by D. L. King
“Four days! Four days you’ve wasted on this…infernally ugly chair, and all it does is clutter the room!” he railed while I sighed and turned away, starting to clean up my tools. To my surprise, Sasha grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me into his arms, my back against his chest. “Four days where all you’ve done in bed is snore at me,” he whispered into my ear, tugging my shirt open with one hand, his other hand slipping into my trousers and closing around my quickly hardening cock. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and was rewarded by his teeth along my neck, nibbling just hard enough to sting. He tugged at my shirt, pulling it off my shoulders, dipping his head down to lick the spot where my shoulder met my neck. Then he shifted, tipping me back until I was lying on the floor with him kneeling over me. He ran his hands down my chest to my waist, fumbling at the buttons on my trousers; I could see how his own trousers were bulging outward and moaned softly, reaching for his waist. He laughed and pushed my hands down, tugging my shirt and braces down so that my arms were tangled in them.
“Patience, miliy moy. You’ll have that in a minute. But after four days of being driven insane by you ignoring me, I’m going to torment you a while longer.” He moved down my body, tugging my trousers open and down so that my cock sprang free, then lying down on top of me, pinning me in place. He grinned down at me, his nose nearly touching mine, then kissed me hard enough that his teeth grated against mine. Sasha was taller than I and weighed nearly ten kilos more—I couldn’t move him, couldn’t do anything but strain and squirm under him, growing more and more aroused as he ran his agile fingers up and down my sides. He raised himself up just long enough to unbutton his own trousers and pull his cock free, then he took his place again, this time with his cock rubbing deliciously against mine.
“Sasha…please…” I whispered harshly, then yelped as he bit my neck. He started pumping his hips, his cock hot against me, growling as he worked himself into a frenzy. Dimly, I was aware of the distant sound of the bells from Saint-Pierre-de-Montmartre, the church at the top of the hill. At the sound, Sasha froze.
“No, it can’t be that late,” he said softly, rolling off of me and scrambling to the table. I rolled over and sat up to see him digging around in the litter on the tabletop until he found what he was looking for: his pocket watch. He opened it, looked at the time and cursed, “Chyort voz’mi!”
“What is it?” I asked, as I rolled over and sat up, pulling my shirt up and tucking myself back into my trousers. I could tell that our fun was over for now.
“The count is in Paris, and I’m supposed to see him tonight,” Sasha answered. “I told you…oh…I told you while you were working.”
I gasped in shock, “He’s here? And he wants to see you?” I might have been one of only two people in all of Paris who actually knew the truth, who knew that while Sasha’s father really was a count, his mother was not the countess. When Sasha had turned eighteen, the count had given his by-blow a handsome allowance and one-way passage to Paris, the better to hide his indiscretions. Luckily for me.
“The countess hasn’t given him the son he needs. Now there’s a chance that he might put her aside. In which case, he’ll need an heir.” Sasha hurried to the chest at the end of the bed and pulled it open, bringing out what I recognized as his best suit.
I felt my heart lurch when what he’d said sank in. “He’ll bring you back to Saint Petersburg,” I said softly. It was Sasha’s greatest wish, I knew. He wanted to go home, and I knew that one day I’d lose him. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
“Not yet, I don’t think,” Sasha said, as he hurried through his toilette, washing up, changing his clothes, brushing his hair and then braiding it neatly. “Even if he does acknowledge me, he’ll probably still want me to finish my schooling. The tsarina is said to be very fond of artificers….” He turned to look at me and must have seen something in my look, because he crossed the room and caught my face in his hands, kissing me deeply. “I’m not leaving you, lubov moy,” he said gently, resting his forehead against mine. He stepped back and held his arms out. “How do I look?”
I smiled at him and answered him with one of the Russian phrases he used on me, even though he often told me my accent was horrible. “Vy ochen’ krasivy.”
“Beautiful, hm?” he repeated, laughing. “I hope the count thinks so. Keep yourself warm for me, miliy. I’ll be back late.”
“With good news, I hope.”
