The Embezzler - MMM/M

[lois333]

Hey ! This chapter is the first of a 2 part commissioned story which is in the same world as The Chiming Bells. I have the authorization of the commissioner to share it with you.

Part one : Jason Miller never loses

The sun filtered through the poorly closed curtains of Jason's chic but impersonal apartment, bathing the room in a golden light. The place exuded modernity: polished parquet floors, an open kitchen equipped with state-of-the-art appliances, and a minibar filled with expensive bottles. But upon closer inspection, a disorder betrayed the state of mind of its occupant: clothes scattered on the sofa, a glass of whisky abandoned on the coffee table, and a pair of heels forgotten near the door.

He was naked, except for a pair of black boxers that accentuated his narrow hips and perfectly sculpted body. Each muscle seemed carved from stone, the result of years of athletic discipline and an ego that refused any compromise on his appearance. His slightly tanned skin, as if the sun always found a way to reach him even in the heart of the city, added to his magnetic allure. His blond hair was tousled, an intentional mess that, combined with his disarming smile, made him look like he had just stepped out of a cologne ad. His eyes, a piercing blue, always seemed to be laughing, but that morning, they carried an unusual shadow. A tension he couldn't ignore.

Jason ran a hand over his square jaw, feeling the stubble that accentuated his irresistible rebel look. A sigh escaped his lips. He was at his limit.

Jason placed the phone on the counter, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. The numbers in his mind blurred. $3,500,000. That's what he had embezzled from the large corporation that had recruited him six years ago with promises of promotions and responsibilities. He had started small: discreet adjustments in the accounts, transfers he knew how to camouflage thanks to his role in the finance department. Then, intoxicated by impunity and an increasingly extravagant lifestyle, he had crossed all boundaries.

The nights in VIP clubs, the trips in private jets, and the sumptuous gifts he offered to maintain his image as the perfect man... All of this had a cost. And now, the noose was tightening.

"Three months. Maybe four if I'm lucky." His words echoed in his head. The audit manager was getting nervous, and Jason had noticed subtle clues: seemingly innocent questions about certain transactions, meetings from which he was suddenly excluded.

He glanced at the bed. The sleeping woman - Amanda? Angela? Her name escaped him - had spent the night with him after a quick encounter in a trendy bar. She was beautiful, of course, but she meant nothing. No more than the dozens before her. Jason sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"This isn't a life," he thought briefly, before pushing the idea away with a cynical smile. Such reflection was not like him. This was not the time to sink into useless introspection.

He walked to the window, his gaze lost on the rooftops of New York. A steaming coffee in hand, he stared at the horizon with a mix of envy and frustration. He had everything a man could desire: money, women, and a body that attracted gazes like a magnet. But all of this could crumble at any moment.

Jason knew he had to act fast. Leave New York? Maybe. Find a way to hide the traces? Too risky. But if he did nothing, the investigators would eventually trace it back to him.

"You're fucking Jason Miller," he murmured to himself, his voice echoing in the room. "You never lose."

He quickly dried off, slipping into a fitted black jeans and a white shirt that hugged his torso perfectly. Jason was not the kind of man to let his doubts show. No matter what awaited him, he would play his role to the end.

As he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, Jason found himself thinking about an old story he had heard one evening, between two glasses of whisky in a bar where financiers, lawyers, and hustlers looking for quick deals mingled. An urban legend, nothing concrete... But it had stayed engraved in his mind. A man, or rather a shadow, capable of solving any problem, whatever it may be: laundering money, making evidence disappear, buying judges, or even rewriting history.

The guy in question was named Alan. That's all Jason knew, and even that name seemed too generic to be true. Yet, the whispers were insistent. Alan was not just an intermediary. He was described as a diabolical strategist, a manipulator who knew how to play with men's weaknesses like a chess master. Those who had called upon him were rare, and even rarer were those who dared to speak of their experience. But one thing was certain: he solved their problems... at a price.

What could a man like Alan want in return? Money? Jason still had some, even though the reserve was dangerously dwindling. But he doubted it would be that simple. The legends described deals that went far beyond simple financial transactions.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to put his thoughts in order. Should he really consider this option? The stories were terrifying: men who, after calling on Alan, seemed to change completely. As if the man took something more precious than money. But, truth be told, Jason didn't care. His life was on the verge of collapse. Between the company digging into his accounts and the creditors becoming more and more pressing, he no longer had the luxury of playing the moralist.

A name surfaced in his mind: Max. He was a shady lawyer Jason had crossed paths with several times at private parties. Max had a sultry reputation, but he was mostly known for having his own twisted deals. Jason remembered him as someone who talked too much after a few drinks, someone who had mentioned Alan with a mix of admiration and fear.

He grabbed his phone and quickly scrolled through his contacts until he found "Max H." With barely perceptible hesitation, he pressed the call icon. The ringtone sounded once, twice, before Max's rough and slightly wary voice came on the line.

“Jason? What do you want? It's been a while.”

“Yeah, Max”, Jason replied, playing his usual confident tone. “I need a favor. I remember you mentioned a guy, someone who can solve impossible problems. Alan, right? “

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Jason could almost hear Max swallow.

“Man, forget it”, Max finally said, his voice suddenly nervous. “You don't wanna play in that league. Lay low, find another way. Jason clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the phone.“

He didn't have time for Max's hesitations.

“Listen to me, Max. I'm in deep shit. If you know how to reach this guy, you give me that fucking contact. Now. Otherwise, believe me, I'll find a way to involve you in this.”

Max sighed loudly, and Jason knew he had hit a nerve.

“You're really an asshole, you know that? Max finally said. OK, listen. I'll give you an address. It's not a guarantee he'll see you, but... if anyone can fix your shit, it's him.”

Jason jotted down the address on a piece of paper, an enigmatic address in a remote part of the city.

“One last thing, Jason, Max added before hanging up. If you go see Alan, be ready. What he takes in return... it's not always what you think.”

Jason remained still for a moment, the phone still in his hand. An icy adrenaline coursed through his body. Whatever this guy wanted in return, he was ready for anything.

The place Jason was heading to was nothing like he had imagined. A small, almost invisible sign on a narrow street lined with aging facades indicated an exclusivity reserved for those who knew what to look for. Inside, an unexpected mix of modernity and intimacy: dark walls adorned with minimalist frames, impeccable leather armchairs, and dim lighting that seemed to engulf everything within. There were no other customers. The room was silent, every sound amplified by the subtle acoustics.

Jason felt his shoulders tense despite his confident appearance. He was rarely nervous, but this place had an aura he didn't like. Then, he saw him.

Alan was already there, sitting on a high chair near a small glass bar. Elegant and strangely immaculate, his dark gray suit seemed to blend into the atmosphere of the room. But it was his eyes that immediately captured Jason: dark, unfathomable, with a mischievous gleam that made one think of a predator playing with its prey. Between his fingers, a small golden bell spun slowly, its faint but constant tinkling resonating like a hypnotic melody in the silence.

“Jason, I presume”, Alan said, his voice low but perfectly articulated. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home... as much as possible.“

Jason hesitated for a fraction of a second before complying, taking a seat across from Alan. He attempted a confident smile.

