LB: Felix Lance Falkon - Tension for Two

"Tension for Two" indoors; extreme, self-applied genital torture

Usual warnings apply: no one under age admitted without parent or guardian, for external use only, shake well before using, slippery when wet, do not swim immediately after eating.

TENSION FOR TWO

by Felix Lance Falkon

Buck turned his head to the right and watched his captors leave the room, sliding the door closed behind them. Buck and Terry now stood -- naked -- at opposite corners of a waist-high cube built into the floor. Slabs of glass, framed in steel, made up the top and sides of the cube.

Terry yelped, "Look what the fuck you got us into, you -- you fucking musclehead!"

"Whatcha mean, I got us into this? You're the little shrimp that . . ." Buck glared at his young fellow-prisoner, then sighed, "Aaah, never mind." He twisted his head and broad shoulders to survey the room: Three white walls, one on the right with a door; the wall on the left with a wide, floor-to ceiling mirror. Lots of overhead lights; a concrete floor, painted brown, smooth and cool under his bare feet. He looked to his left, at the mirror, and studied his own powerfully muscled physique, then Terry's lithe body. Their glances met, first in the mirror, then directly. After a moment, they both looked down through the glass that topped the cube.

Buck's bare thighs pressed against cold metal of the cube's corner; under the glass slab, he saw -- and felt -- the steel clamp which gripped the base of his genitals where they entered the cube; a second clamp gripped his shaft just beyond the first. At the far corner of the cube, two more clamps gripped Terry's virile organs. Buck felt himself frown as he studied the levers that connected his two clamps to a metal cylinder and its piston rod. Gleaming copper pipes entered the ends of the cylinder; one supported a meter, with pointer and a dial, calibrated in kilograms. More copper pipes entered a second cylinder, with its meter, piston rod, levers, and on to the clamps around the base of Terry's shaft.

"I don't get it," Buck growled. He looked up, saw Terry raise one eyebrow.

"It's simple. Hydraulic fluid, or oil, or whatever the fuck they use, comes in through the pipes into the cylinder. When the pressure moves the piston rod, that puts tension on the hilt of your -- uh -- shaft and balls. The meter shows how hard the thing's pulling."

"Pulling on yours, too." Buck slid his right hand across his chest; his muscles tensed under his fingers, taut, hard, and sweat-slick. "It -- the cocksucker looks strong enough to pull the dong off a stallion, balls and all."

"Mine's on so tight I can't pull myself out -- see how I'm stiffening up now?"

"Yeah? The thing turning you on that much?"

"Fuck that noise; I'm getting a hard-on 'cause the blood can't get back out -- you are too, see?"

"Well, okay." For a moment, Buck watched their prongs swell and stiffen.

"How 'bout you trying? If you got the balls to, that is."

"Balls? After what you did last time you --" Buck caught himself, took a deep breath, and looked down. He leaned back, pushed against the cube, pushed harder, trying to pull his now- rigid shaft and massive balls out of the steel clamps. He saw -- and felt -- the hilt of his organs stretch, but less than a finger's width, felt and saw the clamp bite deeper into his shaft and press harder against his balls.

"Well?"

"I s'pose I could pull hard enough to get loose, if I didn't mind skinning my cock and ripping my nuts off. Go ahead try it; I'm hanging onto my equipment as long as I can."

"Yeah?" Terry strained, pushed hard with both hands against his end of the cube, then relaxed with a gasp. "Yeah -- I see what you mean, yeah. But since you got us into this, then you --"

"Me? Look, shrimp; it was your cocksucking idea in the first place. And if you think I'm gonna pull off my nuts because you --" He stopped as his gaze found a red push-button on the side of the cube. "Hey, what's this?"

"Don't -- don't touch it."

"Quit sweating it, kid. You're acting like it's the switch that turns this cock-stretcher on."

"What the fuck else could it be?"

"More likely it's what turns us loose. It'd be like those cocksuckers to set it up like that, and then laugh their heads off 'cause we're too yellow to try it. Well, I've got the balls to try it -- see?" Buck pressed the button.

"No -- don't -- please. Hey! It's pulling on me!"

"You're too gun-shy to tell, kid."

"Well, it didn't let you go, did it?"

