Allow me to make the first observation, Jardonn. In reading your story Coming Harvest in book Liquid Delights, this passage seemed familiar:
Two dozen lips with a dozen tongues lovingly praised him. He no longer focused on one area of his skin, but every inch. Areas never before stimulated recognized pleasure. Erogenous zones became highly-sensitive triggers driving him to an ecstatic madness. All thoughts were made reality. He writhed and flexed, as faces were buried into his thick-haired arm pits, tongues raced up and down his back, chest, belly, legs and arms. Some sucked his toes and licked the arches of his feet, while others did the same to his fingers and hands. One hot, wet mouth was devoted to each of his tits. Tongues and lips kissed, licked and sucked, prompting his nuts to produce and release huge volumes of testosterone. It raged throughout his bloodstream. Took him to levels of masculine ecstasy indescribable, immeasurable. He expanded his chest, arched his back and thrust his sensitive tits deeper into their mouths, lips and tongues he could feel but not see. Double the pleasure, he could admire himself, every inch of his body, either in reflection of the tube or direct sight, while invisible others praised him. He sacrificed his tits to this incredible stimulation, fascinated by their shrinking diameter, impressed by their increasingly-elongated tips.
So, I'm reading this highly-charged text, obviously stimulated, and I remembered it as something near to what I'd done in my Black Pouched Crusader, from book The Crux of It. Behold:
Despite his stretching on the rack, Pete gave them a little performance. His arms strained, chest expanded and belly caved. His feet convulsed, toes curling forward, toes curling back, toes scraping one another. He arched his spine, lifted his head, watched Loretta's mouth working his left tit, watched Cassie molesting his right. He thrust forward his lower jaw. He growled for them. He groaned and grunted, deep-toned, like a caveman. He posed for them. He flexed his muscles, exhibited his manly strength in all its glory, and then he clenched his scrotum, forcing his fully-charged penis to rise and look for tight holes. It bounced twice, its pre-orgasmic ooze painting his fur trail with strands of silk. It continued bouncing of its own accord, his clenches of scrotum involuntary. His dancing cock obeyed the commands of two females and their merciless attack of his tits.
And so, I want to praise you, Jardonn, for expanding on my idea of what happens to a man bound and helpless when his tits are ruthlessly assaulted. He just can't help but get motivated. Good work, nephew!
Your Uncle Jasper McCutcheon