Chapter Text
Picture me, the name is Ashe, gender none-of-the-above, pronouns they/he, your typical overachieving high school kid, with a healthy social circle, normal interests, and plenty of plans for the weekend, locked in my room on a friday evening trying to get through homework as fast as humanly possible so I can be done and enjoy my weekend without the constant niggling worry of unfinished business. I’m already a little cranky because I’ve had to skip lunch to work on a math class group project. The only thing I need is some quiet time, so of course, this is the exact moment my resident live-in curse of an older brother chooses to hammer on my door hard enough to make the whole house shake.
“Kid! Hey Kid! Come on out!... Please! I know you’re in here. There’s a major emergency and you’re the only one who can help! It’s for my club meeting!”
Paul had always been a pain in the ass, a public embarrassment, and a loud self centered jerk, but ever since he’d started spending every single second of his spare time with the nerds of the so called ‘inventor’s club’ at school, his lovely qualities had only bloomed with a layer of pretentious self-righteous satisfaction that made him an even greater delight to be around than ever before.
He’d always had the tendency to treat my time and personal space as resources that he could just help himself to without any consideration to what I might be doing or feeling at the time. But like, way worse than the typical elder brother. He was the kind of annoying asshole who sees nothing wrong with barging into my room at 1am to angrily accuse me of having ‘hidden the jam’ and groan that he needs his snack right frigging now; meanwhile, said jam was in its usual spot in the cupboard except slightly obscured by a box of sugary cereals (which HE had put there), and he couldn’t be bothered to inconvenience himself in just searching for a second like a normal person would have. (I was sleeping. Am I still bitter about that one? You frigging bet.)
Since joining, all he does is brag about how smart he and his friends are. Whenever I get in talking range, he’ll pontify about the incredibly advanced scientific discussions and titillating exchanges that occur during club meetings. Condescendingly sharing pearls of wisdom such a congregation of great minds comes up with on a daily basis, the likes of which us poor mortals with inferior minds could never dream.
(To my eyes, his friends looked like a bunch of asocial nerds with questionable personal hygiene and a dated sense of fashion, but what do I know? I’m just some dumb normie with straight As and boring friends. Yes, that’s a direct quote.)
At first, I’d attempted to be nice. I mean I can’t stand Paul’s stupid face, but he’s still my big brother. In theory, I should be happy he’s found a place where he belongs, can share his interests and feel valued…
So I’d feign interest while he talked on those rare occasions I couldn’t avoid hanging out. For the last few weeks, he’d been spending even more of his time than usual locked up in his room, and not just to watch Japanese animated porn at a disturbingly high volume with no headphones. (Way too thin walls between our two rooms.) He was receiving multiple packages a week from small Chinese retailers, acting theatrically exhausted at dinner with how much work his latest “research project’’ involved. About 2 months ago, against my better judgement, I’d asked, “What are you currently working on?”
He’d immediately burst into a giant smile, whipping out diagrams on his phone. “Excellent question kiddo. I’ve been combining state of the art eye tracking motion sensors with two linear motion electric motors and a fake rubber finger to make an automatic page turner to help with browsing through printed pornography while fapping two handed….”
I’d gotten up from the couch, politely excused myself “Never talk to me again for any reason.” and locked my bedroom door behind me. If anyone at school ever heard that I was related in any way to that moron, I’d become a social pariah for however many years I had left in public education.
Sorry for the rambly introduction, just making a point of how insanely annoyed I am right now.
“Please, please, please I’m begging you,” he whines through the wood panel. “I need a hand. Five, no maybe ten minutes at most! The guys are coming and I can’t have nothing to show them. I bragged so much about my new invention, it’s almost ready! Just a minute even!” Bang! Bang! Bang! He’s hitting hard enough the hinges are creaking.
I sigh. He sounds desperate enough to keep at it until the end of the world. I do a quick calculation in my head and unfortunately come to the conclusion that it’s probably less exhausting to just see what he wants rather than pretend I can’t hear. With an icy cold glare, I crack the door open. “What do you need that you can’t do on your own, and how can I get you to go away?”
I am greeted by the sight of my big brother’s chest. (I’m not a twerp, he is stupidly tall and large), his stained hoody, ratty jeans, and greasy brownish messy short hair, the exact same color and texture as mine. (BUT I KNOW HOW TO USE A FRIGGING COMB!) He holds his hands out in prayer with a big sheepish smile.
“I have to present my latest invention to the guys. And there is this tiny doohicky I can’t tighten because my fingers are too big, and you’re just so small and frail, you’d fit perfectly well in the box… I mean your tiny fingers would, of course! Come on, I never ask you for anything!”
I choose not to dispute that very infuriating falsehood in the spirit of being done faster. “Fine… but for the next week you have to pretend I don’t exist in public and private, deal? Erase my existence from your mind.”
“Sure sure sure, whatever you want, come on, come on! We have so little time!”
He grabs me by the shoulder and drags me towards his room, he’s so strong, my feet barely touch the floor. I am shoved inside like a sack of potatoes.
The usual mess of greasy laundry, piles of half empty cereal bowls, and bedsheets haphazardly thrown around the room has been shoved to the side to make room for his current project. A medium sized grey square metallic box with a hinged open lid and handles on the back side.
