I asked Madison if I could take her to the prom. It took all my courage to actually walk up to her and ask her. I really don’t know her well. We sat near each other in a couple classes, and I was her partner in a biology lab. That may seem inconsequential and nothing to build a committed lasting relationship on. But, I thought about her a lot. Actually, I ruined a good pillow masturbating about her a lot. Please don’t think less of me. I’m a very passionate man - and now conjugally legal in my jurisdiction. I’m 17.
Madison is 18. I’m totally into Madison. Well, I don’t actually know that much about her, except that she is different and mysterious, and I have wet dreams about sucking her toes while she talks to me about incomprehensible girl stuff. I couldn’t believe it when she said, “yes.”
“I like you. You’re silly,” she said.
I saw myself in the back of a limo massaging her sore feet after we’d danced at the prom, trying to ignore my growing erection. But, then she said that her brothers, Ali and Ahmadi, needed to approve me first before she would be allowed to go out with me. She was apologetic.
“Yeah, I know it probably sounds strange to you, but my family is not from around here. In my culture, the tradition is that the male siblings of a young girl are honor-bound to safeguard her honor and feminine dignity. You’re supposed to go ask my brothers before you even speak to me.”
A few days later, Ali and Ahmadi picked me up in their car. Ali is actually younger than me. Ahmadi is far and away older. I think about 25? Ahmadi could drive; so, he was up front. Ali and I sat together in the back.
“Hey guys. Uhm… Madison said I should meet with you?”
Ali sat across from me in the back and just stared at me while Ahmadi pulled away from the curve and accelerated down a road. Neither answered my question. Maybe, they didn’t realize it was a question. Ahmadi spoke first. I was looking at the back of his head while he drove the car. He had some type of heavy accent that I could not place, which surprised me because Madison speaks just like my peers and I do.
“Ahh …. Listen … boy, I know you no understand our ways, but you cannot talk about our sister that way. You no talk about her at all. Don’t mention name again. Also, … you no dare ever speak to her again.”
That was just his way of breaking the ice.
“Oh. Uhm … OK. I get it. You guys are just … really protective of her, I guess.”
It would be a mistake to mention to them that she had met me after school that same day when I asked her out. She said she wanted to show me something, and we walked together to the public library. She told me to walk a little bit behind her so no one would think we were walking together. She went into the public library, and I followed behind. She went directly over to the DVD section of the library and checked out a movie called “Raging Hormones” that was somehow misclassified by the librarian as a medical documentary.
There was a quiet study area in an upstairs alcove of the library behind stacks of almanacs and genealogy records. I followed her up there, and we watched the movie together on her laptop. She plugged in her ear buds and shared one with me so that I had to sit close to her to listen to the sound track. It was not a medical documentary. It was a sex comedy about a woman who seduces and enslaves her paper delivery boy. Then, she invites her hot friend to admire him too. They make him hang pictures and move furniture around and then kiss and lick their feet. This movie was totally blowing my mind!
Madison whispered in my year, “You can be my paper boy.”
She turned sideways in the chair beside me and swung her legs over my knees stretching them out across my lap with her feet up in the air, and she wiggled her feet at me. I turned bright red and froze up because I was so freaked out and turned on.
She said, “Keep watching the movie, silly! It’s not done yet.”
That was our first date.
Returning to present circumstances and the car, Ahmadi continued to drive while I sat in the back with Ali. A little while later, Ahmadi remembered something else. “Oh, also, no look on Madison anymore. Look on floor. You no permission.”
Ali continued to stare at me as if I were a bug crawling on the seat.
“…got it,” I said. Definitely, don’t mention the library.
“So…,” I asked, “where exactly does your family come from?”
Ali answered, “We Cypriots. From Nicosia. You know?”
“No, sorry…. It’s not familiar to me. I … I’m eager to learn though. Really.”
Ali raised a questioning dark eyebrow and continued to appraise me.So, I extended my hand formally toward Ali and said to him, “Hi Ali. Great to meet you. My name is Greg, and I look forward to learning more about you and your brother … and the rest of your family….”
Ali flashed a bright toothy smile and then said something to his brother in the language of their homeland, whatever that is. I didn’t recognize the sound of it. Ahmadi nodded and laughed; so, I cautiously smiled a little also. Whatever he said. Then Ali, instead of shaking my offered hand, quickly slid across the back seat into me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder behind the back of my head. He hugged me into him and mussed the hair on my head with his other hand.
“Hah, Silly!,” he said.
