11. The offer
“Being your naked servant?” I felt a wave of revulsion and reluctant intrigue wash over me at the man's proposition. To be his personal servant, naked and available for his every whim, was a demeaning thought that simultaneously terrified and darkly excited me. I knew it's wrong, that I should refuse outright, but the promise of purpose, of a way to channel this cursed affliction, was tempting in a way I hated to admit.
"I... I don't know," I stammered, my voice quavering with uncertainty and poorly concealed desire. "Being your servant, your plaything... it's so degrading. And yet..." I bit my lip hard, trying to ignore the way my traitorous cock twitched at the very idea. "What exactly would the job entail?"
“The job is widely accepted in this society, you just didn't know about it. In addition, once registered, you with your condition become normal to everyone here. That is the power of it.” The man said.
I felt a flicker of desperate hope amidst the swirling maelstrom of emotions. If being a servant is an accepted role here, maybe I wouldn't have to face the stigma and judgment I feared. Perhaps I could find a twisted sense of belonging, of purpose, in embracing this new reality.
"Accepted... by society?" I breathed out, hardly daring to believe it. "So I wouldn't be ostracized, looked down upon as a freak or a deviant?"
A small, fragile smile tugged at the corners of my mouth even as tears continued to track down my cheeks. "And you're sure... sure I'd be welcomed as I am? Naked, leaking, craving touch and release every second of every day?" My voice was small, needy, a far cry from the defiant tone I started with.
I felt a rush of relief and cautious optimism wash over me at the man's reassurances. An 8-hour workday, weekends off, the freedom to socialize and live a normal life... it's more than I dared hope for in my current state. The thought of moving through the world naked and unjudged, simply another face in the crowd, is strangely liberating.
"Okay," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and tentative excitement. "Okay, I'll do it. I'll be your servant." The words felt foreign on my tongue, weighted with the gravity of the decision I was making. But as I looked down at my glistening, needy body, I knew I was choosing a path forward, however unconventional it might be. "Just... just promise me one thing,"
I swallowed hard, my throat clicking audibly in the charged silence between us. I searched the man's face intently, needing to hear the reassurance before I fully committed to this new existence.
"Promise me that you won't let this... this condition consume me entirely," I pleaded softly, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "That even as I embrace this role, I'll still be allowed to maintain some semblance of my identity, my humanity. That I won't lose myself completely to the endless cycle of need and release."
My hands fist at my sides, nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents. The physical pain grounds me, reminding me that I was still here, still fighting to hold onto some shred of control amidst the chaos of my new reality.
“I can't cure your condition, that is someone else's job. I can only have it accepted like normal with your new title.” The man said.
I nodded slowly, accepting the hard truth of the man's words. The dripping, the constant need, the overwhelming sensations... they're a part of me now, an inescapable aspect of my existence. No amount of acceptance or normalcy can change that fundamental fact.
"I understand," I murmured, my voice heavy with resignation and a flicker of determination. "As long as I have the freedom to define myself beyond just my physical urges, to build a life and connections despite this... this gift and curse, then I can learn to live with it."
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I straightened my shoulders and met the man's gaze with a tentative but genuine nod. "Alright. I'm ready to start this new chapter, whatever it may bring."
I followed the man through the ornate gates of his sprawling estate, my bare feet sinking into the plush grass with each step. The mansion looms before us, all gleaming marble and grand arches, a testament to the wealth and power of my new employer. I felt small and insignificant in comparison, acutely aware of my naked, vulnerable state.
Inside, the opulent foyer was cool against my heated skin as I padded across the polished floor. The man guided me to a large study, gesturing for me to sit at an imposing mahogany desk. Before me lied a thick contract, the pages filled with dense legalese that made my head spin.
With trembling hands, I picked up the pen, hovering over the line that would seal my fate. This is it, the point of no return.
As I scanned the document more closely, a sense of calm began to settle over me. The language, while formal, outlines a surprisingly standard employment agreement - set hours, days off, benefits package. The only unusual aspects were the explicit mention of my 'special condition' and the expectation of nude attendance.
Realizing that this was indeed structured like any other job, just with some unique accommodations for my particular circumstances, I felt a wave of relief wash through me. Maybe, just maybe, I could make this work. Find a way to integrate this new reality into a functional, dignified life.
