Date: Sun, 5 Aug 2007 12:02:16 -0700
From: David Andrew <daprivate12@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bondage, balls, pain and pleasure 14

There were other guys I met up with at various time, with some it worked
well, with others not at all.

One of the ones with whom it didn't work wrote to me out of the blue saying
he seen my notice in the Ball Club Quarterly and would very much like to
meet. I naturally assumed he was a member too and responded
enthusiastically when I called him. We arranged to meet on my next
trip. The day we were to meet was hot, exceptionally hot for fall, up
around the 90's I'd say. I found his apartment building, right over the
entrance to the Midtown Tunnel at 32nd Street as a matter of fact. It was a
walk up, he was on the fourth floor so I was pretty hot by the time I got
to his door. He opened the door wearing nothing but an under vest which
might once have been white, but that was a long time ago. Not a good
start. He led me into his lounge and flopped down in an easy chair leaving
me standing.

"Take a seat," he said pointing to a couch on the other side of the
room. Clearly we weren't going to get to know each other at that
distance. Not good. He complained bitterly about the heat for several
minutes then asked if I'd like a drink.

"Do you have any white wine?" I asked

"Wine? No..."

"A beer?"

"Beer? No."

"So what have you got?" I asked.

"I might have a soda," he said slowly rousing himself from the chair. He
complained all the way to the kitchen, opened the fridge door and peered
inside. I wasn't a big fridge and I could see from where I was sitting that
it was practically empty. "No...don't have any soda."

By this time I pretty pissed off, it was a hot day, certainly a day to have
something cold to drink in the apartment. There was a 7/11 right across
from his building, but he hadn't made the effort. "So you don't have
anything." I said letting my irritation show I'm afraid.

"Water?" he asked looking sheepish. "But I'm all out of ice...well it's
been so hot..."

I got up and left. In fact I wasn't sorry to get away, sex with a guy in a
dirty vest didn't appeal to me one bit.





There was another guy with whom it did work, although at first it didn't
look promising. He lived in an apartment a bit further south on the East
side, at 30th and 2nd Avenue. I got his phone number from the Ball Club
listing and gave him a call. His name was Tom, but to avoid confusion I'll
call him Thomas. I could tell right from the start that he had severe
reservations about meeting up with a stranger even though I was going to be
the bottom and he was going to be in control. Eventually he said that he
had to be very careful about allowing strangers into his apartment.

"You know there's a lot of ..." he hesitated. "Well you could say rough
trade around this city." This irked me some, I didn't think of myself as
"rough trade."

"Well if you've looked at the listing you'll see that I'm an airline
pilot," I said. "And if you doubt it give Ken Schein a call. He'll vouch
for me." (Ken ran the Ball Club and published a quarterly news letter, The
BCQ.)

"Oh if you know Ken then that's just fine. No problem, but one has to take
precautions these days." So we put the misunderstanding behind us and
agreed to meet later that night.

His apartment was in a huge complex which covered three city blocks. Two
towering apartment blocks running east-west, and two lower north-south
structures. The two apartment buildings were not aligned, the one to the
north was further to the west of the southern one. Each tower was most of a
block wide and there was a landscaped space of about a hundred yards
between them. (You can see the complex if you have access to Google Earth,
navigate to 2nd Avenue at 29th Street in Manhattan, with the terrain
overlay on you'll see it all in detail.) Even from the outside I could see
that this was one up-market complex. Inside there was an extremely elegant
lobby, two uniformed flunkeys behind a huge desk on which there was a
prominent notice, "ALL guests must be announced." When I asked for Thomas
both men looked at me with undisguised interest. I felt as though they'd
each stripped me naked and would undoubtedly be comparing notes as soon as
I got into the elevator.

'They obviously know this guy... and they know what I've come for,' I
thought. 'Well what of it?' I did wonder if either or both of them ever
went up to the top floor for a bit of fun, quite probably I'd say. The
elevator was as luxurious as the lobby, the ride was brief, and Thomas met
me when the door opened. After his remarks about the rough trade I'd taken
the trouble to dress in a pair of smart pants and a gray, suede leather
jacket, and I'd bought a good bottle of white wine just to prove my
point. He got the message and immediately apologized again for the
misunderstanding. Thomas was about sixty I'd say, maybe sixty-five,
certainly rather older than he'd said in his notice in the BCQ. Not that it
bothered me, I'd rather be in the hands of an older man who has plenty of
experience than a younger one who's trying things out!