“Oh! Yeah, Madi… I mean,… I’ve been called ‘silly’ before. By other people who shall not be named.”
We ended up sitting both really close together in the back seat with Ali’s leg bumped up against mine, him crowding me into the passenger door. He didn’t seem uncomfortable in that arrangement at all. I have to try and remember that other cultures have different notions of personal space. He kept his arm around me.
“Hey silly, let me see those,” he said, pointing at my face.
I realized he was pointing at my glasses. I pulled them off and handed them to Ali. These are my wire-rimmed glasses that I need to read and study with, because I’m very nearsighted. He put them on.
“Hey, Ahmadi. What you think? I Iook smart now?”
Ahmadi looked in the rear-view mirror and laughed, “You do, Ali. Girls will be after you with those – definitely!”
Ali took them off and dropped them into his shirt pocket. I was a little surprised when he didn’t immediately hand them back. But, he was onto another topic before I could pursue it.
“Why no beard, silly? Can’t you grow one?”
He still had his arm around me and was actually brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. Does he understand that my name is actually Greg?
I shrunk away from the hand.
“No… I mean … uhm … I never actually tried.”
For the record, I do shave. My cheeks aren’t hairy because I shave every day like a regular guy. And also, my facial hair comes in light blond and downy, because that’s just my complexion. Ahmadi has a full beard that covers his face and neck. It’s cropped close to the skin, very neatly trimmed, but very dense with hair. Ali has an imitation of the same thing as his brother, but his is more fuzz, not densely filled in.
Ali stuck his chin out and put his face near mine. He actually wanted me to feel his beard fuzz that he was proud of! I hesitated.
“Hey! Go on. Feel it. That a man’s beard, silly!”
Reluctantly, I touched it with my fingers, because I didn’t want to offend him. I didn’t want to be touching another dude’s face to feel his beard, specially a dude who I think is, maybe, a year or more younger than me.
“Rub your face against it.”
“No. Dude, come one,” I protested.
Ali said something again to Ahmadi in their language and then he tightened his arm around me into more of a head-lock and forced my face into his cheek to rub it with my face.
“See! Like sandpaper, man. My face is a weapon!”
“Yeah, yeah. OK,” I said, glad to be released.
I said, “That was a pretty good head-lock.”
Ali and Ahmadi both laughed in response to that comment. Ahmadi said, “Ali is a champion güres.”
I didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about, and they acted like it was self-explanatory. I was just relieved that I hit upon some kind of guy sports thing to connect with them about. No matter that I had no idea what it was.
“Hey, cool man! Champion goo res! High five!”
I only later learned that güres is an ancient traditional form of Turkish oil wrestling. Competitors go bare chested with leather pants made of water buffalo hide. They grease each other up with olive oil, separate into pairs, and wander off together into a grassy measow. Then the lock onto each other, slap each other down, grope with their hands and arms all down each others pants for leverage, and try to hold, tackle, and trip each other in an epic battle until one of them falls and exposes his bare navel to heaven.
I hadn’t even had time enough to ask where we were going before we suddenly pulled in a driveway. Ali pushed me out the passenger door to lead me to the house.
“Oh, is this your house?”
Ahmadi said, “No. no. Here is relative. She needs to look at you.”
Inside the front door lead to a waiting room of a doctor’s office. Several clusters of people were already there waiting. Ahmadi said something to the receptionist and gestured toward me. I wasn’t paying attention, because I was looking at a guy kneeling on the floor in the corner of the waiting room flanked by two other Cypriot guys. The guy was naked with chains on him! What the…? We went straight through the waiting room into a narrow hallway with examination rooms.
“Wait… What was that?”
I couldn’t believe what I had briefly glimpsed. The doctor said something to Ahmadi, handed me a big beer stein with something that smelled like part beer, part herbal tea, part medicine, and then she left us.
Ahmadi said, “Get undressed. Doctor will look at you.”
I said, “Can we talk about this? I thought we were going to go somewhere and hang out….”
Ali checked me. “Hey, Madison wants this. You want her to be happy, no?”
“I need a medical exam to go to the prom?”
Ahmadi said, “No. Need doctor’s OK for official joining ceremony for consort.”
OK. Consort. Madison’s consort. Yes. If it means I’m her enslaved sex toy for the prom, then I’m down with it. They waited there with me while I took off my clothes. Ahmadi folded everything into a grocery bag.
“Drink,” said Ahmadi.
