Chapter 93: Jingle Bell Shock
The cold was a physical blow after the humid warmth of the studio. Gravel bit into his bare knees before strong hands hauled him upright. The apprentice guided him, hooded and stumbling, back into the Mercedes. The leather seat was ice against his skin. He heard the duffel bag drop onto the passenger seat, then the engine purred to life.
No one spoke. The drive was short, just a few turns. When the car stopped again and the door opened, the air smelled different. Not night and fields, but polished wood and the faint, dry scent of old books. Julia’s house.
He was led inside, the underfloor heating a shock of bliss on his frozen feet. Through the familiar hall, down the stairs. The air thickened, warmed, acquired the subtle notes of beeswax and old leather. The dungeon.
“Stand here.” The apprentice’s voice was close. He heard the clink of metal, the sound of something being uncoiled. Soft restraints were fastened around his ankles, then his wrists, clipped to something above him. He was standing, arms slightly raised, utterly exposed. The hood was unbuckled and lifted away.
The light was dim, tinted crimson by several shaded lamps. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the opulent gloom. He was in the centre of Julia’s playroom, secured to a set of suspension cuffs dangling from a ceiling track. Before him stood the Sybian, its bizarre, throne-like shape looking ominously mechanical. It had been fitted with a bright red, festive cover.
Julia stood beside it, dressed not in leather but in a tailored silk dressing gown of deep emerald. She held a remote control.
“Early Christmas present, Rupert,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, like she was discussing a change in the parish council meeting time. “Margot thought you deserved a little… solo fun. Given your diligent service tonight.”
She stepped forward. In her other hand was a small pot of hair dye and a brush. “We need to accessorize. Hold still.”
He watched, dumbfounded, as she expertly applied the vibrant green dye to his pubic hair, her movements brisk and efficient. The chemical smell stung his nostrils. Next came two small, silver nipple clamps, each with a tiny, dangling jingle bell. The initial bite of pain made him gasp, and the faint, ridiculous chime seemed deafening in the quiet room.
“Now, the main event.”
The restraints on his ankles were released. She guided him onto the Sybian. The padded seat was cold. She positioned him, her hands impersonal, adjusting him over the central, vibrating nub. Then she strapped his legs down, thick leather cuffs securing his thighs to the machine’s base. He was trapped, spread-eagled on the red throne, his green-dyed pubic hair a grotesque splash of colour.
Julia wheeled over a large flat-screen television on a stand, positioning it directly in front of him. She pressed a button on the remote. The screen flickered to life.
It showed a hotel room. A nice one. The camera was static, set on a dresser. Margot walked into frame, wearing the sheer black lingerie he’d bought her for their anniversary. She looked nervous, excited. She checked her hair in the mirror, smiled a secret smile.
Rupert’s heart stopped.
A man entered the frame. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a swimmer’s build. Dark hair. He moved with a confident ease. He didn’t speak. He simply went to Margot, kissed her with a possessive intensity that Rupert had never dared. His hands were all over her.
“This was filmed during our Halloween party,” Julia said casually, leaning against the wall nearby. “While you were locked in your little cage, listening. Margot slipped away for a few hours. A pre-arranged date. Her mystery bull. Quite impressive, isn’t he?”
On screen, the man laid Margot on the bed. He fucked her with a slow, powerful rhythm. And Margot… Margot was transformed. Her back arched, her fingers clawed at his shoulders. She made noises—raw, guttural, uninhibited cries—that were entirely foreign to Rupert. Her face was a mask of ecstatic abandonment.
A hot bolt of betrayal seared through Rupert, immediately followed by a helpless, unwelcome surge of arousal. The Sybian was off, but his body reacted traitorously to the sight, to the sounds.
“Listen to her,” Julia murmured, walking closer. Her voice was a soft, poisonous drip in his ear. “She loves it. She loves being taken like that. Look at her. She’s never made a sound like that for you, has she?”
He hadn’t. He knew it with a crushing certainty. The video was proof. It was a documentary of his own inadequacy.