“You already know who I am, so let's get to the point. Max told me you could solve... problems. Mine are quite... urgent. Alan gave a half-smile, his fingers continuing to play with the golden bell.”

“Urgent”, he repeated, as if savoring the word. “I've often noticed that others' urgencies are opportunities for me. Tell me everything, Jason.”

Jason gritted his teeth, but he knew he didn't have the luxury of being picky. He quickly laid out the facts: the embezzled money, the growing suspicions at the office, and the consequences awaiting him if he got caught. Alan listened in silence, his eyes fixed on Jason with an intensity that made every movement heavy. The bell continued to spin between his fingers, a steady tinkling that seemed to mark each of Jason's words.

“Not bad, Alan” murmured when Jason finished his story. “You have talent, Jason, but not enough to cover your tracks. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, would you?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“I need someone who can erase all this. Can you do it, yes or no?”

Alan leaned in slightly, placing the bell on the counter in front of him. The silence that followed the final tinkle was almost deafening.

“Yes”, Alan replied, his voice soft but heavy with promises. “But, as you must know, nothing is free. And I'm not talking about money, Jason.”

Jason felt a bead of sweat form at the base of his neck.

“So, what are we talking about?” Alan smiled, almost amused, before picking up the golden bell and ringing it gently.

“Let's talk about what you're willing to offer, Jason. Not what you think you can give, but what will define you. Your ambition, your domination, your freedom... I take things that others consider intangible.” Jason frowned, leaning in slightly.

“I don't understand. Do you want me to be your slave or something?”

Alan burst into a light, dry laugh, devoid of warmth.

“Oh, Jason, that would be too banal. No, I'll let you keep your arrogance and your perfect body. What I want is access to your... potential. A part of you that will seem insignificant at first, but will have its importance.” Jason stared at him confused, struggling not to appear disconcerted.

“And if I refuse?” Alan stopped the bell, placing it gently on the polished surface between them.

“If you refuse, then you are already doomed. Your colleagues will dig, the evidence will lead back to you, and... I'll let you imagine the rest. But if you accept, Jason... your problems will disappear.”

Jason looked at the golden bell, hypnotized for a moment by its gleam. The man across from him was dangerous, he knew. But was it more dangerous than ending up in prison, or worse?

“Alright”, he finally said, and Alan smiled.

Alan spun the golden bell gently between his fingers, his piercing gaze fixed on Jason. The soft tinkling resonated in the silent space, slipping under Jason's skin like a hypnotic whisper. He tried to concentrate, but his mind seemed to slip out of reach, as if he were losing control of his own thoughts.

“Relax, Jason”, Alan murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just you and me. No one else. No more worries, no more questions. Let this sound soothe you, guide you.” Jason blinked, but his eyes seemed to grow heavier.

A strange sensation crept into his mind, like a warm fog. His muscles relaxed despite himself, his body sinking deeper into the chair. The bell tinkled again, and he felt a dull warmth invade his skull, an irresistible flow.

“Yes…” Alan murmured. “There you go. Just listen. Nothing else matters.” Jason heard his own breathing slow, steady and deep.

The tinkling continued, rhythmic, like a melody that filled his entire being. His vision blurred, and he felt only that sweet lethargy.

“Very good, Jason”, Alan began, his voice softer but inflexible. “Every week, you will come here, at the agreed time. No matter what you're doing, no matter where you are. This meeting will be your anchor. Understood?”

Jason, caught in the trance, nodded slowly, his mouth slightly open.

“Good”, Alan murmured, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “And now, let's go a little further, shall we?”

He spun the bell once more, the tinkling rising and subtly intensifying. Jason, already submerged in the trance, felt his mind sink even deeper. Alan's words became all that existed, an undeniable reality.

“Your senses…” Alan murmured. “They are strong, but not strong enough for me. From now on, Jason, you will feel them differently. Your skin, every part of your body, will become more reactive. A light touch, a caress... you will feel it more intensely. Not too much, just enough to trouble you. Understood?”

Jason did not respond, but his mind recorded the words, sealing them deep in his subconscious. Alan paused, observing Jason, before continuing in a lower, almost seductive voice.

“Now, let's talk about your desire, Jason. Tell me, you like women, don't you?”

Jason, still deep in the trance, nodded gently, his lips forming a barely audible "yes."

“Perfect”, Alan replied, his smile widening. “From now on, your libido will be... insatiable. But listen to me carefully…” He leaned in slightly, his voice becoming an imperious murmur.

“No matter how hard you try, no matter how much you want to come... you won't be able to. No woman will be able to bring you to ecstasy, Jason. Not even yourself. Your hands, your own body, will be useless. Only this sound will be able to make you cum once you're on the brink.”

When Alan took out two smaller bells with a higher pitch that he rang, Jason, unable to resist, accepted these words, his mind capturing each syllable as an absolute truth. Alan leaned back, satisfied, and rang the first bell one last time.

“There you go Jason”, he murmured. “Wake up.” Jason blinked, his mind slowly regaining clarity.

He straightened slightly, running a hand over his face.

“Everything alright, Jason?” Alan asked, his voice full of false concern. Jason nodded, still slightly confused.

“Yeah... I think so”, he replied, his memories of the trance blurry. “So, see you next week?” Alan smiled.

“Absolutely, Jason. I'm sure everything will be better by then.”

Jason stood up, adjusting his jacket, but his gaze lingered for a moment on the golden bell. A wave of unease washed over him, but he said nothing. Then he left the room, unaware of how much his life had just changed.

The following week, Jason realized that something strange was happening. At his office, scrutinizing the accounts he had manipulated so carefully, he expected to find the irregularities that had haunted him for months. Yet, everything seemed... perfect. The numbers were clean, the transfers balanced, the statements in order. He spent hours checking, going through files and statements, but nothing changed.

The suspicious transactions had disappeared, replaced by credible and consistent entries. It was as if his manipulations had never happened.

A shiver ran through him. It was impossible. Alan... This guy had done something. But what?

Jason pushed the thought away. Whatever the means, the result was there: he was saved. A broad smile spread across his lips as he straightened in his chair. The tension that had been building for weeks dissipated, replaced by an irrepressible euphoria.

Later, in a chic bar in Manhattan, Jason was in his element. The dim lighting bathed the place in an intimate atmosphere, while the music, a mix of jazz and house, floated in the air. A glass of champagne in hand, he leaned against the counter, scanning the crowd with that irresistible smile that could melt anyone.

Dressed in fitted pants and a slightly unbuttoned white shirt, he was the epitome of charisma. Gazes slid towards him, admiring or envious, but Jason cared only about one thing: finding his next conquest. And he didn't have to wait long.

Sitting alone at a table near the dance floor, a woman of striking beauty played distractedly with a strand of her jet-black hair. Her tight red dress accentuated her curves, while her crimson lips betrayed a slightly bored pout. She sipped a cocktail, casting disinterested glances around her.

Jason approached, his confidence palpable.

“You know, that cocktail must be pretty bad if you're looking at your glass with such disdain, he said lightly, his smile cheeky.” The woman looked up at him, a flash of surprise quickly replaced by an amused gleam.