“Oh wow… a box?”
Paul’s way too self-centered to notice my obvious sarcasm. He runs to his desk and grabs a screwdriver. “Impressive right? I didn’t have time to decorate yet, but I’m sure the guys are gonna love it!”
I do my best to ignore the musty smell of old socks and dried jizz combined, along with the very tasteless posters of half naked ladies with huge jugs on the walls. Would it kill him to open a window sometimes? “Hmm…” I shrug noncommittally. I take a closer look at the box. It’s about waist high and full of what looks like a big messy pile of deflated white balloons connected by a network of green plastic tubing. The balloons are made of thick fabric, reminiscent of inflatable dinghy material. The lid is pierced with a hole, leading to some sort of rubber funnel, which is currently closed but found beside a mechanical dial most likely used to control its opening diameter. Two different bottles are soldered to the side. One of compressed air. One of some liquid, most likely water. “What exactly is… that supposed to be?”
Paul twirls back with an ecstatic mad scientist smile: “This is my masterwork… Solving a problem that has plagued Man…. or at least anyone with a dick, since the dawn of time. I call it the self lubricating fleshlight!”
I blink. Take a long deep breath. Very carefully retract my fingers from the side of the box, already planning to douse myself in bleach, and take a very deliberate step back. ”Please die in a fire,” I cheerfully announce while retreating towards the safety of my room. But my arm is caught by a bear-like claw before I can even get through the door.
“No pleaaaassee you don’t understand, I’ve been bragging about this for weeks… My reputation is so completely at stake! It’s my life’s work. I’m begging youuuuuuu…” Paul full-on bawls, jettisonning any shred of dignity he might still have held. “I promise no one’s ever ‘used it’ before. I swear. You don’t get it, the guys from the club… *sob*… they’re all so smart and sophisticated. They routinely come up with the coolest stuff, and I just suck at science compared to them! I feel like such a fraud. It’s my first and last chance to leave my mark, please please please you gotta help meeeeeee…”
Note to self: call the city clerk and inquire about an official last name change. I stop struggling because, for one, Paul is much stronger than I am, all I’m doing is ruining one of my favorite tee shirts while waggling my feet in the carpet like a cartoon character; and two, seeing him actually cry, tears and snot, is actually tugging on my heart strings. (I’m the first to be surprised.) Guess even insensitive jerks can have feelings of inadequacy? Could this be a sign of character growth?
“You swear on your soul that no dick has ever been inserted into that monstruosity?”
“None! I’m a scientist, *sniff* not a pervert. All my tests were done with dildos!”
Another assertion I choose not to dispute for the sake of getting the hell out of here faster. “A month. You have to pretend we are not related in public for a whole month.”
“Anything you want!”
Sigh. I turn back towards the so-called “machine,” suppressing a shudder of disgust now that I get what the hole in the lid is actually for. Do not picture that thing in use. Do not picture it… OH DAMN IT. I pictured it. “You have exactly 5 minutes. What do you need me to do?”
“You’re the best, kid!” Paul wipes his snot with the back of his sleeve, and leans forward to ruffle into the box. “See down here? Between the positional correction inflatable devices?” He lifts a couple of the balloons out of the way. “There’s a pair of handles that control the… deflector dish core balance… array. And it’s like… totally off balance. See the needle here?” He points to a bubble level duct taped on to the box’s lid. “It’s not at all where it should be. Problem is, that setting can only be tweaked once the lid is closed. I’d need you to step inside, grab on, and follow my instructions. It’s so easy, even a moron could do…. Even you could do it.”
My heart strings are officially cut off. I lean forward and take a careful sniff of the box. Paul’s whole room smells of old jizz, so It’s not like I could know if he indeed ‘used’ his invention… but at first glance, it does seem to be clean. Scent of glue and lubing grease, no suspicious spots anywhere. I sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” I carefully pass a leg over the side of the box.
“Careful, careful! It’s all super delicate! Every single tube has a role. Aim your feet for the two green circles, then put your knees where the red ones are.” He ruffles around, lifting some of the stuff to reveal the four mentioned circles. I wiggle my hips and manage to land where I’m supposed to be. Another awkward shuffle, and I get on my knees. The material beneath me is soft but I can still feel the metallic material underneath.
“What now?”
Paul shuffles some more stuff, revealing two black leather handles on the side of the box, right below the lid. “Grab those, and try to find a comfortable position so I can shut it down.”
Triple sigh. The handles are just far enough that it’s a little bit of a struggle to put my hands on them while keeping my knees in the indicated ‘safe’ position, but I manage. To my unscientific mind, they don’t seem to be connected to anything. Just a pair of leather straps bolted to a metallic wall. But what do I, a simple mortal, know, right? “Got them!”
“Great, lower your head….” He grabs the lid, and twists it shut.
I brace myself, but, even with my small frame, there is just no way for me to fit inside the box with all the dangling tubing. The lid hits the back of my head. “Ow!” I complain loudly, even though I wasn’t hurt– every little sibling knows that if you want to be taken seriously by some big oaf of an older brother, it’s mandatory to exaggerate the least physical discomfort.
Paul pulls back the lid. “Sorry about that… “ He contemplates his machine, as well as my body, twiddling his fingers in the air as if solving some great mathematical equation.
