He opened the front door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Just like that, the conviction taking hold of his limbs evaporated, and he slumped down to the ground onto his butt. A long, doleful groan rumbled out of him. “No… No, no, no…” He fell onto his back, staring up into the ceiling of his living room. He put his hands on his head and fought back tears. Why? Oh God… Why? The faces of everyone who had seen him and the words of that kid echoed through his mind. They were seared into his memory like a hideous brand. He could never show his face in that city again, and yet it was his job to do so.

That reminded him, he still had a job, at least for now. It wouldn’t be long before word got out of what he did, and he would get the can. He looked at his watch. 7:59 it read. He still had time to get ready. Work was at 9. He watched the time hit 8:00. If he-

8 O’CLOCK!

The arm holding its wrist just above his head swung down into his crotch. “Huh?” His hand landed back on his cock. His other hand joined it, dual-wielding his member. With both hands firmly in place, he squeezed and stroked like his life depended on it. The soggy fabric skwish-skwished loudly. Friction burned along his shaft, alongside the return of that dreadful pressure swelling his balls. “Huhhh… Huhhh… Ahhhh… Nooo~” His toes curled and his legs shook. His hips pumped into the chaos of his hands. He wanted to cum so badly. He wanted the agony to end, to spew out every bit of weight that sagged his testes like some unforgivable sin.

It was all in vain. He was at the zenith of another orgasm once his hands flew off and his humping was forced to stop. Precum continued to bleed from his tip, but nothing warranting a real orgasm. Slowly the pleasure fell back down to zero, leaving his manhood all the more bereaved. “Oh God… Oh God… Why? Whyyyyyyy?” He put his hands, glistening with precum, over his face and bit back a sob. No. He wasn’t going to let this break him, but by God was it going to be absolute torture.

TIME TO SHOWER!

He didn’t resist once he felt himself shooting up to his feet. He carried himself to the bathroom and cut the shower on. The force motoring him forward did him the favor of waiting for the water to heat up before he stepped inside and bathed himself as he usually would. He found himself soaping up his crotch even as the underwear remained there. It got rid of the precum for the most part, but he didn’t doubt that it would return after a while. He got out, dried himself off, and got dressed in a semi-formal white shirt, blue tie, and gray pants. He was tremendously relieved to finally have his shame covered, although nothing he could do would hide that hideously large bulge.

He got in his car and started the drive to work. He was no longer sure what he was doing was of his own volition or not. He submitted to the spell’s control, knowing full well he didn’t know how to break it. He gripped the steering wheel along the entire drive, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t drive by anyone who had seen him that morning.

9 O’CLOCK!

His right hand ripped itself off of the steering wheel and attacked his fly like a starving dog diving into a bowl of food. He hissed with fear as he nearly jerked the wheel over into the oncoming lane. The spell he was under kept his  left hand firm, luckily, while the other unzipped and slithered into his crotch. He grabbed his dick and started pumping. He kept his eyes on the road, looking out for traffic as well as anyone who might be looking. Meanwhile his hand went into a frenzy, jerking on his penis and throwing him back towards the edge. Weak moans eked out of his mouth, sounding almost feminine. “Uhhh… Ahh…. Uhhh… Huhhh… No…. God… Huhhh…” Up, up, up his ecstasy went until it hit the brick wall, triggering his hand out of his pants and back to the steering wheel like nothing had happened. The pleasure was like a knife of joy stabbed into his cock all the way down to the balls. It slid out through his urethra slooooooooowly, only to be replaced by what felt like a boulder inside of his scrotum. The precum was back tenfold, filling the cabin with its raunchy stench.

He dreaded the next few hours. He was on at 11:30. Twice he was going to have to find a place to go through with the curse if it continued with this pattern, which he had every reason to believe it would. He imagined a life of hiding away at every single hour to masturbate, only to be yanked away from fruition at the absolute cruelest moment every time. Simultaneously he wondered what the most painless method of suicide was, and if he had the courage to go through with it.

As he was pondering what the muzzle of a 12 gauge tasted like, he pulled into the parking lot of the news studio. He got out and noticed his fly was still undone, something he corrected hastily. He walked inside, sweating bullets, and clocked in. His coworkers greeted him cordially as they always did, but quickly noticed his pained expression. He looked like he’d just been through a warzone.