“Maybe I just prefer to drink alone”, she replied with a half-smile.

“Possible”, Jason admitted with a shrug. “But you know what? I have the feeling that glass doesn't deserve you.” She burst into a frank, slightly surprised laugh.

“And what do you deserve, then?”

“Me?” he said, leaning in slightly, his blue eyes fixed on hers with intensity. “I deserve a woman who knows how to recognize an opportunity when she sees one.” The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, sizing up Jason.

“And if I tell you I'm not impressed?” Jason didn't falter. He took a chair, sat on it backwards, his dazzling smile still plastered on his lips.

“Then I'd say you're bluffing”, he said, his tone challenging. She stared at him for a moment, as if looking for a flaw, then shrugged, an amused smile stretching her lips.

“Ok, Don Juan. You have five minutes. Impress me.” Jason burst into laughter.

“I won't need that long”, he replied, raising his glass to toast with her.

The evening stretched on, the exchanges becoming more and more intimate. Jason played with his charm like a virtuoso, wielding humor and seduction with disconcerting ease. With each of the woman's smiles, he felt his ego swell, his confidence grow.

Her name was Sophie, she worked in marketing, and, in her own words, she was "hard to impress." But Jason had risen to the challenge brilliantly, and when the evening ended, they left the bar together, their laughter echoing through the city streets. The taxi sped through the streets of Manhattan, the lights of the skyscrapers flashing like a scintillating kaleidoscope.

Jason and Sophie kissed with an intensity that promised a fiery night. His body against hers, his fingers sliding along her thighs, he felt the desire rise in him like an uncontrollable wave. He was confident, as always. Tonight, he intended to savor every second. Back in his apartment, they crashed against the door, their kisses becoming more desperate. Jason lifted her effortlessly, his muscles taut under the shirt she tore off impatiently. He carried her to the bed, almost throwing her onto it, his gaze burning with lust.

Sophie waited for him, her legs entwined, her body offered in an attitude that would have made any man crack. Jason climbed on top of her, his hands avidly exploring every inch of her skin. His lips captured one of her breasts, nibbling lightly, and she moaned under the mix of pain and pleasure.

But when he tried to go further, an inexplicable blockage set in. He felt his excitement waver, as if something within him suddenly braked the irresistible momentum that possessed him. He frowned, shaking his head slightly, as if to chase away an intrusive thought. Sophie, for her part, seemed to notice nothing.

She reversed the roles, sliding onto him with sensual expertise, her movements calculated to rekindle the flame. Her mouth descended slowly, kissing his chest, then his stomach, before engulfing him in a warm, expert wetness. Jason, usually the master of his sensations, felt his body respond instinctively, but a growing frustration rose within him. Each caress, each movement of her tongue should have brought him closer to ecstasy. Yet, nothing came.

He grabbed her by the hips, flipping her with almost brutal vigor. His desire transformed into uncontrolled aggression, a desperate need to break this invisible barrier. Sophie, surprised but excited by this animal energy, let him do as he pleased, bending her body to his demands. She moved beneath him, offering herself entirely, her moans filling the room. Jason struggled, trying to fill this absence he didn't understand. His hands seized her firmly, his movements becoming almost frantic.

But nothing. The more Jason struggled, the more his frustration grew. His breath became shorter, his body taut as a bow, but the explosion he awaited never came. He groaned in frustration, his aggression reaching a worrying peak.

He grabbed Sophie by the hair, pulling her slightly to take control. She let him, confused but determined not to give up. Yet, despite his efforts, his body remained strangely blocked, as if an invisible hand held him back each time he thought he was reaching the peak.

Jason wasn't the type to give up. His frustration turned into an almost ferocious determination, his need to dominate taking over. He grabbed a scarf that was lying on the edge of the bed, his movements quick but precise, and immobilized Sophie's wrists above her head. She shivered under this takeover, her gaze shining with anticipated pleasure. Jason, even in this strange state where his body wasn't responding as it should, remained a calculating and implacable lover. He descended slowly, his lips brushing her skin, nibbling her neck, her shoulders, each caress a promise of delights.

He played with her, alternating between devastating softness and measured brutality, each gesture intended to keep her on the edge between pleasure and submission. Jason let his hands explore her body, his fingers tracing lines on her naked skin, finding each sensitive spot with almost inhuman precision.

Sophie gasped, her body responding to each caress, her moans filling the room. When he flipped her onto her stomach, immobilizing her hips with a firm hand, she arched beneath him, offering her body to his domination. His gestures became more demanding, his voice grave and authoritative heard through raspy murmurs that guided her, pushed her to yield more.

Yet, within him, the frustration mounted. The more he explored, the more he played with her, the more he hit this invisible wall that prevented him from releasing his own tension. Sophie, on her side, was a firework of sensations. Jason knew exactly how to bring her to the edge of abandon: his fingers sliding with expertise, his teeth grazing her skin, his brute force holding her in place.

She came again and again under him, each cry of pleasure adding a layer of despair to his own state. He used his hands, his mouth, his calculated movements to extract every possible moan, but this feeling of dissatisfaction gnawed at him. Each orgasm he provoked in Sophie was a bitter victory, a cruel reminder that his own body refused to follow the current of his desires.

As she collapsed, breathless and fulfilled, he remained tense, his gaze dark, his jaw clenched. His muscles vibrated with an energy he couldn't release. He turned away, standing up abruptly, leaving Sophie lying there, confused but visibly satisfied. Jason stared at his reflection in the window, his chest glistening with sweat, his face marked by contained anger. Something within him was no longer working, and he didn't understand why. It wasn't just a physical frustration; it was a loss of control, a poison threatening his very identity.

Frustration became a constant companion for Jason. Each night was a cruel repetition of the same scenario: seduction, domination, mastery, but no climax for him. No matter which woman fell under his irresistible charm, none could free him from this invisible lock. His techniques, his strength, his sensuality: all of it led them to ecstasy. But for him, pleasure remained a mirage, slipping away each time he thought he was close.

Over the course of the week, Jason became even more aggressive in his quest for control. He attracted women en masse, unable to stop this compulsive need to satisfy his desire. The rooms echoed with moans, muffled cries, the clinking of belts on bound wrists, the rustling of sheets as he orchestrated each session with diabolical precision.

He was an expert lover, a master in the art of giving them everything they desired, and more. Yet, the satisfaction he offered his partners only deepened his own despair. Each time he touched their skin, each time he used the instruments of his light domination – handcuffs, blindfolds, delicate clamps – the same frustration gnawed at him. No woman, no matter how beautiful, submissive, or daring, could break the spell that weighed on him.

Jason became more irritable, more ferocious. He avoided mornings with his conquests, almost chasing them away as soon as dawn broke, his kisses turning into icy silences. His usually calculating and confident mind sank into an introspection he hated. He knew something was wrong, that this situation was beyond his comprehension, but admitting it out loud would have been worse than failure: an abdication.

When the day of his weekly meeting with Alan arrived, Jason left his apartment with a palpable tension in his shoulders. He wore a perfectly fitted dark suit, but the man reflected in the shop windows seemed less sure of himself than usual.

