The Lottery

By

Otis

PART I – THE SEEDS OF ADDICTION

I swear she must have been a witch. An enchantress. A being of superior powers.

She must have been. That’s the only explanation for my foolhardiness. The only answer to the question now burned into my mind eternal.

Why? Why did I do it? How could I have been so dim?

And now she is gone from my life, like a whisper on the wind. My sacrifice – not at all unique, but in fact common to the club and its perverse contest.

A lottery where the chosen one wins a life of unquenchable longing, emotional pain and eternal anguish.

It all started with a rather vanilla fetish – femdom. The thought of surrendering to a woman, being her nude servant, made my cock throb. My girlfriend at the time, Meg, indulged me and quickly grew to like it. She was like a sponge, soaking up the sweet nectar of dominance for the very first time. Like me, she could not get enough.

Then things began to change, slowly at first. Our private indulgences led to her attendance at the meetings of a radical feminist group.

Since the meetings were restricted to applicants and members, all of whom were women, the real agenda of the organization remained a mystery to me.

Meg and I lived together in a state of perpetual femdom heaven, except when we had guests. That was the only proviso, and to that we both agreed. I mean, no way was I walking around nude, imprisoned by the teeth of a Kali chastity tube and leather ball leash, in front of my mother.

Life at home was fantastic. My cock was rock hard all the time. Though I was not permitted release as often as I liked, that was half the fun, and the point of the whole lifestyle really. To give up control of my cock to my girlfriend. Even now, writing these words, my balls churn and I feel the phantom pain of a rock-solid, Kali hard-on.

One night Meg arrived home from a meeting, her cheeks flush with excitement, she explained that she had been invited to join the club. It was a great honor. She refused to tell me more, except that as part of her acceptance, she had this evening been witness to a great ceremony known as “The Lottery.”

The second stage of membership required her to host a party for select senior members of the group. Then she stunned me for perhaps the first time in our relationship. Meg explained that at the party, I would serve our guests nude and in full submissive mode. There would even be a segment of the party where I would, with great ceremony, be released from the painful bonds of the Kali tube, and subjected to painful cock and ball torture.

She assured me that no attempt would be made to cause permanent injury. In fact, only twice in seven years had a slave – this word caught my ear – been permanently injured. One lost a testicle, but still retained the other, so no big deal, she said. The other slave was not so fortunate. His penis was snapped completely in half, fractured, and he was forever robbed of his ability to achieve an erection.

What she was explaining was like a thousand daggers through my heart. A complete violation of our sacred pact. Yet, I don’t think my cock had ever been this erect. Kali’s teeth were sinking into sensitive skin. I expected blood to pour from the steel spikes at any moment.

What if these other women exposed us/me? What if word of our lifestyle became public knowledge. I would be mortified, not to mention ruined. Nevertheless, I lacked the strength, desire or will to say “no.”

The night of the party, I was petrified. Then Meg glided from the bedroom, her black heels spiked, her dress short, her face alight with the flames of a bonfire.

My cock was throbbing beneath the cold steel of Kali’s grip.

The doorbell rang. I froze. Meg raised her brow. I submitted.

There were eleven women in all, fewer than I expected, as I knew club membership exceeded one hundred. At first, I was largely ignored. Carrying trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres, I was only relevant when something ran low.

The women acted as if a chastised, nude male, serving drinks to a group of fully clothed women was the most natural occurrence in the world. This attitude made my cock drool with precum. One woman even commented to Meg that her slave was leaking. This remark signaled the commencement of my torture session.

I was secured to a beam in the center of our living room. The women then began to taunt me. A soft cock, and I would be safe from danger. An erect cock, and well, accidents do happen. In my mind’s eye, I heard the snapping of the poor soul’s fractured penis. The sound was deafening, and when Kali was unlocked, the hardest erection of my life sprang forth from its cage. It was so rigid, it literally throbbed with every racing beat of my heart. Precum ran from the dark purple helmet like a river overflowing its banks.

