Dec 23, 2011
Here's a new story. This one comes with several warnings:

* It's a hetero story. Those looking for purely homosexual content should just not even read this.

* It's a story that's difficult to classify. The "victim" is male and he dies, but it's a hetero story.

* It's a long setup. Please be patient.

* Gratuitous ginger on ginger sex. Sorry. I don't know why these things happen.

Having said all of that: the usual things apply:

* I love getting feedback.

* If you like the story (or the idea) even if you aren't sexually turned on by it, please say so.

* Feedback will make me write more stories. I will consider requests.

* If you really like it, click on the grey star in my profile. I love rep increases.

* Bonus points if you can spot the obvious themes in the title, the story, and in names.

- A

Please always attribute the author.

The Tree and the Circle
by Attica

“Miss...Donovan? Did I pronounce that properly?”

“Yes, that’s right,” replies Alannah. Alannah is sitting across from a short, pert, Chinese woman with round glasses, black flowing hair and a business suit so perfect that not a single piece of fiber is out of place. Alannah herself feels completely under-dressed for the occasion, wearing a simple blouse, jeans and a NY Yankees baseball cap. Alannah would have felt self-conscious and guilty except for the explicit instructions to dress like a tourist before arriving. Indeed, she had blended in nicely with the tourist crowds before turning down a side street and knocking on the door identified only by a hand painted picture of a praying mantis on the outside.

“And how long have you been trying to get pregnant Miss Donovan?” asks the woman behind the desk sweetly.

“Please, call me Alannah.” A pause rests between the two of them. Alannah shifts in her chair uneasily. “Five years,” she replies. “Five, long years.”

The Chinese woman looks sympathetic, nodding slowly. It looks vaguely rehearsed. “I see. And I trust that you have tried and exhausted all other methods? Positions? Multiple men at once? One at a time? Deep penetration? Sex with men with high sperm counts? One night stands? Inversion technique? Multiple attempts at sperm banks? Artificial insemination?” The questions seem oddly misplaced given the reserved wardrobe and the monotone delivery that could have easily come from a bank teller back home.

“Yes yes yes, all of those,” replies Alannah, her voice both simultaneously tired and annoyed. “I’ve tried all of those.”

“Well,” replies the woman behind the desk. “You have certainly come to the right place. We can solve your problem for you of course, provided you have adequate means to pay.”

“I have the money,” replies Alannah, stressing both ownership and impatience. “What I have to ask is how you can feel confident in charging me a million dollars for a solution that has eluded the best medical minds in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles.”

“Ah,” replies the woman behind the desk. She smiles, then leans forward, resting her forearms on the desk, leaning on them for support before folding her hands together like two slow-moving, but agile curling cats. “The problem with all of those advanced Western medical minds is that they are blaming you for your problems. The problem is not with you, it’s with the men and their circumstances.”

“I’m not following.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’ve been at the mercy of Western medicine for far too long Alannah. You are not the problem. The problem has been improperly motivated men.” The woman leans closer, her two hands opening up and stretching across the table, reaching for, and then gently snaring Alannah’s hands. “It’s not your fault.” The woman moves her fingertips gently, tracing along the upper skin and the faint purple veins. “You’re ovulating!” the woman says as she pulls her hands back slowly.

“How did you...?” Alannah’s sentence gets swallowed by awe and surprise. It had been 12 days since her last period and the perfect time, according to her personal physicians, when she should, as one of them put it “get it on.”

The woman waves her hand dismissively and then reaches into her desk, grabbing a stack of manila envelopes. She puts each one on the front of the desk in a line as if dealing poker cards, each with its own space before she flips the cover off of each one. In the right-hand corner of the top of each cover page is a small color photo of a man, followed by lines upon lines of Chinese characters Alannah cannot understand.

Alannah picks one up at random. It features a man, probably of Mediterranean descent with dark olive skin and black hair in the upper right hand corner. The file contains pages upon pages of text in a language she doesn’t understand save for the occasional English word peppered in like a spice. Most of the recognizable words center around legal terms like ‘tort’ and ‘appeal’. Additional pictures exist deeper in the small stack of papers in the folder, each one easily identifiable as mug-shots and taken at detention centers. She sets down the first file and scans the rest, looking at the pictures until she spies one on the far edge of the table. She picks it up.

