Date: Sat, 3 Nov 2007 15:11:43 -0700
From: David Andrew <daprivate12@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bondage balls pain and pleasure Part 18

As I wrote in Part 17 I used to write little items for the Ball Club
Quarterly, sometimes of things Id experienced, other times fiction. One day
I was talking to Ken Schein in LA who used to run the Ball Club and he told
me that he'd had a letter from Paul. Remember Paul? The guy who'd pierced
my balls.

"Guess who I was talking to this week," he said. I had no idea. "Paul, he'd
very much like to meet up with you again."

"Well I'm not sure that I want to..." I said. He asked what had gone
wrong. "Paul was never satisfied with what I could let him do. He always
wanted me to submit without any conditions, absolutely none at all."

"Well that's what I do when he tops me," Ken said. "I lie back and take
what's coming." I was surprised that Paul had used Ken as a bottom because
to me Ken was a guiding, advising figure, so I'd assumed that he was a top
too. "It's hard," he continued, "but you have to trust him completely. It's
the only way, you have to submit completely." I still wasn't sure that I
wanted to meet Paul again. "That's a pity," Ken continued. "You know he
told me you were one of the best ball-men he's ever worked on. He feels you
just need to be taken further, you need to learn to accept everything and
then you'll be a really great bottom."

Well it was flattering to be told I was a good ball-man, and Ken was
continuing to pour reassurances into my mind, and telling me how much Paul
wanted to work on my body again so in the end I agreed to write to Paul and
see if perhaps we could get it together again. It took me hours to compose
the letter, I must have torn up 30 sheets of hotel notepaper during the
course of a long evening in Dubai.  I knew I was going to have to submit
completely, if I didn't there was no point in meeting Paul again, yet it
was very difficult to put it in writing. However, the longer I worked on
the letter the harder my cock became and the more my balls ached. The final
version was much shorter than all the others, I just apologised for not
coming up to his expectations and promised to submit unconditionally if he
would agree to work on me again. His reply was tremendously enthusiastic,
told me how much he had enjoyed torturing me, especially the piercing, and
asked when we could meet. It was several weeks before he was in New York
when I was on a two-day layover. Paul kept writing to say how much he was
looking forward to having me at his mercy, that I wouldn't regret it, that
I would gain confidence and he'd teach me to become a great bottom. For my
part I can't say whether the long wait was good or bad. Having written
"submit unconditionally" when I was hot and hard, I was now beginning to
dread the day when I was going to have to put my whole body on the
line. When eventually I saw the two day trip coming up I called Paul half
hoping he'd be unable to meet that day, but no, he was going to be in New
York, and he was ecstatic. Paul's letters were always written in airport
departure lounges or on airplanes, his writing was always terrible, and I
do mean terrible, they took a long time to decipher. The next letter I got
from him was even worse than normal. As I gradually worked out what he'd
said my pulse rate quickened, and a knot tightened up in my stomach. He
told me he had a friend who owned a motel in Long Island, the property
consisted of separate chalets, he'd agreed to let us use the chalet
furthest from the office and would tell the staff not to go near it. I was
to go out there in the morning and spend the whole day with him. He
enclosed a page of the LIRR timetable and had marked the train he wanted me
to take to Great Neck. Well there was no way to back out now, but just to
seal the pact I wrote back that same evening promising to submit
completely, I'd accept anything he wanted to do. I took the letter straight
down to the street and dropped it in a mailbox, if I'd left it until the
next morning I'm certain I would have re-written it in much blander terms.

The night before our meeting I slept fitfully and was up in plenty of time
to get the train from Grand Central. The trip to Great Neck was just an
hour, the longest hour I'd spent on a train, but not long enough. When I
came out of the station I saw him in the car park, but as I got closer to
the car I saw that there was another man in the back seat.

"This is David," Paul said as I climbed into the front seat. "He's come up
from Washington and he's a bottom too, do you mind if he joins us?" I had
no objection, in fact I was turned on by the thought of the two of us being
tortured at the same time. "And to avoid confusion you'll be David," he
said to me, and then turning to the other David in the back seat, "You'll
be Davie," he added. When Davie spoke he had the strongest deep-south
accent I'd ever heard outside of a film. As we drove to the motel which was
some miles west of Great Neck I had a chance to look at Davie. He was
young, I guessed twenty, but he was only eighteen as I later discovered. He
was wearing a thin tee-shirt so I could see that he was slightly built, but
not skinny, fair hair, crew cut, fresh complexion.