The place was unchanged: small, chic, hidden. The dimly lit atmosphere enveloped him as soon as he stepped through the door. Alan was already there, sitting in a leather armchair, his relaxed posture and enigmatic smile still in place. In front of him, a cup of tea was steaming gently.

Jason approached, his jaw clenched. He had no intention of playing the weakling, even though the week he had just endured weighed on him like a ball and chain.

Alan motioned for him to sit, his piercing gaze already dissecting Jason's state of mind. The subtle tinkle of a small golden bell resonated faintly as Alan's hand brushed a tray beside him. Jason caught the sound, and an inexplicable tension rose within him, a mix of embarrassment and intrigue he couldn't understand.

Alan crossed his legs, his smile widening as Jason sat down across from him.

"So, Jason, how was your week?"

Alan asked the question with disarming calm, his enigmatic smile planted on his lips. Jason, sitting across from him, crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. His posture was that of a man refusing to admit weakness, but the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders betrayed the inner chaos he was trying to hide.

"It was... complicated," he finally admitted, his tone sharp. "But I suppose you knew it would be."

Alan tilted his head slightly, as if appreciating Jason's insight. He carefully placed his tea cup on the coffee table, a subtle tinkle resonating in the room.

"Jason, there is nothing I know, only what you are ready to discover. But you are here today, and that is already a step in the right direction."

Jason rolled his eyes, exasperated by Alan's mysterious tone.

"I am here because I have no choice. So, if you have a way to fix this mess... do it."

Alan leaned forward slightly, his fingers brushing a small golden bell placed beside him. He rang it softly, a clear and hypnotic sound that seemed to suspend the air. Jason frowned, his muscles instinctively tensing.

"You see, Jason, fixing a problem isn't always a matter of brute force or logic. Sometimes, it's about playing. And today, I propose a game."

Jason raised an eyebrow, his expression oscillating between suspicion and amusement.

"A game? Seriously?"

Alan stood up slowly, his movements measured and fluid. He pointed to a door at the back of the room with an elegant gesture.

"A simple game. If you win, I will free you from what is weighing you down. No more constant excitement, no more frustration. And as a bonus, we won't need these weekly meetings anymore."

Jason straightened slightly in his armchair, a spark of interest shining in his eyes.

"And if I lose?"

Alan smiled, his eyes sparkling with calculated malice.

"If you lose, we will continue our discussions. Until you understand what I can truly bring you."

Jason growled, but stood up. He was not the type to back down from a challenge, especially not in front of a man like Alan who seemed to enjoy testing him.

"Fine. Show me what you have in mind."

Alan led him to the door, opening it with theatrical slowness. The room behind was small but perfectly lit, with a cozy atmosphere that contrasted with the rising tension in Jason's mind.

Two men in black boxers wearing neutral masks stood on either side of the room. Their imposing musculature and upright posture exuded a silent authority. But what immediately captivated Jason was the woman at the center of the room.

She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Black hair cascading around an angelic face, piercing blue eyes, full and tempting lips. Her lingerie, a work of art in black and red lace, barely hid her voluptuous curves: a generous bust, a perfect butt, and endless legs that seemed sculpted for sin.

In the center of the room, an X-shaped table was set up, with straps ready to immobilize the wrists and ankles.

Jason snickered, fixing his gaze on Alan.

"That's your big game?"

Alan approached, a calm smile on his lips.

"All you have to do, Jason, is hold out for twenty minutes. These two men will... distract you, while our friend here will do everything possible to give you pleasure. Your goal is simple: don't ask her to stop. If you ask her to stop, however, I promise you will have your orgasm."

Jason shrugged, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Seriously? Twenty minutes with her? I could hold out for twenty hours. And with how gorgeous she is, she's the one who will give me that damn orgasm."

Alan smiled wider, his fingers playing with the golden bell again.

"Then we have a deal."

Before Jason could respond, Alan rang the bell, and the sound resonated in the air like a subtle but powerful vibration. Jason felt a familiar warmth invade his mind, his thoughts becoming slightly hazy. His breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed, and his body slipped into a trance he couldn't prevent.

Alan murmured softly, his voice penetrating directly into Jason's mind.

"Every woman who leaves you unsatisfied will become less attractive, less desirable. And gradually... she will repulse you, becoming ugliness incarnate."

The tinkling of the bell intensified, deeply engraving Alan's words into Jason's mind. A few moments later, the bell stopped vibrating, and Jason blinked, slightly disoriented, but ready to take on the challenge, unaware that he had just yielded a bit more control to the man in the black suit.

Jason stood there, his gaze fixed, his fists slightly clenched. Tension was rising within him, but not an ounce of fear showed in his posture. He looked at the X-shaped table, then at the two masked men, before his eyes returned to the woman at the center of the room. She was a living fantasy, an incarnation of desire in all its raw power. Jason sketched an arrogant smile, as if nothing Alan had planned could make him yield.

"Alright," he said in a challenging tone. "Let's strap in and see what your 'friends' are made of."

Alan merely smiled enigmatically and signaled to the two men. Jason removed his suit with the calculated slowness of a confident man, revealing a sculpted torso and unshakable confidence. He climbed onto the table, settling with unsettling calm, even as they strapped his wrists and ankles.

The inclined table allowed him to see everything that was happening. The woman approached, her hips swaying in a hypnotic movement. Jason detailed her perfect body, the glow of her skin, the lingerie that outlined each curve with precision. She placed a hand on his chest, fixing him with a burning gaze.

"So, you're supposed to be my torment?" he said with a snicker. "Believe me, sweetheart, you're far from being a problem."

She said nothing, merely smiling slightly before beginning to graze his skin. Her fingers were soft, almost too soft, triggering a wave of shivers that surprised Jason. It was pleasant, but an odd nervousness added to the sensation, like a warmth that slightly unbalanced him.

The two masked men began to move, their fingers slowly sliding over Jason's taut, golden skin. They displayed meticulous precision, barely grazing his flanks and ribs, where the nerves woke with heightened sensitivity. Jason suppressed a nervous laugh, his muscles instinctively contracting under the caresses.

"Seriously? You think tickling will get to me?" he spat, his tone laced with defiance.

But even as he tried to appear invincible, a strange wave of sensations rose within him, uncontrollable and bewildering. Each movement of the fingers on his skin seemed to amplify a tension he couldn't control. The men alternated between light touches and more assertive pressures, methodically exploring his body as if seeking to discover his every weak point.

Jason tried to clench his teeth, but a small laugh escaped him despite himself. This only made him angrier.

"You ahahare pathetic," he murmured, his fists slightly pulling against the straps.

The woman, still perfectly calm and sensual, was not distracted by his arrogance. She approached further, climbing onto the edge of the table to position herself at the height of his torso. Her delicate hands gently grazed his shoulders, then slowly descended to his abdominals, tracing burning lines on his skin.

Her warm breath caressed his neck as she murmured softly. Not words, but a melody of sighs and promises, her face so close to his that he could almost taste her intoxicating perfume. Her lips slid against his ear, then against his jaw, before descending to his chest where she placed a wet, lingering kiss.