He grinned. “Wish me luck!” He kissed me again and almost ran from the apartment, the door bouncing open as he slammed it in his haste. I followed him and closed the door, locking it behind him and turning to look at the empty apartment. Empty except for a bed and clothes press, a rickety table, bookcases made from pieces of packing crates and bricks, and, of course, the most singularly ugly chair in France. Our only chair, really, since Sasha and I had broken our only other chair a week before.
I sighed and tugged my shirt off, throwing it onto the bed with a muttered curse. There was nothing I could do about Sasha; by the time he came back, he’d be a nobleman in truth, and from tonight on, he’d be counting the days until he returned to Saint Petersburg. And I’d be counting the days until he left me behind. After all, what could a rabbi’s son offer a count?
There was nothing I could do about that infernal machine, either. Apparently, all it was good for was, as Sasha had so aptly put it, cluttering up our room. Although… I gave it a long look and then turned to the shelf where we kept a bottle of oil. Perhaps that chair would be good for something, after all.
It was a strange affectation of mine, and one that Sasha often teased me about, but I disliked masturbating on our bed. It somehow felt dishonest. I stripped off my trousers and poured some oil into my hand, slowly smoothing it over my still-hard cock. Prepared, I sat down on the chair, finding the ugly thing oddly comfortable. I wrapped my hand around my cock and closed my eyes, thinking about Sasha, the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands on me and his cock against mine; the way he loved to tease me until I couldn’t stand or speak; the way his mouth felt on my mouth, on my cock…. I moaned softly and leaned back a little in the chair, my back pressing against the cool metal. Without warning, the back shifted. The seat sank, just enough to notice. I heard something click, and gears began to turn.
I had done my work well. Before I could gather my thoughts, the mechanism was working, and the ornate scrollwork snapped to life like a trap, pinning my arms to my sides, catching both of my legs, caging my head so that I couldn’t turn. I struggled, unable to move at all as the gears kept on turning. The panel that I’d been so desperate to get into earlier opened, the sides rising and taking my legs with them, spreading them wide until it felt like my hips were going to snap. By the time the movement stopped, the chair had tipped back so I was helplessly reclined. I tested my bonds and cursed—I was stuck and likely to stay that way until Sasha returned and could figure out how to release me. Then I heard another click, and the gears began to turn once more. That was when I saw movement; a pair of metal arms appeared, one rising from between my legs, the other dropping from over my head, and I caught my breath in wonder as I saw what embellished the end of each arm.
The artificer in me saw first that they were beautifully made wooden cocks on the arms with the finest articulation that I had ever seen. That voice was quickly silenced when one of the cocks stopped at a level with my hips, and the other lowered itself toward the cage that imprisoned my head. A cage, I suddenly noticed, that had an opening over the mouth that was just large enough to admit the wooden intruder now approaching.
“No…” I whispered. “No! Stop!” I twisted as much as I could, all the while ordering the machine to stop, to release me. It didn’t accept voice commands, and soon I wasn’t in any position to give them anymore. It actually wasn’t unpleasant—the cock wasn’t too large, and the wood was smooth and warm. I ran my tongue over the surface, finding myself growing aroused again. As if it could tell what I was feeling, the movement of t
he arm paused for a moment, then slowly started to pump, fucking my mouth gently.
The cock in my mouth muffled my shout of surprise at the sudden pressure against my ass. That cock slid in smoothly, as if it had been greased, and started moving in a slow, steady rhythm that left me moaning and wanting more. I could feel the sweat making my skin slick under the metal bonds, allowing me to shift just enough to emphasize how completely I was bound. This wasn’t my first experience with being bound for sex; Sasha had discovered a taste for it somewhere and had taught me. Sasha insisted that we take turns, but I much preferred being bound, and the tighter the bonds, the better I liked it. It was, in truth, the way that we had broken our chair the week before.