Thomas's apartment was on the eastern end of the north building. Inside the
apartment there was a divider with glass and crystal objects between the
door to his apartment and the spacious lounge. The room was about 40 feet
long and maybe 20 feet wide, the far wall was glass from floor to
ceiling. Had Thomas' apartment been on the north side of this building he'd
have had a magnificent view of Midtown: on the south side of the other
tower the view would have been all the way down to the Wall Street area.
But being on the south side of the north tower the view beyond the vast
sheet of glass was the other tower of the complex. Many of those apartments
had their curtains wide open and were on full view as we were too. However,
his accommodation was undoubtedly luxurious, the place reeked of money, he
clearly had exquisite good taste, but I couldn't help comparing it to an
aquarium. We sat in the lounge for a while chatting. He was in publishing,
near the top of the food chain in a big NY office, but was thinking of
re-locating to San Francisco where he would be top dog. He asked if I'd
been to San Francisco and what would I think of the move? Well I had been,
and although the gay scene was at least as good, possibly better, I'd never
choose to live there. Too cold in summer, wet in winter, and just too much
fog! Fortunately he didn't launch into his favourite airline ordeal story,
nor did he ask about the dire situations I'd survived. When at length he
suggested we move through to the games room, I was more than ready. He led
me through a bedroom where I was relieved to see that the curtains were
closed. We stripped, he was well built, I hope I'll look as good at that
age. And he seemed well pleased when he saw what I had to offer. On the far
side of the bedroom was what looked like a closet, however when he opened
the door I could see a well lit playroom with plenty of shining steel bits
and pieces. This room too was on the south side of the building, and had
the same floor to ceiling windows. The curtains were closed which was just
as well because we'd have had a potential audience of hundreds I'd say. Set
right in the middle of the room was a big, black, diagonal cross. My pulse
rate soared, I'd always wanted to be tied to a diagonal cross, I'd
fantasized about it, balls so exposed, so vulnerable, so delightful! He
positioned me with my back against the cross, I spread my legs wide to show
him I was ready, my rigid penis showed that I was willing. He knelt in
front of me and started with my right ankle, tied it with rope, real,
old-fashioned, hemp rope, that was good, and he wound it up and up almost
to my knee. Next my left one. With each turn of the rope I became more
vulnerable. When he'd secured my legs he stood up. He stared into my eyes
from just a foot away.

"You alright Boy?" he asked.

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," I replied. And I think I sounded confident
too. My balls were going to be beaten, I wanted it, I'd take it well.

When he tied my arms he wound the rope all the way from my wrists almost to
my shoulders which had the effect of pinning me back against the wood. Next
he slipped a hood over my head and I was in darkness.  His hands wandered
all over my body, not just my genitals, up my arms, down my legs. It was
almost as though I was being felt by a blind man, and it was also very
stimulating. When his hand brushed against my penis I felt the slick, wet
pre-cum smear cross my hips. When his fingers took my balls I realized that
they too were wet, really wet, all the way back to my hole. He kept up this
stroking, teasing, caressing for the longest time. I needed pain, really
craved it, I wanted to beg him to hurt my balls, but that would have been
wrong, a bottom must submit, not control. After an absolute age I felt him
lean against my body, he was naked of course, and now he was hard too.

"I have a friend who lives in the South Tower," he said very quietly. His
fingers pulled my balls way down stretching the sac to the limit. It hurt,
it was good. "He likes to watch... Would you mind if I let him watch?"

"Sir, I am your slave for the night Sir. If you want him to watch I cannot
object Sir." I naturally assumed that the man was already somewhere in the
apartment, or that he was going to call him and tell him to come on over.

"Thank you boy," he murmured. "He lets me watch when he has a boy... It's a
real turn-on..." He stepped away from me. I expected to hear the door open,
but a moment later I heard an altogether different sound, the curtains
being drawn aside! And the sound of the runners on the track went on and
on. Even though I couldn't see a thing I knew that I was now on full view
to at least the top two or three floors of the South Tower. My blood ran
cold. I wondered if we'd hear sirens? Would that give me time to get free
and dressed before the police arrived? My cock was beginning to wilt by the
time I felt his hands on my balls again.

"Don't worry... We've done this many times... " he said obviously sensing
my worries. "This is New York... Nobody gives a damn!" He was clearly able
to read my mind via my penis. His fingers took my mind off the cops, he was
really applying pressure to my testicles, giving them a vigorous
work-out. He was standing to one side, slightly to my right and using only
his right hand to slap and pull my balls. That meant one thing, he was
standing there so that his friend could see what was happening. My cock
surged strongly.