“In exactly three minutes, I’m leaving and nailing my door shut so you can’t follow. Fair warning.”
“Wait… wait… I got it. You’re flexible, right? Instead of leaning forward, why don’t you do the opposite? Tilt your back and head backwards, you should fit just right!”
I groan and attempt his idea. Indeed, when I tilt my whole body backwards, looking up, the back of my head can fit against the back side of the box, and it seems like my nose might just fit with the lid closed. “Okay, try it now?”
Paul twists the lid again. I realise only a second too late that he must have miscalculated because in this position my face is exactly aligned with the hole and rubber funnel attachment protruding from it. “Wai….” I can’t even complete my protest before the gizmo hits me straight in the face. To avoid getting my teeth knocked out, I open my mouth and let it slide in. “MUUUHHHHH!” I yell around the rubber bit. (Gross taste of latex). Luckily it’s not that long, and I don’t end up impaled through the skull. “Muhdiooooott!!”
“Oh sorry about sorry…” I hear two clicks. One, of the lid shutting down. A second one from the side of the box, followed by a gas hissing and the tubing around me inflating. “Sorry about that kid, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Paul tells me, sounding the furthest from sorry that one could conceive.
The tubing surrounding me quickly doubles in size, wrapping my arms, legs, chest, and head, robbing me of the ability to move. “Whasshheaapppinnnig???” I yell around the bit in my mouth. I’m stuck, trapped, in complete darkness. My mounting claustrophobia is quickly replaced by an overwhelming anger: “Gesshhmeouttt!” I shake as hard as I can, but the padding is unyielding and whatever lock was snapped on the box’s lid won’t give an inch. “Grrrmmmhh.” I fight bravely, but all my efforts amount to nothing. I end up covered in sweat, stuck in the still-inflating baloony prison. I’m almost sure that I’ll end up crushed to death when the pressure mercifully stops increasing. There is a moment of silence while I painfully catch my breath.
“Sorry kid, really sorry about that, but you’ll have to agree I had no choice.” Paul rambles. “I realized too late I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Do you know how much research goes into dick-safe material solid enough to survive multiple fuckings but yieldy enough to feel good? Well it’s actually a lot!”
I have absolutely no interest in whatever explanations he’s attempting to give me, I just want out. The only parts of my body I can still move are my jaw, my fingers, and the tips of my toes. I try my best to dig myself out but in vain. I hear some mechanical wiggling by my face. The balloons holding me shift position, pulling my neck backwards almost as far as it will go. “Hullp!”
My big brother is still talking to himself: “Me and my big mouth… After the way I’d bragged to the guys about how my fleshlight was gonna blow all competition out of the water, I couldn’t just buy some premium onahole from Japan and call it quits. I mean these guys are true connoisseurs! They’ve tried them all. Chad even has a blog where he gives masturbators in-depth ratings. You wouldn’t believe the categories. I’d have been laughed out of the club. There was only one practical solution– I had to mechanical-turk my way out of trouble. That’s where you come in kid! I promise I’ll make it up to you… Someday.”
It’s pitch black in the box, and I’m starting to run out of air. I hear a squeaky sound. Two foreign objects clumsily worm their way inside my nostrils. Suddenly I can breathe again. Reasonably fresh air from the outside of the box in Paul’s room. “Those are the breathing tubes. I made sure you’d be fine.” Another whirly mechanical sound, and very slowly, the rubber thing in my mouth expands, wrapping around my teeth, forcing me to open up, wider, and wider… “Haaahghh!”
The unyielding pressure pulls my jaw apart until my cheeks strain and I’m afraid it’ll dislocate. That hurts! It pulls and pulls, until it finally seems to realize I won’t open up any wider, at which point it retracts a little bit, bringing down the whole thing from positively painful to just annoyingly uncomfortable.
Paul taps the top of the box. “You okay in there, kid?”
No I bloody well am not! I am gonna murder this idiot when I get free of his idiotic death trap? What the hell is a mechanical-turk anyway? Why isn’t he hacking away at whatever malfunction I got caught in? I hear a loud grunt of effort coming from the outside. My padded prison shudders, jolts, and I’m thrown in free fall for a second. The box lands on its side with a thud. I am now vertical. The hole connecting my mouth to the outside is now on the side, rather than the top.
“Gonna have to find a way to make the whole thing lighter. Thank you for being such a good sport. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Make what up to me? Wait what’s happening? Something big, cold, rubbery and mushroom shaped pokes at my exposed mouth.
“We have about 20 minutes before the guys get here. I’m gonna do my best to teach you the very basics of dick sucking techniques so you don’t embarrass or hurt yourself during tonight’s test sesh. (Sorry for assuming you’re a virgin, no offense meant if you’re not, that would make the whole thing way easier.)”
Dick sucking what? The thing in my mouth is penis shaped, made of rigid material with a fainter taste of rubber than my open mouth gag. Paul starts to move it back and forth over my tongue. My brain is running at the speed of light. Mechanical turk… fake automaton from the 18th(?) century supposed to play chess, but actually operated by some contortionist hiding in a cabinet at the base of the gizmo. When applied to the current situation of me contorted into this very uncomfortable position with some dildo in my mouth, that would mean… No. He can’t be serious?!