Jason, despite his usual arrogance, felt his body react violently to the rising mix of desire and embarrassment. The tickling continued, each movement of the men becoming more targeted: they attacked his flanks, under his arms, even behind his knees, exploiting the sensitivity that seemed to have multiplied since the hypnosis.

"Fuck haha…," he murmured between his teeth, his voice tinged with frustration as another nervous laugh escaped his lips.

The woman intensified her efforts, now using her entire body: her breasts pressed against his skin, her mouth tracing circles around his contracted abdominal muscles. She slowly descended, her tongue grazing the sensitive skin of his belly, causing a burning heat that made Jason shiver despite himself.

He tried to move, but the firm straps prevented him from escaping these contradictory stimulations: the carnal pleasure she inflicted on him and the incessant tickling of the men. His breathing quickened, and a thin layer of sweat began to bead on his forehead.

"You think… this will work?" he growled, his voice betraying a slight nervousness.

The men exchanged a silent glance before attacking his armpits at the same time. Jason arched involuntarily, a raw laugh escaping him before he could contain it.

The woman, meanwhile, reached her peak of seduction. Her movements were fluid, calculated, almost divine in their sensuality. She slipped between his legs, her hands gently grazing his thighs, then slowly moving up to his hips. Her tongue followed the trace of his veins, each gesture sending a jolt of electricity through Jason's tensed body.

For the first time in a long while, he felt truly overwhelmed. The uncontrollable laughs, the tension of his desire, and the impossibility of finding any relief mixed in a chaotic whirlwind. His jaw clenched, and a deep growl emerged from his throat.

"Fuhuhuhck, stop!" he suddenly shouted, his rugged voice filling the room.

The woman looked up, her expression remaining perfectly calm, almost amused. The men slowed their movements but did not stop completely. Alan, who had been watching the scene from the shadows, had a satisfied smile.

Jason breathed deeply, his body tensed, his muscles trembling from the effort of containing a mix of humiliation and frustration. He had never laughed like this since… since forever, he told himself. But this was not a joyful or voluntary laugh. No, it was a laugh torn from him, extracted from his gut like a scream he couldn't hold back. The men's fingers had focused on his chest, in the hollows between his ribs and around his pectorals. It was there, it seemed, that the hypnosis had done its work, amplifying the sensitivity to an almost absurd level. Each graze, each light pressure sent a surge of intense tickles through his body.

"Stop! Ha! Ha… damn! Stop that, fucking… fuckers!" he spat between bursts of laughter, his voice betraying both annoyance and total inability to regain control.

His entire body convulsed, trembling under the relentless assault of the agile fingers of the two masked men. His abdominals, usually solid as steel, contracted violently with each new contact. His ribs, so well-defined, had become a playground for the torturers, their fingers dancing with methodical precision that made him scream with laughter.

"You are… ha-ha! I'm going to… I'm going to… kill you!" he cried in a mix of hysterical laughs and vain threats.

Jason never laughed like this, not like that. He felt dispossessed of his own body, each burst of laughter escaping him without his consent. It was humiliating, and this humiliation made him furious. But there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. He was trapped, reduced to this ridiculous state where his own body seemed to betray him.

Then he felt something else. A warmth, a different presence.

The woman had progressed, sliding her lips with disarming skill to his groin. Her fine hands gently grazed his thighs, lightly scratching them to provoke an additional shiver. Despite the uncontrollable laughs, Jason felt a primal desire rising within him. But there was a problem: this desire, instead of exploding, remained locked, frozen just below the surface.

She took his sex into her mouth, her movements slow and calculated, each gesture measured to maximize his pleasure. The warmth of her tongue, the softness of her lips, should have been enough to make him climax. And yet, he remained on the edge, his excitement reaching a peak without ever releasing him.

"Ha-ha! Damn! I…" he groaned, his uncontrollable laughter mixing with his frustrated growls.

Jason was torn between two contradictory sensations. The tickling on his chest continued, relentless, each movement of the fingers on his skin exacerbating this vulnerability he hated. And now, the woman, with her expert mouth, was intensifying the fire of his desire.

But something was off.

He had found this woman divine, perfect, as if sculpted by the gods. But as the sensations prolonged, he noticed details he hadn't seen before. Her beauty, so dazzling at first, seemed… attenuated. She was still beautiful, of course, but not in an extraordinary way. An attractive woman, and nothing more.

"What… ha-ha! Fuck! was happening… Ha! She was so much… better… a minute ago!"

The words escaped him despite himself, between bursts of uncontrollable laughter. His eyes fixed on her, but he no longer saw the perfection he had admired at first. He saw an attractive woman, yes, but not transcendent. And this bothered him as much as his frustration.

The woman did not stop, continuing her work with implacable sensuality. But Jason felt a deep disturbance. His laughs became more nervous, almost desperate, as he tried to understand why his perception was changing.

"Ha-ha… What are you… doing ? You… ha ! Stop that !"

The tickling intensified, the men now exploring the hollows of his armpits, an area he would never have thought so sensitive. Jason burst into laughter again, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm going to die! Ha-ha-ha! Stop!"

His body was a battlefield, each laugh torn from him amplifying his frustration, each sensation of pleasure she inflicted on him pushing him further into an abyss he didn't understand. His rage, his confusion, his humiliation, all mixed in a torrent of emotions he couldn't control.

And as the minutes passed, he saw her differently. Her face, once so divine, now seemed simply… pleasant. Then, at some point, even that began to crumble.

Jason struggled internally, unable to understand what was happening to him. The laughter continued to escape him, his muscles trembling with fatigue and tension. But what troubled him most was the way this woman was slowly becoming a disappointment. An invisible ugliness seemed to emerge, as if she wore a mask he was now able to see through.

"Ha-ha… What… are you… damn?" he muttered between bursts of laughter, looking at her with a mix of confusion and disgust.

It was unbearable. Jason, usually the master of himself, felt broken, stripped of his power. And he didn't know how much longer he could hold on before everything gave way.

His laughs still burst out, uncontrollable, breaking the silence of the room at a chaotic pace. His muscles burned from the effort, each saccadic laugh shaking his tensed chest, unable to resist the assault of the tickles. The men had changed their method: their fingers had given way to feathers, which slid with calculated delicacy into the hollows of his armpits. The sensation was unbearable, a soft but relentless torture that tore loud, laughing bursts from him, on the verge of hysteria.

"Ha-ha-ha! You… assholes! Fuck… stop HAHAHA!" he shouted between spasms, his voice interspersed with uncontrollable laughs.

Each pass of the feathers on his skin triggered a new wave of sensations, amplifying the insatiable excitement that boiled within him. His body trembled, caught in an intense conflict: a humiliation that fueled his frustration, and a growing excitement that refused to subside.

Before him, the woman straightened slightly, a sensual smile playing on her lips. Her movements were slow, as if she savored each moment of this spectacle. Slowly, she slid the thin straps of her bra down her shoulders, revealing her sumptuous breasts. Her breasts were perfect, full, round, with a firmness that seemed to defy gravity. Their tips were erect, like a silent invitation to give in to temptation.