"Sir...does he have binoculars?" I asked.

"No boy." I felt sort of disappointed. If I was turned on by watching guys
having sex in the next building I'd buy a pair of binoculars. "He has a
telescope...and it's hooked up to a camcorder. But don't worry, he'll never
ask your name."

'Oh God!' I thought. For a moment I was shocked, but then the moment
passed. I thrust my hips forward and held my balls up as high as I could,
if I was going to be filmed I wanted it to look good.

After a lot of manual ball work Thomas used an elastic bandage to bind my
cock and balls. As I told you Vincent had done this to me so I knew how
good it was going to be. As he wound the bandage around and around forcing
the balls up the length of my shaft the pressure on my nuts increased. By
the time he tied the bandage off at the tip of my cock I was in agony. And
probably the best thing about this torture is that you are the main
instrument of inflicting the pain. The ache in your balls makes you flex
your cock, and flexing your cock makes the pain even worse. Within a couple
of minutes my guts were just awash with that glorious pain that only flows
from tortured testicles. Yet he wasn't even touching me. It was just me
struggling to absorb the pain that I was inflicting, and Thomas, and his
friend, and God alone knows how many others watching. I cannot tell you how
alone I felt even though I knew there was an audience of at least two.

After an eternity of this self-inflicted pain he undid the bandage, not all
the way, but enough to expose my aching balls and most of the shaft of my
penis. My scrotum was still stretched tight, and my cock rigid too. The
next thing I felt was a rapid series of very sharp pricks which ran up the
centre line of my sac to the base of my cock. These were so sharp that at
first I was sure he'd used a needle, but they came in very quick succession
and I couldn't imagine how he'd been able to use it so fast and in a
straight line too. I was still puzzled when the next series of pricks ran
from the base of my penis up the length of the urethra. Man that had me
struggling! Over and over again he drew these lines of little stings across
my genitals. The pain was very sharp, but also very brief so it wasn't
scary, but each time he did this I bucked and wrenched at the ropes. When
he finally stopped this torture and fondled my balls they were so wet and
slick with pre-cum it felt as though they'd been lubricated with KY
jelly. For a short time I was left hanging from the cross wondering what he
would do next. I couldn't hear him moving around in the room, the floor was
thickly carpeted. I heard a door open and close, then silence. When I felt
the thongs of a cat brush against my cock I knew what he wanted. From the
time that Thomas started to work on my balls he hadn't said a word, but now
he put me on the spot.

"I want to whip you boy... Are you willing to take a whipping?" When you're
asked this by a guy you've only just met for the first time it's
tricky. "No" could bring the session to an abrupt end: "Yes" could get me
into very heavy pain.

"Sir..." I said thinking furiously, "I am willing to take a whipping, but I
must ask you not to leave any obvious marks that would cause trouble for me
when I get home." (I have always told all the men I have had sex with that
I am married, made it very clear from the start.)

"No, I won't leave marks,"

"Yes Sir, I'll take the whip." 'What the hell,' I thought, 'I've taken the
sambok so this won't be any worse that that and if he's not going to leave
marks go for it, let him do it.'

"Thank you boy," he said very quietly in my ear. I had my back to the cross
so naturally I expected him to use the whip on my cock and balls, but
Thomas released my arms and legs. "Turn around boy," he said stroking my
back all the way down to my butt. He re-secured my arms and legs then I
felt his lips kissing my buns. He was muttering something about how smooth
I was, how firm, how tender, and how much he wanted to whip them. I turned
and leaned against the wood, my cock was just under the join, I could feel
the roughness of the wood against the head. It was a turn on for me, I
wanted him to start, but I was also anxious lest he go too far and leave
marks. Eventually the kissing stopped. I pushed my butt back to show I was
ready. The first stroke wasn't too hard, in fact it wasn't hard enough for
me. I tilted my ass up and made encouraging sounds from under the hood. He
took the cue and the next stroke was just right, it stung, it got me
dripping too. We played a duet, my body and his whip. Very soon I didn't
even care about marks, I just wanted to be stung. I spread my cheeks,
Thomas saw that and laid the thongs straight down the middle. I was way
through the pain barrier when I heard him whisper close to my ear.

"I want your balls boy... Will you let me whip your cock and balls?" This
was exactly what I wanted him to do too.

"Sir tonight they're yours... If you want to whip them please do it."

"I can't tell you how much of a turn on it is when a man lets me whip his
balls. Thank you... Thank you..." I felt his head between my legs, his lips
touched the back of my scrotum as he kissed it over and over again.