“Tip number 1: The base of the cock, right under the head is where it’s at; if you want to be done faster, give it a lot of attention with your tongue.”
He is serious. He crushes my tongue with the dildo, way too hard, almost to the point of pain. All I can do is drool and groan while he spastically shoves it here and there.
“I can tell you’re a natural. Tip number 2: the guys are coming in to test ride a sex toy. I’ll instruct them to be careful, but you can’t expect them to treat you like porcelain. You need to learn to relax your throat or this is gonna hurt like a sunuvabitch. Don’t trust those hentai 2D bitches, they make it look way too easy. (At least according to that blog I read.)” He pushes the dildo farther in my mouth, poking at the opening of my throat.
Oh hell no! The only muscles still under my control are those of my tongue and neck. I’m not letting him shove anything down there! I realize only a little too late how bad of an idea this is, as Paul has got infinitely more strength in his gorilla like arms than I have in my fragile little mouth. The dildo barrels forward, forcing its way inward, smashing my throat like a hammer. I feel it slip inside, stretching me beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before, with a painful stinging sensation that makes me want to cough. Thankfully Paul pulls backwards before he tears anything down there.
I gasp and retch.
“Okay, that’s exactly what not to do. Let’s try that again. Gently warm up those muscles.” The dildo pushes forward again.
This time, I do try to relax, but have you ever tried to control a muscle you didn’t even realize could be controlled during a stressful situation? Another failure, I gag around the rubbery invader, another flash of pain and a louder cough.
“Almost there…” praises Paul, pulling back the dildo. “One more try.” Another shove forward. I’m completely helpless; my only option is to cooperate to diminish my discomfort. Back and forth, back and forth. The fake dick manages to slither a little deeper into me each time. “Yeah you got it champ! That’s five centimeters in… That’s six! You’re doing so good, kid!” Okay forced oral sex with a toy is bad, but patronizing forced oral sex with a toy is actual torture! When I’m out the first thing I’ll do is CLAW this bastard’s eyes out. “Okay we’re plateauing at six, I feel like we could do better if we tried a little harder…” There is absolutely no WE in this ! “Here comes the airplane.” Another shove, and suddenly I figure out the trick. Just go lax. Completely relax all those throat muscles, don’t fight the invader then swallow around it. The dildo lodges itself almost halfway down my throat, and it barely hurts. “Seven, eight, nine… twelve centimeters! You did it! ”
He holds the dildo at max depth for an uncomfortable amount of time, counting aloud. “Okay… 1… 2… Remember to breathe through your nose.” Easier said than done, when all I can think of is the foreign body pressing uncomfortably against my windpipe. “5, 6, 7… Okay! That’s time for today…” Thankfully the rubber invader retreats out of my poor throat. “Well done kid. Tip number three: Cum. Every guy is gonna be different when it comes to quantity, taste and texture. (Not like I’d ever suck a dick, but it’s kinda common sense right?) Try to just get it over with and swallow. The longer you think about it, the harder it’ll be. Let’s have practice.“
Practice? Swallow? What the hell?! I’m most certainly NOT swallowing any cum! Maybe I’m stuck here, and maybe I can’t escape the next twenty minutes of forced BJs, but I will not swallow. No way, no how!
Paul keeps the dildo at the entrance of my mouth, gently rocking it back and forth, back and forth, when suddenly I feel a squirt of something sweet and slimy hit the back of my throat. It’s syrupy thick, it’s warmish, it’s…. strawberry milk? “When a guy cums it’s gonna feel like this, first a series of sprays that turn into a dribble after a while.” Another blast of milk. My stomach groans. I’m suddenly reminded that my whole lunch was half a cereal bar hastily chewed on the way to music class, many many hours ago. Even lukewarm strawberry milk delivered by squirting dildo while held up in some ridiculous inflatable bondage contraption seems tempting at the moment.
I ‘swallow’ my pride. The milk is sitting in my mouth, I can’t count on gravity to lead it down to my stomach. So I do my best to lap it up with my tongue, lead it to the back of my mouth, relax and… actually swallow. I manage to down a minuscule amount. Just enough to whet my appetite. I do it again, and again… finally, my mouth is almost empty. The method is so inefficient, I’m out of breath again.
Paul claps, finally removing the cursed dildo from my mouth. “You’re a natural! I knew you were the perfect test subject for my machine kid. Now remember an actual cumshot is probably gonna represent a much higher volume, coming in faster, but I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”
In your dreams, pervert! I’m not swallowing a drop of cum, not for as long as I live! My stomach growls again. This tiny amount of milk was just enough to whet my appetite, now food is all I can think about. Goddamit.
From outside the box, I hear some clothes shuffling followed by a zipper sound. “Guess what? You’ve blasted through my training programme. We’ve still got about 5 minutes before the guys get here. I might as well give you an actual ‘in situ’ try-out. For science of course. Nothing perverted about it. Just to avoid any surprises in prod. You get it don’t you?”