The women seemed to appraise my/their appendage with a knowing gaze. Suddenly, a hat appeared and a heavy-set woman of forty or so, plucked a scrap of paper from it. A big smile played across her face. “Penis whip,” she said.

On the coffee table, an array of implements were displayed. The woman chose a frayed leather quirt. She ran her index finger along the underside of my stiff shaft, smiled, then proceeded to beat my rigid cock, mercilessly.

Though it did not draw blood, the whipping hurt like hell – especially the blows to the bloated purple head – quickly causing my erection to subside.

Someone shouted, “I believe he needs sustenance,” which drew hearty laughter. Meg approached with a glass of wine. “Drink this,” she whispered.

Inexplicably, the women went back to chatting, as if I weren’t there. A few minutes later, my skin began to tingle, and my cock to harden and rise. The wine must have been drugged. Meg had mentioned that several club members were medical doctors.

I did not think it possible, but my cock was even harder than before. It pulsed and throbbed, waiting for its torture, in a state of what can only be described as unnatural hardness, like the firmest of hardwoods. Purple from head to shaft to base, its veins bulged obscenely over its entirety.

The same woman approached. “Now that’s more like it.” The quirt rose and fell like lightening, repeatedly flashing its power in the midst of a storm.

The pain was unbelievable. No blood or lacerations. No apparent “damage.” But the intense pain was searing my very soul.

The women were very aroused now. I realized they were all attired similarly -- high heels and short dresses, sans panties. And many were now frigging their engorged clits -- even my Meg – as my helpless penis was relentlessly assaulted.

The games continued late into the night. At various times, my cock, balls, scrotum and urethra were assailed. Though different methods were used, all were painful and directed at my genitals.

PART II – THE FINAL INITIATION

Three months later, the time for the club’s next “lottery” arrived. Meg informed me that the entire club would be present -- all one hundred thirty members -- and that each would bring a slave. Upon arrival, the first one hundred slaves to enter the chamber would be assigned a number, corresponding to their order of arrival. The last thirty to arrive would be spared the drawing, and instead would be subjected to cock and ball torture, as a sort of preliminary entertainment. The lottery exemption also applied to newbies, slaves attending for the first time.

On Saturday night, I was blindfolded by Meg and driven to the club’s secret location. I was attired in a robe, beneath which I wore only a Kali chastity tube. Upon arrival, I was stripped of the robe, and led to the entrance by my ball leash.

Once inside, I saw slaves with numbers from one to a hundred, taped to their bare backs. Like theirs, my hands were now cuffed.

I noticed one Mistress was wearing an odd-looking gold pendant, shaped like a hardened penis. As Meg mingled, dragging me by my balls, I observed a few other women wearing similar pendants.

Through the night, the thirty slaves exempted from the lottery were subjected to various on-stage genital tortures, including whipping, flogging, kicking and the like. As a newbie, I was spared this activity as well, though this exemption did not stop my caged cock from expanding even further into Kali’s sharpened spikes.

God, I was turned on! All of these powerful women, totally in control of one hundred thirty hard and helpless cocks.

At the appointed hour, all chastity devices were removed, and a hundred plus erect cocks sprang to attention. I swear I heard women purring.

On stage, the club’s founder walked into the spotlight. The tension was palpable. Something big was about to happen. As a newbie, I was among a mere handful of ignorant souls. Everyone else was in the know and very excited. Slaves were thrown to their knees and ordered to lick pussy. Rigid cocks, though untouched, pulsed and throbbed, purple heads glistening with precum.

It had been two months since Meg had let me cum. Part of the lottery rules, she said. The same for all slaves, she said. Her refusal to permit my release did not stop her from incessantly teasing me. On a nightly basis, she would spread her legs and order me to service her.

Once a week, she would tie me up, remove the Kali tube and tease me with her fingers and tongue, always careful to deny my climax. I would buck and thrust into empty air, desperate for relief that was never to arrive. My engorged cock jerked in vain, until my blue balls ached with pent-up desire. Then she would hit, slap and punch my full balls, before imprisoning my cock back in its cage.

On stage, the lottery machine spit out a numbered ball. The Headmistress called number “sixty-six.”

