Relentless Milking; Serious Kit in the Gynae chair
The room was warm and inviting, in a strange way, soft green lighting lit his way as he was led to a white gynae chair and instructed on how to mount. Soft floaty music played in the background which added to the whole ambience.
The adjustable stirrups held his legs wide and elevated, knees bent, exposing him completely. Mistress secured the restraints methodically—wrists at his sides, thighs strapped down, a broad band across his chest—ensuring he was immobile, tilted back just enough to offer perfect access. The black latex catsuit already clung to his skin, simple and seamless, zipped in tight from ankles to neck, the glossy material amplifying every shift of his body.
She worked in silence at first. A generous squeeze of thick, warm lube coated his cock, her fingers stroking slowly from base to tip until he was slick, glistening, and hardening under the deliberate touch. She teased the head lightly, circling the frenulum, building just enough arousal to make entry smooth.
The Serious Kit Milker stood ready nearby: the pump unit humming faintly in standby, hoses coiled. The SPT—a lined electro-stim variant with its soft conductive rubber interior—waited in her hand, already connected to the twin vacuum lines and the constant lube feed from the overhead gravity bag. Only when everything was prepared—cock fully lubed, erect and ready, positioned at the perfect angle—did she reach for the pulsator switch. The Milker came alive with a low, building whir. As the pressure rose steadily and the pulsator started to tick like a clock. She slid the SPT over him in one smooth motion, the lined interior enveloping his length completely. A soft whoosh as vacuum sealed it at the base; the constant lube feed hissed quietly, warm slickness trickling in from the top even before the pulsation began. Excess lube and any pre-cum were drawn away into the collection system —no mess, no interruption.
The pulsation started slow. The rubber liner rippled inward in rhythmic waves—constricting from root to tip, milking him with mechanical precision, then releasing just enough for him to swell again. Each stroke pulled pre-cum steadily, the machine's vacuum gripping the base while the liner stroked relentlessly. The speed dial remained low for now: deliberate, teasing draws that built pressure without rushing. Simultaneously, the Lined Electro-Stim Nipple Cylinders—Serious Kit's bi-polar acrylic domes—were already in place. She had positioned them earlier, the wide aluminium rings sealed against the latex over his chest, each with a polished steel tip electrode pressing the nipple and a comfort ring at the base. Twin hoses connected them to the same Milker outputs, valves balanced for equal draw. As the main pump cycled, the cylinders responded in perfect sync: constant suction holding his nipples deep and swollen inside the clear chambers, pulsating tugs adding rhythmic pulls—draw, flutter, release—mimicking the SPT's milking motion on his cock. Warm lube fed constantly into each dome, coating the sensitive tips with every pulse, the clear walls letting him watch them engorge and throb in time with the machine. The e-stim powered on next, leads clipped to the nipple cylinders and the SPT's conductive liner. She started low—a gentle buzz that layered beneath the suction. Each vacuum pulse amplified it: the current arced sharper as the domes pulled tighter on his nipples, the bi-polar setup focusing the e-stim right at the tips.
His manhood felt amazing, frustrated, but amazing all the same as the milking tube-STP delivered stroking sensations that rode the pulsations—tingling deeper with every inward squeeze, fading on the release, only to surge again. Everything synchronized: cock milked in wet, rippling strokes; nipples throbbed in fluttering domes; electricity crackling in perfect harmony.
Mistress adjusted slowly—valves for more constant hold on the nipples, speed dial turning up incrementally. The pulsations quickened, the SPT milking faster, drawing harder, the constant lube ensuring endless slick glide. Nipple cylinders fluttered visibly against his latex-covered chest, swollen peaks pulled upward with each shared cycle. The edging built mercilessly: long, slow draws milking him to the brink, then holding just short of release; faster throbs pushing him closer, the e-stim peaking in micro-bursts that made his whole body strain against the restraints.
The latex catsuit held him tight with every futile twitch as the machine did its work—tireless, precise, unrelenting. No hands, no pauses; just the machine's rhythm dictating every sensation. But, there was no end in sight as his frustration and need to cum grew. He was being held, kept frustrated. He moaned out loud, with pleasure, with need, with longing, longing for release, but he could tell that wasn't on the cards, not yet anyway.
Perhaps Mistress had a different idea in mind, she was in charge after all. Any release would be her choice, her decision.
When she finally allowed it, the climax hit on the strongest cycle: SPT constricting deep and hard, nipple domes squeezing in unison, e-stim firing; the entire setup throbbing as one. Wave after wave milked out, the machine refusing to stop until he was utterly spent.
She powered down gradually—the pulsations easing to gentle holds, then off. The SPT released with a wet pop, leaving him slick, sensitive, drained. The nipple cylinders detached last, his nipples red and glistening.
He could only breathe, trembling in the aftershocks, the gynae chair still holding him open—already anticipating the next inevitable start.
