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Arpeggio

By Rotten

It had only been 30 minutes since Charles had his hands on me. We danced the slow dance while brilliant red ropes were wrapped around my chest hips and legs. He used the ropes as if it was an extension of his arms, pulling and guiding me around in place. He was out of costume while he tied me meaning that instead of formal dress he was clothed in nothing but his jersey shorts. It allowed me to smell his scent, the subtle cologne enhanced his masculinity naturally spawned from his tiger body.

Short fur, against my own, felt like velvet while he rubbed against me in ways that he knew drove me to a place no other could. Blindfolded, I knew he wore a smile; he always did when he tied me. I felt his hands guide me forward and then the pull of the chest harness as my weight was captured in his web. He then guided one of my legs to lift up behind me. I knew then he was not only smiling, but horny. I felt the bulge hidden beneath his shorts tucked between my vulnerable cheeks. That throb through his shaft confirmed the thoughts that drove through our minds; was there time for a quick fuck. But as I felt his body move away, I knew I'd have to be patient. Left in the familiar position, I maintained stability on one foot.

I felt the vibration of the ropes roll through my body, teased my nerves, made my fur ruffle as the floor left the bottom of my foot. Lifted until I was suspended above the wooden floor. I hadn't felt it, but knew that my hips were also supported by ropes no doubt tethered to a polished, suspension ring. The way he had tied my body, his decoration, his set piece, forced my body to hang with a subtle arch to my back. My tail was left to hang free, like my free leg, and allowed me just enough illusion of freedom to keep my mind comfortable yet securely within his palms.

With my body properly secured, I could hear him work with some technicians in adding the metaphoric pyrotechnics to my body. Between my exposed and vulnerable cheeks, I felt something warm and slick pressed at my pucker. I knew what it was and relaxed my body. The warmed surface of the metallic plug was met with some resistance. Though, by the way the wielder of the device worked it back and forth, I knew it was him; Sir. My ring began to relax until that curved plug reached the apex and my body swallowed it up. That fullness in the pit of my stomach caused me to let out a moan and Sir to give a congratulatory pat to my rear. Every time my ring clenched, I felt the tip pushed against my prostate. I wasn't allowed to release for a week in preparation for tonight. It led to a glaze to begin to form at the tip of my sheath which cooled whenever air conditioned air brushed past it.

Sir tested the stimulating device, sending a charge through muscle. I could hear his chuckle while he worked to set the limits for tonight's performance. By the time he arrived to the absolute maximum my body could handle, my flesh had revealed itself. It throbbed, out of my control with each pulse of electricity and milked long strands of my pre. When the charge was cut, I felt him cup my cock. A sharp snap of a lid was the only warning I was given before cold goop was smeared over my shaft. Conductive, rubber, loops were secured in place; one around the base of my firm shaft, another to encapsulate my balls, and the last always milked a whimper from me. The shallow, urethral probe was gingerly inserted before its accompanied ring was strapped around my tip.

The smell of flowery perfume wafted past my nose and my intimacy was interrupted by my sneeze. Those around me chuckled before I felt cloth at my nostrils. The costume designer apologized and began to hastily pin the gossamer garments over my body. It served no other purpose, other than to partially obscure my naked body beneath; I'd imagine it would also introduce some mystery.

The sounds of feet while they shuffled off gave me an indication that I was now alone. Somewhere in the flies, a technician activated the winch that drew me up higher until, nothing. Darkness filled my vision and I did my best to enter fully into a meditative trance; my resolve would be under assault for an entire hour. In the silence that comes before the storm, I could hear my pulse pumped through the veins of my ear. It matched the constant throb and bounce my bound shaft gave beneath the silky fabric.

The curtains opened and light filled the stage, I heard the murmur of a packed house. I imagine their eyes on me, shocked faces, intrigued faces, lust-filled faces each eager as I to find out what was in store. Applause thundered throughout the halls, I knew that Sir had just walked on stage. He took a seat in front of his grand piano and tested one note. I shook as the high-pitched pierced through my ass and to the tip of my cock.

He kept his foot on the pedal and allowed the singular note to be drawn out and fade to silence. The entire time my pucker was forcibly clenched while nerve endings in my shaft vibrated. It was the surprise that caused my grunt but I knew that the next hour would be absolute hell for me; I would not have it any other way. It would be easy, at first, to maintain control over my impulses and not submit to the pleasurable torment.

There was a brief pause of silence before the powerful opening cords began. The creak of ropes was accompanied by my startled grunt and groan. The stimulation to my nerves suddenly appeared with the music, though the sensations were more layered. I could feel the waves as the frequencies of the notes harmonized only to de-synchronize a moment later. The lows massaged my pucker, a constant torture to my prostate. The ghostly hand of the music began to lightly stroke my shaft, teasing that pre to dribble against sheer fabric. I knew those in the front would be able to see the mess my member made.