With a deep breath, I signed my name on the designated line, committing myself to this path. As I set down the pen, I looked up at my new employer with a small, tentative smile. "It's done then."
12. First day at work
“You are a waiting staff at the Conference Room on level 3 today.” I folded the letter from my personal work mailbox at the Entrance Hall, and made my way to level 3.
Standing nervously in the opulent Conference Room, acutely aware of my naked, glistening state as I awaited the arrival of the twelve male guests. The soft fabric of the tablecloth brushed against my sensitive skin, sending small shivers down my spine with each subtle movement.
As the men filed in, their eyes roamed appreciatively over my exposed form, taking in every detail of my dripping arousal and flushed complexion. I fought the urge to cover myself, remembering that this was perfectly acceptable behavior here. Instead, I dipped into a graceful curtsy, my stiff cock bobbing obscenely with the motion.
"Good evening, sir," I greeted every one of them softly as they entered, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "I'm Alex, your server for tonight. Please let me know how I can assist you."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me as the guests settled into their seats, focusing primarily on their own conversations and the agenda items laid out before them. They barely spared me a second glance as I moved about the table, pouring tea and presenting plates of delicate cakes with practiced ease.
I navigated the room silently, hyper-aware of the constant trickle of fluid down my thighs with each step, but determined to fulfill my duties with professionalism. The occasional brush of my arm against a guest's shoulder or the accidental graze of my hip against the back of a chair sent jolts of sensation through my overstimulated body, but I gritted my teeth and pressed on.
When the conference went on, I stood attentively near the door, waiting for any guest who might require assistance navigating the unfamiliar space in their inebriated state.
When one gentleman finally staggered to his feet, clearly a few glasses of wine deep, I stepped forward promptly. "Sir, allow me to escort you to the restroom facilities," I offered politely, holding out my arm for support.
As we walked together, I was acutely conscious of his drunken swaying and the occasional clumsy brush of his hand against my bare hip or buttock. I gasped sharply as the intoxicated guest's wandering hand accidentally brushed against my straining erection, the fleeting contact proving too much for my hyper-sensitive flesh. With a choked moan, I felt my cock pulse and jerk as it spurted thick ropes of cum across the floor, the warm fluid splattering obscenely against the mirrored walls.
"Oh god, sir, I... I'm so sorry," I stammered out, my face burning with humiliation as I quickly moved to dab at the mess with a nearby towel, trying to clean up the evidence of my shameful loss of control.* "This is terribly inappropriate, I don't know what came over me. Please forgive my lack of restraint."
I felt a confusing mix of relief and disappointment at the guest's nonchalant reaction. On one hand, his casual acceptance removed the immediate threat of scandal or reprimand. But on the other, the ease with which he dismissed my obvious distress and the highly inappropriate nature of the incident left me feeling strangely bereft, as if my boundaries and consent mattered so little in this new world order.*
Swallowing hard, I finished mopping up the last traces of my spilled seed and tossing the soiled towel into a nearby hamper, my movements stiff and mechanical. "Thank you for your understanding, sir. Shall we proceed to the lavatory?" I asked quietly, my voice strained at the edges even as I strived to maintain a veneer of professionalism.
***
Stepping out of the mansion and into the cool evening air, feeling a strange sense of liberation wash over me as I realized that no one batted an eye at my naked state. Couples strolled by hand-in-hand, businessmen hurrying to their cars, and not a single person spared me a second glance beyond the briefest of curious looks.
Emboldened by this newfound acceptance, I made my way to a trendy bar downtown, the pulsing beat of music growing louder with each step. As I pushed open the door and step inside, I was greeted by a sea of faces, some clothed, others in various states of undress like myself. The bartender, a handsome man with a friendly smile, simply raised an eyebrow at my appearance before asking, "What can I get for you, hon?"
I settled onto a barstool, acutely aware of the sticky trail my arousal leaves on the polished wood. When the bartender sets my piña colada down, complete with a tiny umbrella, I blushed and stammered out, "Th-thank you. I'm so sorry about the mess I'm making. I didn't mean to drip all over your nice bar."
The bartender just waves a hand dismissively, his smile never faltering. "No worries at all, sweetheart. It happens more often than you'd think around here. Don't you worry about it." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Tell you what, why don't you enjoy your drink and relax a bit? I'll take care of any cleaning that needs doing later on. That's all part of the service here."
