The Devil Finds Work for Idle Hands

By TickledPink published February 19, 2018
Summary
Dev works at a company. His job is boring, and he spends a lot of time playing mobile games. This new one he plays almost constantly, it's almost as though he can't stop his hands.

“Name” the app glowed at me.

“Dev” I entered, glancing up at the window next to my cubicle. The window was dotted with dried rain, but the view outside was alright. Dreary today though. The beach in the distance looked grey and unfriendly.

“Date of Birth”

I spun the numbers down. Jan 1 1991. Not my real birthday, but right year at least.

“Gender”

I tapped the male symbol on the app, and a little green bar slowly filled up.

“Take a selfie!”

I leaned back slightly out of my cubicle to make sure no one was there. I snapped the photo quickly, smiling as I did. My face peered back out of the app at me. Brown, short hair atop a pale face. Brown eyes and a light dusting of freckles. My glasses had a slight green reflection in them, which provided enough contrast to show how red my ears were. Annoying, but that’s what happens when the air-con is up too high. A slightly crooked smile sat beneath a nose that I’d never broken, to the great surprise of the people who’d (constantly) asked how I’d broken it. All in all, not bad. Though why the app would need a selfie I had no idea.

The app was something that had popped on my feed while I’d been procrastinating. It seemed like something fun and a bit mindless, so I’d decided to give it a go. It was called “Workshop” and it was a pretty standard click and collect type reward system. I opened it up for a quick spin. Thumbing my way through the tutorial I’d quickly made my way into the first level. And it was pretty good. Simple control scheme, the graphics were decent. Mostly just brightly coloured. Hit button, get item, hit other button, craft better item. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

I looked up from the phone at my monitor. A blank screen stared back at me. I glanced at my watch.

“Shit!” It was 5:37. I’d been playing this game for hours.

I grabbed my bag and headed home. Most of the office had emptied out at 5, I nodded at the few remaining people as I left.

On the bus home I played a bit, nearly missing my stop, but managed to get off in time. I headed into my flat and got started on dinner. Something easy. I wanted a free hand to play ‘Workshop’ a bit more. After dinner and a movie I plugged my phone in to charge and crashed out for the night.


It was while I was brushing my teeth the next morning that I realised I was playing ‘Workshop’. I looked down, slightly surprised. As I brushed, I brushed it off. Hadn’t realised I was good enough to play without looking already. I smirked, a little bit proud, even if it was just a stupid game.

For most of the week I wandered around, phone in hand playing ‘Workshop’. It was good, it didn’t require much thought, and I didn’t even need to really look at it. It even helped me focus, weirdly enough. My output was up, even though now I was typing one handed.

My phone clicked, a picture taken, just before the waistband of my underwear snapped back. I looked down with a start. My pants were undone, my fly unzipped and my grey boxerbriefs on display. I registered, vaguely, that I was still in the app, the message displaying something about “thank you for your photo” but I had hit the confirmation button before I could read the whole thing. I hurriedly did up my pants, looking around to see if anyone had seen. I couldn’t be sure, but I think I’d just taken a dick pick.

I poked through the app to see if there was any indication of what had happened, but I couldn’t find anything. I dismissed the thought, slightly uneasily. I went back to my work, one thumb still playing at ‘Workshop’.


I checked my mail on the way in. I grabbed some packages that had arrived, but my attention was caught by a letter. It was a credit card statement. Carrying everything in I deposited the packages in my room and opened the statement. I raised my eyebrow at what was displayed. There had been a series of microtransactions in ‘Workshop’, totalling a few hundred dollars. I paused for a moment to take it in. A chirp from my phone brought me out of my surprise.

“Transaction successful!” The screen proudly displayed.

I looked at it stunned. The charges weren’t fake, I realised. I’d been purchasing things in-game without realising it. I searched through the app for some record of what I’d purchased, but I couldn’t find anything. I went to uninstall the app. Couldn’t spend anything if there was no app to spend it in.

I paused. I’d gotten so far in the game.

And besides, if I wanted to get a refund, maybe they’d need the app to still be installed.

Couldn’t hurt anyway.

Still annoyed that I’d spent that much without even realising, I made dinner and ate it on the couch, watching TV until I felt tired enough for bed.


Turns out the company didn’t do refunds on in-app purchases. They did send a couple of vouchers for in-game credit. Nowhere near the amount that I’d spent, but still. I resolved to spend only those vouchers, and then stop. I entered the voucher codes into the app.