It continued, Sir did not miss a single note, his fingers played the ivories just as much as they played me. Muscles quaked and quivered while I was continually assaulted by stimuli. Totally out of control, my true master was the music and I was being driven to the edge of a premature end. Blood pumped to my erection and made it swell full and firm just like the tension of piano wire. I managed to stave off plunging over the precipice of lust just as the opening chords finished.

A moment of reprieve.

The electrical power lowered to just a mere rumble. The next movement was a cake walk, lulling my senses into a false sense of security. Every now and again Sir would play a note that kept me on my figurative toes. Long strands of my arousal dribbled onto the piano's, glossy cover and began to puddle. Would my body's cascade erode the surface as a waterfall builds a pit at its foot, nonsense, but the thought eased me further from the edge.

Sir moved to a section of lower notes. The arpeggio milked my prostate and brought me to a near-constant flow. I am certain what was being played was a masterpiece, however, I was unable to appreciate it at that time. My fists were clenched, my teeth were clenched, the ring of muscle at my ass was, clenched; pushed and strained to levels that I'm sure the audience found hard to ignore.

Both feet arched and flexed while my body shook within its bondage. Tail lashed while consciousness was met with reflexive reactions to the sensations. There were hushed gasps as the movement came to a close and one of the veils that obscured my body slipped off and revealed my chest. Like a line of dominoes being toppled, more of the fabric fell from my struggling and strained body. The next movement came with a set of sharp, shrill, notes like dull nails against sensitive flesh. A cavalcade greeted me, my next challenger, the climax. There were moments when I thought to myself, "this is it. I'm going to lose my nut," but managed to restrain it.

No normal man, I suspect, should produce as much pre-fluid as me; but normal men were in a different category to me. I lived to be tormented, teased, seated beneath another man's thumb; it was an addiction. The thrill of it, to volunteer security in exchange for vulnerability, it made my blood boil with desire. Though, the similarities between a normal man and myself became hideously apparent as the last bit of cloth fell from my body. The mystery shattered to reveal masculinity bound by thin rope. The center of man, his cock, on display to everyone. Steel firm, veiny, needy with a tightened set of testicles perched beneath; ready to unload their contents.

I became a panting mass, the imaginary edge of climax could be seen in my darkness; it swiftly approached. However, I knew I didn't have permission to release. My body fought against my mind, pleasure and loyalty fought valiantly on this, my mind's battlefield. Moans mingled with the music and made a piano performance into a choral piece.

Growls were the baritones, groans where the altos, and my whimpered yelps the sopranos. The classical piano now used in a performance avant-garde as I became the main centerpiece. Writhing and struggling, the power of my muscles restrained behind the rope. A powerless, masculine, figure to twitch and dance for the crowd's enjoyment. I must have been a sight to see, teeth bared and glinting in the theatrical light.

The music continued, my concentration destroyed, forced into submission by my musical master. Each note brought me closer and closer to a frothy mouthed animal. Snarls and hisses were randomly strewn about the main melody I sang. My hips pushed into the rope harness as it began to hump the air in need. I didn't want to, but it did. My toes attempted to merge together, clenched, as I managed to stand at the precipice of my orgasm. A gentle breeze would have sent me over the edge of the world and into the pool of pleasure below.

Suddenly, like God's voice in my ear, I heard Sir. The earpiece vibrated my eardrums with each of his smooth, commanding words.

"You are doing very well, it is almost done. I just want you to know that this performance has been the best yet. I think, once I reward you, I'm going to keep you locked up until we perform again in a week's time."

That made me howl internally, mouth occupied by incoherent pleads and gibberish.

"You're so easy, I love that about you. Are you ready to come to a close? Are you boy, my slave to music, are you ready to let your load cascade for the audience? Are you ready to show them all how much of a good obedient boy you are? Can you feel it, the last measure has arrived. I bet it's building the anticipation in your body. The mess you've made of my piano, well, we should add more to it. I won't make you lick it off in front of the audience, this time. Already, I can see a slight haze in your fluid; I bet you have a geyser ready. Here it comes, boy, here it comes--"

The moment permission was given, aided by his words of which I temporarily don't remember the dam broke. My hips had thrust forward hard enough that my back slackened the rope that supported my torso. Every muscle in my body rippled as the first glob of seed formed at my tip before being jettisoned to the stage below. Jet after jet showered the piano, the floor, and Sir in my sweet release.

I hadn't even realized the music had stopped, the continual buzz in my cock and ass was no longer caused by the piano. The applause, the audience, lulled me into a spent afterglow. I had slumped and relaxed into the ropes even though my cock continued to throb. Globs webbed their way down to the piano while my master took his bow.

My head slumped forward as if I too took a bow and as the lights dimmed I thought to myself, "is it next week yet?"