A man screamed. “Please no. Not my cock. I never thought it would be my cock.”

He was quickly gagged and dragged to the stage by his leashed balls. His cuffed hands writhed behind his straining back.

The stage curtains were drawn shut. The women chattered excitedly. I also noticed that every cock in the room was solidly erect and seemed to be throbbing in anticipation of what was about to happen. Meg ordered me to lick her pussy.

Then the loudspeaker commanded the attention of all toward the stage. All slaves rose. Everyone was to behold the event.

The “lottery winner” was bound tightly to a pole, secured at the shoulders, pelvis and ankles. He was gagged. Abject terror resided behind his eyes.

The Headmistress announced it was time. Another number was spit out by the machine -- thirty-six. Some women cursed in disappointment, but that quickly subsided as Mistress thirty-six sprinted to the stage.

She approached the bound slave and began to tease his violently hard cock. He was terrified, but hard as granite -- either out of perverse excitement, or perhaps some drugged wine. No matter. His eight inch cock was rock hard, and she stroked, licked and teased it, careful not to let him cum.

Then she grabbed a leather strap from a nearby table and wound it tightly around the very base of his hard, throbbing erection. The restriction of blood flow out caused the cock to darken and expand to even greater proportions. The darkened, purple cock drooled precum. The Headmistress call a halt.

A pelvis-high table was wheeled to the slave. The winning Mistress removed a cloth, revealing some sort of device, the use for which I was unsure. There was a hole, a blade…

I almost came when it hit me. It was a cock guillotine. Surely, they weren’t going to…

His cock was jabbed at the hole, but is was so engorged from the constriction that it would not fit. The man continued to struggle in vain.

The mistress used a tube of jelly to lightly grease the erect, throbbing cock. It was then wedged into the hole, all the way to the base. A rope was tied to hold the slave’s hips to the machine.

As the hole was merely a half inch in length from front to back, that left seven and a half inches of solid throbbing cock jutting from the other side.

Meg was moaning, as she throttled her swollen clit. It seemed the entire female presence in the place was groaning, while the men stared glassy-eyed at the spectacle, rigid cocks bobbing up and down with the collective pounding of their hearts.

The Headmistress instructed the lottery winner to proceed at her leisure. She grabbed a single feather from the table and lightly ran it along the underside of the erect purple cock, concentrating on the frenulum, still careful not to let him cum.

A doctor approached with a hypo and injected the cock at its base. Meg teased my rigid member, while whispering in my ear. “A drug to congeal blood and veins. In three minutes, that cock will be hard like rubber. No bleeding, death or shrinkage. And all sensation remains, that is until cock is separated from man.”

She gave me one good stroke, the stopped and went back to massaging her own erect clit. The moaning of women was now very loud.

It was time. The terrified man on stage was ungagged. “Please, not my cock.” The mistress gently placed a finger to his quivering lips. “This cock is done for. Its already been rendered useless to you by the drug. This you know.”

The slave was crying. He nodded through tears. “It has only one use now. Do you give it willingly? Your answer matters not, for we will take it regardless.

The slave was unable or unwilling to acknowledge the plain truth. His violently hard cock was a goner. “Like hard rubber,” Meg had said.

My cock was pulsing now, up and down like a metronome. God, I wanted to cum. My senses were overwhelmed. I could not believe what I was seeing. Were they really going to chop this guy’s cock off?

Then an epiphany: The gold pendants were real cocks. I moaned, was about to spurt, when Meg gave my balls a hard smack. “Don’t embarrass me.”

At the next meeting, Mistress thirty-six would be wearing this guy’s still-hardened cock around her neck. My loins ached with fevered lust. Someday, that could be my cock trapped in the machine, I thought.

Suddenly, the handle was pulled. The sharp blade sped toward the doomed cock. SWISH! The large, erect cock was lopped off. It fell with a PLOP into the waiting wicker basket.

I came.

Unfortunately, no one had warned me of the penalty for cumming. Ten minutes later it was my erect cock helplessly trapped in the machine.