I downed the smelly beer-tea thing. Ali was still in my personal space all the time. He shadowed me in the exam room, standing directly behind me with his chest against my back, and he rested his two hands on my naked shoulders looking over my shoulder while I pulled my underwear and socks off.
“What’s all this?”
Ali poked with his fingers at acne on my chest. I had been using some cream on my face; so, it was pretty much clear, but I still had some acne flaring up in other places where I didn’t expect people to be looking.
“Uhm… My skin gets a little oily. It’s getting better….”
Ali brazenly started squeezing blackheads on my chest and popping them while we all waited. I couldn’t believe he was doing that, but I let it happen. He whispered in my ear, “Madison said she think you pretty.”
It was a long time before the doctor came back in. I felt dizzy and unsteady. I found myself leaning into Ali behind me for support while he popped the zits on my chest. Ahmadi took out his cell phone. I thought he was just checking messages but belatedly I saw that he was snapping pictures. Ahmadi then leaned into me also in a threatening way.
“Madison told you make out with her in the library. Told you seduce her watching porn together. Very bad. You need to make right.”
“I..., no, … I ... we … didn’t do anything!”
The doctor returned and told me to open my mouth wide. She stuffed a bitter tasting medicine ball into my mouth, and I just opened up and accepted it in. I felt disoriented, disconnected, and unable to act. The medicine ball smelled musky and felt hairy and wet in my mouth. I couldn’t see myself, but it felt like a hard ball of pubic hair wedged in my teeth, and it tasted awful; nevertheless, I couldn’t will myself to work my jaws and spit it out. I felt like a total asshole that my cock was getting hard.
Their doctor told me to masturbate into a cup, and I just stood there naked leaning against Ali doing it in front of them, because they said so. I can’t normally even piss in front of another guy, but the drink and the medicine ball were doing something to me.
They helped me up onto an exam table. They checked out everything. I was compliant. Ahmadi held me down. I couldn’t see what this doctor was doing, but I sure felt it! Oh my god! Awwwwh! What were they doing to my penis? The room was spinning fast, and it felt like as if they were dissecting my tool. Then, I felt stinging, burning alcohol being poured onto it like fire in my loins, and every vein in my face, neck, and skull started popping out.
When they put me back into the car, I was still not putting things together into a total picture. Only fragments. I was tripping over myself walking with Ali and Ahmadi supporting either side of me. It was raining in the driveway. I felt rain on my bare ass. I couldn’t see. A long hair went down my throat, and I gagged on a second hairy medicine ball that was pushed into my mouth. I remember being in the back seat of the car again with my head in Ali’s lap. The head of my penis was painfully throbbing between my legs but it somehow wasn’t reachable.
Ali said to Ahmadi, “Çüs!, Yuh! I would not want that done to me. I never want see blood out my cock!”
Ahmadi said, “Doctor say keep wrapped up in gauze until stop bleeding. Will heal eight weeks.”
I heard this, but I was floating in my head and felt dissociated from all that was happening. I couldn’t put my thoughts together. I know that they took me in the car to somewhere else, and the two of them stayed with me and kept me in this new place. They kept feeding me that bitter beer-tea-medicine drink, and they kept shoving hairy medicine balls into my mouth when the old ones wore off. The first week, I was so drugged up that I just wanted to sleep all the time. I remember them talking to me. I remember them making me get up to pace up and down a hallway so I would not be such a medicated vegetable. One or the other of them guided me not to fall. I couldn’t walk right. I shuffled my feet clumsily. I often tripped over my feet. They fed me with a spoon. When I pissed, it sprayed out in more than one direction and caused me to bleed again.
Ahmadi explained to me, “Must pop cherry before can become consort for Madison. Is little bit blood involved.”
Thank you. Explains everything. What they’d done, according to the customs of their people, was demolish the head of my cock by piercing it first horizontally with an ampallang and then vertically with an apadravya. So, if you imagine my cock as a proud nautical vessel that is sailing the waves before of me, then I have metal posts with round knobs sticking way out of the port, starboard, bilge, and masthead directions from my perforated penis head.
Furthermore, there are tight metal cords anchored to rings on each knob end. The other ends of those cords are all attached to the point where two metal rods intersect some distance of about four inches away from my cock head. The crossing metal rods are threaded through holes in the bottom end of a clear plastic tube. The plastic tube is about three inches wide and about ten inches long. The other end of the plastic tube is attached and integrated with a thick and wide cock ring fitted at the base of my cock and balls. The significant weight of the tube and the cords and the cross-bars on my cock and balls is also supported by straps that buckle around the base of each of my thighs and by a belt cinched at my hips.