"I didn't give it a cocksucking chance." Buck pushed the button again, held it down. "Well?"

Terry paused, then yelped, "It is pulling harder -- see? The clamps -- they're stretching my shaft -- look, you stupid son of a bitch, look!"

"You calling me a son of a bitch?" Buck kept his hand on the button, pushed it harder.

"I'm sorry -- I didn't mean -- the meter! See that? It is moving!"

"Burning balls, kid; but you're right," said Buck as he watched the meter's pointer creep across the dial. "But it's not doing a cocksucking thing to my prong."

"Then take your hand off the fucking switch, musclehead."

"Ooops -- sorry." He raised his hand from the push-button. "Score one for you. It turns on your cock-stretcher but not mine, and I'll be fucked if I know why." He took a deep breath. "Hey, shrimp; you got another push-button at your end?"

"Quit calling me shrimp. We're in this together, and -- you're right, Buck; there is one, just like you said." Terry pointed to something just out of Buck's sight, on the side of the waist-high cube. "Why?"

"I just thought . . ." Buck rubbed his chest with both hands, slid both down the ripple of muscle that sheathed his torso. "The pressure -- the tension on your meat's nowhere near the limit of that dial."

"Not yet." Terry was silent for a half-minute. "This much is enough for me, but . . . but what the fuck if this switch turns us loose?" He grinned suddenly. "Want me to try it?"

"Go ahead -- kid."

Buck saw Terry slap the side of the cube, heard Terry ask, "Well?"

"Nope."

"You mean your cock-puller doesn't the fuck work?" Terry hit the button again, held it down.

"No, not that." Buck took a deep breath, let it out slowly, trying to relax. "I mean, it isn't letting us go. It's pulling on my prong okay; but that's no big deal."

Terry lifted his hand from the button. "It doesn't hurt?"

"No. Well, not much." Buck realized the clamp was not only pulling, but also squeezing the base of his shaft.

"Yeah, it sure the fuck shouldn't, either; your meter's up okay, but my meter reading's twice what yours shows. And since you're thicker down there too . . ."

"Hey -- maybe -- no, it wouldn't," said Buck, as an idea dissolved in doubt.

"What?"

"No, it's -- it wouldn't work."

"Come on, what the fuck is it? Give, musclehead, give!"

"I was just wondering if those cocksuckers might of set it up so pushing both switches at the same time would . . ."

"What the fuck kind of idea is that, musclehead?"

"Well, none of your ideas have worked so far, so . . . I tell you what: let's try it anyway."

"Yeah? What if I don't?"

"Then I'll just hold my switch down till you do." Buck pressed his button, released it. "Come on, shrimp; you gonna help or not?" He pressed the button, held it down.

"Don't call me that!" Terry put his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, then -- suddenly -- dropped his hands, fumbled for his push-button, and pressed it.

Buck and Terry stood for a long moment, glancing from slowly climbing pointers to the even-more-slowly separating clamps as their shafts stretched. Now and again, their glances met. And as Buck felt the base of his shaft stretch, he felt the outer clamp squeeze tighter, felt it press harder on his balls.

"No good?" asked Terry.

"Nope." Buck released his button and saw Terry raise his hand from his.

"Except that it's pulling the fuck harder now than it did before, and mine's still getting pulled more than yours."

Buck's own organs ached from the tension, but he managed a wry grin and said, "Whatcha bitching about, kid? This is just a snug fit now."

"Maybe it is for you, with your fucking horse-cock and your fucking horse-balls and your fucking stories about being the biggest fucking stud in -- you know what? Inside that pretty blond head of yours, you are all muscle and bluff."

Buck turned to the mirror, grinned complacently, and flexed his arms into a muscle-straining pose. He took a deep breath, tightened his thick, hard pectorals, sucked in his belly. "Yeah? I wonder how much weight I could lift with my prong, anyway? Probably even more if I added that to my workout routine." He felt the clamp tug harder at the roots of his genitals. He looked down, saw the pointer of his tension meter move. He stared; the meter paused, then moved again.

Buck yelled, "What the ball-burning, cock-sucking Hell do you think you're doing?"

