Chapter 2: The Timed Challenge
Alyson let the silence hang, thick with the echoes of his whimpers and the sharp scent of their collective sweat. She walked to a low shelf and picked up a small, silver stopwatch. Its ticking was absurdly loud in the quiet room.
“New game,” she announced, her voice slicing through the humid air. She held up the stopwatch, the candlelight flashing off its face. “Fifteen seconds each. You get fifteen seconds with his mouth. Just his mouth. The one who makes him come gets to decide what happens next. No hands. Just lips, tongue, throat.” She glanced at the video camera on its tripod, its red recording light a steady, unblinking eye. “I want it all on film.”
Charisma arched an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading. “Fifteen seconds?With that monster? That’s not a game, that’s a suicide mission.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sarah said, rolling her shoulders. A competitive fire had lit in her blue eyes. She wiped her palms on her jeans. “I’ve had practice now.”
“Practice isn’t proficiency,” Charisma shot back, but she was already stepping forward, her gaze fixed on Bryan’s swollen, glistening cock. The red silk rope dug into the base of his scrotum, making everything appear even more agonizingly full. Pre-cum welled from the slit and dripped in a slow, steady string onto his thigh.
“You’re both forgetting the rules,” Alyson said sweetly, moving to the camera and peering through the viewfinder. She adjusted the frame, centering Bryan’s tortured body. “He can’t come until one of you makes him. If he comes before the fifteen seconds are up, that’s a win. If he holds out… the next person tries. We go in order. Charisma, then Sarah, then me.” She grinned at Bryan. “You hear that, baby? You try to hold back. You fight it.”
Bryan’s head lolled against the cross. His entire universe was a throbbing, over-sensitized ache centered between his legs. The idea of resisting anything was a joke. The idea of enduring more was a nightmare. He gave a faint, hopeless nod.
“Okay.” Alyson raised the stopwatch, her thumb poised over the button.“Charisma. You’re up. Get on your mark.”
Charisma didn’t need telling twice. She strode to him, her movements deliberate. She didn’t kneel. Instead, she bent at the waist, placing her hands on her thighs, bringing her face level with his cock. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She studied it like a mechanic assessing a complex engine.
“Fifteen seconds,” she murmured, more to herself than to anyone. “It’s all about trigger placement. The frenulum’s primed. The corona’s raw. The shaft is a lost cause—too much nerve diffusion.” Her eyes lifted to his. “You’re a mess, soldier. A beautiful, dripping mess.”
“Ready…” Alyson called.
Charisma took a deep breath, her lips parting. She didn’t go for the head. Instead, she extended her tongue, flat and wet, and laid it along the entire throbbing length of his underside, from the tight silk-bound base to the piss-slit. It was a long, slow, deliberate lick that gathered the pooling fluids.
Bryan jerked, a shockwave of direct, wet contact after the abstract torture of the feather and wheel.
“Go!” Alyson clicked the stopwatch.
Charisma moved with brutal, focused efficiency. She enveloped the head, not taking him deep, but sealing her lips around the crown in a tight, sucking ring. Her tongue went to work, a ruthless, rapid piston against the exposed frenulum—the exact spot Sarah’s wheel had focused on. It was less a blowjob and more a targeted surgical strike.
One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…
Her other senses tuned out. The candlelight, the watching women, the camera—it all faded. There was only the taste of him, salt and iron and clean skin, and the frantic pulse of the vein under her tongue. She applied vacuum, hollowing her cheeks, creating a pressure that threatened to collapse the delicate structures within.
Bucky’s hips strained, the leather cuffs creaking. A guttural, continuous moan tore from his throat.
Seven-one-thousand, eight-one-thousand…
She added a twist, a corkscrew motion of her head as she sucked, the friction unbearable. Her hand came up, not to touch him, but to press firmly on his lower abdomen, pinning him, robbing him of even the meager thrusting motion he had.
Twelve-one-thousand, thirteen—
He was there. She could feel it, the way his whole body locked, the electric tension coiling in the root of his cock, the imminent, violent swell. She redoubled her efforts, her jaw aching, her world narrowing to the taste of imminent release.
“Time!” Alyson’s voice cut like a whip.
Charisma pulled off instantly, a gasp of air escaping her as she straightened up. Her lips were slick and swollen. Bryan’s cock, released, bobbed angrily in the air, purple-headed and screamingly erect. A thick rope of spit and pre-cum stretched between the tip and her lower lip before snapping.
He hadn’t come. He’d hovered on the very precipice, his balls drawn up tight, his thighs trembling violently, but he hadn’t fallen.
“Fuck,” Charisma breathed, shaking her head in a mix of respect and frustration.“So close. The bastard held.”
Sarah was already pushing past her, dropping to her knees on the hard floor. “My turn. He’s primed now.”
“Sarah, ready…” Alyson’s thumb hovered again. Bryan was panting, his eyes wild, every muscle in his body rigid with the effort of stopping cataclysm.
Sarah didn’t study. She attacked.
“Go!”
She opened her mouth wide and took him in, not just the head, but a full three inches of his massive girth in one swift, deep plunge. She used her throat, the muscle memory from her earlier exploration, and swallowed against him, creating a tight, convulsive squeeze.