He couldn’t be serious, he couldn’t be serious… A warm and rubbery object hits the inside of my mouth. A bit larger than the dildo, much firmer and hotter, with an acrid taste of sweat and piss mixed. My big brother’s cock! No way, no way, no way! I’m going to disembowel him slowly and make him watch. I focus inwardly all my angry telekinetic might to expel the meaty invader with sheer willpower. In vain, of course– I end up with a mouthful of revolting incestuous cock. God, the taste, the taste! It’s the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. Essence of dirty nerd infusing right in my oral cavity! I wanna puke. I’ve never cringed harder in my life.
“Ahhhhh… that’s the stuff.” Paul sighs, thrusting slowly in and out of my helpless mouth. “Feels like you’ve been doing this your whole life.”
Is that guy’s ass so far down his head that he thinks this is an appropriate compliment in any way shape or form? I’d chomp down on his disgusting dick if I could, but the gag is holding me firmly in place. All I can do is lay there as his dick travels back and forth, faster and faster. Thankfully, the taste of piss quickly passes, replaced by a faint fleshy and earthy aftertaste… Paul’s dick grows even harder and warmer, each of his thrusts almost hitting the back of my throat. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to push farther. Maybe out of some last remnant of decency?
“Oh fuck, fair warning kid… I’m about to come!” Another couple of back-and-forths, and my mouth is blasted with a thick tangy extremely salty mixture. Like the aftertaste from earlier times one million. No way! He’s actually cumming in my mouth! We’re siblings, that’s beyond gross! “Ahhhhhh… I’m an absolute genius…” he whispers, as blast after blast shoots in my oral cavity, filling it almost to capacity. “Now remember my third tip. Focus and take a big gulp!”
No way, no how. Just the idea of swallowing even a drop of his sperm makes me want to set the whole city on fire. I focus all my defiance, anger and spite, and spit out the revolting mixture. (Well I can’t exactly spit in my position, so I awkwardly shovel as much as I can with my tongue out of my mouth, which in hindsight is probably the worst thing I could have done, since the taste lingers on my tastebuds forever.) Still, I manage to let most of the repulsive goo dribble out of the box.
“Ewwww….” Paul sounds disgusted and disappointed. I want to nail his tongue to the table. “Guess it was a tall ask. We’ll see how you feel about it after a couple of the guys have had their turn.”
How can I make it clearer for this idiot? I’m not swallowing cum, ever! He can’t make me, nothing is gonna change my mind! As if in answer, my traitorous stomach tightens. Why did I have to skip lunch today? I can’t possibly get desperate enough to feed on cum could I? No. Never.
“Let me wipe that down, wouldn’t want to gross the guys out. You know how it is, right kid? Everyone wants to wank into a sex toy, nobody wants a reminder that some guy’s cummed before you.” No, I most certainly don’t know how it is! I feel a papery contact around my mouth, followed by a very welcome squirt of water straight into my mouth, alleviating the horrible taste. I gratefully take a gulp, trying not to think of the diluted jizz I’m swallowing at the same time. “I’ve set up a dribble of water so you don’t dehydrate. With the salty diet you’re gonna be on all night, we wouldn’t want you to run out of spit. Can you picture it? A dry blowjob. Immediate turn off.”
Wait– the whole night? Did I hear correctly? Does that perverted brain-dead moron really expect me to stay in that box for multiple hours? What does that even mean? Until bedtime? Beyond? He can’t be serious, right? That’s just some big brotherly ribbing? I mean, even in his twisted mindset, he has to realize how wrong it’d be to keep me locked up for more than something like 20 minutes, even if he’s desperate to test his ‘invention’? Once again, revolt overwhelms me. I start struggling again in a desperate attempt to get free, screaming through the gag. My bouncy prison doesn’t even notice my efforts. I collapse against my inflatable bonds, tears streaming down my blind eyes.
The doorbell rings in the distance. “Right on time! Don’t go anywhere, I’ll bring the guys from the committee in just a moment.” I hear Paul’s footsteps moving away from the box, followed by the door closing, and then total, utter silence, save the ringing of my beating heart in my fevered ears.
The unbelievable bastard left me all alone, stuck in some X rated parody of a jigsaw trap. Not a photon of light filters through the box’s lid. The darkness is so complete I can’t tell the difference if my eyes are open or not. All I can touch is the soft inflated fabric holding me prisoner. My only senses left connected to the outside world are my scent and hearing. I’m straining my ears to their maximum. Nothing. Absolute nothing, beyond the echoes booming from my own body.
I’m aching in so many different ways from the uncomfortable contortion. My knees, my ankles, and my neck are all complaining from overstrain. I am flexible but not that much. Instead of struggling to get free, I focus all my strength on relieving the strain a little bit. I almost manage to stretch my joints, but it’s so much effort, I can’t maintain it for more than a second at a time. I feel a little better, but that won’t last. How many times will I have to go through that during the evening? How long til I run out of strength?
Still nothing outside. I have no way to count the passage of time, except for the automated drip of water that sometimes dribbles half a lukewarm cup of metallic tasting water into my mouth. Seemingly at random, so not even that reliable. I’m not that thirsty, but I’m growing more insanely hungry by the second. Too much so to remain angry and contemplate any kind of complicated plans o retribution, which would be the appropriate reaction in such circumstances… Seconds or maybe hours pass, I don’t know, I can’t know.