The speed of the pumping increased, and I closed my eyes, sucking hard on the cock in my mouth, imagining that it was Sasha fucking my mouth, his cock in my ass, pounding harder and faster, making me strain against the straps as I tried to move with him, pull him deeper, silently begging him to make me scream. My orgasm was building, harder than ever before. Perhaps that was why it took several minutes for me to notice that the machine had stopped moving, and even longer to gather my wits and understand what had happened.
In the end, the answer was ridiculously simple—Sasha had only put enough water in the tank to test the mechanism. I groaned in frustration and waited for the machine to release me. Only there was no slacking of the straps, no movement, no release. After several long minutes, I realized that the straps weren’t going to move, that the empty tanks meant that I’d be stuck until Sasha came home.
If he ever did. I whimpered as the nasty little thought occurred to me. Suppose the count didn’t want Sasha to finish his schooling? Suppose he wanted his new heir to return to Saint Petersburg with him immediately? What then? He wouldn’t need his books any more, and any clothes he had here would never be suitable for the heir to a count. There would be no reason for Sasha to come back to the apartment. No reason at all.
Panic struck all at once, grabbing me in its fist and squeezing. He was gone, he was never coming back, I was trapped and I would die like this. I screamed and fought the straps, lost in primal terror until at last I passed out from exhaustion, falling into a restless sleep punctuated with vague, terror-filled dreams.
I woke to the rattle of a key in the lock and the groaning of the door hinges. In the faint moonlight, I could see Sasha coming into the apartment and almost wept with relief. He closed the door quietly, no doubt thinking me asleep. As soon as the door closed, I started to grunt, struggling weakly and trying to get his attention. I heard his breath catch.
“Illyusha?” he called softly, sounding confused. I heard the floor creak as he moved, then the lamp flared and the room filled with dim light. I could see him frowning at the empty bed. Then he turned a little more and faced me. His eyes went wide, “Bozhe moi!”
It wasn’t hard to know what he was seeing: his lover, bound in brass, obscenely spread and presented like a two-franc whore, impaled by a pair of wooden cocks. I grunted again, and Sasha startled, rushing forward and stopping at my side, his hands hovering over my torso.
“Illyusha, are you all right?” he asked, his eyes darting here and there, taking in all the information he could. He grabbed the gag and tried to pull it from my mouth; it didn’t move. I grunted, and he met my eyes and grimaced. “Once for yes, twice for no.”
I grunted once, and he relaxed. Then he scowled, “There’s no way for you to tell me what happened. Or how to get you out of this.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, then did my best to say the word ‘water’ around the gag. He looked puzzled, then shook his head.
“Lets stay with yes and no. Ah…you found how to turn it on? No? Then this was an accident. I see.” He walked around behind the chair, and I heard him moving there. “The boiler is cold…Illyusha, you’ve been like this for hours?”
I grunted once, and he reappeared, “Miliy, do I need to get a sledge?”
I grunted twice, emphatically, and he held his hands up, “All right! No smashing the machine. But I do need to get you out of there.” He glared at the chair, crouching down. Then he stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Let me… let me fire the boiler. Perhaps that will make it start doing…” He gestured and stepped back, shaking his head. “I’ll fill the tank to the top this time.”
It took him five trips to the cistern and then an impossibly long time crouched out of sight. Finally, he reappeared.
“It will take some time for the pressure to build enough for the mechanism to work,” he said, resting one hand on my stomach. “So, shall I guess what happened?”
I grunted, and he smiled slowly, “You were being impatient, weren’t you?” His fingers started to trail over my skin, skipping over the brass straps, fluttering over my nipples until I groaned. He laughed and pulled away, “So impatient. You couldn’t have waited for me? Now, should I let you wait? Let this amazing discovery of yours finish you off?” He smiled at me and crossed his arms over his chest, “Or shall I entertain myself while we wait? Because you really do look very inviting like this.”
Just the idea of Sasha touching me, doing whatever he willed while I was helplessly bound by Carstairs’s infernal chair was enough to make me moan in lust, make my cock slowly start to rise again. He laughed and moved to stand between my legs.