“Oh, god!” Bryan screamed. It was too much. The sudden, engulfing heat and pressure after Charisma’s precise, cruel teasing was overwhelming.
Sarah’s technique was all about relentless rhythm. She established a fast, shallow pistoning, her lips sealed in a tight ring, her head bobbing rapidly. Every upward stroke dragged her teeth very lightly along his sensitive underside. Every downward plunge squeezed the head in the tight channel of her throat. She locked her eyes with his, her gaze fierce, challenging.
Five-one-thousand, six-one-thousand…
She shoved a hand between his legs, her fingers finding the red silk knot. She didn’t untie it. She pulled, yanking his bound balls down and away, stretching the already tortured skin to a new level of taut agony.
Bryan saw white. His back arched off the cross. A soundless scream contorted his face.
Ten-one-thousand, eleven-one-thousand…
Sarah moaned around him, the vibration traveling through his cock like a live wire. She was fucking him with her face, claiming him, her stamina from years of stunt work giving her an insane endurance. Spit flew. Her jaw had to be screaming. She didn’t stop.
Fourteen-one-thousand—
He was going. He couldn’t stop it. The pressure was a supernova in his base. His abdomen clenched, the first inexorable pulse building, a tsunami of sensation ready to erupt.
“TIME!”
Alyson’s voice was a gunshot.
Sarah ripped her mouth away with a wet, filthy sound, collapsing back on her heels, gasping for air, her face a slick mask of effort and saliva. Bryan’s cock jerked violently in the air, untouched, pulsing. A single, thick, pearly spurt launched from the tip and landed on his own stomach with a soft slap.
But it was just one. A premature leak. The dam had cracked, but not burst.
A ragged, shuddering sob escaped Bryan. He’d held it, again, by a thread so thin it was metaphysical.
“Fuck you, Bryan,” Sarah panted, a wild laugh bubbling up through her exhaustion. “You unbelievable fuck.”
Charisma whistled, impressed. “Alright, Gellar. You nearly killed him. And yourself.”
Alyson was beaming. She placed the stopwatch on the table. “My turn,” she said, her voice soft.
She didn’t rush. She walked to him, her petite figure a contrast to the violent energy of the last two minutes. She ignored his cock entirely for a moment. She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb wiping away a tear-track from the corner of his eye. “My brave, beautiful boy,” she whispered, only for him. “You’re doing so well.”
Then she knelt. Not like Sarah, in a wrestler’s stance, but gracefully, settling onto a small cushion she’d apparently placed there earlier. She looked up at him, her bright eyes full of love and a terrifying, absolute knowledge.
She didn’t touch him with her hands. She simply leaned forward and blew a soft, cool stream of air across the wet, feverish head of his cock.
He flinched as if burned.
Then she began.Her mouth was a revelation. It wasn’t the brutal efficiency of Charisma or the athletic onslaught of Sarah. It was pure, unadulterated seduction. She took just the head into the warm, velvet clutch of her mouth and swirled her tongue around it in a slow, delirious orbit. She knew every millimeter of him, every spot that made him gasp, every curve that made his knees weak. She worshipped him.
She applied suction, but it was a pulling, milking sensation, not a vacuum. She deep-throated him easily, taking him all the way to the back of her throat in one smooth, practiced slide, her nose brushing his skin, and held him there, swallowing rhythmically. The feeling was beyond description—a complete, hot, rhythmic embrace.
Bryan was gone. The fight was gone. The world dissolved into the sweet, wet heaven of her mouth. She was his Alyson, his lover, his tormentor, his salvation. She owned him.
She pulled back to the tip, her lips making a soft pop, and whispered, “Come for me, baby. Let it go. It’s all for me.”
Then she took him back down, deep, and hummed, a low, resonant vibration that traveled through his entire shaft and straight into his spine.
It was the permission, the tender command in her voice, that did it. The orgasm didn’t build. It detonated.
A raw, shattered cry was torn from Bryan’s chest as the first violent jet erupted. Alyson took it all, drinking him down, her throat working as pulse after pulse after pulse shot into her. It seemed endless, a convulsive expulsion of everything he had, everything he was. His body shuddered uncontrollably against the restraints, his vision gone to black, his hearing filled with the roaring of his own blood.
When the last tremor subsided, Alyson slowly, gently, pulled off. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a contented, cat-like smile on her face. She stood and faced Sarah and Charisma.
“I win,” she said simply.
Bryan hung from the cross, utterly spent, a hollowed-out shell, dripping with sweat and his own release. The camera’s red light glowed steadily, having captured every second of his surrender.
Charisma nodded slowly, a genuine smile of appreciation on her face.“Yeah. You win. What’s the prize?”
Alyson walked back to the table, her hips swinging. She picked up a heavy, polished obsidian wand, its surface gleaming in the low light. She turned, her eyes glinting with a new, darker promise.
“Now,” she said, her voice still sweet, still giggly, “we see how many times we can make him do that.” She tapped the wand against her palm. “And we start by getting him hard again. Right now.”