy irons above my head. I could feel the strain in my elbows, but it didn’t hurt, not really.
\t“Hey now, this isn’t right,” I said. “Come on now, take me back to the battle.”
\t No answer came, but I wasn’t expecting one. I was expecting for the blood and turmoil of the battle to return. That didn’t happen either. Instead, the barred wooden door at the far end of the dark and dirty room thudded open, and in strode the Black King, his ears nearly touching the beams above.
\tAside from his crown, which still gleamed atop his head, he was completely naked.
\t“Hey, what’s going on? This is-”
\tHis hand moved faster than it took me to blink, reaching out to grab my muzzle, clamping it shut between his big fingers. But he didn’t squeeze down hard. The measure of control he seemed to have was a shock. Such fine co-ordination in such a big hand. The surprise would have silenced me if his hand hadn’t.
\t“Quiet now,” he whispered.
\tI lashed out with a clumsy kick, aiming for his balls, but falling short and instead hitting his knee. I thought it was quite a good kick. My boot was strong, with a thick wooden sole, with nasty hobnails. But he didn’t react to the impact, and the white fur on his knee was unbloodied and unmarked.
\t“Tut,” he said, and nothing more. He kept his hand wrapped around my muzzle while the other began to tug at my clothes, undoing leather thongs to peel away my tunic. The fastenings for my chain mail under-shirt were on my spine, but he didn’t seem to care: his claws sunk down through the metal and tore the rings apart like they were paper. He stripped me down to naked fur while I writhed helpless to stop him, feeling the chill of the cold air and the wet wall at my back. I stank of blood and sweat and dirt, and the fur of my body was filthy with dirty streaks.
\t“Do not speak,” he said. His hand lifted away from my muzzle. I considered defying him, and opened my mouth to do just that. But in that moment his hand moved again, faster than I could follow, and in the next moment I discovered that my balls were now firmly enclosed in his gentle but threatening grip. I closed my mouth again.
\tVery gently, his fingers began to knead my balls, while his thumb lifted up to stroke against the underside of my sheath. I bit my lip and rested my head back against the wall. Unlike the mute sensation of pain, this was full force electric pleasure, and it was far too strong for my liking. I twitched my legs and bumped my heels against the wall. A soft moan escaped my lips, a moan which became a whinny as he moved his fingers up to stroke against my emerging cock.
\t“Stop,” I gasped, and he ignored me. The expected punishment for speaking when he had told me not to didn’t materialise. “Please...this isn’t right.”
\tHis hand closed around my shaft and started pumping. I heard a soft popping noise that made me jump. I looked, vision wavering as the room and the wolf seemed to shimmer. He held a small glass bottle in his other hand, the cork loosened and now dropping to the floor. He upended it, pouring a clear, oily liquid down onto the head of my cock. I felt the heat of it even before it touched my skin. The moan that came out of me was not dignified in the slightest.
\t“Please stop,” I whispered. “Don’t do that...oh fuck.”
\tHis slick fingers slid up and down my shaft in slow strokes. My body shuddered, far beyond any conscious control. I balled my fists and clenched my eyes shut, turning my head away, not wanting to feel the shame of his burning stare, the mocking of that sinister grin. I tried to imagine myself somewhere else, away from this dungeon room, somewhere where I was powerful and in control of myself. I thought of the glory of the battlefield, of the blood and the triumph, of the roaring freedom of the open air and the taste of the cool air on my tongue. But I couldn’t shake the mildew stink of the room, nor the spiced aroma of the warm oil, or the heady scent of the wolf’s fur and the musk rising up from his naked crotch. I shook my head, trying to clear it, biting back timid whimpers. If maybe I could exert some willpower, I could override this situation and get everything back to normal. But his stroking sped up, his fingers gripping tighter, and I felt my balls tighten and my cock throb, and I knew that helpless release was moments away.
\tAnd then he stopped. His hand lifted away from my cock. And I cried out in wordless mourning for the orgasm that I hadn’t wanted in the first place, but now so badly needed. I opened my eyes to glare at him, but instead the look that I gave him was one of pleading. And in return, he smiled at me like he had won a great victory.
\t“Please,” I whispered, and if pressed I wouldn’t have been able to say what I was pleading for: release from my restraints, or the release of orgasm.
\tHe watched me, his own cock standing hard, twice as long and twice as thick as my own. I tried to keep my eyes off it, trying to keep them locked onto his own stare, but I felt an inexorable drag pulling my gaze downwards.
\t“This is wrong,” I gasped. “You’re not meant to do this. You’re meant to die, or you’re meant to kill me, one of those two things. Not this! Where did you get the idea to do this?”
\tI was talking to him as well as not talking to him. He didn’t react either way, except to move his oil covered hand to his own cock. He rubbed it until it was slick and glistening from root to tip, and I stared at it, hopelessly unable to look away. I watched as he slid his fingers along his shaft in quick, powerful strokes, while my own cock throbbed against my tummy, aching for him to do it to me instead of himself. I watched as his commanding composure cracked ever so slightly with a shudder of pleasure and a long drawn out growl. His hand moved in a blur. His cock swelled between his fingers, shiny and slick with the oil, and then his orgasm hit. He tipped his head back and howled. Thick ribbons of sticky cum erupted towards me and over me, splattering across my face and chest and stomach, dripping down to tease and tickle the head of my cock. The stink of musk flooded the room. I couldn’t escape it. It filled my nose and made me dizzy. I rocked my hips with animal need, trying to thrust against the air, looking and feeling like a complete fool, a slave to my own animal desires.
