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Light fingers rapped against the plastic plate that pressed down upon the bound stallion's crotch, the clear material leaving no detail of the two trapped balls dangerously flattened to the imagination. He had been in agony for well over an hour now, Tarzimon knew, but for every extra minute that passed by his pulse would quicken as dark thoughts tempted him to keep pushing just a little further, just to see how much he could go until the grey stallion broke.

"Nice deep breaths," he cooed, sidled against his trembling prey who lay helpless, arms pinned behind his back, his legs uncomfortably tucked and folded under him, his torso arched in what had to be an exquisitely agonising position. Everything was on show as Tarz brushed his fingers along Martyn's throbbing, leaking shaft, an abundant rivulet of pre pooling against the plastic plate that crushed his balls as if pressing them for their seed. "While you still can..."

The gas mask hugging Martyn's face wheezed noisily, an echoed huff of hot air hitting the insides of the tight rubber and barely hissing through the small filter attached to a dangling hose across his stomach. Tarz had so far been toying with it as if it were an absent novelty, opening and closing the vent at will to restrict, even cut off the bound male's breathing while he suffered in inextricable torment in the interminable darkness of the hood. Martyn's eyes, fogged behind all too thick glassy reticules, had swam between lust, pain, fear, and surrender as if they were just sides of a dice that were thrown at random every sixty seconds on a whim. The inhuman noises he made, groans and grunts that went beyond simply animalistic and primal, were indecipherable between pleasure and pain. But all the while, clasped so tightly in his paw, was the stress ball that would serve as the symbolic safe word to their session. For if Martyn could not speak, then a sole action would have to suffice. Were the ball to drop, the scene would end, he would be freed, and it would all be over.

His knuckles were very nearly white with the strain of clenching that bright blue ball, not unlike his own crushed pair, into his palm.

"You ready for another turn?" Tarz asked, as if the very question was as casual as it sounded, despite the horrific implications it carried in the bound stallion's brain. He felt something inside him grow with such nasty glee at the sudden panic that flashed through Martyn's eyes, as he reminded the colt just exactly where his paw was, fingers ever so gently promising to turn the knobs on either side of the flattening plates. He wouldn't move until the stallion said yes, however, but they both knew Tarz was going to turn them more eventually until Martyn yielded. It all just depended on how ready the colt truly was.

Seconds passed, as the grey stallion clenched his eyes tight, trembled, and then curtly nodded as he resigned himself to fate. Tarz licked his lips and grinned, just before he twisted each side in his grip, tightening the plates just a little more.

Though Martyn didn't initially scream or bellow in pain, the guttural, low howl that bubbled from his lungs was enough to indicate the intense agony burning through him. His body flexed under his restraints and pressed hard into Tarz as if his very physical form was trying in some way to escape te pain that wracked him. Burnt blond fur pushed against smoky grey and forced the colt back into the bed where he remained pinned, left to endure in quiet suffering as his body cruelly adjusted to the new influx of sharper, fiercer pain.

"Good boy," he cooed, stroking over the smooth rubber of the mask, ears protruding through tightly sealed slits, "I reckon that's probably half way now." Tarz knew it was vindictive to demonstrate the depraved state the stallion was in under his domination, but its effect was immediate, as Martyn's cock throbbed hard, and a burst of pre spluttered from its engorged head. The bound male had a thing for being spoken down to, for being talked to as if he were an object of another superior's will, and Tarz knew exactly how to push that button to the best of his ability.

"In another hour, those two plates will be barely a few centimetres apart." Beneath the mask came a roared, begging sob. The ball was not yet dropped. It went ignored. "By the time I'm done, they'll be practically touching." Another grimaced moan of pain and arousal, strained horse cock jutting so violently into the open air from its crushed base. "I wonder if you'll pass out before or after I flatten them beyond any recognition whatsoever," he snickered, "I guess we'll just have to turn you into a good-for-nothing gelding who every stallion mistakes for a mare."

Without warning, his fingers tightened the knobs again, added to his punctuated statement as he stared the colt dead in the eyes, "Not that you'd complain about that."

Martyn writhed furiously on the bed as the plates were crushed just that little bit more, his body quivering in a seething flush of pain. Tarz could see it plainly in his eyes, the dangerous flares of agony and the utter submission to the moment that had led the male to find himself completely at the tanned horse's mercy. The rosy, purpled shade his sack had turned due to the prolonged torture they were under was perfectly pressed between the clear plates, turning what were once two fat balls thanks to stallion endowment into nothing more than thinner and thinner discs.

