Date: Tue, 18 Dec 2007 14:51:47 -0800
From: David Andrew <daprivate12@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bondage balls pain and pleasure Part 19

One time when I was in Tokyo and wide awake in the middle of the night I
decided to give Vincent a call. We chatted for a while and he asked me if
by any chance I'd be in New York on a Wednesday evening about six weeks
hence. I didn't know at that time, and wouldn't know until the next roster
was published in a couple of weeks. I explained that it was now too late to
request a flight on that date so I'd probably have to try and arrange a
swap which wasn't always possible. I asked what he had in mind, but he
wouldn't tell me so I was left wondering. When the roster was published I
saw that by impure chance I was going to be flying into JFK that night.

	On the Wednesday I called him as soon as I reached the hotel and
asked what time he wanted me to come to his apartment. To my surprise he
didn't want me to come to his place, he still wouldn't tell me what he had
in mind, but said that he'd pick me up at the hotel at 10. This was late
for me to be starting into a session, but I was more than interested. We
were staying in the Hilton on 6th Avenue at the time which has a covered
set down for cars and taxis so that's where I agreed to wait. I saw him in
the back of a limmo as it pulled off the Avenue so he didn't have to get
out. It was as well that I was there and ready to go, Vincent was wearing
the full Master's regalia, black leather waistcoat, bare chest, black
leather chaps over his jeans, and big, black boots. Had any of my
colleagues seen me get into the limmo with him they'd have assumed we were
going to a fancy-dress party! As the car rocked down 7th Vincent reached
into a bag and took out the studded slave collar he always had me wear
during our sessions. Just having him fasten it around my neck got me hard,
but still Vincent wouldn't tell me where we were going. Eventually the
driver turned off to the right somewhere south of Christopher Street and
pulled up a couple of blocks further on. You may not know it but the
streets in the Village are not numbered, nor in a grid, and as I'd not been
paying any attention I really can't say exactly where we stopped. Right
beside us there were steps leading down from the sidewalk into a
basement. A large 'bouncer' scowled at me as we descended, I was clearly
too clean and neat. He started to say something when Vincent
interrupted. "We'll be checking..." he said, and we went on down. At the
bottom of the steps we turned right and there was a desk with another two
scruffily dressed guys behind it. Right behind the desk was a bank of small
lockers with a notice on top, "Check your clothes and drink free." Well the
amount I drink in an evening it wouldn't make any difference whether I paid
or not, but now I knew what Vincent meant by "We're checking..." Since I
was wearing his slave collar I went along with it. I stripped completely,
Vincent removed his jeans, but kept his chaps waistcoat and boots. He'd
brought a small, black leather bag with him, which he now opened and pulled
out one of those outfits made of black leather straps and bright steel
rings. Don't know what they're called, but essentially there's not much to
them. He fitted this on me adjusting straps at the front, back and sides
until he had one ring circling each of my tits. Another ring at the end of
a strap hung down in front of my cock, and this ring he slipped over my
cock, then set about forcing my balls through too. The first one went in
fairly easily, but by the time he'd got it in my cock was absolutely rigid
and getting the second one through was a lot more fun! (I'd seen these
things many times in sex shops, but had never fantasized about wearing
them, for one thing they're expensive, but mostly because I couldn't ever
take anything like that back through customs. Yes they do search crews'
bags, and empty the contents on to the counter sometimes when they're
searching!) He then clipped a chain, a regular dog chain, on to the
collar. Once he was satisfied he stepped back to admire his handiwork. By
this time Vincent was more than half-hard, and it occurred to me that it
was the first time I'd seen him before we had sex. I'd only ever seen him
after he had come because I was always blind-folded until after he'd beaten
the gism from my balls. He often said he'd come twice during our sessions,
whether he really had I can't be sure. Of course I'd sucked his cock many
times, and he was undoubtedly hard then, but he was always limp by the time
the blindfold was taken from my eyes. Vincent stowed our stuff in the
locker, took hold of the chain, and led me out of the changing area to join
in the fun.