“You OK, Chris?”

“Are you sick?”

“You don’t look so hot. Are you alright?”

“Chris, you’re sweating. You got a fever?”

He played it off as best he could. “Yeah, I’m fine.” he would say, all the while he mentally begged them all to shoot him. Several people noticed his raging erection as it bloated the crotch of his pants like they had never seen. They kept quiet about it. Chris didn’t blame them.

He eyed his watch as he got ready for his report. He was at his desk where he was supposed to be rehearsing and getting ready. Instead his eyes were glued to his watch as 10 AM ticked near. Once it read 9:55 he gunned for the restroom and locked himself into a stall. He sat down on the toilet and watched the numbers rise towards ten.

9:57

9:58

9:59

10 O’CLOCK!

On cue, his hands tore open his fly and grabbed his penis. He knew what to expect this time and braced for it, although that hardly helped. He bit his lip to hold the moans at bay, but that did not stop the occasional hum of delight from quivering out through his nose. His knees rocked and quaked. His leather shoes backed into the base of the toilet. He was about to cum.

But he didn’t. The earth shattering orgasm that would’ve launched him into space and showered the inside of that stall with a shower of his seed was torn away from him as his hands came off at the absolute last moment. “Nooooooooooo…” he whimpered. The tears came, finally. He sniffled and whimpered as the pleasure departed for an even more draconian agony of arousal that equaled having his balls crushed by a rubber band.

He closed his fly and stood up from the toilet. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stepped into the bathroom. A man was there over the sink, washing his hands. He stared hard into the drain, trying hard not to look at Chris, who wanted to leave but couldn’t without cleaning his precum-coated palms first. He trudged up to the sink farthest from the man and turned on the faucet. He looked over at Chris and saw the tears running down his face and the snot on his lip. He had to say something.

“Everything OK, Chris?”

Chris sniffled. “No.” He finished washing his hands and went to the paper towel dispenser where he angrily tore out a handful.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” There was nothing he could do for him. No point in making it his problem too. Chris wiped his hands clean and went back to his desk. He had to prepare for the upcoming report at 11:30. He had to be in the studio at 11, exactly when he would be jerking off. He sat there with his head in his hand, just waiting for it to come with the resignation of an innocent man on death row, knowing that his sincere claims of innocence will fall on deaf ears. He returned to the bathroom stall at 10:55. Five minutes later:

11 O’CLOCK!

Down went his fly. He grabbed his cock. He jerked it furiously. More moans, more precum, no orgasm, more weeping. He came out of the stall feeling like his scrotum was an anvil. There was nobody to comfort him this time. He was alone in his misery. He made it to the studio reluctantly. His report would only last 10 minutes before he could fuck off and get ready for the noon jerk session. He came in sluggish and pale, much to the dismay of his coworkers. The producer asked if he had it in him. No, he did not, but the spell wasn’t going to let him say that nor act on it. He got in position like a goodboy and let the makeup crew get rid of his dreadful pallor.

The 11:30 report began. Everything went smoothly up to the transition to him. He was on a small stage next to the two anchors. His report was on a recent increase in traffic accidents along a new stretch of road and what the causes may be. He’d researched and rehearsed on it for the past week. It was drilled into his head by then. For the first time since that day started, he felt confident. The camera was above his erection and he looked stoic in the camera feed. It was 11:37, plenty of time to spew his report and then get away to masturbate. All was well.

“And here’s Chris with more info!” Cued the female anchor. “Chris?”

The feed cut to him. His face appeared on several screens in front of him. He could see the silhouette of his producer standing, watching, in the background. He put on a bright smile. “Thanks, Jane! We-”

DO A REPORT ON HOW FUCKING PERVERTED YOU ARE!

“-this morning I took a jog in just underwear while it had a bunch of precum on it,” he said robotically. His eyes went wide. His mouth and throat were not his own. Nor were his feet, which kept him planted there. “I had a huge fucking boner and ran through the park for everyone to see. I have a huge dick and I wanted everyone to see it.” He saw the look of horror on his own face as well as that on everyone in the studios. 

He heard the producer scream, “Cut it! Cut it!” The monitors cut away from him and back to the anchors, both of whom looked absolutely mortified. They hastily composed themselves and apologized to the viewers for the “technical difficulties”.