“ID required! Please take a selfie to proceed.”

Annoyed at the delay I quickly snapped a picture, scowling.

“Error! Picture not recognised. Please take another.”

I snapped another picture, smiling this time. The first one I’d taken I’d been smiling, so it probably used that to compare it to.

“Error! Picture not recognised. Please move to an area with better lighting and try again.”

I looked at the new message with a raised eyebrow. I sighed and headed into the bathroom. It was empty, which was a relief. I held the phone up to the mirror. My eyes widened as I saw myself on the phone screen. I wasn’t taking a photo of my face. Or at least not just my face. I looked down at myself to confirm what my eyes were telling me. At some point I’d undone my pants and pulled them down, exposing my bulge in a pair of blue briefs, a pair I didn’t remember even owning, much less putting on that morning. My other hand held my shirt firmly, lifting it up and exposing my stomach. Now, I wasn’t overweight, but I didn’t exactly have a six-pack. My stomach was pale, pretty much flat, and dusted with dark hair rising from the waistband of the briefs that were definitely not mine.

When I looked back up I didn’t have any more time to react before I’d snapped the picture. A loading bar whizzed past before “Success! Your account has been credited!” popped up on the screen.

I quickly redressed myself before anyone could walk into the bathroom and catch me. I walked stiffly back to my desk and finished the workday in silence.

I went to sleep very uneasily that night. Something strange was happening. The sounds of the app lulled me to sleep. My thumb worked diligently at the app, even as I dozed off.


My arms hurt.

They actually hurt a lot. Like I’d been doing a lot of weightlifting. Almost like I’d been dragging myself around with them. If my arms had hurt less perhaps I’d have felt the gag sooner. But as it was, it took a moment longer to realised I’d been gagged.

“Mmmf!” I opened my eyes in shock, completely awake instantly. There was a piece of fabric tied around my head, pulling my tongue back and preventing me from speaking. I couldn’t make any intelligible noises with it in place. So, I tried making some unintelligible ones. But it wasn’t over. I paused my yelling for a moment to try to get an appreciation of where I was and what was happening. I was in my room at least. That was a start.

I looked down at myself. I was flat on my back, legs up in the air, bound at the ankles and tied to a hook in the ceiling. I looked to be wearing some black red and grey briefs I didn’t recognise. A slight coolness on my arse let me know they didn’t have a rear. And I was gagged. But then I noticed. My hands were untied! They were just sitting on my chest, unbound.

Giving a muffled laugh I went to untie myself. I really did try to. But my hands just sat there, folded on my chest. I tried again, now worried. But I couldn’t move them at all. I could still feel them, but they didn’t move. I panicked, yelling out around the gag. Then I felt a finger press into my lips, shushing me. I looked down wide eyed. It was my finger. My arm had lifted off my chest and pressed my finger into my lips. I stopped yelling in surprise.

Apparently satisfied, my hand moved itself from my mouth, stroking down my body. My other hand joined it, tracing along my chest. My left hand circled my left nipple, pinching it gently. My right hand reached back up to my face and gently poked a finger into my mouth.

I was genuinely freaked out at this point.

Having wet a finger, my right hand extricated itself and gently traced down my body. It brushed past my cock, which bulged in the ridiculous underwear I was in, and gently made its way around my legs. I couldn’t see what it was doing, but I felt it, cool and wet, poking at my hole. My finger tickled at my asshole, gently tracing around it, before I felt it push in. I gave a “mmmf!” of shock at that, but my left hand ceased its tweaking of my nipple to reach up and shush me.

I lay there helplessly, as my finger slowly worked its way in my arse. When it felt like it was about 3 metres in or so, I felt… me, I suppose, pull it out. My hand came back up to my face, three fingers outstretched. I attempted to move my head out of the way, but my left hand grabbed me and pushed my head forwards. The three fingers pushed their way in my mouth, dancing around the gag. When they’d got wet enough they moved back, and I felt more fingers playing at my arse.

When the third finger pushed in, my sadly common “mmmf!” of shock was slightly different. It came out as a “nmmmm-uh!” and I felt a shiver. I looked down, I had no view of what I was doing down there, but I could plainly see the effect it had had. My cock was swollen, my erection pushing obscenely on the fabric of my jock. I could see a dark, wet spot at the tip, where apparently, I’d been precumming like crazy.