Jason, between laughs, watched this revelation with a troubled expression. He knew he should have been spellbound, that this body, this moment, was meant to transcend him. Yet, a part of him resisted, the woman's beauty fading before his eyes.

"Ha-ha… What… is this?" he growled, his voice interspersed with laughs, his gaze veiled with confusion.

She paid no attention to his words, advancing with disarming assurance. Her hands slid over her breasts, her fingers gently grazing them before pressing them against his sex. Jason gasped, his body responding instinctively, even as his mind was at war.

She began to move, using her breasts to massage his tensed member, her movements rhythmic and calculated. Her soft skin slid against him, a warm enveloping amplified by the pressure of her hands. Her mouth soon joined in: her wet lips captured his glans, her tongue tracing provocative circles around him.

Jason widened his eyes, his breath becoming more irregular. His excitement soared, but it was a cruel, frustrating ascent. The orgasm he felt so close remained out of reach, a mirage he couldn't grasp.

"Ha-ha! Fuck, this… this… ha-ha! Stop… stop!" he cried, his laughs mixing with desperate moans.

The contradiction was unbearable. His senses were on fire, each caress of her breasts, each movement of her mouth sending waves of pleasure through his entire body. But the closer he got to release, the more the woman seemed… bland. Her breasts, so perfect a few minutes ago, seemed to lose their appeal. Her mouth, so expert, seemed strangely disconnected.

Jason turned his eyes away for a moment, seeking an escape from this disconcerting sensation.

"It's… so much… ha-ha-ha! Damn, you're not… so special," he blurted out without thinking, his words bursting into the air between frantic laughs.

The woman did not respond, but she accelerated, her movements becoming more intense, more calculated. Jason felt his body stiffen, each muscle tensed on the verge of implosion. His laughs had become almost bestial screams, a combination of pleasure, frustration, and anger that drove him mad.

The feathers continued their work on his armpits, the men now moving to gently brush the hollows of his hips and the muscles of his belly. Each contact seemed to amplify his sensitivity, as if his entire body was a taut canvas ready to tear.

"Ha-ha-ha! Fuck! Stop… please stop, damn!" he moaned, unable to catch his breath, his laughs escaping endlessly.

But no one stopped. The woman relentlessly continued her work, her breasts pressed against him, her mouth working his glans with implacable expertise. Yet, Jason was no longer sure of what he was seeing. Her beauty, once so overwhelming, was now just a memory. Her features seemed blurred, her face having lost what had made her a divine apparition in his eyes.

The confusion and frustration reached their peak. Jason screamed, laughed, groaned, and panted, his mind sinking into a chaos from which he saw no way out. His thoughts spun in a loop: she should be perfect, he should come, but nothing was going as he wanted. And each second spent in this room only deepened his disorientation.

"Ha-ha-ha… You are… so much… ha-ha! Not… enough…" he finally breathed, his words drowned in a torrent of uncontrollable laughs, his desperate gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if imploring divine intervention.

Jason panted between bursts of hysterical laughter, his body shaken by the intense sensations overwhelming him. The feathers, wielded with diabolical precision by the two masked men, explored every inch of his bare skin. His armpits were their main target, but their assaults now extended to his flanks and belly, areas he had never thought so sensitive.

"Ha-ha-ha! Damn… ha! What… ha-ha! is happening?" he roared, his cries of frustration mixing with uncontrollable laughs.

His chest burned, his muscles tensed under the soft but relentless torture. The feathers seemed to slide over his skin with calculated precision, triggering waves of sensations he couldn't control. Jason had never been particularly ticklish, at least not to the point of being reduced to this state. But now? Each graze sent an electric shock through his body, driving him mad.

He tried to struggle, but the straps immobilizing him in a cross made any resistance futile. His laughs filled the room, resonating against the walls like a symphony of despair and humiliation.

Amid this sensory storm, his mind tried to grasp a fragment of logic. The conditions. Alan had given him conditions. Twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes. And all he had to do was not ask the woman to stop.

His gaze briefly rested on her. She continued her work relentlessly, her breasts pressed against his sex, her mouth offering expert caresses to his glans. But even as his pleasure mounted inexorably, he was increasingly disturbed by the woman stimulating him. Jason was used to beautiful women, not an average lady at best.

"Ha-ha! Why… ha-ha! she…?" he stammered, his mind clouded by the contradictory sensations.

The confusion intensified as he focused on his own body. This new sensitivity, almost supernatural, terrified him. The feathers, the light caresses, the tickles he should have been able to ignore, had taken on an almost unbearable dimension. How was this possible?

Memories of his meeting with Alan suddenly resurfaced. That enigmatic smile, that golden bell tinkling in the air… Something had happened that day. Hypnosis. Alan had played with his mind, manipulated his senses. Jason was now certain.

"Ha-ha-ha! It's… ha! you… ha-ha! Alan, you bastard!" he growled between bursts of laughter, his words lost in the cacophony of his uncontrollable laughs.

The masked men intensified their efforts. One of them knelt to tickle the hollows of his hips, using the feather to gently brush his skin, while the other slid a stiffer feather over the muscles of his belly. Jason screamed with laughter, his abdominals contracting violently under the assault.

"Ha-ha-ha! No… ha-ha! Fuck… that's enough!" he cried, his pleas merely a mix of moans and laughs.

The woman, still focused on him, seemed to ignore his inner struggle. Her movements were fluid, her breasts pressing and caressing his sex with hypnotic mastery. Her mouth continued to kiss, lick, and suck his glans, her eyes raised to him in an expression meant to be seductive.

But Jason, despite the unbearable excitement mounting within him, found her less and less attractive. Her perfect forms, which should have left him speechless, now seemed almost vulgar, as if her beauty was dissolving with each moment spent under her touch.

"Ha-ha-ha! What's happening to mehehehe?!" he roared, his laughs breaking into hoarse moans.

Each caress, each graze of the feathers, each movement of the woman seemed to reinforce his humiliation, his pleasure mounting without ever reaching its peak. His mind was a battlefield, torn between his body screaming for release and his psyche sinking into ever-deepening confusion.

He struggled to gather his thoughts, but the phantom tinkling of Alan's bell resonated in his mind, mixed with the uncontrollable laughs bursting from his throat. Jason was trapped, caught between his own body and the ruthless mind of a man playing with him like a puppeteer.

He was laughing hysterically, his chest contracting under the assaults of the two masked men who gave him no respite. They had abandoned the feathers to move on to other instruments. A rubber glove bristling with soft spikes glided over his ribs and stomach, while a dense but soft brush attacked the soles of his feet. Each precise movement sent jolts of unbearable sensations through his body.

“Hahaha! Fuck! Hahaha! Not the feet! Not there!” he screamed, despair and hysteria mixing in his voice.

His uncontrollable laughter echoed in the room, leaving him panting and drained, even though he had no escape. His wrists and ankles tied to the X-frame prevented him from moving. He was completely at the mercy of the relentless, anonymous torturers. The sensation of the glove's spikes tracing circles along his sides tore a raw scream from him, followed by nervous laughter that ripped through his throat.