That didn’t stop Chris who continued to describe that morning’s adventure. “I made all of the guys at the park jealous with my huge cock. I bet I’m bigger than everyone in here.” That was true, of course, but he was hardly the man to ever say it. “I can spit enough cum to make every woman in the world pregnant. Women love my cock and men wish they had it.” And with that last syllable off of his lips, the spell gave his control back, letting him close his mouth.

Too little, too late. His producer charged up to the stage where he was, jabbed a finger at him, and growled through clenched teeth. “You’re fired. Get the fuck out of here.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. With the tears streaming down his face in full, he stormed out of there and out into the parking lot. He jumped into his car and wept loudly. He beat his fist on the steering wheel. He growled, cursed, screamed, and stomped. He asked that question again. Why? All he did was go into a witch’s house and break a clock. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Did he really deserve a punishment so heinous? How could it get any worse?

12 O’CLOCK!

As he threw his seat back and started jerking his dick again, he realized how. The agony of ecstacy grabbed him, then quickly retreated as it always did. He was hardly allowed a moment’s reprieve before another thought shot through him.

TIME TO WORK OUT!

He turned the ignition on his car and screeched out of the parking lot. It was routine to head straight to the gym right after work. That was usually hours from now, but things got cut short, so there he was going much earlier. He parked up front, right next to the handicap space (thank God the spell respected the disabled). Before he got out, he started tearing his clothes off, stripping down to just his underwear again. He normally went to the locker room and changed into his gym clothes, but he didn’t have them with him, and it wouldn’t have been as humiliating if he had the privacy. Once down to just his skivvies, he hopped out of the car and stormed into the gym with what looked like the motivation of a trainer. 

He burst through the front doors. The people nearest jumped. A woman in the back screamed. There he was in his almost-naked glory, cock blasting out from his loins with as much subtlety as nuclear reaction. He went to the treadmill and started jogging, as was his warm up. As his legs pounded against the whirring belt, everyone around him fled.  A few shouted at him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Chris! What are you doing?”

“Sir, you need to leave.”

“I’m calling the police.”

A few staff members gathered around him, begging and demanding him to stop. “I can’t…” he told them. “Oh God, I wish I could, but I can’t… I really can’t.” Tears streamed down his cheeks in a flood. “Please help me…” He broke down into sobs, legs still pumping, fat cock still bouncing. None of them knew what to do. He sounded so sincere, yet he continued jogging. More people called the police. Whether or not he was genuine, everyone agreed that he needed help.

It would arrive too late.

TIME TO GO HOME!

The spell detected the impending authority and had him kill the machine and hop off. He waltzed out of there, leaving a small crowd of deeply disturbed and concerned folk who were still processing what they had just witnessed. Chris got into his car and drove home. He was weeping to himself silently when

1 O’CLOCK!

His hand reunited with his penis. A few seconds of violent stroking. No climax. No relief.

He pulled into his driveway and walked back into his house. The misery now draped across his loins was so complete and intense that he couldn’t feel any satisfaction from finally being alone. Stepping into the front door released him from the spell’s control, but he knew that wouldn’t last. There was no way he could just lie down and ignore it all. He had to distract himself. He paced the house. He took several shots of alcohol. He did some pushups. He opened his computer to do some browsing. Porn wasn’t on the menu.

Naturally, his FaceBook had completely blown apart. His face was already trending on Twitter. Other news outlets were talking about it. He dreaded what he would see, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He opened some articles. 

“Local News Reporter Has Mental Breakdown”

“Reporter Seen Nude In Park. Makes Inappropriate Remarks During Report.”

“News Reporter Goes On A Nude Run Through Park. Talks About It During Report.”

He sat in front of his laptop with his mouth in his hand. He suspected as much, but was hardly ready for it. Everyone was talking about it. Witnesses posted pictures and videos. The comments were to be expected.

“What a freak.”

“Oh my God.”

“He went insane!”

“😳😳😳 Chris what happened???”

One of them caught his eye.

“Yo. I saw this guy in the park this morning. On god i told him to do a report on how hes a pervert. I did NOT expect him to go through with it fr. Dude had a big dick tho ngl. He should post a pic of it to show off.”

TIME FOR SOME DICK PICS!