'Why would a bottom as attractive as Davie travel all the way from
Washington to Long Island to get his nuts crushed?' I wondered. 'Surely
there must be plenty of tops in DC who'd be only too happy to get their
hands on his balls?' However, I was more than happy to have him along.

The motel was exactly as Paul had described it, chalets set on a wooded
slope, well spaced out, clearly designed for couples who wanted complete
privacy. He already had the key so he pulled up at the most distant chalet
without going near the office. He told us to bring in the two bags from the
trunk, then once we were inside he closed and locked the door. The room was
bigger than the average motel room, two queen sized beds, and a sitting
area with a sofa and two easy chairs.

"First off...strip!" he said. As I peeled off my clothes I was stealing
glances at Davie's body, and I caught him doing the same to me. He looked
as good as I'd expected, young, lean, better yet, no body hair, no pubic
hair. That last made me jealous, I really wished I could strip it all off,
but had never come up with any way I could suggest it to my wife. He was
soft as he stepped out of his pants, I was jealous of that too because I
was already hard and I so wanted to look relaxed like he did. His balls
hung lower than mine, and they were bigger too. Already my mind was racing
ahead, 'If he's come up from DC then maybe he'll need a bed for the night?
Maybe he'd be happy to have the offer of a free bed? My bed? I'd be very
willing to share with him, and if Paul doesn't drain my balls completely
I'd be only to willing to fuck his ass.'

"Get the beds together, then these chains have to be attached to the
legs. One at each corner and one to the legs in the middle." As we did what
Paul ordered we were close together at times, so close that our bodies
touched. I was delighted to see that Davie was stiffening up too. When we
had the chains in place Paul told us to lie side by side on the joined
beds. I took a look sideways as Davie lay down on my right side, he had a
real erection now, his cock was a bit longer than mine with a marked
upwards curve so it didn't actually look longer as our cocks waved over our
bellies. Paul secured our outboard ankles to the chains at the bed corners,
then my right and Davie's left ankle were secured to the chain in the
middle of the bed. Next he secured our wrists in the same way. Paul then
blindfolded us and left us in the dark for the longest time. It felt so
good having another bottom who was going to experience the pain with me,
really hot, hot, hot! With our wrists secured to the one chain in the
middle our hands met and our fingers interlocked. It was natural
companionship, two men who had their balls on the line with no way of
escaping the coming beating. I swear that my cock and balls were tingling
in anticipation. Eventually I felt Paul climb up on to the bed. I felt his
very low-hanging balls brush against my thigh as he positioned himself with
one knee between each of our wide-spread legs. He took my balls in one
hand, he must have taken Davie's balls in his other hand because we both
started struggling at the same moment. It was a very strong, manual
workout, very hard, very good. He released my balls and a moment later I
felt Davie jolt against the bonds, and an instant later I took a really
good hard hit with the pointed end of the Nutcracker right at the back of
my right testicle which for me is the most sensitive spot of all. This went
on and on, each of us jerking in turn, each grasping the other's hand
tighter and tighter as the pain grew rapidly. As the pain soared it dawned
on me that I was holding my balls up and tight. It was the stupidest thing,
I can only think that I was doing this because Davie and I were squeezing
each other's hands so hard. Once I'd realized what I was doing I tilted my
hips up to give Paul a better shot at my balls and let them hang as loose
as I could. That made it so much better. I let Paul have them, let him hit
them, and I could take the pain without jerking against the bonds. But
Davie was still jolting with each hit. I felt him trying to twist his hips,
heard him gasping out loud, and his grip on my hand was almost too much to
take. I wanted to tell him to relax, to stop fighting the pain and accept
it, but Paul was the master so I said nothing. I knew it wasn't enough for
him to inflict pain, he needed to see that we were suffering too. I had
managed to slip through the pain barrier quite quickly, and for a while I
was in heaven. But Paul wasn't going to let me get away so lightly, he just
kept hitting harder. Inevitably I was finally overwhelmed. Suddenly the
pain broke through, now I too tried to twist, to turn, and I was crushing
Davie's hand at least as hard as he was crushing mine.