He was left there, on a precipice as he festered in pain, while Tarz reached across to the nightstand. Casually he watched the stallion endure and mewl for minutes more, until finally he produced what was in his paw to the bound male. A small glass vial, perhaps no bigger than two fingers, branded in garish bright colours and bearing some cheapened slogan. It mattered little what the label revealed, for both of them knew well enough what the bottle contained and what it was for. As he unscrewed the cap, Tarz took hold of the dangling hose and fished its open nozzle to the now-opened vial.

"Big deep breaths. Let's get them juices buzzing..."

Poppers were very much a favourite for the grey horse, and much like how he tailored the scene to entertain both their tastes, the party drug was just one of those additional dressings. As Martyn took long, dragging breaths through the mask, evaporating chemicals addled into his mind like water soaking into a sponge, swimming deeper and deeper into him until he was flush with their effects. His pained groans dulled until the pleasure began to wash through him again, and he seemed almost delirious in his staunched state.

"Not too much, now," Tarz chided, as the poppers were removed and their cap replaced, "You've got to earn more, piggy."

Of course, earning more would entail further agony, which would give the horse his temporary fix to at least savour the intense, indescribable feelings that were currently scoring through his system. But once that high wore off in a matter of minutes, he would be right back to that pained baseline from which he had been granted such a sweet reprieve. His swamped breathing seemed soothed as his brain must have been blooming under the embrace of the poppers, but as yet more minutes went by, that soon too faded.

For the most part in this scene, Tarz had remained a bystander, inflicting pain when he so chose, sitting back to observe the colt under his duress. But he didn't intend to remain that way for long. Much like the grey stallion, he too was naked, his own manhood throbbing hard at the sight of his plaything suffering such great pains for him, but he allowed himself to neglect his own pleasure for the sake of pouring all of his attention into Martyn. Now though they were at a crucial tipping point, he knew it was the prime moment to involve himself more directly.

Straddling the bound male's thighs, Tarz sat himself atop Martyn, crotch to crotch, leaning back upon his haunches. The stallion seemed unfazed by his captor's sudden change of attitude, as if he had been almost expecting it sooner or later, but perhaps he was more enraptured with his own thoughts and feelings to consider what Tarz might be up to now. Their two lengths, fat inches of horse flesh between them amassing to nearly three feet together, graced each other with a fleeting glance. The sensation was electric for Tarz, shuddering at the physical touch of another man's cock to his own. He shuffled forwards, his balls tapping at the base of the plates crushing the other horse into pulp, and he pressed the two shafts together with his paws, barely able to even clasp them both between his stretched fingers.

Slowly, riding their cocks together, Tarz stroked himself off against the bound male, an act which surely only add to Martyn's intense confusion between pleasure and pain. Slickened with pre, their flesh sloughed against each other as he jacked their lengths together, biting his lip in the sensual euphoria it churned inside him. Listening to the strangled whimpers of the colt, his low, grimacing moans, made it all the sweeter as he enjoyed himself.

He would toy with the horse like this over and over, humping his cock along the hardened member of Martyn's, all the while cutting his air off, sometimes with poppers, sometimes with nothing at all, leaving him struggling for oxygen, gasping every time he was granted mercy. Tarz would pick up the hose and alternate, blocking the vent entirely before opening it just slither, allowing barely a fraction of fresh air to filter through to the stallion's mask before sealing it shut again. He would grin dangerously as Martyn fought for air, thrashing in his bindings until he grew weaker and weaker, before finally Tarz would let him go. An evil touch he incorporated was to starve the horse of his breath until he was absolutely upon the brink of consciousness, only to then feed him an all too healthy dose of poppers direct to his hose, leaving Martyn with no choice but to suck greedily on the fumes until he was once more soaring into confusion oblivion, somewhere between pain and pleasure.

Between all this, the plates would be tightened. Ceremoniously or casually, whenever Tarz so much as decided he wanted to see the colt suffer more, he would twist the knobs of both sides, sure to keep either equal, and watch Martyn wail and yowl in exquisite torture. All the while he continued to stroke both their cocks, each time the plates were pressed ever closer together and he was sure the stallion's erection would harden just that little bit more in his pre-soaked palm. The smaller that gap became, the more sure Tarz was that the stallion was about to snap, and he knew he had to time his moment right or else he might ruin the opportunity to let loose before Martyn tapped out.