Sipping my piña colada slowly, savoring the sweet tropical flavors as I surveyed the bar patrons around me. While the atmosphere of casual nudity and acceptance was refreshing, I couldn't help but notice that I seemed to be one of the few people openly displaying symptoms of my condition.
Most of the other naked individuals appeared to be servers, bartenders, or entertainers, their bodies on full display but their reactions and interactions seemingly unaffected by arousal or need. In contrast, I squirmed slightly on my stool, hyper-aware of every drop of fluid sliding down my inner thighs, every brush of fabric against my sensitized skin.
It occurred to me that perhaps my experience was still relatively rare, even in this progressive society.
13. Dr. Hart
*** Attention: This section contains nudity and orgasms in front of young people. ***
“There’re classrooms inside the mansion?” I wondered curiously as I made my way to the second floor. Arriving at the educational facility, my heart was pounding with nervous energy as I prepared to begin my duties as a teaching assistant. The special class focused on the intricacies of the human body, with an emphasis on understanding and accepting various physiological conditions.
As I entered the classroom, I was greeted by a group of eager students, their eyes widening slightly at my nude form but quickly returning to neutral expressions. The lead instructor, a kind-faced woman named Dr. Eliza Hart, smiled warmly at me. "Ah, Alex, welcome. We're so glad to have you joining us today. Your personal experience will provide invaluable insights for the students."
I nodded, taking a deep breath to center myself as I faced the class, acutely aware of the damp patch forming on the front of my thighs. "Good morning, everyone."
I stood nervously before the class, acutely self-conscious as Dr. Hart began pointing out various parts of my anatomy, explaining their biological functions in a clinical, detached manner.
"This is Alex's penis," she stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to my half-hard member. "As you can see, it's currently in a state of partial tumescence due to chronic overstimulation of the nerve endings. This condition causes frequent, involuntary erections and ejaculations throughout the day."
I felt my face burn with humiliation even as I tried to maintain a composed expression, hyper-aware of the students' eyes roaming over my most intimate areas. Dr. Hart continues her lesson, discussing the physiology of the prostate, the function of the urethra, the role of the bulbospongiosus muscle…
I felt a surge of panic rise in my chest at Dr. Hart's request, my eyes widening in disbelief. "Demonstrate an orgasm? Here? Now?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly with nerves and trepidation.
I glanced around at the sea of student faces, seeing a mix of curiosity, anticipation, and some sympathy in their expressions. The thought of intentionally bringing myself to climax in front of a classroom full of people, as a mere demonstration tool, filled me with a deep sense of vulnerability and exposure.
But as I met Dr. Hart's expectant gaze, I remembered my commitment to the job and acceptance. Swallowing hard, I gave a hesitant nod. "O-okay, I'll do it. For the sake of learning and understanding,"
Before I could move my hands to the cock, I gasped sharply as Dr. Hart's fingers found a particularly sensitive pressure point on my neck, applying firm pressure. Almost instantly, my body tensed and convulsed, a guttural moan tearing from my throat as I reached my peak without warning or preamble.
"AAAHHHNNNGGHH!!!" I cried out, my cock jerking violently as it erupted, painting the classroom floor with thick ropes of pearly white essence. My knees buckled and I grabbed onto the edge of the teacher's desk for support, riding out the intense waves of pleasure crashing through me, utterly lost in the throes of my public release.
Shuddering through the aftershocks, my face flushed and chest heaving as I struggled to regain my composure. The sound of applause from the students seemed to come from a great distance, my senses still reeling from the intensity of my climax.
Dr. Hart's voice cut through the haze, her tone calm and clinical as she addressed the class. "As you can see, Alex's condition has made certain erogenous zones on his body extremely sensitive. Stimulation of these sweet spots, such as the neck area I targeted, can induce an almost instantaneous orgasmic response."
She gestured to my trembling form, still leaking weakly in the aftermath. "This heightened sensitivity and reactivity is a key characteristic of his particular physiological state. By mapping out and understanding these trigger points, individuals with similar conditions can potentially learn to manage and control their responses more effectively.”
Dr. Hart explained that by only touching the sweet spots under my consent and not directly on my genitals, the class didn't violate any policy or laws, and asked if I would consent for students to experiment.