“Nooo…” was the only level of protest he could muster as he stood up from his chair and grabbed his phone. He  grabbed the front side of his waistband and, to his shock, peeled it off of. The skin it revealed was an ungodly shade of inflamed red, glossed over by thickish slime. The cool air against it was like razor blades, but was a welcome sensation after so much aching and griping. He pulled his underwear down beneath his scrotum. His cock sprung free like someone out of water. Globs of manly spit drooled from the tip and glopped down to the carpet. He snapped several photos from multiple angles, leaving no square inch of his magnificent pecker unseen. He posted them all in response to his heckler’s comment. He typed three words along with it.

“Here you go.”

Send.

The response was immediate. 

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!”

“Goddamn!”

“Dude *is* hung”

“Damn i dont blame him for runnin out with that thing.”

Regardless of the compliments, he felt terrible shame for showing it to the many innocents who certainly didn’t want or ask for it. He put his phone down and pulled his underwear back up, retrapping his cock. It was fun while it lasted.

Chris had finally lost it. In a fit of hysterics, he resumed clawing at his briefs. Failing, he grabbed at the watch, something he hadn’t tried. Nothing worked. He screamed and cried at the resolute shackle on his wrist as it counted up to the next hour.

2 O’CLOCK!

He masturbated to the edge. He tore and scraped at his bondage.

3 O’CLOCK!

He masturbated to the edge. He tore and scraped at his bondage.

4 O’CLOCK!

5 O’CLOCK!

6 O’CLOCK!

7 O’CLOCK!

8 O’CLOCK!

By the time the sun started to set he was in shambles. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were puffy. He was thrown between moods of raw despair and giggly hysteria. More and more masculine nectar oozed down his thigh and caked across his crotch. His balls had become beacons of a pain so intense that it was all he could perceive. Time meant nothing, unless it was at the end of the hour.

9 O’CLOCK!

10 O’CLOCK!

11 O’CLOCK!

Almost everyone was asleep. Those who were still awake and had witnessed Chris’s downfall were still discussing it. In spite of all the jokes and jeers, they still worried about him and hoped that he was OK. He wasn’t. The minutes ticked by towards midnight, and Chris was a defeated man. All thought and emotion had effectively been beaten out of him. He stood in his bedroom in a stupor, swaying where he stood. He was beyond exhausted. His head nodded towards sleep, but the ache in his testes remained ever fierce. There would be no respite. He would die this way: soaked in precum, cock erect, face wet with tears. He didn’t have to look at the watch to know midnight was nearing. His mind had adjusted to the flow of time with great precision, not that it had a choice. Midnight was coming. He would throw himself to the edge again, never to cross it.

Thump!

Chris’s bloodshot eyes blinked open. He felt something touch his wrist and strike the floor next to his feet. He looked down. The watch was gone. His wrist was bare. It left behind a deep impression. There was the watch, on the carpet, a few inches away from him. His sleep deprived mind took several moments to comprehend what that meant. 

Free?

He looked at his underwear. He brought his thumb up to the waist band. It slid inside effortlessly. He pulled it off his skin, once more revealing his penis. He pulled and pulled it. Was he the one doing this? He let go of it. It snapped back into place. He grabbed and pulled it again. Yes. This was him. He was in control.

His eyes lit up like a lightbulb. “AHAH!!!” he squealed. He grabbed the waistband with both hands and tore them down his thighs. Once more his cock sprouted forward joyously. “YES!” he roared triumphantly. “YEE-EE-EE-EE-EE-EESSSSSSS!!!” The tears came back, but they were of pure bliss. 

He didn’t waste any time. He jumped onto the bed and rolled onto his back. He grabbed his cock and beat it hard. He didn’t last long. His entire body was thrown into an arch once that orgasm, held back for so, so, so very long was freed at last. It rocketed from his penis and into the air like shampoo from a crushed bottle. The ecstasy that ripped through his entire body was a white hot explosion. He howled like a woman, not caring who heard or what they thought. He wanted the world to know: Chris was a free man. Cum spat and spewed from him for several more moments, drawing out into what felt like an eternity of euphoria. It splattered back down onto his chest and tummy, all the while his face was contorted by a manic smile. Of course, it had to end like all great things do. Luckily for Chris, he wasn't there for it. The very moment the pleasure began to fade he was out like a light, slumping down to the bed and snoring like a chainsaw.

THE END