For now, the stress ball remained firmly clenched, though whether Martyn was even aware he still had that option open to him remained an utter mystery, for the stallion seemed more occupied with dragging himself through the subspace of his torment.

Tarz rapped at the lenses of the hood, getting the stallion's attention,

"Home stretch now," he promised, as he took the bottle of poppers and doused some wool in the pungent liquid, all before stuffing the sodden wool into the attachable filter for the gas mask. "Deep breaths, because I'm gonna keep crushing those nuts of yours until you drop the ball, and when you do, you'll get released when we've both cum, agreed?"

Trembling all over, the stallion nodded with cold resolve. Inside, Tarz felt so wickedly naughty, but he did his best to disguise his sordid elation from Martyn. He didn't try very hard.

The filter was screwed into place and with his breathing restricted, the grey stallion's breaths became sluggish and hard, as air forced its way through the makeshift drugged filter, leaving every gasp tainted. It took quick effect as he slipped deeper and deeper into his addled state, and Tarz worked quickly to keep pace, immediately tightening the knobs on the plates as they pushed closer and closer together. It was almost morbid, where earlier he had quipped he would break the horse's sack into pulp, Martyn held out for far longer than he had expected, as the plates came closer and closer until barely a finger could fit between the gap left. The bound male thrashed and flailed as feebly as he could in his strained position, but Tarz kept his eyes not on the struggling male but on his paws, waiting for the stress ball to be released, so keenly focused that all else drained away.

Close and closer they came, well past the point of safe precaution, until they were so horrifically close to each other. Then finally, with a soft thump, the ball was released.

Tarz took his fingers away from the knobs, and for just a split second he admired the sight. Two balls, flattened until freakishly purple and bruised red, like wine, with barely a hair's breadth distance between the clear plates that crushed them. Martyn wheezed insatiably on the gas, sucking deep breaths of poppers-soaked air as he fought against the pleasure and the pain, so lost to the wrong feelings that he no longer even seemed to be making any recognisable noise at all except that of unnatural whimpering.

Pressing their cocks flush together once more, Tarz began to furiously stroke off both their lengths, his arousal edged beyond belief as the scene was hotter than anything he'd encountered otherwise. Martyn's dark tastes elicited such cruel fantasies from him that it seemed a waste not to explore and play with the colt to his heart's content when the opportunity was afforded, and to be there and now in one was a dream come true, or perhaps a nightmare. He could feel himself so close to his orgasm, racing to the point of no return, as loomed over the suffering male beneath him.

But it was Martyn who would crack first. In some kind of sharp, piercing cry, suddenly his cock jutted, and as if his body lacked the energy to push the cum from his body, his orgasm dribbled from his head. A ruined orgasm if ever there was one, the pain and pressure crushing him seemed to surmount the bliss of climax, as he tumbled into the bed and writhed incessantly, whimpering and whining all the more, drugged and delirious.

Tarz, however, was not yet done, and so release was just a little further away. Hot cum pooled atop Martyn's crotch and slathered his length like lube, and it seeped between the tanned stallion's fingers as he rode his way against the bound male's hardness to his own orgasm. Unimpeded, and able to satisfy himself, Tarz gasped in pleasure as the intense build-up pressing in his groin was finally released, and like the floodgates opening his seed shot and soaked Martyn's torso. Hot, swathing jets of cum poured from his cock like a torrent, as he jubilantly thrust and fucked against the pained colt, his load emptied truly and utterly across his captive.

"Good pig..." He breated, as he basked in the warming afterglow of a well-enjoyed orgasm, "Fucking incredible..."

It seemed no longer that Martyn was even sane, as he raved on the bed beneath the hood in panted gibberish, drenched from head to toe in the stallion's spent load, added with his pitiful own, and the image of his crushed balls a sorry sight to see at the base of his still painfully hard cock.

Tarz had indeed assured him his escape once they had both cum, but as he reached for his phone, he wanted just a little memento to enjoy later, and something to show back to the stallion the next morning when he may be a little more himself.

After all, this was just the foreplay. There was so much more he was going to do to the poor stallion while the night was young.