I heard the pop of a bottle. I looked over at my left hand, which had opened a bottle marked ‘lube’. I stared at it for a moment, as it brought it over to my other side. My right hand took a reprieve from finger fucking me and reached over. If anyone had been watching they’d have seen my wide-eyed expression as my right hand returned, holding a flesh-coloured dildo. It looked huge. But I didn’t really have any basis for comparison. I knew some of my girlfriends had had them, but I’d never asked to see one and they’d never shown me. But to my eye it looked enormous.

My left hand squeezed at the bottle of lube, and a large dollop fell onto the tip of the dildo. My right hand rubbed up and down, covering it until it glistened. My right hand returned to my hole, and I felt another cold sensation, as I could feel my fingers lubing up my hole. I gave a “nnn!” of surprise, but it was a bit of a cursory reaction. I mean, it certainly didn’t feel bad.

My right hand reached back up, grabbing at the dildo. It brought the dildo around. I felt as it poked at my hole, my hand gently, but insistently pushing the dildo in.

My eyes rolled back in my head. “Mmaaauhh!” I groaned, half in pain, and half in pleasure. The pain increased at first, but gradually gave way. I felt my hand moving back and forth, but the sensation of it moving was lost behind the growing pleasure I felt. My hand had found something in my arse, and it was using the dildo to hit that spot.

“NNnnhh!” I grunted, as it hit the spot again. And again. And again. The wet spot was taking up most of the front of the jock now. The suffering underwear was stretched out completely from the encased cock.

I don’t know how long I spent there, my hand fucking my hole, alternating between gentle waves and hard thrusting. My other hand also swapped between tasks, tweaking my nipples and pushing fingers in my mouth. Whenever it did I found myself sucking them around the gag, before it returned to my nipples.

What seemed like hours later, I felt my hips buck, and buck again. My hand drove the dildo in and I was sure I felt the balls at the base hit my cheeks, and I came, soaking the already precum-sodden jock.

“Aaaauuuuhhh… hhhh… hhh… hh…” I roared around the gag, trailing off and breathing hard. After my eyes found their way back from where they’d rolled during my orgasm and I caught my breath I took stock of my situation. My hands, seeming to have sensed their work was done, untied my feet, which fell with a thump. I sat up, and my hands undid my gag. I didn’t have the energy to yell out, even if I’d wanted to. My hands massaged my feet, and the pins and needles I felt told me the blood was coming back to them.

My hands dropped. And I picked them back up. They did what I wanted, which was a good sign. I gave them an experimental flex to be sure. I made a fist, cracked my knuckles, and twiddled my thumbs. Each time they did what I wanted. Like normal hands. I looked around a bit stunned, unsure of what to do.

I started to clean up. I’d made a hell of a mess.


The next day at work when I opened the app, I was unsurprised by what I saw. I mean, sure it was unexpected, but after having your own hands violate you not much can really shock you. The credit in my account was huge. And there was a new button I’d never noticed. Withdraw funds. I gave it a tap. My phone chimed. I opened my banking app and raised an eyebrow. $3000 had been deposited, the app listed as the sender.

I swiped back to the app and looked around. There were a couple of new options that definitely hadn’t been there before. “Start Show” glowed proudly at the top. “View Previous Shows” was also there. “Order Refills” was another one. I had a suspicion of what I was going to see, so I muted my phone. I tapped on “View Previous Shows” and a single option popped up, which I selected. And there I was, tied up on my bed. I watched for a moment, before closing it.

I switched back to my bank account and looked at it again. I swiped back to the app.

I left early that day.


I’ve been going pretty good lately. I’ve got less hours at my job, I went down to part time. I don’t really need the work, so it’s more of a side-gig. ‘Workshop’ was my main income source now. I was never sure of who was watching, but someone was. Or many someones were, based on the amount I was raking in.

I smiled up at my phone, set up on a small tripod near me. I reached over and tapped the “Start Show” button, and felt a familiar tingle in my hands. I watched with a wry smile as my left hand reached down the front of my jock, and my right reached down between my legs feeling for my hole.

I love my work. Easy money, and all I had to do was lie there and take it.

This story could use more ratings!
Please use the controls below to rate this story
Hot
Mind control
Wanking material
Writing
Idea
You've created tags exclusively for this story! Please avoid exclusive tags!