Once again I was released, turned around and re-secured. This time he
didn't just tie my ankles and wrists, he secured each limb with several
straps so that I was totally immobile. It felt good, but my anxiety
returned as I wondered if I'd got myself in too deep. When the whipping
started he used light flicking strokes, down on my cock and up from between
my legs to get at the balls. Once again he was doing it too lightly. I'd
have lifted them up to encourage him to hit harder, but couldn't move at
all, so, even though I know that bottoms are not supposed to control I
broke the rule.

"Please Sir... Don't tease me... Whip them Sir..." He took me at my
word. For the next few minutes my penis and testicles were raked, up and
down, side to side, it soon felt as though they were being burned with a
flame.

Suddenly the whipping stopped. Thomas started ripping the bindings from my
arms and legs. I was totally surprised and briefly wondered if he had cut
me, maybe I was bleeding. But it wasn't anything like that. As soon as I
was free he guided me towards the window, turned me around then told me to
kneel on the floor.

"Get down, down on all fours." I got down into the "doggy position. His
hands turned me a bit, I guessed it was to give his friend a better
view. Without being told I lowered my head to the floor and spread my legs
as wide as I could. Once again he kissed my butt all over.

"Thank you boy... Thank you boy..." he kept muttering quietly between
kisses. When the kissing stopped the whipping started again. He struck from
every angle, up between my legs to take the genitals, down across my back
to get at my hole, and from the sides to sting my tits. I was in heaven
when I felt the splattering on my back. A moment later he threw down the
whip and his hands were spreading his jism all over my back and my
balls. When his tongue probed my hole as his hands were working my balls I
couldn't hold out any longer.

"I've got to come... Please Sir...can I come Sir?" I asked urgently.

""Yes, yes boy...let it come... Give it to me..." One hand went to my cock
and caught most of the flow which he then spread all over my chest and down
on to my balls which were already slippery with pre-cum and his semen
too. "Oh God... Oh God that was so good...so good...so good," he whispered
as his hands smeared both our bodies. I'd given all I had, I needed him to
stop, but his hand continued to pump on my cock.

"Please Sir...I can't... There's no more..." He took no notice. He
alternated between working my balls with both hands and my penis as the
other continued to squeeze and pull on my nuts. I wasn't tied down, I could
have broken away I suppose, but I didn't so I guess I must have been turned
on by what he was doing even though I felt I'd given him all my juice. His
hands became more vigorous, my balls began to ache, really ache, and when
that happened I wanted it, I wanted him to wring more semen from my
them. Once I had that thought I knew I was going to come again for
him. Instead of protesting I began to encourage him, begging him to hurt my
balls, to slap them, to do anything he wanted to them. When the semen
spurted again my testicles flooded my whole body with the most glorious
pain. I was in ecstasy, still didn't want him to stop. He'd caught the
semen in his right hand and now he took both our balls in his hands, worked
all four together using the semen as a lubricant. We must have been there
in front of the window for at least thirty minutes after the first climax
before he reluctantly let me go.  Within seconds the phone rang, Thomas
answered, it was his friend in the South Tower. After a short conversation
I was surprised when Thomas held the phone out to me. His friend wanted to
thank me, it was strange, rather embarrassing really, talking to a guy
who'd watched us having sex, filming it too. Most voyeurs just look from a
distance without ever connecting with the people they're spying on, and yet
I was talking to this guy, he was telling me how much he'd enjoyed watching
us, what a good view he'd had, that he'd taped it and would re-live the
pleasure each time he viewed the tape. As I say it was strange, and made
all the more strange in that neither he nor Thomas ever told me his name.

When I got off the phone we took a shower together. I washed his balls and
his cock reared up hard again. It looked like he wanted more, but when I
started to pump gently on it he stopped me.

"No boy," he said, "That was the best I've had in a long time. It's just
thinking about it that's getting me hard, I've got nothing more to give.

"I didn't think I had anything more either," I said.

"Ah, but you're a lot younger than I am boy," he said.

We shared the bottle of wine I'd brought, we talked about San Francisco,
and New York. My balls continued to ache beautifully, were still aching as
I walked back to the hotel much later that night. He did in fact move to
San Francisco, we corresponded for a while. For several months he was
convinced that he'd made a dreadful mistake. Just as I'd told him the city
was cold in summer, wet in winter, and too foggy, but in his last letter
he'd found a circle of friends with similar tastes and sounded much
happier.