In the midst of this torment, Jason saw the woman move. She slowly straightened up, her gaze still fixed on his. She was naked now, and under different circumstances, he would have savored this spectacle, her perfect silhouette a vision of pure eroticism. But that was no longer the case.

As she slowly lowered her panties, revealing a body that any man would consider sculpted perfection, Jason felt a shiver of repulsion. Her features, which had seemed divine when she entered, had withered in his eyes. She was now just a shadow of the magnificent woman he had seen. Every curve seemed distorted, every movement too calculated, almost grotesque.

“Hahaha! Oh, shit… hahaha! Fuck, what… hahaha! What's happening?!” he screamed, his laughter interspersed with moans of confusion.

His mind tried to understand, but logic eluded him. How could he be so aroused by the contact, so trapped in this burning pleasure, and at the same time, so disgusted by this woman? She approached him like a predator, her perfect body undulating with expert assurance, and yet, Jason wanted to look away.

She straddled him with the same calculated fluidity, settling on his hips. Her provocative smile, which should have been irresistible, now only inspired a dull nausea in him.

“Fuck… No…” he murmured between bursts of laughter, unable to form a coherent thought.

With a precise movement, she guided him into her, her sex welcoming his tense member with expert ease. Jason groaned, his body responding to this intimate contact despite the turmoil in his mind. The wet echo of their bodies joining should have pushed him to ecstasy, but instead, he felt a wave of frustration and disgust wash over him.

“Ha! Hahaha! Oh, fuck! Hahaha!” he moaned, his forced laughter mixing with cries of humiliation.

She moved with perfect mastery, her hips rolling in a calculated rhythm to bring him to the brink of orgasm. Her generous chest swayed slightly with each movement, but Jason could no longer appreciate the sight. Her breasts, which should have fascinated him, almost repelled him. They seemed artificial, overacted, like a lure meant to trap him.

“You’re… you’re hihihihideous…” he growled, his raspy voice stifled by uncontrollable laughter.

The woman did not respond, focusing on her work, her body continuing its sensual dance. The masked men intensified their efforts: the glove's spikes rubbed his sides with more vigor, while the brush now slid over his legs and thighs. The combination of sensations tore hysterical bursts of laughter from him, his muscles contracting with each caress.

Jason was on the verge of explosion, caught in a maelstrom of unbearable pleasure and growing repulsion. The minutes stretched like hours. The mental counter in his mind kept ticking, but nine minutes still remained, and each second seemed like an eternity.

He tried to distract his mind, to focus on something else, but the sensations were too intense. His body betrayed his will, his growing excitement like a fire he couldn't extinguish. Yet, the more the woman continued, the more she lost her luster in his eyes. Her features became grotesque, her movements mechanical, like a disjointed puppet.

“Hahaha! You’re… a joke… hahaha!” he spat, his words drowned in a flood of uncontrollable laughter.

Jason's laughter burst out in ragged, uncontrollable intervals. He was a ball of tension and hysteria, every muscle taut under the assaults of the instruments the masked men used against him. Now, the two men equipped with soft-bristled brushes traced torturous circles in the hollows of his shaved armpits, triggering involuntary spasms.

“Hahaha! Please! Hahaha! Nohohoho” he cried, his voice broken by the tumult of sensations.

He pulled on the straps that immobilized him in a cross, but they held firm. The leather bit into his skin, and his body seemed caught in a crossfire: the infernal tickling of the men, and the woman above him, who continued to move with calculated precision, her movements amplifying his frustration.

Jason closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his mind. But the sensation of the brushes against his armpits instantly brought him back to this prison of unbearable pleasure. His laughter redoubled, uncontrolled, his chest heaving convulsively with the effort.

“Ha… haha… I'm going to… die!” he breathed between bursts, his body contorting under the torture.

The woman continued, relentless. Jason struggled internally: his body demanded release, but his mind refused to yield. He was on the brink of orgasm, a line he could never cross. The more the woman moved, the more she disgusted him, her face becoming a grotesque caricature in his eyes.

He didn't want to give up. He knew that if he asked the woman to stop, his body would finally give in, that he would have this impossible orgasm that had been torturing him for days. But that would be defeat. Surrender. And Jason Miller never loses.

“Hahaha! Fuck! I'm going to hold on! Hahaha!” he murmured to himself, trying to convince himself despite the chaos in his mind.

The men intensified their efforts, as if sensing his weakening resistance. A brush in his armpit accelerated, probing every sensitive patch of skin, triggering waves of uncontrollable spasms. One of the men had stopped to relentlessly attack under his feet, as if seeking to shatter his last defenses.

Jason screamed, his laughter mixing with a growl of rage. He wanted to shout, to tell them to stop, but he bit his lip, his mind desperately clinging to the pride that defined him. He couldn't lose. Not to them, not to Alan, not to this woman who disgusted him more with each passing second.

“Hahaha!… hahaha! NEVER! I… I'm holding on… HAHA!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face as his body shook under the unbearable sensations.

The woman accelerated her movements, her moans becoming more pronounced, but with each second, Jason saw something uglier, more repulsive in her. The contrast between his physical arousal and his mental rejection was driving him mad.
The woman, still above him, moaned in an insufferable attempt at eroticism. Jason looked at her with a gaze blurred by sweat and pain, but her face, once a masterpiece of sensuality, now appeared grotesque to him. Her perfect features seemed to stretch, her fluid movements becoming mechanical, almost ridiculous. Everything in him screamed that he needed this orgasm, this release that always eluded his control. The sensations of the tickling mixed with this frustration, amplifying the humiliation he felt.

“Hahaha! Fuck! Hahaha! Stop… stop it… I'm going to… haha! go crazy!” he cried, his voice choked with uncontrollable bursts of laughter.

He wanted to fight, but the sensations were too intense. He pulled on the straps with desperate violence, his chest dripping with sweat, his muscles standing out with the effort.

I could… stop everything, he suddenly thought, a glimmer of surrender crossing his mind. "I just have to say stop. Alan said it. I would finally come… it would all be over."

But the thought of surrendering paralyzed him as much as the pain of the tickling. Surrendering was losing. It was letting Alan win, letting these men break him. Jason Miller never loses.

“Hahaha! Fuck! I'm holding on… I… hahaha… I'm holding on!” he roared, his voice distorted by laughter and rage.

He battled himself, torn between the need to release and his stubborn refusal to admit defeat. His nerves were on fire, each stimulation amplified by the hypnosis he ignored. The tinkling of bells in a corner of his mind seemed to resonate still, like a distant mockery.

But the counter in his head was moving too slowly. Eight minutes. Eight minutes remained. How am I going to hold on? How am I supposed to…

Laughter escaped his lips like an uncontrollable flood, his thoughts shattered between pain, frustration, and a devouring desire to scream at the woman to stop, just to end this ordeal.

Jason panted, gasped, his lungs burning with the relentless effort of his forced laughter. The tickling, those unbearable jolts assaulting every nerve in his body, had invaded his mind. The brushes in his armpits, the feathers tracing endless circles on his feet: it was a carefully orchestrated hell, a torture he didn't understand but felt with devastating intensity.