At the apex of my focus, I’m almost sure that I hear the indistinct drone of faraway conversations down in the living room, but it’s so faint I could be imagining it. How long will I stay a prisoner here? Did Paul forget about me? Am I gonna be found in a few days, dead from starvation, stuck in a revolting prototype of a fake sex toy? Is that to be my fate? Fuck, the headlines are gonna be so humiliating…
*DOOR SLAM.* “.... And there you have it guys! My masterwork!”
The sound is so loud I almost pee myself in terror. Dammit, I was so deep in my thoughts I completely blanked out. I hear a series of footsteps pass through the door. More than five pairs? Probably? God, how many nerds did Paul invite to witness his revolting invention? Don’t any of them have any sort of common decency? I mean, how do you even come up with such an idea? I would NEVER even consider doing a sex toy reunion with ANY of my friends.
“... As you can see, it’s still very much a prototype, I haven’t wasted any of my time or limited resources in miniaturization or aesthetic research, but if I could direct your attention to the fleshlight hole, I’m sure you will appreciate my efforts in reconstituting a very believable ‘mouth ersatz’.”
The footsteps crowd around my trapped body. I hear a collective gasp of approbation, male voices. I picture them all leaning over me, examining my gagged open mouth. I feel so vulnerable and objectified by those stares, even just imagining them. None of them are even aware I’m in here.
“I have to admit, that looks better than I expected,” one high pitched voice says with begrudging admiration.
“You were bragging so much,” echoes a second male voice, a little deeper, somewhere on my left. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d be able to deliver. I look forward to being proven wrong tonight.”
A finger probes my mouth. It tastes of cheesy cheetos. Salty, savoury, mouth watering… I’m suddenly so delirious with hunger I almost consider biting if off. “Pretty sweet…” The finger prods my tongue.
I’m slightly familiar with all those voices, friends of Paul I’ve seen around before. In school, voices on a conference call heard through my bedroom wall, maybe some guys who I’ve shared a ride with sometimes… Can’t place any names though.
“Guess we need to test it now? If you don’t mind? I mean, it is ready, right?” says a fifth speaker.
No, it’s not ready! I’m not ready at all! Come on, even Paul must realize the joke’s gone far enough, he’s obviously about to…
Paul enthusiastically agrees. “That’s why we’re here aren’t we? Who wants a go?”
I’m going to kill him so frigging painfully. Bury him head down in abrasive sand, cover his toes in honey and sic a swarm of flesh eating carnivorous ants on him until he’s nothing but bones!
The audience around me hesitates. I hear embarrassed coughs, hesitant sighs. Obviously, no one is too eager to whip out their dicks to be judged in front of an audience, not even perverted weirdos like my big bro’s friends. Will I be saved by a sudden onset of decency? The finger in my mouth is joined by a second one, insistently rubbing the top and bottom of my mouth. Prodding, exploring the elasticity of my cheeks, drawing circles against my gums… Their owner shrugs: ”Guess I don’t mind going first. I’ve always fancied myself a bit of a pioneer.” Oh hell no.
Collective laughter mixed with relief from the audience. “That’s Bill for you. Always the pioneer!”
“You go Bill!”
I hear a shuffling of feet as people rearrange themselves around me. The familiar sound of a zipper being lowered. “One small dicking for man, one giant cumshot for humanity!“ A rubbery half-soft mass enters my mouth. The taste is not as atrocious as my big brother’s was. I’m almost grateful for this bare minimum showing of genital hygiene. “Ohhh not bad,” moans Bill, “I love the warmth. You really captured that body temp feeling!” In a few seconds, Bill’s cock hardens in my mouth, and he starts thrusting.
I am just a passenger, a hole to be fucked. Unlike my brother, Bill seems to be predominantly interested in my tongue rather than any other part of my mouth. He’s a bit shorter and thinner, but he makes up for it by even more frenetically humping the bottom of my mouth. “Fuck! That’s the good stuff!” The fleshy aftertaste fills my mouth in just a few strokes. Every time Bill pulls out, he moans. The sound is shrill, reminding me of a rabbit or some small animal. In two to three minutes, it’s over, and he fills my mouth with seed. His cum is thin and watery but super bitter. He doesn’t ‘blast’, more like ‘spray’ weakly in an endless dribble. No one can see me cringe in disgust. “Oh fuck yessss!” he sighs with satisfaction, pulling out and zipping back up.
After that taste of cheetos, my traitorous stomach is begging me to fill it with anything, like literally anything. I’m almost considering swallowing the disgusting liquid in my mouth, but… no, I can’t do it. Mind over matter. I’m in control, my willpower is absolute, and I’m not going to sink that low. I force myself to shovel out the cum as best as I can.
Collective noise of disgust. “Ohhh gross… Is it supposed to be doing that?” asks Bill. I feel a tinge of pride– maybe I can disgust those gross pervs into submission?
Paul jumps in with a napkin to wipe off my mouth. “Sorry about that, the self cleaning feature is on the fritz. You know how it is, everything has been fine all week, and suddenly right before you guys walked in, massive functionality bug. Don’t worry, I’ve got a rinsing kit right here.”
Common groan of agreement from the audience– yes of course, that’s typical.
“You always have something break right before a big demo. Can’t fault a scientist for that.”