	Beyond the lobby where we stripped was the basement club. It was a
big room, maybe forty foot square, and high too, a good twelve feet to the
vaulted ceiling. On the left as we went in there was a makeshift bar,
several chest freezers and a stack of beer crates. We got beers, not a
difficult choice, it was Bud or Bud. I looked around. There were a lot of
men; tops in full leather regalia, some with open crotches like Vincent,
others with regular leather pants; there were naked bottoms; and then a
couple of dozen I'd call voyeurs because they weren't obviously either tops
or bottoms, nor naked either. Strangely I didn't feel naked, the leather
straps I was wearing concealed nothing, but feeling them against my skin
gave me the sense that I was wearing something. Set in the middle of the
far wall opposite the bar was a raised platform, about four feet high, and
on it there was essentially a bench with a padded top maybe four feet long,
two lengths of chain hanging from the ceiling over the platform, and there
was also a pillory, I believe that is the correct name. It consisted of an
upright 4x4 post with a cross beam made of two lengths of 2x4 timber. These
were hinged at one end and each had semi-circular cutouts, smaller ones to
trap a man's wrists, and a larger one in the centre for the neck. All this
I guessed was for a very public exhibition. Just looking at it sent a
shiver down my back. I was surprised that Vincent would come to a place
like this because he is a very private person. Our sessions had always been
just between the two of us except for two occasions; once when there had
been another top, and on once when there had been another bottom. But I
never knew who either of these guys were, nor did he ever tell me anything
about them.

	'Surely he won't to make me to do that,' I thought. But what would
I'd do if he did? I was wearing his slave collar, if I refused would it
cause something of a rift between us? I really didn't want that. The men
were milling around, a lot of groping, some pulling at cocks and balls,
some of the bottoms were forced to their knees to take tops' cocks in their
mouths. One big guy came right up to me and grabbed my balls. Vincent
didn't like it, he positively bristled, and put his arm protectively across
my shoulder making it clear that I was his property. The big guy wandered
on. Just a few minutes later another top came up to us, but instead helping
himself like the first one he nodded at Vincent first, the most fleeting
acknowledgement. Vincent let go of the chain which he'd been holding in his
left hand, his right hand slid down to the middle of my back. He didn't
push me towards the top, but the gesture was eloquent, "He's mine, but you
can use him." Strangely that made me feel even hotter. The top felt my
smooth, hairless balls he asked how often I shaved them. When I told them I
didn't shave, that I plucked the hair, he went down on his knees to suck
them into his mouth. This had me worried lest he move to sucking my cock,
Vincent was the only man who I'd allow to do that. But he didn't, he just
enjoyed my balls for a while, then thanked Vincent, and moved off. As we
moved further into the room Vincent saw some tops he knew and taking the
chain again led me over towards them. As we threaded our way through the
crowd hands fondled my balls and butt, but just a brief gropes and I have
to admit it was a turn-on.

	Each of Vincent's friends had a bottom with him, and these were
really bottoms, not just wearing slave collars like me. They were shaven
from their heads to their ankles, tattoos all over their bodies, two of
them kneeling at their master's feet, another was crouched right down in a
fetal position quietly licking his master's boots. This one had a large,
red arrow pointing down from the small of his back into his butt crack, and
written on either side of the arrow in large, Gothic letters was "Fuck this
end! Clean up at other end." I felt more than a bit out of place. On the
ride down in the taxi Vincent hadn't called me "boy" as he did when we were
having an S&M session, and even after I'd stripped he still didn't play the
role of master, we were just together. Sure I was wearing his slave collar,
but Vincent didn't tell me to kneel so I was the only bottom in the group
who was standing. There was general chat about both the tops and their
bottoms, some of it bitchy, some admiring. Whilst this was going on I saw a
very young guy more or less being pushed up on to the platform followed by
a much older top. Suddenly a silence spread across the room.