“Hahaha! Stop… haaa… fuck, haha! damn it! Stop it!” he cried, his voice broken by uncontrollable bursts of laughter, his will slowly crushed.

The woman above him, naked, her hair disheveled, continued her calculated rhythm, her hips rolling against him with an expert assurance, and yet, Jason wanted to look away.

She was becoming a nightmarish vision to him. Her once-bright eyes now seemed dull, her satiny skin gray and cold. Even her scent, which had initially intoxicated him, now seemed nauseating.

Get away… he thought with desperate force. Stop, go away, I just want it to end…

But she didn't leave. She accelerated her movements, her generous chest pressing against him, her breath mingling with moans that should have excited him beyond endurance. Instead, he felt a deep nausea, a repulsion he never thought possible.
The tickling continued. The feathers on his feet had become unbearable: a soft, perverse torture that never stopped. The masked men did not slow down, their instruments exploring every sensitive patch of his skin. Jason screamed with laughter, his mind wavering between humiliation and the urge to give up everything.

I can't anymore… I… I have to stop. Just one word. Say it, Jason. It's over after.

But he didn't do it. His jaw clenched between bursts of laughter, his muscles taut as if they were about to burst. His eyes, reddened by tears of laughter, avoided at all costs the woman's face above him. He wanted to come. He needed it, viscerally, but he knew that this woman, this being who repulsed him with every movement, would never make it happen.

His mind oscillated dangerously. Each second was a torment.

“Hahaha! You win!” he gasped between gasps of laughter, his voice a mix of despair and anger.

But even as he said that, even as he felt the words cross his lips, he knew he hadn't really given in. Jason Miller never loses. Not really. But this time, he felt broken, defeated by something he couldn't understand or fight.

Jason panted, his chest heaving violently as the woman above him suddenly stopped, a condescending smile spreading across her face. She withdrew without a word, her warmth disappearing like a shadow that fades away. But for Jason, it wasn't relief; it was additional humiliation.

His body, soaked in sweat, remained taut against the straps of the X-table. He was exhausted, but an unbearable tension still lurked under his skin, an unfulfilled desire that continued to pulse in his belly.

The two masked men approached silently, carrying a bottle of golden oil that caught the dim light of the room. Jason stared at them, his eyes gleaming with helpless anger.

“No”, he murmured, his voice raspy. “No, what… Haha! What the fuck are you doing now?”

They poured the cold oil onto his feet, their expert hands slowly massaging it into his sensitive skin, each gesture triggering uncontrollable shivers that ran up his legs and back. The sensation was strange, a mix of softness and discomfort that only exacerbated the sensitivity he already felt.

“Stop… No… HAHAHA! FUCK!” he screamed as their fingers began to trace his oiled arches, their movements calculated, almost methodical.

Jason struggled as much as he could, but the straps held firm. Each brush of their hands gliding over his slippery skin was an electric jolt that sent uncontrollable laughter bursting from his throat.

“It’s… HAHAHA… Not possible! Not this! I'm going to… HAHAHA… Explode!”

Alan stepped forward then, serene, his smile still as insufferable. He held a feather between his fingers, which he slid gently over his palm before fixing Jason with a mischievous look.

“You see, Jason”, he murmured in a calm and almost kind voice. “There's a reason why you're here, why you feel all this. Every sensation, every laugh, every uncontrollable pulse… It's all part of what I offer you. A lesson about your limits.”

Alan placed the feather on the sole of Jason's oiled foot and slowly traced a sinuous line, triggering a new wave of hysterical laughter. Jason arched his back, his face red and distorted with the effort of resisting the intensity of the sensations.

“Hahaha! Fuck! Stop, Alan! Stop! I'm going to… HAHAHA… Die!”

But Alan did not stop. He changed feathers, opting for one with a softer texture, which he passed over Jason's oiled toes, one by one. Jason screamed, twisting as much as the straps allowed, but nothing stopped Alan's methodical torment.

“Why?” he stammered between bursts of laughter, his tears rolling freely down his face. “Why… Haha! Why my feet?”

Alan tilted his head, a falsely curious expression on his face.

“Oh, Jason, don't you understand? Your body is an instrument, and I am the musician. Your feet, oiled and sensitive, are the key to your distress. And you, my dear, are a magnificent score.”

He ran his agile fingers over Jason's oiled heels, alternating between quick movements and delicate caresses. Jason screamed with laughter, his mind slowly breaking under the weight of the unbearable sensations.

“HAHAHA! I'm going to become… HAHAHA…! Stop! I'll do… anything!”

But Alan did not cease. Instead, he exchanged a glance with the two masked men, who resumed their work, using small brushes and soft brushes to explore every inch of Jason's oiled skin.

Jason, caught in a vortex of laughter, shame, and frustration, felt himself sinking. He no longer controlled anything. Not his body. Not his mind. Nothing.

Alan made a subtle sign to the two men, who stepped back slightly. They left him space to approach Jason, the small brush still in hand. The object had delicate, almost silky bristles, but on Jason's oiled and hyper-sensitive skin, each touch felt like a purely electric jolt.

Jason panted, his body trembling, every muscle taut with effort. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his reddened cheeks. He tried to concentrate, to understand, but his mind seemed unable to process what was happening to him.

Alan placed the brush against the arch of Jason's left foot and began to move it with surgical precision, tracing slow, sinuous circles.

“Aaaahahaha! Hahaha! Fuck, why… ?! No, not that… not there!” Jason cried, his voice broken by uncontrollable bursts of laughter.

He struggled, but the straps held firm. The oil made each sensation unbearably amplified, each brush stroke a fiery caress on his nerve endings. Yet, it wasn't just the laughter that haunted him.

Jason felt… tense. Too tense. The burning arousal that had inhabited him since the beginning of this ordeal did not diminish. It only increased, circling in his body like a snake biting its own tail.

“Why ?! HAHAHA ! Why am I… staying… fuck ! I'm going to come, Alan, it’s… HAHAHA !” he shouted, his voice broken by laughter and mixed groans.

But he couldn't resist anymore. That invisible barrier that had kept him on the brink of orgasm for so long, that wall that had seemed insurmountable, was now crumbling under the weight of unbearable pleasure.

And then, Jason arched violently against the straps, his laughter turning into a raw cry of pure release. Every fiber of his being seemed to yield to the orgasm that rushed through him like a raging torrent. His hips convulsed despite his bound position, and he came with an intensity he had never known, an infinite wave of pleasure crashing over him, crushing him under its weight.

The sound of the bells still resonated, accompanying each spasm, each jerk of his exhausted body. His vision blurred, stars dancing before his eyes as the pleasure drained him completely, leaving him panting, exhausted, broken.

Alan, satisfied, stepped back slightly, removing the claws from Jason. The bells tinkled one last time, as if to mark the moment.

Jason panted, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. Shame, frustration, and exhaustion intertwined in his mind, but he no longer had the strength to speak, let alone protest.

Alan leaned in slightly, a cruel smile lighting up his face.

“Jason Miller”, he murmured, savoring each word. “Congratulations. You finally understand what it means to lose.”​