The eyes speak most to her immediately. They are green and rippling, like a field of pasture or a long mossy crag somewhere in her dreams. A strong jaw and a muscled upper body, the pecs shine with a sheen, stretched over hard muscle. She feels a tingling between her legs, faint, like a half-heard whisper as she drowns in his eyes and face. Her eyes pull back now, scanning, seeing the freckles, the red and blonde streaked hair, tussled and unkempt like stalks of wheat blowing on a field. Her fingers reach out and softly touch the face in the picture.

“Excuse me, Miss Donovan?” Alannah gasps in surprise. She glances upward, tearing her vision from the picture in her hands. The woman’s hands are folded neatly on the desk again, but the files that had been on the desk are gone. Alannah realizes that she was so engrossed that she had missed the other woman quietly refiling the rejected men back into her desk. She blinks, still trying to come back to the moment. The woman smiles. “If you like, we can prep him and have him ready in 30 minutes. All we would need is payment.”

Alannah hears herself whisper. “Yes, I’d like that.” She looks up at the woman. “How does this work?”

The woman starts gathering paperwork to sign. “I’ll explain everything.”


Sean had been ready for months. He was tired of the endless medical exams, the food, the forced exercise regimen and the constant surveillance. What bothered him the most, however, was the continuous gnawing hunger in his loins that ate at him every second he was awake.

Simply put, Sean hadn’t ejaculated for the entire length of his captivity.

It hadn’t been for lack of trying. Every time he tried to jack off and release the growing ache in his balls someone interrupted him. The initial interventions consisted of yelling at him to stop. Later, they got more violent as Sean got more desperate for release. Many days he would look down and see his erect, twitching pink cock, the tip glistening with precum. If he so much as moved a hand anywhere near his groin, two guards would grab him by each arm and handcuff his hands behind his back until the erection went away. He almost got away with jerking himself off once once in a secluded bathroom stall. He had managed to get two strokes across his shaft when the bathroom door of the stall suddenly opened, followed quickly by the whistling of two taser darts and the familiar clicking of electrical discharge.

At night before bedtime, his hands were restrained and he was not even given a blanket with which to rub himself against. He had discovered in his third week that even in the darkness, his sleep was being monitored. He had been dreaming about blissful release when suddenly the lights had come on and a team of frantic nurses and doctors had swiftly descended upon him, injecting something into his veins and immediately arresting his desires and deflating his cock.

Even in dreams, he could not get relief.

This is why he doesn’t fight when he is told, calmly, by a cheerful female nurse that he is being prepped to die. Sean was stripped naked and then strapped down to a rather comfortable, cushioned table. Sean thought the straps were excessive. Each one was soft cow-hide, thin, but strong and wide. As they tied each one down, there was the familiar creak of leather as they secured his wrists, then his forearms, then his ankles, knees, thighs, and lastly one across his chest, just under the forearms.

A woman approached him, dressed in a white lab coat. She was petite with white hair and wrinkles on her face hinting at a hard life. In his months of captivity, Sean had never seen her before. “My name is Armisael,” she says, as she lays her wrinkled, but soft hands on Sean’s head and chest. Her voice is soothing and calm as if she were talking to a small troubled boy. “I wanted to say how terribly sorry I am that one of the prep nurses told you that you were going to die. That isn’t a part of the protocol and she will be punished for that.”

“It’s alright,” says Sean. “I’m ready.”

An assistant wheels up an IV stand. Two bags of fluid hang from it, dangling like two testicles, the feeder lines already connected. “Now Sean, since someone has already, “spilled the beans” and told you what’s going to happen, I’m going to ask you to be very brave in front of our client today.”

Sean looks at the dangling bags of fluid, staring at them. “Will it hurt?” he asks.