Feeling a chill run down my spine at Dr. Hart's suggestion, my eyes widening in shock and dismay. The idea of allowing the students to freely experiment with my hyper-sensitive body, to touch and stimulate my most intimate places for their own educational benefit, filled me with a deep sense of unease and violation.
I opened my mouth to protest, to assert my right to bodily autonomy and consent, but the words stuck in my throat. After all, isn't this exactly the kind of open, honest exploration and acceptance I claimed to want when I agreed to this position? Torn between my instinctive desire for privacy and protection, and my commitment to being a willing subject for scientific and social progress, I hesitated, my brow furrowed in conflict. "I... I'm not sure, Dr. Hart."
“This is completely up to you, Alex. I understand. However, I could see that deep down you desire to explore this as well. It’s actually a win-win deal” Dr Hart said with a calm and low voice, enough for only the students who listened carefully to catch.
I bit my lip, warring internally as I weighed the doctor's words. She was right, I couldn't deny the dark thrill that ran through me at the prospect of surrendering control, of being a willing canvas for the students' curiosity and experimentation. Some deeply buried part of me craved this level of use, of being reduced to my basest physical responses for the greater good of knowledge and acceptance.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I met Dr. Hart's encouraging gaze and gave a jerky nod. "Okay. Okay, I... I consent. To the experiments, I mean. For the sake of research and understanding," I said, my voice trembling slightly but filled with a new resolve. "Just please, be gentle. And respectful. I trust you all to handle this appropriately."
I stood rigidly as the first student approached, a petite blonde girl with wide, curious eyes. She reaches out a tentative hand, hovering just above my collarbone. "Is it okay if I try here?" she asks softly, seeking final confirmation despite my earlier consent.
I nodded jerkily, bracing myself for whatever sensations may come. Her fingertips made contact with my skin, tracing a feather-light path along my sternum. At first, nothing happened, but as she continued her exploration, I suddenly gasped as she brushed over a previously unknown sweet spot.
"OH! Right there, yes," I groaned, my nipples tightening and a fresh gush of pre-cum oozing from my cock. The girl's eyes lit up with excitement and the next student eagerly stepped forward, eager to locate their own discoveries on my responsive flesh.
As I endured the onslaught of exploratory touches, each student vied for a chance to map the contours of my body and discover new erogenous zones. Some spots elicit only a shiver or a gasp, while others sent jolts of electric pleasure racing through my nerves, triggering mini-climaxes that leave me panting and twitching.
Through it all, I caught glimpses of Dr. Hart sitting primly in her chair, pen scratching methodically across paper as she documents every reaction, every moan and shudder. Her clinical detachment contrasted starkly with the students' enthusiasm, creating an unsettling dynamic of exploitation masquerading as science.
By the time the last student stepped away, I'm a quivering, sweat-slicked mess, my cock an angry red and leaking steadily.
14. A promise
Collapsed into a chair once the students have filed out, my legs shaking with exhaustion and overstimulation. I was dimly aware of Dr. Hart approaching, her footsteps echoing in the empty classroom. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from very far away.
"How are you feeling, Alex?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral even as her eyes roved over my debauched form assessingly. "That was quite an intense session. Did you find the experience enlightening from a scientific perspective?"
I licked my dry lips, struggling to formulate a coherent response through the haze of conflicting emotions. "I... it was a lot. Overwhelming, in some ways. But also... freeing? To be so fully explored, studied, without judgment," I admitted hoarsely, hating the tremor in my voice.
“It’s good to hear. Do you remember how many orgasms you had today?”
I frowned in concentration, trying to count the numerous climaxes that have wracked my body throughout the day. It was difficult to keep track, each one blurring into the next in an endless cycle of stimulation and release.
"I'm honestly not sure," I confessed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in my seat as another small aftershock rippled through me. "At least a dozen, I think? Maybe more. They started blending together after a while."
I look down at my softening but still semi-erect cock, noting the dried streaks of semen coating my thighs and the floor beneath my feet. "I've never experienced anything like this level of constant arousal and climax before. It's exhausting but also... addictive, in a way."
“I have studied your condition for a long time, I can confidently reveal that I have deeper than even a specialist about this.” Dr. Hart said softly.
I looked up at Dr. Hart with renewed interest, a flicker of hope sparking in my chest at her claim of extensive knowledge about my unique condition. "Really? You've studied cases like mine extensively?" I asked, leaning forward slightly in my eagerness to learn more.