I forgot to mention that the four cords that attach my pierced cock head to the cross-bars at the distal end of the tube were all pulled tight with no slack in them, pulling my cock head out in tension. So, my cock and balls are mounted on display in a clear plastic tube with my penis shaft stretched all the way out straight down the length of the tube by cords attached to piercings in my dick knob. It looked like my penis was on display between my legs inside of a birdfeeder tube.
Whenever Ahmadi wedged another medicine ball into my mouth, the stuff in there would start to work through me, making me dizzy with my cock hard. I immediately could start to feel my cock head swelling up around the posts that they’d driven through it. At this stage in my healing process, my cock head was inflamed and supersensitive; so, every erection came with stinging, tearing pain that made me want curl up and reach down to cradle it. I think I also bled a little every time I got hard, but they kept making me get that way.
I am normally a respectable six inches when I am fully hard, and I’d like to think that Madison would enjoy it and be satisfied. These guys had set the cords so that I am stretched out past six inches all the time soft as if my penis was a rubber band. When I get hard I go from stretched thin rubber band to plump sausage, and then the thickening of my cock puts even more tension on the cords, not less. So, every boner is painful and abusive to my impaled leaky cock head.
We sat down man to man to nude mutilated consort and discussed the nature and the seriousness of my interest in Madison.
Because, they told me that I needed to prove my worth and suitability to them both within 60 days so that I could become Madison’s consort. This place would be my Domicile of Waiting according to the customs of her family and her people. At the end of the waiting period if I was judged acceptable, then Madison would come to claim me, and there would be a joining ceremony. That sounded almost kind of cool to me – joining with Madison. That’s why I got in the car with these guys. That’s what it’s all about. I want to be with Madison. She is amazing and hot.
But, I needed to ask Ali and Ahmadi the obvious question.
“What about my cock? I respect your customs and all, but how long do I have to keep having my dick stretched?”
Ahmadi gave me the good news. “Doctor say you healthy, high sperm count. Is important you fertile loins for Madison accepting you. When joined she will take ownership. Is reserved for her only. This is traditional manner of consort display.”
He gestures toward my birdfeeder penis display tube. Coincidently, they call it in their language a “deektoob.”
And – oh yes – there is also my ritual body chain which I am always wearing. I would have been able to possibly reach my fingers into the hole at the end of the cylinder to soothe my abused cock head, except that my wrists were manacled together and chained to a point of attachment just below my chest. I could reach my hands down about as far as my pubes and to the near end of the cylinder where it was strapped to my crotch and covering my balls. I could touch the outer surface of the plastic cylinder and see my cock and balls displayed inside. But, I couldn’t stretch any further to get my finger around the far end of the cylinder.
My body chain was zinc plated with links ¼ inch thick, 1 3/16 inch long, ¾ inch wide. There was a 1 ft length of chain between manacles locked to each ankle. A longer length of chain was anchored to the middle of that ankle chain going up between my legs to my cock ring. A third section of chain went from the top of my cockring through my pubes up the middle of my chest to my neck, where is looped around my neck and locked to itself with a thick heavy storage padlock over my breast bone. A fourth length of chain circled around my torso just below my ribs attached to the links going up the front of my chest. As I mentioned, my two wrists were manacled together. There were only three links of chain between my wrists, and the middle link was locked to another very short length of chain (four links) that terminated at the cross point where the chain around my torso meets the vertical chain up my chest.
I could use my hands to reach and grasp things in front of me if less than about six inches away, but I couldn’t reach behind me or down past where I used to be able to scratch my balls or up as far as my face and head. And, there was no way I could unbend my elbows to fully extend my arms out. I could walk at a slow pace with shuffling steps, and I wouldn’t trip myself if I didn’t try to raise my feet too high or stride forward too boldly.
“May I please take a dump, Ali?"
I had to ask my groomsmen if I wanted to use the bathroom. I tried to hold off as long as possible because pissing would make me bleed and because I would have to bend over and let them wipe my ass clean after I shit. Unfortunately, I needed to do both. I had to piss first because I could only do that standing up with my deektoob pointed down at the bowl. I could wrap my hands around the base of the tube to approximately aim its far end into the toilet like a bazooka. I would try to piss out as slowly and gently as possible through my dick knob to not bleed so much, but I was really full from holding it, and I usually couldn’t restrain myself. When I started pissing full on, it was frightening to look at. The piss spurted out of my cock head in all directions like a shower nozzle and sprayed all over the inside of the tube before it drained down out the open end. It would come out clear at first, but then my dick head would start stinging as blood vessels started to open up, and my spray would turn bright red by the time I finished. It made me feel scared and sick to look at it. I think I got dizzy and fainted the first time. After that Ali had me look up at the bathroom wall away from it so I wouldn’t see. Ali would stand behind me with his arm around my chest and his hand holding up my chin, because I couldn’t resist looking down at it.