\tBut he ignored my need. He turned away, back towards the door, shaking his oily, cum-covered paw, sending droplets in a spray to land on the stone floor.
\t“Wait, damn it! Finish me off!” I cried. “Kill me or make me cum! Don’t just leave me!”
\tHe wasn’t listening. The door closed behind him, a bolt thudding securely into place. I was alone, dropped back into the silence of the empty room, left with my own heartbeat and the aching hardness of my denied orgasm for company. I had only one thing left to do: I tried to relax. If I could do that, then I could calm down. And once I had calmed down, I could fall asleep. And that would be my escape.
\tBut sleep was the hardest thing in the world for me to obtain now. I buzzed with energy. I felt faint with need. Every breath filled my nose with the potent musk of wolf cum. It didn’t even help to breathe through my mouth. I could taste it in the air, and it tasted like wild feral sex, pure and unrefined, tapping into the animal hindbrain that rode along underneath my civilised thoughts. It poked and prodded at my synapses, triggering the instinctive need to fuck and rut and breed. It made me swing on my chains, rocking my cock against nothing, trying with mindless need to find something to rub against, to satisfy the itch, the craving, the hunger. I even tried rocking to the side, trying to swing around to hump the wall behind me. But my wrists were bound too far apart and I couldn’t twist far enough.
\t“Please!” I cried, as loudly as I could. “Let me cum! It’s not fair! This isn’t how it’s meant to go at all!”
\tAnd on it went, for the longest time. I felt no hunger, nor thirst. Just the constant aching need for orgasm. The oil stayed warm, tingling ever so slightly, alive with the chemistry of essential oils. It kept me hard and aching. It kept me teased right at the brink, keeping me hopeful that if I could just thrust enough, just think about the sexiest fantasy I could imagine, I could tease a release for myself.
\tI had no way of knowing how long I hung there, delirious with need. The torch opposite me burnt itself out eventually, emitting a wispy black smoke that made my eyes water and my throat burn. The total darkness that followed made things worse for a while: into that void my imagination projected the memory of the Black King stroking his cock, spraying his cum, howling in pleasure while I wriggled in denial. Eventually, the darkness became a blessing. My longed for calm finally arrived. I felt my eyelids dropping. I tried not to get excited, trying not to sabotage the approach of sleep. I emptied my thoughts as best as I could.
\tYou can always feel the approach of sleep, but can never know the precise moment it actually arrives. I disappeared into the emptiness of unconsciousness, and awoke a moment or a minute or a million years later, staring at the white plastic interior of my pod.
\t“Finally,” I breathed.
\tI couldn’t move, but this wasn’t a surprise. My arms were at my sides, my legs were straight, and the firm embrace of the impact padding was present all around me, tight and comforting. What was a surprise, however, was the continued ache of my cock, confined within the snug steel tube of the pod’s waste recycling receptacle. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all.
\t“Control,” I breathed, hearing a quiver in my voice. “Control, do you read?”
\tI waited, counting down the thirty-six seconds needed for the round trip signal delay, plus a few seconds or more for them to formulate their response.
\t“Pinabug, this is Control, we read you.”
\tI took a moment to compose my thoughts. In my limited viewpoint, I could see the smooth and furless skin of the shiny black survival suit that gripped my body, encasing me from tip to toe in advanced nanotech synthetic rubberised biomesh. It maintained my skin and fur, bathed me, massaged my muscles, and kept my body functioning. But most importantly, it suppressed my sensory nerves, cutting off all sensation to leave me in complete sensory deprivation, so that the direct brain interface could take over and provide me with all the simulated stimulation and diversion I would need to pass the days and weeks and months and years of my journey. Why build a spaceship with living quarters and complicated, expensive and heavy life-support systems when you could seal your crew of one in a small coffin-sized pod and provide the total freedom of simulated comforts instead? Around me, the Pinabug Mars Explorer sailed through the void, a solid block of machinery and equipment, devoid of living space, automated and efficient, while I slept in the centre and dreamed my happy dreams.
\tThat was how it was supposed to be. I most definitely was not meant to be feeling the ache of an erection out here in the real world. I licked my lips, tasting the dry rubber coating, and composed my response.
\t“Control, I am experiencing physical sensations that indicate a partial malfunction of the survival suit. I have withdrawn from the simulation. Please advise.”
\tI waited. My cock ached, just as it had in the dungeon room. My thoughts drifted back to the Black King, to the rich musk of his arousal and release. I could almost imagine that I could taste and smell it even now.
\t“Pinabug, please stand by.”
\tI waited. And with my cock aching as it did, it felt like forever.
\t“Pinabug, we are assessing the feedback data now. It does appear that there is a slight malfunction in the suit’s operation procedures. We suggest that you return to the simulation while we perform diagnostics. We suggest that you avoid any environments that provide high levels of stimulation. We will contact you shortly.”
\t“Confirmed, Control.” I tried to put some lightness into my tone, even though I didn’t feel it. If I had any feeling or control over my body, I knew I would be trying to hump the wall of my pod. “I guess I will do a little light reading. I am returning to simulation now. Pinabug out.”
\tI took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let my thoughts drift into nothing, waiting for the simulation to take control.
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