Suddenly the hitting stopped, the relief was wonderful. I did get a little
anxious as we once again lay together in the dark, I knew that this session
was going to include a lot more than ball torture. One of Paul's complaints
was that I tried to limit what he could do, and I had agreed to take
whatever he wanted to inflict. After a while I felt him on the bed
again. Davie stiffened briefly then relaxed. I waited wondering. A couple
of minutes later I felt something cold probing for my hole. I expected a
dildo but this was thin, pointed, and it slipped in without any
trouble. The next sensation was of cold liquid being forced up inside my
body. I thought it might be a lubricant for a dildo, but I felt Paul get
off the bed without forcing anything into my hole. Just a little later
Davie started to squirm, then gasp, then groan.

"You got a problem?" Paul asked.

"Yes Sir... Please sir... I've got to go Sir!" What this was about I had no
idea, but by the time he'd been released he was clearly desperate and
scrambled from the bed. A little later I began to feel a burning way up
deep in my rectum. My guts began to churn, then I knew why Davie had
bolted. Paul had injected an enema. Soon I was gasping and asking to be
released too. I could hear the results of the enema coming from the
bathroom and I knew that I'd soon be in there too. When Paul released me I
rushed headlong into the bathroom only to find that Davie was still
straining on the toilet. I begged him to move, quick! He must have known
how badly I needed to go so he slid off the seat to kneel on the floor. I
threw myself on to the toilet and my sphinctre ripped open. I literally
emptied my guts in one convulsing, wrenching dump, but even before I'd done
Davie was imploring me to move, he needed to go again. And that's the way
it was for the next fifteen minutes or so, switching places so fast there
wasn't even time to wipe. Paul meanwhile was watching the two of us
struggling, he had an amused smile on his face and that bugged me.

'What the fuck has shit got to do with sex?' I asked myself. 'This isn't
any kind of a turn-on, it's just plain degradation.' I was pretty pissed
off, I hadn't come all the way out to Long Island for this! Eventually
Davie was done and he turned on the shower to clean himself up. I was still
being wracked with waves of pain, really bad, even though there was nothing
more to come. Davie headed back to the bedroom, I was still crouched in a
fetal position in the bathroom, but I felt that the pain should ease any
minute now. At this stage I remembered that I'd agreed that Paul could do
anything, I'd written, "Whatever you want to do..." So I really had no
cause to complain. When I thought this way I felt better, and now if the
pain would only subside I too could take a shower and go back for more. But
the pain didn't ease. Sometime later Paul appeared in the bathroom.

"My God...Are you all right?" he exclaimed when he saw me huddled on the
floor. Clearly I wasn't alright. "I'll fill the bath... Hot water will sort
you out." The water did help while I was in the bath. Paul went back to
Davie expecting me to follow, but as soon as I got out I doubled up
again. I stayed in the hot water until the pain eased then slowly dried
myself and came back out into the room. When Paul saw me I could tell that
I looked pretty grim. "Should I call a doctor?" he asked looking concerned.

"No, no way, how could I explain how I came to need a doctor in a motel on
Long Island?" I replied.

"I could call a friend of mine, no one need know."

"No...I'll just sit a while, it'll pass." I still hoped that it would be
better in a while so I sat in an easy chair to watch what Paul was doing to
Davie. He was lying on the bed, not secured in any way, and Paul was
wrapping his legs with cling-film. Round and round, passing the roll under
his legs and winding gradually up to his hips.