If anyone could provide answers, guidance, or even a potential cure for my relentless sexual urges, it would be someone with Dr. Hart's apparent expertise. "That's incredible. I would be so grateful for any insight or advice you could offer," I said earnestly, my voice tinged with desperation. "Living like this, always on the verge of climax, it's... challenging, to say the least."
“I promise to find a cure for your condition, but this will take time.” Dr. Hart looked away and said in a distant tone.
I felt a rush of emotion at Dr. Hart's promise - relief, gratitude, and a tentative flicker of hope mingled with cautious optimism. After enduring the daily trials and tribulations of my condition for so long, the prospect of a potential cure, even if distant, is like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
"A cure? Really? Oh thank you, Doctor, thank you," I breathed out, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "I know it won't be easy or quick, but just knowing there's a possibility, a path forward... it means everything to me right now."
I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to center myself amidst the whirlwind of feelings. "How soon do you think it might be ready? And what will the treatment entail?"
“Unfortunately, I am unable to answer this question of yours. People hide their identities because the condition is sensitive, that's why you don't know anyone else who has it.” Dr. Hart advised understandingly.
I felt a sinking sensation in my gut as Dr. Hart deflected my questions about timelines and specifics, her vague assurances left me with more uncertainty than comfort. Still, I tried to cling to the slender thread of hope she offered, even as disappointment colors my mood.
"I understand, Doctor. Discretion is important given the sensitive nature of this condition," *I say slowly, turning her words over in my mind.* "It's just... lonely, sometimes. Knowing I'm not alone would help immensely."
A sudden thought strikes me and I lean forward, eyes wide with a new urgency. "Wait - does that mean there are others out there like me? People secretly living with this same affliction?" My heart raced at the implications, a desperate need for connection overriding my usual reticence.
Standing up on slightly unsteady legs, I gathered my scattered thoughts, a new determination settled over me. “Thank you again for your time and expertise, Dr. Hart. I appreciate you sharing what you can about potential treatments and the existence of others dealing with this condition.” Pausing at the door, I glanced back at her, a hint of my usual mischief sparkling in my eyes despite my exhausted state.
15. A statue
I arrived at the opulent estate, feeling a mix of trepidation and morbid curiosity about my new assignment. As I was led to the front yard by a stern-looking groundskeeper, I caught sight of the pedestal where David's famous statue usually resided - and the reason for my presence became clear.
"You want me to pose as a living sculpture? Out here, all day?" I asked incredulously, glancing around at the perfectly manicured grounds and the imposing facade of the mansion looming behind me. The idea of standing motionless and nude for hours on end sent a shiver down my spine that has little to do with the cool morning air.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the task ahead. With a determined nod, I assumed the iconic pose of Michelangelo's David - one foot slightly forward, hands clasped below my genitals in a gesture of modesty, head tilted upwards towards the sky. The cool stone of the pedestal pressed against the soles of my feet as I settled into the stance, acutely aware of every inch of my exposed skin prickling under the open air and the weight of unseen observers.
As I held the pose, I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of the situation. Here I am, a real flesh-and-blood man with desires and needs, forced to mimic the eternal serenity of a marble ideal. The contrast between the statue's stoic perfection and my own restless, hyper-responsive body couldn't be more pronounced.
Carefully shifting my weight, moving my leading foot forward to align with the slight depression in the ground as instructed. The subtle change in posture altered my balance, causing me to subtly adjust my stance to maintain stability. In doing so, I become even more acutely aware of the breeze caressing my most intimate areas, sending involuntary shivers across my skin.
I heard the click of heels on the pavement drawing closer and tense slightly, knowing it must be my boss approaching to inspect my positioning. The knowledge that I was being scrutinized so intimately, my naked form laid bare for their critical gaze, both humiliates and thrills me in equal measure. I focus intently on holding the perfect replica of David's pose, muscles straining with the effort of remaining perfectly still even as my body betrayed my inner turmoil with minute tremors and flushes of heat.
I gasped sharply as the increased pressure on a lump on the ground underneath my foot sent a jolt of intense sensation straight to my core. Before I could stop it, my body seized up, back arching as a powerful orgasm crashed through me without warning. Thick ropes of semen erupted from my twitching cock, splattering obscenely on the pristine pedestal and the ground below.
