He was trapped.

The room was dark.

His cock was so, so hard.

These were the things that he knew. These were the things that were swimming inside of his head.

He thought eventually that his eyes would adjust to the darkness, but it was pitch black in a way that swam across his vision as he perpetually tried to focus on features that just wouldn’t appear. He wasn’t blindfolded, but he was strapped to a chair of some sort, bound tightly, and no struggling would free him.

And the room was silent, except…

There was a device fitted around his cock, like some sort of fleshlight, wet and squishing him inside of it, stroking with methodical rhythm: up, down, up, down, maddeningly slow. The mechanical noises of it filled his head, the sound of flesh and lube and sex as it gripped and pulled.

He dimly remembered at first the way that his cock hardened into it, and now every little teasing motion making his hips try to stutter up into it…

He was trapped.

The room was dark.

He was so, so fucking hard.

It was warm with friction, and driving him insane. He thought it was somehow keeping him subdued; it was so hard to think when his cock felt so good, when all his body wanted was to fuck and cum. But no matter how hard he tried, there was nothing he could do.

Because…

He was trapped.

The room was dark.

He was SO hard.

He found himself wandering to fantasies of being able to rip out of his bounds and grab blindly at the machine, gripping it and pumping it hard over himself just exactly how he wanted until he finally found release. His thoughts would circle around and around, lusting after simple masturbation that felt so tantalizingly close and yet so impossible to achieve.

Sometimes he would have these vivid visions of what his cock looked like being swallowed over and over by the device, and he craved even just being able to see it, like maybe that would push him over the edge, or see the room, or see anything. He fantasized about how if someone came to help him, he’d beg for them to let him just see. He’d do whatever they wanted.

But he was trapped.

The room was dark.

And his cock was hard.

He wondered if his thoughts were somehow getting simpler, but he had no way to know, no comparison, no sense of time. Idly he pondered how fast the machine was moving on him, but then he had to focus on it, try to discern how long a second was when it moved soft and tight and wet down and up, making him almost dizzy in the darkness with how horny he was… His body again trying to thrust, the sound of the restraints being pulled, the unending, unnerving automacy of the up… and down…

He was trapped.

The room was dark.

His cock was so hard.

Stunted, easy thoughts, somehow his heart pounding through desperation, wondering how long he’d have to endure this and what it would do to his brain… He knew that solitary confinement messed with people, drove them mad, and this was a whole different level of it… Fantasies of his cock spurting, fantasies of someone coming to help him, fantasies of his unknown captors that would get him off, that he’d do anything he’d do anything for them to release him…

He dimly realized that his brain had stopped trying to resist a long time ago.

He’d listen to them, he’d obey their wishes, and the idea of taking orders made him even harder. He’d let them do what they wanted with him, if they’d only let him cum. He’d be completely compliant. He WAS being compliant, just sitting here, letting himself be stroked…

It was ongoing, and never-ending, and so he kept obeying.

Trapped.

Dark.

Hard.