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*

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I wiped my brow again and tried to concentrate on the slide under the microscope once more, but I simply couldn't.

Hrrrrrrrrrr.

Fuck!

"Damn it," I muttered.

"Something wrong, Weston?"

Oh shit, she must've noticed, I thought, as I looked at my cougar co-worker at the lab, and faked a smile.

"Uhhh...no, no, just, I think I need a drink, I've been going at this for a while now," I lied.

"Sure!" she gave me a look through her goggles and returned to her own microscope without giving me another thought.

Fuck. I rushed into the locker room, got out of my white coat and gloves and then crashed through the door into the thankfully deserved adjoining toilet. I lumbered over into a stall, bolted the door, and sat down heavily onto the can. I rubbed a paw over my muzzle and grunted.

Hrrrrrrr.

"Don't you fucking stop?" I moaned, staring down at my lap, with that subtle bulge there.

Fuck...

Hrrrrrrr...

The vibrating rings around my cock were making me so hard...well, as hard as it was goddamn possibly, with my entire dick stuck in that goddamn plastic thing Robbins had insisted I wear...and had been wearing for three weeks now, day and night.

"I prefer plastic ones. They won't interfere with the lab equipment, you see!"

What a fucking scientist he was, giving me such an excuse while snapping on a chastity device on my poor bloated junk while I was still tied up in his guest room's bondage bench after being subjected to hours of CBT and taking four loads from an eager canine cock, two in the muzzle and two in my tender ass so that soon I was oozing from both ends, and panting like mad. I'd ended up staggering home bow-legged and with my unrelieved cock stinging from the plastic rubbing on it.

It'd taken me until the next morning at work to realize that the fox was even more devious than that. I'd barely even gotten used to having my cock locked up in the very snug cage (and don't ask how I pissed with it, it wasn't pretty!) , and I was just about to fetch some coffee from the staff room when the rings kicked in, and I almost dropped the coffee jug!

Fuck, the fox's cage was fitted with vibrating rings, one near my tip and another up the shaft, and there was nothing I could do to stop them from going off at any moment. I'd sought him from the second floor as soon as I realized what the hell was going on (and I dared to move again from my office, with a barely wilting boner now), and I'd gotten such a smirk from the arctic fox, the epitome of innocence hiding such a perverted little mind...

"Just to tell you what it's really like to be locked up...to remind you of all the release you aren't getting, Weston," he told me, cocky and confident.

"So they won't make me cum?" I had asked him.

"Not a chance in hell, darling", the fox had spoken ever so sweetly, and even risked a grope of my caged tool.

But fuck it, they did try, at random intervals, sometimes for minutes at a time...I think the longest one lasted for over two hours, on and off, and it happened between three am and five am...on a Tuesday! I was so damn tired in the morning, I'd probably fallen asleep behind the wheel if he the vibrating rings weren't teasing me every few minutes, as if reminding me of the power they held over me.

It wasn't just that he teased my cock with endless non-satisfying stimulation, too. He'd drop by on excuses onto my office, and the rings would usually, and suspiciously, come on whenever that happened...shit, he surely had some way to remotely control them, too, and he'd make excessively boring small talk, or make some really difficult technical questions that'd really require me to think about them...and all the time my trapped cock would be buzzing away, the rings practically milking it while I'd try to keep a straight face.

"Why do you do this to me?" I asked him once, when he was in, probably just to gloat.

"Because I can, and it's the only thing you want, papa bear," the small fox told me.

And wasn't he fucking right...not allowed to cum or not, I just couldn't deny the fact, this whole thing was turning me on so much. I went to bed horny and woke up even hornier, and showering was a pain because I'd have to stare at my locked-up cage, usually with some pink poking out on the tip, and trying to touch it usually started up the rings...or worse...

I'd been locked up for a week (which I'd marked with red X's on the calendar on Robbins' orders), when an attempt to go take a leak resulted in a whole new devious layer of his master plan being exposed. I'd just managed to whip myself out at work and was aiming myself for what I hoped to be a non-messy piss, when a spark flew from the tip of my cock all the way to my balls, causing my asshole to pucker up and almost made me pee myself, right there and then.

"FUCK!" I had yelled, the sound ringing a thankfully deserted bathroom.

I thought I'd imagined it...that it was just my dick being super sensitive after a week of no physical contact...but there was no such luck. It happened again...and again, almost reducing me to my knees on the toilet floor...and the my phone beeped with the signal tone of a text coming in.

It was Robbins, of course, having sneaked in my number since day one of our entanglement, and had bombarded me with teasing messages ever since, remarkably naughty for someone who seemed so mild-mannered.

HOPE YOU LIKE MY LITTLE

EXTRA GIFT WESTON

YOU LIKED IT SO MUCH

THE LAST TIME

Good grief. What was he, Doctor Frankenstein with his Tesla coils? It felt like my cock had been tied into one.

It took me until day 13 before I started to beg. First it was just...asking him if I could come over and play some evening, and maybe I could...if I could...yeah...but he just tut tutted and said that I wouldn't really appreciate it.

I lasted about a week until that damn day 13 and I broke down and I just asked him if I could cum...and he said...

"No...I don't think it'd be worth it yet, Weston..."

And so I went around with a locked-up boner, desperately humped a pillow at night and fingered my ass to get some kind of a relief...though that usually led into the rings and the zappers starting to work again, as if he knew that I was trying to do something about my damn chastised state...could he really know? Maybe there were sensors telling what I was doing...maybe he'd installed spy cameras to my apartment...no...I tried doing it at the work toilet and the result was still the same...gah...

One night I just called him on the phone and begged him to do anything, run the e-play, run the rings, just let me cum, or allow me to take it off, or just...something.

"No, Weston, what'd be the point of this all if you could get your way that easily? Are you a man at all?"

I could've almost cried. I resorted to sending him pleading emails and texts from them on, and even embarrassed myself by putting on all my leather and taking naughty photos of me sucking on a horse cock dildo while stuffing fingers up my ass, and I made sure he could see my desperately oozing cock dripping pre onto my floor.

"You forgot the lipstick" was his only answer to my photo album.

Fuck...I was about ready for that, whatever...or get some pliers or something and just be rid of this damn thing in my pants before my cock would shrivel down from underuse, or my balls...

I was in the toilet, trying to wait off the especially persistent sparks and buzzes when my phone beeped again. It was of course Robbins...Ph.D.

YOU WILL COME AROUND

TONIGHT AT 7

COME, HEH

Fucking bastard with the sense of humor of a 12-year-old. Goddamn it. I should've never let him do this. I should've just told him that I wasn't gonna let a small fox just play around with me like that.

If it didn't turn me on so much, I really would have. Pinky swear! Papa bear swear!

My paws were practically trembling when I typed in the reply.

THIS BETTER BE REALLY GOOD

FUCKHEAD

Now how to stand this until seven pm...the rings had been particularly active today...and my poor balls were twitching under the occasional electric spark that was driving me crazy.

Bet he did that, too, knowing how I couldn't wait.