"You've got to make sure the body doesn't overheat," Paul said turning to
me as though this was something I might want to try on a man one day. He
produced a small spray bottle and squirted a fine mist over Davie's
legs. "If the body can't evaporate moisture it soon begins to overheat." As
the wrapping continued up Davie's thighs Paul told him to keep his hands
flat against his sides Paul rolled Davie from side to side passing he cling
film under him and up the other side. When he reached Davie's crotch he
started winding the film in such a way as to trap the cock and balls out in
the open then continued on up his body all the way to his neck. After using
several rolls of the film, and a lot of misting, Davie was wrapped up like
a spider secures a fly.  I don't know if his body was actually as stiff and
unbending as it looked, but he certainly couldn't move anything except his
toes and his head, his genitals were right out in the open and ready for
torture. Paul used the "ball-screw" (just like a medieval thumbscrew that
he'd used on me). I could see Davie's hands straining under the plastic
wrap, trying desperately to reach his balls. He didn't succeed, couldn't
move an inch, his face showed how much he was suffering. This reminded me
so much of the very first time I had been tied up, when Mark had come to
the hotel and tied me in just the same position. I remembered the strain as
I too had tried to reach for and protect my balls. And even though what I
went through that night was really only ball play I could empathize so
strongly with Davie. I wanted the same treatment, and from time to time I
thought that the waves of pain had stopped, but just moving to stand up
made it come on again and I sank back into the easy-chair. Paul tortured
Davie's balls for a good fifteen minutes non-stop. I had a real good view,
those delicious testicles were just beyond arm's reach, and I saw each
shining drop of pre-cum form and then fall from the lips of his curving
penis. When it came time to release Davie Paul used scissors to slit open
the plastic shroud, in just seconds the boy was lying bathed in sweat, and
smiling the most alluring smile of satisfaction. I really felt jealous.

After toweling Davie's body, all over, Paul cuffed his wrists and ankles,
then attached the cuffs to the chains in the center of the bed. Davie
wasn't tightly secured which surprised me because with Paul I had never
been able to move a muscle. There was sufficient slack that Davie could
bring his hands down almost to his shoulders and could move his legs
too. Paul put a gag in his mouth, pulled a hood over his head and rolled
him over on to his stomach. This was the first good view I got of his butt,
firm, smooth, very tempting, I still had hopes of getting him back to my
room even though waves of pain and nausea were still washing over me. For a
couple of minutes Paul stroked the smooth, rounded buns, Davie responded by
drawing his knees up as far as the chain would allow, lifting his ass in
appreciation. While still stroking Paul reached for a broad, heavy, leather
strap, about four feet long, two inches wide, thick leather. As his hand
slid off one cheek he brought the strap down across the raised buns with a
resounding crack. The crack of the leather on skin shocked me, and I was
only watching! Davie's body convulsed, first his butt flattened to the bed
then lifted high in the air again as the second stroke slashed at the back
of his thighs. He twisted and squirmed as stroke after stroke came down on
his body, not just his butt, across his shoulders, across his legs as
well. After a couple of dozen strokes most of the back of his body was
bright red and still the hits rained down on him. Eventually he half turned
to try and protect his back, but that made things worse for him, Paul
struck across his hips and connected with his balls. I don't mean skimmed
his balls, they took a full, solid hit. Of course Davie slammed himself
face down on the bed again, but after a few more stinging strokes he was
forced to turn over again, this time right on to his back. He must have
known what was coming, and it did. He took four solid hits on his genitals,
his cock as well as his balls, before he twisted back on to his stomach. By
this time I wasn't sorry that I was missing out on this particular torture,
I might have been able to take a few of the hits on my balls, but there was
no way that I could have taken it on my shoulders and the back of my legs,
no way. As Davie kept twisting and writhing, getting up almost into a
kneeling position, the most that his bonds would allow, the hits kept
coming, again and again and again. Soon his whole body from his neck to his
ankles was dark, livid red. As far as I was concerned it was way too much
punishment, just awful to watch never mind suffer. I didn't even want to
see any more, but Davie kept twisting and turning, offering his back,
offering his front, and Paul kept hitting. If this was what was required of
a good bottom I decided then I'd settle for being a ball-man. With the
beating still going there was a shrill ring from Paul's bag, it was his
cell phone! He swore furiously, thought about ignoring it, then reluctantly
threw down the strap and snatched the phone from the bag.