The woman looks back at him gently, a hand running over his chest. “It will for a short time. But you’ll also have the relief you seek. You won’t be able to move at all. But you’ll be able to feel everything.” Armisael pauses, looking into his eyes. “You used to be a soldier once? Yes? I think I read that in your file.”

Sean nods.

“Then I think you’re one of the few people that I’ve met that are really ready for this. Thank you Sean. You’re helping someone today even if you won’t be able to see the results.” Armisael nods to an assistant who begins hooking up the two feeder lines into a small box with an antenna. From the box, a single line comes out into an IV line which Armisael injects into a vein in Sean’s arm.

“Sean, what’s going to happen is that you’re going to be in here with a very special woman. When the time comes, we’re going to give you the contents of those two bags remotely via a wireless signal. First one, then the other. I’ll be watching you the entire time from up there.” Armisael waves her hands up to a large row of dark, one way glass near the ceiling. “I know you’re a brave man, but if you ever get scared, just remember that I’ll be watching you and I’ll be with you, ok?”

“Ok. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

Armisael plants a hand on Sean’s cheek and then kisses him on the forehead. She then turns and leaves the room, the nurses and attendants following her as the door hisses, then seals shut.

Sean lays there, staring at the ceiling. It’s so quiet, he can hear his own breathing clearly and loudly. His eyes glance around, noticing the walls and the ceiling, covered in odd foam triangles, the sound of everything in the room seems amplified and crystal clear.

There’s another sound now, a hiss. Sean turns his head and eyes in the direction of the sound as he watches a door open. Through it steps a woman, shrouded by a thin, white bathrobe. Her hair is reddish brown, like the color of an shiny new penny and curly, flowing over the top of her shoulders and stopping just short of the round of her breasts. Her face is sprinkled with freckles over the bridge of her noise and then flowing under her blue-green eyes. She stands there for a moment, trembling as the door closes behind her slowly.

The two eye each other, not saying a word. To Sean’s left there’s a single <click> sound from the antenna box. The contents of one IV bag, whatever it is starts to flow through Sean’s veins.

Alhanna steps forward, getting closer to the man on the table. He’s strapped in, just like they told her he would be. A twinge of sadness and regret flickers through her. This is not how she wanted it to happen. Her eyes scan his body, the hardness of it. The athleticism. The toned muscles in all of his body. Oh how she wants to be lifted up and carried away in those arms! She edges closer, hearing his breathing as she comes info the light.

Sean watches. He hears his breathing deepen and his pulse start to race, feeling a slight flush come to face and body. There’s a tingling now as she feels his cock start to stir, then feeling that tingling become a surge, then a tidal wave, stronger than he’s experienced before. He watches now as the woman comes to his side, her soft freckled face leaning over his, her coppery hear tumbling forward toward his face as he feels her hand suddenly, soft and warm around his fingers.

Alhanna voice stumbles at first. “I’m sorry. They...they tell me that you know.”

Sean looks into her face, seeing the softness, the beauty and the regret, but also sensing the the gnawing hunger and need that brought her here, flickering in her eyes. “Aye. I do.” He pauses. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

“Alhanna. My name is Alhanna.”

“I’m Sean.”

Alhanna whispers the name back. “Sean.” She then steps back, allowing Sean a better view as her hands undo the small knot in the front of her robe, letting it open. She then subtly arches her back, moving her shoulders backwards so that the robe can quietly slide off of her body before it falls into a tiny heap around her ankles.

Sean’s eyes look at her body standing before him, looking at Alhanna’s freckled and fair skin. Her breasts are round and firm with bright pink nipples, her stomach flat with muscles leading all the way down to the coppery red triangle of hair between her legs. Sean’s eyes do what his bound hands cannot as he ravishes her body with his eyes, his cock stiffening and twitching with every beat of his hungry heart.

Alhanna steps forward again, leaning over Sean now, close enough to where he can feel her heat as she swings a leg over and gracefully climbs on top of him. Her eyes look down and sees Sean’s cock, large, erect, pulsing, standing, ready. Sean is breathing hard now. His cock is hard and stiff like never before, almost painful as he feels the skin stretching over both head and shaft.

