The beginning

A crazed fetish is the balancing point in sanity, the inflicted torment to which I clung seeking my master's satisfaction.
I am here because it is my destiny... I want to scratch that itch after having been locked in a steel chastity belt for 40 days by my Master.

My hands are tied to supports on the dirty floor of the dungeon, my legs are raised with heels first in the air, held by the heavy beam of the gallows. The creaking of the winch gears is audibly unsettling and mentally invasive, like the sound of danger from past tortures never forgotten... But the walls remember.

The moments stretch out, the need grows as my legs hang from steel bars and cables... My cock restricted by the resistance of the steel of the chastity cage, throbbing for freedom. The chain tightens, the lips mock without words, although sound reactions escape from the lips of the cruel Master, producing the musical notes of painful pleasures now present, but there is still more to come... The blinding pain begins now with the pull, the whip and the cane, intense and unbearable, but the need, my surrender, my devotion overcomes physical discomfort, a prelude before the true suffering begins, which will last eternally.

The sound of sadistic laughter and the sharp notes of electricity crackle in the air. The bite is rough and quick. Electric shocks shake the muscles and burn the skin... The smell of burnt ozone mixed with burning flesh fills the nostrils and tightens the front of the Master's dirty black pants. The inflicted torture is a pleasure that satisfies me, no matter to whom I belong, I am only the victim.

Time stretches, pain rises and falls like waves on the beach.

Now, my erect cock rubs against the wooden floor, hitting the steel chastity cage with all its strength, hoping to relieve the extreme oppression it feels inside. But the chain weighs even more from the Master's pull. My testicles are painfully bruised from the blows and tugs. Time escapes like water in a stream.

How much longer will I be able to endure it? with the satisfaction of the efforts made and spent in a sublime torture. The tension intensifies as I lie exhausted on the dirty floor. The psychopomp, the ferryman who guides souls to the realm of the dead in the underworld, has no passengers today.