	The boy was naked of course, not a trace of body hair, very pale
skin, very slim, and as I said very young. He also seemed to be completely
passive, his cock was long, but hanging limp. He hadn't resisted when he'd
mounted the steps to the platform, he'd just done what he knew he had to
do, he had no choice, and I'd say no opinion either. He didn't even seem to
be aware of the crowd looking up at him as his Master cuffed his wrists
together and then attached the cuffs to one of the chains that hung down
from the ceiling. The Master was a well built man, wearing only tight,
black leather pants, his swollen penis very visible against his left
thigh. When I saw the cat I was puzzled, the thongs were short, no more
than 12 inches, and thin, not even as thick as leather boot laces. However,
when he started whipping the boy's buns the top really laid it on hard. It
must have stung because after a while the penis started to stiffen. The top
moved around and concentrated on the boy's chest. Again and again he lashed
at the boy's nipples until the whole area was bright red. The penis grew
steadily and as it grew it curved upwards, and now the Master concentrated
solely on it, paying special attention to the head. Again and again he
swung at it until the boy was writhing and twisting on the chain. The
onlookers encouraged the Master, "Yeah Man! Give it to him! Harder, he
needs it harder!" coming from all sides. Then, standing just behind the
boy, the top threw down the cat, pulled open his leather pants and pulled
out a fine, strong, fat penis. "Fuck him...fuck him...fuck him..." chanted
the audience. The top grasped the boy by his hips and rammed his cock
repeatedly into the boy's butt crack. Once he was in he started to
fuck...hard, long, strong strokes. And as he fucked the boy's ass he
reached around with his left hand and worked the boy's balls, while with
his right hand he pumped on the long curving cock. It didn't take long to
bring the boy to orgasm, a great cheer went up when the semen spurted out,
several long streams of shining, silvery beads. Since the boy was very near
the front of the platform a lot of it hit the men who were closest to the
action. There was a rush on the bar for beer, and a buzz of excited
conversation as the boy was helped down.

	Whilst this had been going on a top beside me was feeling my butt,
then when the fucking started he probed with his middle finger.

	"Hey man!" he said to Vincent, "This one is tight! Must be a great
fuck!" I guess I was tighter even than normal being fingered by a stranger,
but Vincent had never tried to fuck me so I wondered what he'd say.

	"Yeah, real tight, makes a real sweet target for whipping" Vincent
said casually, but he made no mention of fucking. Once the boy had been
released and led away Vincent leaned very close to my ear. "What did you
think?" he asked. I knew that there was more than one way of taking his
question: "What did you think of the whipping?" Or, "What did you think of
ejaculation?" Or, "What do you think of the idea of getting up there?"

	"Really impressive amount of cum," I said.

	"Yeah, but not a real whipping," Vincent said.

	"It must have stung. Did you see the colour of his chest? And his
cock took a lot of punishment too."

"But still it wasn't a real whipping, not hard at all. He didn't touch the
balls, and even if he had there's no weight in that thing, wouldn't have
really hurt. You could take much more than that." Again it was
ambiguous. If he'd said, "You want to show them that you can take more than
that," I'd have known exactly what he had in mind.

	I was saved from having to say any more by the next young guy, not
as young as the first, getting up on the platform with his top. He was
already hard, clearly he knew what was going to happen, and wanted it
too. He was secured on the bench with the padded top, face down, ass over
the edge. He was whipped with a regular whip, quite a long one, but the top
stood to one side and all the strokes were laid across his butt so the whip
never curled down between his legs, never reached the interesting
bits. Next up were a couple of tops with two bottoms. One was attached to
the chains, one wrist on each chain, the other was put in the pillory. He
was secured facing the audience, but some guys in the crowd wanted him
turned around so that they could see his ass as he was whipped. So the boy
was released and re-secured with his back to the audience. Now some guys
shouted that they couldn't see his cock. There was a bit of good humoured
banter until eventually the pillory was dragged around so that the boy was
facing to one side and everyone seemed satisfied. One of the tops was using
a leather strap, like a long belt, which he used folded in half. This
produced quite a crack as it connected, but I soon realized that the noise
was much sharper than the sound of leather on flesh, mostly it was the
sound of one layer of leather slapping against the other. And the bottom's
face proved the point, he showed no signs of suffering so either he was
really stoic, or the beating wasn't as hard as it sounded. The other top
was using a whip, but he wasn't laying it on hard either. The tops switched
places from time to time, but again both of them were standing to side so
all the strokes were across the buns. There were more bottoms taken up on
to the stage, some attached to the chains, others put in the pillory, maybe
a dozen, none of the whipping was at all severe. It would have been
repetitive except that there were a variety of ways the bottoms could be
secured. The crowd certainly enjoyed the spectacle and there was a lot of
raucous advice and encouragement from the floor. Once more Vincent leaned
close to me. I braced myself for what he might ask.