“I assume that is a yes?” he asked. Without waiting for my answering grunt, he grabbed my half-hard cock in his hand and slowly started to stroke me erect. He knew what I liked, what sent me off like a Roman candle. And he knew very well how to keep me on the edge, keep me growing ever more frantic until at last he allowed me release. That is what he proceeded to do to me, playing with my cock and bollocks, licking my nipples with his rough tongue, then biting them hard enough to make me yell around the gag. He tried tugging on the cock buried in my ass and found that he could get enough movement to make me gasp and moan. Then he grinned wickedly at me and proceeded to strip away his own clothing, letting the pieces fall where they would until he was naked, his erection standing out proudly. He studied me for a long moment, then stepped back, a satisfied look on his face.
“Oh, this will be interesting,” he said. He turned away and picked up the bottle of oil, pouring a liberal amount into his palm. Then he moved to stand next to me, dousing my cock with the oil, anointing it like some pagan icon until it shone in the dim light. Without any hesitation, he climbed up to straddle me, my cock pressing against his ass. His eyes twinkled as he looked down at me and said, “Why should you have all the fun, hm?”
He lowered himself slowly, and as he did so, I heard the gears start to turn again, and the cock in my ass started to move once more. I squeaked around the gag, and Sasha stopped moving, looking at me and seeing the cock fucking my mouth.
“Bozhe moi…” he murmured, his breath coming faster as he took me into himself, surrounding me with heat and delicious pressure. When he could go no farther, when I was as deep as I ever had been, he started to rock, one hand resting on my abdomen as he used his oil-slick hand to stroke his own cock. I could hear Sasha’s moans of pleasure over the music of the machine, feel his body growing tighter around me, and I knew that he would shoot before too long. The cock in my ass picked that moment to pick up speed, pumping harder and faster than Sasha ever could. The cock in my mouth plunged deeper into my throat, cutting off the muffled sounds of my screams of pleasure as I shot. A moment later, I felt warm wet splattering on my chest, and Sasha slumped over me, breathing heavily.
He raised his head and looked at me. “I wish I could kiss you.”
I grunted once, tired and sore and wondering what would happen next. I could hear the gears turning still, even though the cocks had fallen quiet. Then the chair shuddered; Sasha looked alarmed and scrambled off of my lap, looking at me warily.
He need not have been so alarmed. I felt the cocks sliding from my mouth and ass, then the chair shuddered and straightened, the straps receding until they once aga
in resembled nothing more than scrollwork on a singularly ugly chair. I stayed where I was, my head resting against the back of the chair, completely spent.
“Illyusha?” Sasha said quietly. “Can you move?”
I swallowed, feeling the soreness in my throat. “I don’t know.”
“Give me your hand.” Sasha took my hand and tugged me to my feet, then caught me when my poor, abused legs gave out and I tumbled to the floor. We sprawled together for a moment, then he kissed me, deep and slow.
The kiss was interrupted by a long wheesh sound from the chair; we both jumped and turned to see steam escaping through the seams in the pedestal.
“It cleans itself,” Sasha murmured, wonder in his voice. “Is there anything that Carstairs didn’t think of?”
“A safety release,” I answered wryly, drawing a laugh from Sasha. I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for coming back,” I whispered.
He looked puzzled. “Where else would I go?”
Reluctantly, I told him of my panic; he drew me into his arms and held me tightly.
“Miliy moy, I’d no more leave you behind than I’d fly to the moon. I made it very clear to my father…oh, yes, he’s acknowledged me! I told him that I would marry to suit my station, but that you were going to be at my side for the rest of my days.” He sobered. “If…if that’s what you want. Is that what you want, Illyusha?”
I blinked, almost too tired to understand what he was saying, “You want me to come to Saint Petersburg with you?”
“Yes, if you’re willing.”
“I…” I couldn’t think. All I could do was pull his head down to mine and kiss him. He smiled against my lips.
“I assume that is a yes?” he whispered.
“After all,” I murmured back. “The tsarina is said to be fond of artificers.”