Terry paled. "I -- I was just trying -- I mean -- trying two pushes -- real quick, short ones -- and then three -- and -- and_--"

"More like trying to pull off my balls when I wasn't looking. Like this?" Buck pushed his button twice -- long, slow pushes -- paused, then pushed thrice. "Feel any looser, shrimp?"

"No." Terry bit his lip. "That hurts. I had the fuck to try something, and mine was already pulling harder than yours -- and -- and you said it wasn't hurting you . . . so let's see how you like it, musclehead!" Terry slapped his switch, held it down.

Buck clenched his teeth as the outer clamp moved out, pulling harder and still harder at the roots of his virility. Finally, when the reading on his meter passed that on Terry's, the increase stopped.

"How the fuck do you like that?" Terry snarled.

"Just because I'm not a cocksucking crybaby doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Buck pressed both hands into his taut, flat stomach where he felt pain gnaw into his guts. He tried to relax, but the tension on his shaft was too much. "Now what's the idea, giving me more tension than you're taking?"

"With that tree-trunk of a -- a spike you've got, it'll take more pressure -- or tension -- or whatever the fuck it is -- for you to feel anything down there." Terry slapped his push- button, held it as Buck's meter showed more and more tension on Buck's organs.

"Oh yeah? Well, I got that much more prong to feel it with, and -- and this cocksucking machine hurts like Hell." No point in screaming, he told himself, when I can just do this. He touched the button, held it down till the pull on Terry's shaft passed that on Buck's.

With a deep, shuddery breath, Buck caught himself right on the edge of a moan. He forced himself to act calm, to study the room, study his own reflection the mirror-wall. Then, carefully holding his voice steady, Buck said, "Y'know, I'll bet that mirror is one-way glass, and those cocksuckers are watching us right now, watching us castrate each other."

"I don't give a fuck," Terry sniffed. "It hurts -- it hurts -- one fucking ounce more, and my cock's coming out by the roots, just see if it doesn't."

"Wanna bet?" Buck, suddenly furious, slapped the push- button, held it while he counted to ten, then released it. "See? You're nowhere near losing your balls yet."

The stem of Terry's virility held, but Buck realized that something had snapped: Terry screamed wordlessly, pounded on the cube's glass top, then reached for the push-button. "Let the fuckers watch -- let 'em -- let 'em -- let 'em," he gasped, hitting the button again and again.

Buck stood motionless for a moment, arms hanging loose at his sides, watching the youth, the tension on his own shaft forgotten. Soon, though, the pull increased too much to ignore. He looked down. The base of his shaft seemed stretched to the breaking point, and both shaft and balls were turning purple from trapped blood. Tearing pain filled his shaft; a dull ache clawed at his guts. Slowly, Buck reached for the push-button; slowly, deliberately, he pushed in and held it in.

Terry was still hitting his control, increasing the pull on Buck in little jumps. Watching the meters, Buck saw that the pull on Terry's organs was steadily catching up with the pull on Buck's own shaft.

Buck tasted blood and realized that he'd bitten his lip. He tried to relax, but the tension on his shaft was too much to ignore. Part of his mind was estimating whether the pull on Terry's shaft would pass the tension on Buck's own before -- then ripping pain dug into the roots of his organs, drawing all his attention for a moment.

Pain knifed deeper into Buck's guts as he watched the stem of his own organs stretch, felt the clamp squeeze tighter and tighter around his doomed shaft, felt it press yet harder against his balls, pulling them slowly, slowly away from him and deeper into the glass-topped cube. Buck watched, silent to the last: his shaft stretched -- narrowed -- stretched more, then suddenly yielded as the clamp pulled his genitals out by the roots

Terry yelped aloud; Buck looked up just in time to see the youth's shaft stretch, then part in a spurt of blood. Terry yelped again, took a shaky step away from the cube, then sank to the floor.

Now free, Buck moved back a pace. Pain still clawed at his guts, but his shaft and balls were gone now. A whimper rose in his throat, but he choked it down, staggered around the cube, and knelt by Terry. Buck took the youth in his arms.

Terry met Buck's gaze and whispered, "Musclehead."

"Shrimp," Buck whispered back. "You're a brave little shrimp, but you're still a shrimp. "You --" Then darkness closed in around Buck.