"I thought I'd made it absolutely clear..." he started, but clearly the
person at the other end wasn't about to be put off. Over the next couple of
minutes I gathered that something had gone wrong at work and he was needed
right now! Paul swore some more then finally shrugged and hung
up. "Something's come up at work," he said redundantly. Then looking at me
he asked, "Will you stay with Davie till I get back? Please?" It was
strange having Paul asking me to do something, he'd always been the one in
charge, right from the very first time we'd met in the hotel coffee shop he
made it clear that he would be in control. I still wasn't in any fit state
to leave the motel, there was no way I would have gone more than a few feet
from a toilet bowl, so I agreed to stay until he got back. Paul went into
the bathroom and reappeared in a suit, what a sudden transformation, hot
leather top to businessman in sixty seconds. Before leaving he pulled out a
bottle from his bag. "This will take the sting out of Davie, rub it in, all
over, there's a lot more to come and I want him fit for it. You too, I'm
still going to work on you!" Then looking at Davie he said, "Don't release
him...You can enjoy him, fuck him if you want to, there are condoms in the
bag, but don't torture him!"

Paul left I looked at the bottle, it had obviously been brought back from
the Far East, Chinese characters, and Bahasa script too. In it there was a
clear liquid, oily, with a slight smell of camphor. I wanted to start on
Davie's balls, but decided that I'd work all the way down his back before
taking his prize possessions. Starting at his shoulders I worked the oil
into his skin, it seemed to give him relief almost immediately, but maybe
any massaging would have done as much. When I got down to his buns I worked
my way deep into the crack even though the strap hadn't gone down in
between his cheeks. Davie clearly didn't mind, he raised his butt and
spread as wide as he could. I resisted reaching under his body, that took a
lot of will power, those hairless balls were within inches of my fingers,
but I continued down his legs all the way to his ankles before telling him
to turn over. When he rolled on to his back I had it all laid right before
my eyes. As I said a while back he had no hair at all on his body, not on
his chest, not under is arms, and of course no pubic hair either. I
couldn't resist asking what he did to remove it.

"For my pubes and under-arms I had electrolysis, for the rest I use Nair,"
he said.

"Isn't electrolysis expensive?" I asked.

"It is, but it puts the price up, they like it that way."

"The price goes up? The price of what?" I was puzzled.

"I'm a rent boy," he said casually. "They like boys with no hair, the
smoother the better, shaving isn't good enough. Most of them would like to
have young boys, really young ones with no pubes, but they're afraid of the
law. They also want decent sized cocks and balls so they'll pay extra for
the likes of me. I make them feel like they're fucking a young boy, but
it's legal." I was really surprised by his answer, and by the
matter-of-fact sort of way he spoke about being a rent boy. I massaged his
chest, but my eyes never left his crotch. At long last I took his balls,
they were delicious.

"Are you always the bottom?" I asked as I massaged the oil into his nuts.

"Mostly...all the regulars, but sometimes a guy wants to be fucked. Very
occasionally I'll find one who wants to be whipped."

"And do you take a whipping too?"

"Yes of course, nearly every time. All the regulars want to whip me before
they fuck me. Sometimes they want a full night of torture, I like
that. It's risky the first time I go with a guy, especially if he takes me
to a motel way out of town, like this one, but the money's very good. I can
live for a month on what I can get for a night of torture." He made it all
sound so natural, I guess pilots talk much the same way about landing a 747
in bad conditions so I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Is Paul paying you too?" I asked. I shouldn't have asked, it was none of
my business, but I couldn't resist.

"No of course not!" Davie seemed surprised at the question. "No, I came to
him because he's known as one of the best tops. I wanted to see if I could
take it, and have my limits stretched too. The more I can take the more I
can get."

Well I guess that's a better reason than I had for submitting to
torture. Davie was working on his CV, honing his skills, and improving his
employment prospects. I was severely tempted by his body, I'd have loved to
fuck him, or suck him. As I massaged I fantasized about sucking his
testicles into my mouth, and I'm sure I'd have done that much, but for the
waves of pain that were still washing over me every few minutes.

As I massaged his body I wondered about how such an attractive, well spoken
young guy had become a rent boy. I had to ask. He told me that his family
were one of the oldest and richest in Richmond, Virginia, lived in a
mansion in the most exclusive part of town. He'd always known he was gay,
but his father was rabidly homophobic so he kept it a well hidden
secret. He had a friend in school who was also a closet gay, the two of
them did manage to have sex from time to time when they were alone in the
house, it was risky, but that made it all the more exciting. One day the
inevitable happened, his mother came home unexpectedly and caught the two
of them naked on his bed. They both dressed and hurried out leaving his
mother in shock. Some hours later he decided to go home and face the
music. As he approached the house he saw all his things laid out on the
side-walk, his stereo, albums, clothes, even his bedroom furniture. He knew
he couldn't go back, not ever, so he took just one pair of jeans, a
tee-shirt, a pair of socks and underwear. Then he just walked away from
everything he'd ever known.