“No worry about that, silly. You joining our family, between legs is our responsibility now.”
After I was done pissing, there would still be a slow dripping of blood out for some time, and my stretched out cock head would continue to burn and itch until things closed up again. So, I continued to hold onto the tube, but I would aim it with the open end pointing up so not to make a mess dripping out. Then, I could turn around and sit on the bowl to take a crap with my birdfeeder tube pulled up by my hands toward my stomach. And while I was taking my dump with my cock pointed up, my groomsman would reach into the open end of the deektoob and squeeze a wad of antiseptic gel onto my cock head and spread it all around into the post holes. It was impossible to do this thoroughly without knocking or twisting the dick cords with his fingers. I hardly need to tell you – every time the dick cords get moved or disturbed they radiate an exquisite overwhelming sensation up into my now supersensitive cock head. I couldn’t bear it without twitching and moaning and spastically clenching my ass cheeks and clenching my legs together around the base of the tube. But, the gel would slow things down and help the blood to stop. Then, I would stand up and bend over, not all the way, but like an upside down L, still holding the base of my deektoob and pointing it horizontal against my abdomen. I squat down to bend my knees and balance to stick my ass out so my groomsman can spread my cheeks and clean me up.
Ali guided me out of the bathroom. He has a short length of finer chain attached to a wrist strap that makes a forking Y into two short lengths of chain that each clip onto one of my tits, and then he tugs on that to get me moving. He guides me that way yanking my tits, me shuffling as quickly as I can to the other room where he is playing his favorite video game, World of Warcraft.
I know by now that I have to kneel down onto the floor and sit my ass back onto my heels while grasping the base of my deektoob and pointing it straight up vertical with the open end pointing to the sky. He opens up my doctor’s prescription and pulls out yet another big thick hairy medicine ball, which he pushes into my mouth. I gag on it a little but then settle down. He has me kneeling on the floor in front of him while he focuses his attention again on the game, which is on the big screen above and behind me. I am in front of the chair that he is sitting on looking at about the level of the bulge in his undershorts. I can hear the game behind me.
The stuff in the medicine ball starts to make me dizzy, and I feel my cock getting hard again. I am leaning back on my heels with my hands wrapped around the base of my cock tube. Sometimes, I get confused and start stroking up and down the base of the tube with desire to stroke my cock as it begins to harden and thicken inside. I feel myself stroking it in imagination when I stroke the wide outer tube. I start to look down at it, because it feels like it must be huge in there, and I’m starting to feel almost as much sexual arousal as pain down there. But, Ali gives me a hard yank on my tit clamps with his leash, which is still looped around one wrist.
“Hey!” He snaps his fingers in my face. “Eyes up silly. I’m the man in here, not you.”
He paused his game and then pulled down the waist band of his undershorts in the front to expose his cock and balls to view right in front of me.
“Mmmpf,” I say just out of frustration.
I had no interest in looking at Ali’s cock. The only interest I had at all was how can I shoot a load and get some relief.
He said, “You here to be judged and serve, consort. This what you pay attention to.”
He went back to playing his game, and I had to stay looking only at his tool while my boner pointed at the ceiling and throbbed painfully. I was sure that anyone could see my giant boner twitching against the dick cords and milky precum welling up slowly and running down me. I tried not to look at it. I stared fixedly at Ali’s bush of black curly pubes and tried not to connect that in my mind with his balls flopped out over the waistband below it or his flaccid thick uncircumcised penis with folds of skin covering up the head entirely. This is the ritual of his Cypriot people that I am being made to undergo; so, why doesn’t Ali have to get metal posts driven through his cock? That’s what I’d like to know.
No, stop thinking about Ali’s cock. Just don’t go there. I focus only on his pubes instead, because I wonder if Madison has a bush of black curly hair like that. I’ll bet she does. Will she claim me and make me kneel in front of her like this, never allowed to take my eyes off her bush with my hardon on display? Dude, I would totally love that.