“She comes back to you flushed and happy, doesn’t she? More affectionate? Now you know why. He recharges her. He gives her what you can’t. And you get the benefits. A happy, satisfied wife. All you have to do is be compliant. And stay out of the way.”
The man on screen changed position, hauling Margot onto her knees. The image was graphically clear. Rupert wanted to vomit. He wanted to weep. He also couldn’t look away. His cock, trapped against the cold vibrating plate, twitched.
Julia noticed. She smiled, a thin, knowing curve of her lips. “Oh, Rupert. You’re getting off on it. Aren’t you? Seeing your wife properly fucked. It’s the ultimate humiliation, but your body doesn’t care. It’s just stimulus. You’re that far gone.”
She picked up the Sybian remote. “You must be unbearably horny. Locked in chastity for weeks, teased, made to serve. You’d probably agree to anything right now for a proper release, wouldn’t you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She thumbed the remote.
The machine beneath him whirred to life. A deep, bass thrum travelled up his spine. The central nub began to rotate and vibrate against his perineum, a maddening, relentless stimulation just behind his cage. The jingle bells on his chest shivered and chimed with the vibrations.
Pleasure, sharp and shocking, lanced through him. He cried out, his back straining against the straps.
“Watch the screen,” Julia commanded.
He was sobbing, tears of shame and confusion and overwhelming sensation blurring the horrific, beautiful image of his wife in the throes of passion with another man. The two sensations—the physical and the psychological—merged into a single, unbearable peak. He was racing towards an orgasm he couldn’t possibly have, the cage forbidding it, the stimulation pushing him past sanity.
“Please,” he choked. “Please, Julia…”
“Please what?” she asked, her head tilted. “What do you want, Rupert? Do you want to come? Is that it?”
“Yes! God, yes, please!”
“Then you’ll need to agree. To the next thing. To everything. Say it.”
The machine pulsed harder. His vision whited at the edges. The sounds of Margot’ climax filled the room, mixing with the hum of the Sybian and his own ragged pleas.
“I agree! I agree to anything! Just… please!”
Julia watched him dispassionately for three more seconds, then turned the machine off.
The sudden silence was as shocking as the noise. The screen went black. Rupert slumped against the straps, panting, dripping with sweat, utterly broken. The jingle bells fell silent.
“Good boy,” Julia said. She walked to the doorway. “Georgina? He’s ready for you now.”
Rupert lifted his head, blurry-eyed. Georgina stepped into the red light, holding a small tray. On it lay a bottle of lubricant, a towel, and a professional-looking, gloved hand-piece with a smooth, curved tip.
“First time?” Georgina asked kindly, as if asking about a preference for tea.
Rupert could only stare, his mind empty of everything but residual shock and a deep, aching need.
“Don’t worry,” she said, setting the tray down beside the Sybian. “It’s just a massage. You’ll feel much better afterwards. Cleaner. Emptied out.”
She snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. The sound was definitive. He was still strapped to the machine, completely vulnerable. Julia lingered by the door, watching with detached interest, a queen observing a minor procedure.
Georgina applied lubricant to the tool, then to her gloved finger. He flinched as she touched him, her touch clinical and precise.
“Relax,” she murmured. “This will be much easier if you relax.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle, insistent pressure. There was a strange, full sensation, then a profound, internal touch. He gasped. It wasn’t pain. It was something else entirely, a direct wire to the core of his nervous system.
Georgina began to work with methodical patience. And as the first wave of a completely new kind of climax began to build within him—one he could not stop, one that bypassed his cage entirely—the last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Julia, smiling by the door, and the reflection of his own, green-fuzzed, jingle-bell-adorned body in the dark surface of the blank television screen.
The screen which, he now noticed with a final, distant horror, had the faint, mirrored sheen of a two-way mirror. Someone, somewhere in the darkness behind it, was watching this too.
The orgasm, when it came, was silent, deep, and utterly draining. A milking. Not a release, but an extraction.
He was still shuddering when the door behind the mirror finally opened.