“Remember the school fair incident? I’m not ashamed to say I still cry about it sometimes…”
“That’s tough dude. Real tough. The struggles of science. Mad respect.”
I barely have time to appreciate the drops of water Paul squirts in my mouth when another dick is presented to my helpless mouth, belonging to some dude named Dylan. He’s quite long and bizarrely-angled, he does some weird hip movements as he fucks, wiggling his dick around like it’s a rubber chicken. He cums in powerful blasts, coating my whole mouth with his jizz. The taste is not the strongest, a bit fishy, but the texture is surprisingly sticky. No matter how much I try to spit out, it feels like the aftertaste won’t ever leave.
“My turn!” The third guy lines up: Micheal. His dick is not the thickest, but it’s insanely long with a weird bump on the underside. After seeing two other guys pass before him, he is already primed and ready to go; he wastes no time and just shoves himself inside me with absolutely no regard for my comfort. (And why wouldn’t he? To him, he’s just using a masturbator toy.) He hits the back of my throat a few times. “Great tightness…” he comments for the audience. “Mind if I give it a real ride, unlike those limp pansies before me?” he asks Paul.
“Su… Sure… that’s what it’s for right?” Fucking Paul, I’m going to join his fucking club, come up with my own invention and make him test it. It’s gonna be called “the revolutionary spoon based testicular extractor.” Catchy, no?
Micheal takes a deep breath, and shoves himself in my throat as far as he can reach, with the energy of jackhammer. I’m almost thankful for the earlier training because I manage to relax enough for it not to hurt. Still stings. “Oh fuck yeah… that’s like real good!” He keeps himself at maximum depth, grinding around in my throat by turning his hips. It’s highly uncomfortable, and I can barely get any air through my crushed windpipe. “Five stars! Feels like a real blowjob… even better because it’s not connected to no whiny bitch.” Speaking of stars, I’m starting to suffocate, and I’m seeing some purple ones flying in the darkness I’m trapped in. I gasp around the dick, wiggling my toes and fingers to call for help, but obviously no one perceives me in the outside world, except for Micheal, who purrs in pleasure “Hey, Paul, that gag reflex thing? Most excellent!” I’m a second away from passing out when the frigging asshole finally pulls back. I gracefully inhale a lungful of delicious delicious air. “Real good. That’s gonna make a killing.”
Micheal gives me an absolute workout, pulling all the way out and slamming all the way back in. His weirdly bumpy dick makes it impossible for me to get used to the act. Every thrust is just as uncomfortable as the first. He’s going so deep it sometimes feels like he’s reaching my stomach. It takes him a full five minutes to cum, and when he does, he doesn’t even grant me the choice of swallowing or spitting. He plants himself and shoots his seed directly into my stomach. At least I don’t have to taste it, but I feel his dick pulse inside my neck, one, two, three times. Picturing myself being filled up like with spunk makes me feel queasy. I’m like a car at the gas-pump, an object, a thing… And to my great shame, I feel an immediate sense of relief from my stomach. An easing of the constant pangs of hunger that were driving me insane. God I needed that so bad.
He keeps himself planted for two more blasts before pulling out and rewarding me with a couple more in my mouth from his rapidly deflating dick. He tastes… bad. Like sweet and salty, with a shrimpy aftertaste; a taste of food that I need more than air at the moment… I don’t even stop to think anymore, my will is broken, I just swallow every last drop. “Hey guys… I think I fixed the self cleaning mechanism!”
There is a collective gasp of surprise from the outside world. I blush to my toes in the box.
Someone adds, “Guess it’s official: Micheal has a magic fix-all dick!”
“Could you try fucking my car next? The electronics have been going haywire for a while…”
The massive burst of general laughter that follows makes me cringe in shame; tears drip down my hidden cheeks. The most shameful thing being how much better I feel after having eaten something… even cum. I’m still ravenous, but my stomach is not hurting anymore. From this moment on, my so-called willpower and pride are irredeemably broken. For the next blowjobs, I just swallow what I’m given without attempting to resist anymore. What good did it do anyway?
Hours pass. An almost endless supply of dicks is presented for me to service. Of all sizes, shapes, forms… The guys spend most of their time in the living room talking but regularly come back in groups of twos or threes for another turn with the ‘self lubricating fleshlight’. They don’t always announce themselves, treating me like an inanimate object. Just walking up and shoving themselves into my mouth hole, roughly humping and emptying themselves with as much forethought as if they were just wanking into a sock or something. Most of the time, they don’t even interrupt their conversations.
To my horror, I realize I’m starting to be able to identify my brother’s friends just from their dicks! The unique combination of shape, skin texture, cum taste… Oh that’s Micheal again, there goes another round of Bill… fucking hell! How am I ever gonna be able to look them in the eyes when I meet them outside of this box? All I’m gonna be able to think about is their cocks, how they felt, their quirks, the texture of their cum… School is gonna be hell!