	"If I'd brought my whip would you have let me take you up there?"
he asked. Everything I thought I knew about Vincent assured me that he'd
never go up there in front of all these strangers, but still is was a
relief to hear him say, "IF I'd brought my whip!"

	"Sir," I said, "tonight I'm your boy. If you wanted to take me up
there I would obey you of course." We were standing so close to his
friends, all hard looking tops, what else could I say? However, since he
hadn't brought it I wasn't too worried.

	"But if I had brought it you'd have let me?" I looked around the
room.

	"Yes Sir," I repeated feeling rather too confident. Vincent was
looking straight into my eyes as the smile slowly spread across his face.

	"Wait here a moment, I'll be back," he said turning towards the
door. I can tell you I felt physically sick, and mentally sicker knowing
that I'd let myself be trapped so easily.

	My stomach was all knotted up when he returned carrying our
favourite whip, and grinning from ear to ear. "Come..." Vincent said taking
hold of the chain attached to the slave collar, "we don't want to miss our
place in line."

	'Oh yes we DO!' I thought. But there was no way out, his friends
were egging him on, so I allowed myself to be lead through the crowd. If I
could have gone straight up on to the platform there would have been some
relief in getting it over with, but another young boy was up there being
whipped, and as we got closer to the steps I saw that there were yet
another top and bottom waiting at the steps. As we waited in line I grew
steadily more nervous, and yet I didn't know why I was so anxious. Yet as
we waited I began to shiver. It was ridiculous, I'd been naked with dozens
of men in the baths, I'd lost count of the number of times I'd been
whipped, and I knew that the whipping wasn't going to be truly traumatic,
after all Vincent wasn't going to be using a bull-whip. But I couldn't
stop, and I when I thought that the guys around us might notice it only got
worse! Luckily a thought came into my mind. 'If Vincent had asked if he
could have some of his friends join us when I was secured to his bed for
whipping what would I say?' The answer of course would have been, 'If it
pleases you Sir!' Well some of these guys were his friends, sure there were
some others as well, like a few hundred, but basically that shouldn't make
any difference. What it came down to was that Vincent wanted to whip me in
front of his friends, and suddenly I felt okay, we'd show them.

	As the top ahead of us took his boy up on to the platform we moved
up to the steps. A pot-bellied biker in scruffy leather and a filthy
tee-shirt stood up in font of us. "This boy your property?" he asked
Vincent.

"Yes he is," said Vincent.

The biker then turned to me. "And are you submitting willingly to your
owners orders?" he barked. I didn't really feel "owned" but I agreed that I
was going willingly. Then addressing both of us he read a spiel from a
clipboard about no one being responsible for anything that may or may not
happen. He covered the organizers of the event, the owners of the building,
the staff on duty, even the barmen and the brewers, and every eventuality
that even an insurance salesman might be able to dream up. We both agreed
that we understood and we both had to sign the form. It would have been so
much easier if we'd just gone straight up on to the stage. Waiting for the
beating reminded me of waiting in line to be caned in school, and the
shivering started again just like it did in school. (If you want to know
about caning just ask, but believe me there was good reason to shiver when
waiting to be caned!) I can honestly say I do not have the slightest idea
as to what happened to the boy ahead of me, don't know where he was
secured, nor what was done to him, and although he must have come right by
us I don't even remembering him come past on his way down. Eventually
Vincent jolted me out of me reverie, time to mount the scaffold.