Alhanna’s cunt aches, feeling the moistness on her inner thighs. She had gotten tingles just looking at his pictures. Now that she was close to him and was climbing on top of him, all doubts fled her mind. There was no stopping. She wanted this. She needed this. And she was going to have it. Her hand comes out and snares the base of Sean’s cock. She hears him gasp as a flood of heat comes through her as she guides the shaft here it needs to be, aiming it gently, pausing for a moment, hovering her sopping wet cunt over Sean’s twitching member.

There’s another click from the tiny box.

Sean hears the click that Alhanna is too lost to hear as he lowers herself onto his cock. Sean feels her warmth and tightness around himself. He watches as her eyes close and she begins rocking back and forth on his cock, watching as she bites her lower lip, her breasts heaving up and down as her hands come up and touch his chest, leaning against it for support.

Sean wants to cry out in joy. But when he does, all that comes out is a quiet grunt from the back of his throat. Sean’s heart leaps in panic and fear as he realizes that he’s lost the ability to move a muscle in his body. His mind races, reaching out to toes and fingers, arms and legs to get them to move. And nothing happens. It’s at this moment he feels a slight tingling deep in his chest, like a feather brushing up against the inside of his lungs, growing stronger by the moment. Then he hears it. His breathing. It’s getting harder to hear, getting submerged in the noises of skin rubbing on skin and the quiet wet slurping sound of his cock going in and out of Alhanna’s pink, warm hole. The feather in his lungs hardens, turning into a hot comb scraping his chest.

Alhanna’s mouth hangs open, feeling the hardness and something more that she’s never felt. A trembling. A movement. A desperation, an urgency she can sense between her legs. Alhanna opens her eyes and sees the panic in Sean’s shuddering eyes, his mouth hanging open, drooling and his lips, trembling, the color turning from bright red to purple. Alhanna feels confused and overwhelmed, seeing Sean in pain, watching his face turn bluish as their eyes connect. In an instant both of them realize the simple truth.

Sean is going to die.

Both of them race death. Alhanna furiously humps on Sean’s hard, trembling cock while Sean’s eyes grow wide, feeling the burning in his lungs, feeling his body burn the last of its oxygen and trying to hang on as long as he can, being pushed by a desperate need to cum and plant his seed even as his world starts to shrink and he feels his body slowly tiring and giving up.

Alhanna cries. “No, please, please please...!” as she bucks her hips as fast as she can, watching as Sean’s eyelids start to flutter, his eyes rolling back into his head.”No no no God no...! Not yet please!” In a fit of desperation Alhanna takes her hands and claws her fingernails deep into his still, unmoving chest.

Sean’s eyes open, feeling himself sinking before he feels a of sudden clarity. He begins to cum. He feels his cock pulse in wave after wave of pleasure and release, each pulse of his cock like a breath of life and awareness as months of frustration, coupled with his impending death causes his cock to spew pulse after pulse of life, hard and strong and deep. It goes on and on and on and on and....and....

Alhanna feels it start just as Sean’s eyes open wide suddenly, his eyes shuddering as she feels it, like a sudden gunshot, then the strong, controlled pulsing between her legs, feeling the jerking of his cock in her as he spurts, continuing to spurt even as his eyelids half close, his eyes glassing over as she watches his consciousness fade into the darkness even as he continues to plant wave after wave of seed.

Finally there is a final last shudder from his cock and then he goes still.

Alhanna stares...feeling everything, taking everything in. She then collapses on top of him, overwhelmed with emotion, sobbing, crying out years of frustration and heartbreak. She cries, tears falling on Sean’s chest, aware that the door to the chamber has hissed open. She doesn’t move even as the attendants come in. No one rushes the moment as she cries sob after sob of relief and sadness.

Nine months later, Alhanna is crying again, happy, but bittersweet. She stares at her newborn twins, one boy, one girl, suckling at each breast, both of them looking at her with deep mossy green eyes.


Dec 23, 2011
Of course, it would help if I proof-read the damn thing. Note to self: stick with character names that are easier to spell. (Grumble grumble) sorry for the typos.