Time trickles by with an almost uninterrupted supply of dicks. The constant pain of my joints starts to fade into the background. I feel like I’m just a mouth tube floating in darkness. Slurping down cum is just enough for me to not feel like I’m actively starving, especially as the guys walk up to me with food in their hands. I hear the crinkles of crisp bags, the wet crunch of biscuits wolfed down, and, in the distance, the smell of fresh delivery pizza. The taste of cum is my constant companion. I’ve swallowed so much. I feel it in my nose, in my throat, when I breathe, when I swallow, when I burp. It’s clinging to my mouth like some sort of high tech coating. The feeble automated drip of metallic tasting water does nothing to pass it.
At some point, the endless assault on my mouth reduces in frequency. Even though my whole body is sore, my immobile limbs, my joints, I manage to halfway fall asleep, my brain succumbing to the insane mental and physical exhaustion. Multiple times during the night, I get rudely ripped out of my fitful half sleep by a dick shoved in my mouth… By the end, I’m so beaten that I don’t even fully wake up. Just letting it happen and gulping down a mouthful of cum before drifting out of consciousness again.
An infinite amount of time later, I realize Paul has come to check up on me. “It’s a triumph,” he whispers, “thank you so much for your help… You okay in there ? right?” I don’t know what he expects me to answer in my bound and gagged state. (To be honest, I’m not even sure I’m not hallucinating his presence right now.) “Just a little bit longer and I’ll get you out.”
I know we must be close or well into the morning because my asshole of a brother finally opens a window to let in some air, and I hear some bird songs outside. (I’m used to the smell by this point, but I can’t even begin to imagine how fetid the stench of cum must be by this point.) Outside in the driveway, the sound of a car engine having trouble starting breaks the monotony, followed by snippets of conversations.
Bill: “.... one issue? Your ‘one size doesn’t quite fit all’ approach, not everyone’s dick will have the same diameter, length or width. Try to find a way to customize tightness? You know, inclusivity for our… differently sized brethren?”
Paul: “Sure… I’ll keep that in mind… See you soon!”
Chad: “Brilliant work, but you have to fool proof the self cleaning parts. I mean, we’re all men of science here, but in a real world test that shit would be absolutely nasty. I mean, no guy ever wants to see evidence that a sex toy has been used before, right ?”
Paul: “That whole fiasco was just rotten luck. I’m already planning some new failsafes for next time.”
NEXT TIME? ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING WAY IS THERE EVER GOING TO BE A NEXT TIME!
Dylan: “Have you considered miniaturization yet? I know we are pure thinkers in this club, and spit on crass material considerations, but to be commercially viable, the product can’t take up half a room…”
Paul: “Well, you’re the club expert in materials… Could we have a talk sometime next week maybe?”
It takes what feels like hours for the gathered nerds to finally ship out of our house while I stew in my prison, too exhausted to be angry. Every time I hear Paul start a new conversation, I just feel a renewed blast of despair. I need the bathroom urgently. I wanna shower. There is not a single muscle in my body that’s not turned to jelly. Please let me out now…
Finally, the last car leaves. Another infuriating couple of minutes and I hear the familiar steps of my big brother. (I must not think of him by the shape of his cock, I must not… Oh God, it’s all I can think of!) To my infinite relief, I hear a metallic squeak, and the gag holding my mouth open shuts itself closed. My jaws sing praises of relief and joy. A soft hiss. The balloons holding me deflate. One click, and the lid opens up. I roll down on the carpet, too dazed to get up.
”Hey kid! You did an AMAZING job!” announces Paul with a cheerful tone. “My friends were blown away by my genius, thanks in a small part to you…”
All of my limbs are asleep. I try to push myself up, but that’s too much effort, and I fall back down. “Huullp mee..” I moan around my sore jaw. Bright light from Paul’s window bathes the room. Did I actually spend a whole fucking night in the box sucking his friends’ dicks? In some ways, it felt way longer than that…
Paul leans over and slides an arm under my shoulder to help me up. “I’m so so so so sorry,” he adds with extremely obvious fake contrition. “I wanted to let you out much earlier, but the guys just couldn’t get enough of you. Anytime it felt like they might go home, they’d ask for another round… I couldn’t do anything without arousing their suspicion. You understand, don’t you? Thank you for being such a good sport.”
Yeah, I’m not a good sport, I’m just too tired to sock you in the face right now, asshole! (Not that it’d have much of an effect considering the difference between our sizes and weights.)
Paul walks/carries me out of his room and towards mine with relative gentleness and leads me to my bed, where I collapse with a groan of dismay… before realizing that some jizz managed to dribble from the seal in my mouth, down my neck, and onto my shirt. I just contaminated my bedding. Gahhhh, I’ll have to burn it all now.
Paul hovers by the door for a minute longer. “I’d like to thank you very much for your maybe not fully voluntary participation. You might not understand it yet, but you’ve helped the advancement of science today. The guys were so impressed they’ve decided to help. We’re gonna pool our intellectual resources and work together on a much improved V2 that we’re going to submit to a regional invention challenge, sponsored by Elon Bodyodour himself! I’ve got a ton of ideas, don’t worry, that new version will be incomparably more comfortable! You won’t ever want to get out of it! Thanks again, Kid. See you around!” And he finally fucks out of my room.
I blink a few times, trying to gather the willpower to get up and throw myself into a scalding hot shower, when my eyes fall on my still-open math notebook. Oh right, I didn’t even finish my homework last night. Now my whole weekend’s planning is fucked too! Goddamn Paul!!!!!