I climbed the steps behind Vincent, saw him point at the bench on the far
side and followed across the stage in a trance. I was aware of the sea of
faces, but I made a point of not looking at anyone. I had a feeling that if
I didn't make eye contact with anyone then they couldn't actually see me,
not the real me, just a naked guy who was going to be whipped. By blocking
out the faces I also seemed to cut myself off from the sounds and was only
vaguely aware of unintelligible noises coming up from the crowd. Vincent
plucked at one of the leather straps and said, "This will have to come
off." I'd become so comfortable in that "garment" that I'd completely
forgotten it. Now he had to get my balls out of the tight cock ring, and he
made me turn so that the crowd could see what he was doing! It had to come
off, so I just shut my eyes. The first one hurt, my whole body jerked as it
popped out and the guys nearest the platform let out a raucous cheer. One
voice said, "Push it back up!" Strangely enough with my eyes closed so that
the crowd was no longer visible, I now heard what they were saying very
clearly. The second testicle popped out fairly easily and very soon the
leather straps fell away. Vincent had me lie face down on the bench, then
moved me back a bit so that my balls were hanging down over the edge. Then,
with a showman's flourish, he reached under my body to pull my rigid cock
back so that it too was out in the open between my legs. I heard an
appreciative murmur from the crowd. The securing didn't take long, about an
hour, or so it seemed to me! Just before Vincent stepped away from me he
leaned forward and ran his hands over my butt, spreading the cheeks
apart. "Yeah man! Lay it in there!" someone shouted. That produced some
laughter. Vincent bent down close. "Now we'll show them that cocks and
balls can take a whipping too!" he said.

He started out gently, if any whipping can be called gentle. But gradually
the pace quickened, and the strokes came down harder and harder. Unlike all
the other tops he was standing by my head, I knew that his fat cock was
just above my face, but I couldn't see it. Vincent was aiming to lay the
strokes right down my crack, some missed the centreline, but most were
pretty close. Some of the strokes were laid short so that the tip stung at
my sphinctre, others he reached further forward allowing the whip to curl
over connect with my balls, and if he reached even further forward it
wrapped all the way over to sting my cock beautifully too. Most of the time
I was aware of the crowd as a murmuring background, but whenever the whip
wrapped around to my balls the noise level went way up. It sounded like a
mixture of "Yeah" and "Ohhh" and Ahhh! I have no idea as to how many
strokes Vincent gave me, but I do remember him leaning forward to whisper
in my ear. "Now I'm going to turn you over and blow their fucking minds!"
This took me by surprise, I'd never heard him use a swear word, he'd talked
about fucking of course, but had never used the word in that sense.

He released, then re-secured me. My legs were wide apart again, the target
was very clearly visible to the crowd, and now I could see Vincent's cock,
just above my face, looking bigger than I'd ever seen it. As I expected,
all the strokes were directed at my cock and balls. The noise level from
the crowd went way up. There was cheering, and catcalls, and whoops of
delight at each direct hit. Honestly, I was so turned on I hardly felt the
whip. Soon I realized that I was going to cum, all the other bottoms had
been brought off facing the crowd, but Vincent hadn't said anything about
how he was going to finish the beating.

"I'm going to come!" I said, but with the noise he didn't seem to hear
me. Still the whip kept belting into my balls. "I'm going to come any
second!" I repeated much louder. He looked down at me.

"Good! Shoot it!" he said swinging even harder. And I did! My semen
splattered down on my face, chest, and stomach. A cheer went up from the
audience, Vincent, still standing at my head, was smiling broadly. Then he
dropped the whip and started to pump on his own fat cock. Very soon his
gism splashed down on my face and chest. Before releasing me he leaned
forward low over my body to spread our juices from my crotch to my face. As
he did this his cock was within inches of my mouth...and then it was in my
mouth! By the time he released me I was wet and slippery, and I'd sucked
him clean.

As we made our way down from the platform there was still quite a bit of
noise from the audience, whistling, foot stamping and whoops. Again I made
a point of avoiding eye contact. Once we stepped off the platform we were
surrounded by bodies. There were hands feeling my balls, inspecting the
damage. There was a lot of ooohing and aaahing as my cock was twisted this
way and that, but the marks weren't too bad. Some blackish purple blotches
on my cock, and smaller purple marks on my scrotum, but certainly nothing
like the bullwhips had left so I really wasn't worried at all. The thing
that struck me as strange was that guys were congratulating Vincent at
every step, but no one said anything to me. It was as though Vincent had
been on stage carving a statue which he was now taking back through the
crowd, they might have admired his work, but of course they wouldn't have
spoken to the statue. We worked our way slowly through the crowd to where
Vincent's friends were standing. There was a lot of back-slapping, which is
to say the tops slapped Vincent's back. They all checked my crotch and told
Vincent what a great job he'd done. Again not a word to me, not one. Their
slaves were still crouched at their heels, only one of them raised his eyes
high enough to make eye contact with me. His eyes remained blank,
indecipherable, I couldn't tell if he envied me, or felt sorry for me, just
no feed back at all. One top came through the crowd carrying a beer for
Vincent, just one. Vincent handed it to me and said he'd take one too. The
guy who'd brought the beer looked baffled, couldn't have been more
surprised if Vincent had given the beer to a parrot on his shoulder. And
judging from the expressions on the faces of the other tops none of them
would have thought of giving their slaves anything, except a kick
perhaps. This experience gave me some small insight into what it must be
like to be a slave, clearly they aren't seen as real, live, sensate beings,
just objects.