I asked him what he did, where had he headed for. "Oh," he said calmly, "I
wasn't naïve. My father hated faggots, he ranted and raved about the
politicians and lobbyists in DC ands what they got up to so knew where I
had to go. I knew that there'd be plenty of men there who'd pay for what
I've got." And that's what he did. I asked if he'd ever tried calling home,
he said he had called once, his mother answered, when she heard his voice
she hung-up. Seemed very sad to me, but Davie was over it, he was making a
lot of money, had already bought a one-room apartment for himself and one
rental property. "So how come you came up here on the bus? Why didn't you
fly?" I asked. "Because it's cheaper," he said, "everything I make goes
into property. I'm making good money right now, but my career isn't going
to be getting better as time goes by. And I won't be getting a pension
that's for sure! I might have another two or three years in the big money,
but after that I'll be living off rental properties." For someone who'd
been thrown out on the street at sixteen he seemed to have made the best of
a bad situation. After talking to Davie I got the impression that he was
happy with the way things had gone, felt he'd now be able to take
more...and get more too!

 When Paul returned he took one look at me and I could see from his face
that I didn't look any better than I felt. Again he wanted to get me to a
doctor, but it was just too risky. I still had waves of cramping pain, but
I wasn't crapping any more, and although I felt nauseous I wasn't throwing
up so I decided to make my way back to Manhattan by train and go to the
company doctor. It was a miserable ending to a day that had held promise,
but after watching what Paul had done to Davie I think I'd have been way
out of my league. What he did to Davie after I left I have no idea.

Back in Manhattan I called the company doctor. He sympathized, agreed that
it must have been something I'd eaten, (I didn't tell him which end it had
gone in!) and gave me a shot. By nightfall I was feeling drowsy, mostly the
drug I suspect, but also from the stress of the day. About ten o'clock the
phone woke me from a deep sleep, it was Paul. We talked for a long time. I
said that I'd decided that I never wanted to take the sort of beating that
Davie had taken. He assured me that Davie had been leading him on with body
language. His argument sounded very much like the Rodney King case.

"He kept raising his ass, kept turning over and offering me his balls...
You could see that. If it had been too much he'd have just lain still, then
I'd have known that he'd gone as far as he could go." I guess from what
Davie had told me it was true to say that Paul hadn't gone too far, but I
still found it difficult to believe that his body language was begging for
more. I reckon that if you're being beaten that hard you just have to keep
turning to spread the pain, and if you can only turn over and over
inevitably your balls are going to be "offered up" for the beating. Paul
tried to reassure me that he'd never planned to beat me that way, and maybe
if I hadn't had that bad experience with the enema I would have been more
receptive to the idea of doing it again. But riding back in the train I
realized that it had been foolish to go way out of town without thinking up
some reasonable explanation as to what I had been doing. It wasn't that I
needed to tell the airline, or anyone else, where I was going or what I was
doing. But if I'd happened to meet another pilot, one with whom we
socialized at home, who'd had some legitimate reason for being in Great
Neck then I'd have had to come up with a story that could be re-told at
home lest he ever refer to the time we met in Great Neck for instance.
It's not easy to come up with a convincing story at a moments notice,
especially not one that will stand re-telling at home! I remember thinking
before my first visit to the baths about what I'd say if I saw one of my
colleagues. I decided that if it ever happened I'd take the bull by the
cock, not even try to avoid being seen, but go for it balls out. No
explanation would be needed, we'd both know exactly why we were there.

I never did meet up with Paul again, I suppose that shows that he was
right, I am not a good bottom, just a ball-man. I went back to Vincent at
every opportunity and wrote to him after every meeting. I used to get quite
carried away on long, fallow evenings in far away places. There was one
more memorable evening I spent with Vincent...that'll be the next, and last
installment.