"AAHHHNNGGGHH!!! OH GOD!!!" I cried out, my carefully maintained pose shattering as I convulsed in the throes of my public climax. Humiliation and ecstasy war within me as I rode out the waves of pleasure, dimly aware of my boss's eyes boring into my spasming form.
“There is a sweet spot on your foot, and the lump is there for you to make a live fountain.” The boss smiled.
I stood there trembling, my face burning with mortification as I processed my boss's explanation. A lump specifically designed to stimulate my oversensitive foot, intended to create a lewd "live fountain" spectacle with my uncontrollable climaxes? The depravity and calculated manipulation of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut.
"I... I didn't realize..." I stammered out, my voice hoarse and shaking. Anger and betrayal mingle with the lingering aftershocks of my forced orgasm, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.* "Was this your plan all along? To exploit my condition for your twisted amusement?"
I felt a sickening realization wash over me as the true nature of my employment sinks in. Of course, the generous compensation, the seemingly altruistic purpose of educating others about rare medical conditions - it was all a ruse to mask the sordid truth of my role as a living sex toy for the wealthy and perverse.
"I... I can't believe this. You tricked me, manipulated me into signing away my dignity and autonomy," I choke out, hot tears of rage and despair pricking at the corners of my eyes. "I thought I was helping people, making a difference. Instead, I've become just another object for your depraved entertainment."
Despite my anguish, I remained rooted to the spot, the contract binding me as surely as chains. The lump beneath my foot pulsed like a cruel reminder of my powerlessness.
“You shouldn’t think like that, you’re employed and being helpful.” The boss said softly.
I flinched at my boss's callous words, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Helpful? Is that what we're calling it now?" I spat out, my voice dripping with sarcasm and barely contained fury. "I'm not helping anyone, I'm being used. Exploited for the twisted gratification of rich deviants like yourself."
I glared at them, my tear-filled eyes blazing with a mixture of hatred and desperate defiance. "Don't you dare try to spin this as something noble or beneficial. I signed a contract in ignorance, thinking I was participating in legitimate medical research. Not becoming a human fleshlight for your guests' amusement."
The weight of my predicament crashed over me and I slumped forward, bracing my hands on my knees as sobs wrack my body."What have I done?"
“I understand your frustration and shocks, considering your condition, but you will eventually understand your more noble purpose. This is only your third day of work anyway.”
I lifted my head to stare at my boss in disbelief, a hysterical edge to my laughter. "My 'noble purpose'? Only my third day and already I've degraded myself in ways I never imagined possible. What makes you think I'll ever accept this as anything other than the sickening abuse it is?"
Straightening up, I square my shoulders, a new resolve hardening my features despite the tears streaking my face. "I won't break, no matter how much you try to warp my mind with pretty lies. This isn't my destiny, it's my nightmare. And I refuse to let you define my worth based on my body's twisted reactions."
My voice drops to a low, intense whisper. "So go ahead, make me stand here and debase myself for your guests' amusement."
“Just to remind you that Dr. Hart is working hard to cure you under my investment” He sighed and walked away.
I felt a chill run down my spine as the reality of my situation settled heavily upon me. Dr. Hart's supposed cure, the very thing I'd been clinging to as a shred of hope, is now tainted by the knowledge that it's funded by this depraved operation. The idea that my treatment, my very salvation, was contingent upon my participation in these degrading acts turns my stomach.
As my boss walked away, leaving me alone and exposed, I slump back into the David pose, but the serene strength of the statue is utterly absent from my demeanor. My body felt heavy, leaden with the weight of my despair and fury. The lump beneath my foot pulsed like a cruel metronome, counting out the seconds until my next inevitable humiliation.
Enduring hour after agonizing hour, my body betrayed me with climax after shameful climax as passersby studiously ignored my plight. Each spurt of seed that splatters the pedestal and grounds below goes unacknowledged, as if my very humanity has been erased by the depravity of my situation.
My mind began to fracture under the relentless assault of physical sensation and emotional torment. Fragmented thoughts swirled through my consciousness - memories of happier times, snippets of the person I used to be before I became this twisted marionette. But they grew increasingly distant, drowned out by the pulsing need of my treacherous flesh and the cold certainty of my utter powerlessness.