Once all the hubbub had died down Vincent asked me what I wanted to do,
stay on a while or head back to the hotel. Other tops were taking their
boys up on the platform, but I'd seen enough. I asked if going back to his
apartment was an option, he smiled broadly! "It isn't too late for you?" he
asked.

"It's never too late for that!" I assured him. He called the limo company
and there was a car at the door by the time we were dressed. At the exit
someone came up to speak to Vincent. "Take this," he said holding out a
business card. "Any time you want to bring your boy just show this at the
door. Free in...free beer, it'll be on the house!" It amused me to think
that I, the one who'd been on the receiving end, wasn't worth so much as a
glance.

Back in his apartment he took a good look at my balls. "No more whipping
tonight," he said. I was a bit disappointed, but I knew he was right.

"How about the weights?" I asked.

"Yes...okay," he agreed. In no time I was blindfolded and strung up in the
doorway with 25 pounds swinging from my balls. At first he was very
tentative when he jabbed with the pool cue and only used the blunt end. But
I wanted more.

"Do it Sir! Harder Sir! The other end Sir! Please Sir!" I begged. Gradually
the jabs grew in intensity, then he switched to the pointed end, and then
he forgot all about restraint. He was jabbing at my balls and stinging my
butt with a paddle harder than he'd ever done before, and I knew there was
going to be plenty of gism when I came again. When he took me through to
the bedroom he told me to lie on my back. I assumed that he was going to
whip my balls again.

"I'm not going to use the whips," he said, "enough marks, enough damage for
one night." I was disappointed, by this time my balls were aching
beautifully and I really wanted more pain. Then he added, "But don't worry,
you're going to feel it." He knelt astride my hips, poured some oil on my
scrotum, then tied my balls with a leather thong. Around and around he
wound it until the balls were trapped tightly, then he went to work on them
with his fingers and thumbs. He really did a number on them, squashed,
squeezed, twisted, slapped them from side to side, top and bottom. I was in
agony and heaven. When I told him I was about to come he just kept working
away. Then I guess he felt the testicles tightening up because at the last
second before I shot he leaned down and took my cock in his mouth. I'm sure
I came even more that second time than I had on the platform.

Over the next few months I went to Vincent's apartment at every
opportunity. He took me through hell and brought me off in heaven every
time. Then, out of the blue, two events changed my life. The first thing
was that company made the senior pilots an offer that was simply were too
good to refuse if we took early retirement. A very generous lump sum paid
tax free, and a full pension even though I would not be entitled to it for
several years. There were two catches, we had just days to accept or reject
the offer, and we had to leave at the end of the month which was about two
weeks hence. I really didn't want to leave, but an accountant friend looked
at the numbers and told me just how ridiculous it would be to refuse the
offer. I had just one last trip, to Hong Kong not New York, not that it
would have made any difference since my wife came with me!

However, I was not out of flying for long, I signed up with a cargo carrier
within a month. We work 20 days on and 10 days off, we don't have any sort
of schedule, just go where the loads need to go, anywhere world wide. And
it was after my very first trip that my wife went in for a routine
check-up. The doctor called an hour later, a mammogram detected that she
had cancer and had been admitted to hospital to be operated on the very
next day. I knew right then that my days of playing around were over.

I'd like to thank all the hundreds of you who have written to say how much
you enjoyed my story. I believe I've replied to each and every one, if not
I apologize. Now that my own true story has run its course I intend to post
a couple of fictitious stories, the first will be called "Okavanga." If you
like S&M fiction take a look.

As always my e-mail address is daprivate12@hotmail.com.