Date: Fri, 08 Jun 2007 09:55:27 -0700
From: David Andrew <daprivate12@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bondage, balls, pain and pleasure 4

	You may remember that I told you that there were two guys in the NY Bondage
Club listing who sounded exciting. I'd phoned one, his name was Paul, but he
was out on Long Island. He had tried to persuade me to go out there on the
LIRR, but I hadn't been happy with that idea. You see if I was involved in
even a minor accident or incident how could I explain either to my wife, or
the company, what I'd been doing a long way out of town on Long Island at
night? Even in Manhattan there could have been a bit of a problem if I'd
been mugged coming out of the baths at 3 am way down at the southern end of
2nd Avenue. However, I could have said I was in some jazz club maybe. Even
Brooklyn wouldn't have been too difficult, I could have been at a concert on
the Sheep Meadow perhaps. But 50 or 100 miles from the city would have been
an entirely different thing. So, although we talked for a long time, we
never met. Many months, maybe a year later, I saw an ad in the personals in
a leather magazine, "Experience not necessary, all that matters is that
you're willing to submit. You can set the limits, I will respect them."
There was a box number, I wrote a long letter telling him all about myself,
that I was a pilot who had frequent layovers in NYC, that I was very turned
on by ball torture, and that I wanted to be taken further. I also added that
I would be in town for three days the following week. I asked that he either
call late in the evening or write to say if he would be interested in
meeting sometime.
When I checked into the hotel on the next trip I was surprised to be handed
a message. It said, "Arriving 7.30am, be prepared for a long, hard session."
I could hardly believe my eyes. I am not making this up, that was the
message. There was no way to contact him, no phone number I could call to
find out what he had in mind. I spent a very restless night I can tell you,
took the longest time to get to sleep in spite of being extremely tired, and
it seemed only moments later the phone rang. He was in the lobby asking what
my room number was. I stalled, pretended that I had not got my wake-up call,
said that I needed at least a cup of coffee before getting started. But what
I really wanted was to get a look at the guy before letting him into my
room. 'Remember the Rome Hilton,' I thought. I told him what I would be
wearing and he agreed to meet me in the coffee shop in a few minutes. My
head was in a whirl as I came down in the elevator, luckily I met nobody I
knew. If I had I'm sure they would have thought I was ill. I had never felt
like this before, maybe it was because of the Rome Hilton. I walked into the
coffee-shop in a dream that was to become totally bizarre. He recognized me
from the clothes I'd said I'd be wearing and beckoned to me from across the
room as I came in. He was smaller than I'd expected, I'd say no more than 5'
5" or so, but with a stocky build.
"You called me some months ago," was the first thing he said. I was
completely taken aback. He reminded me of the night I'd called and he'd
tried to persuade me to come out to Long Island. Then he added something
that surprised me even more. "You know... I've wanted to get my hands on
your balls ever since." He wasn't whispering, nor even talking quietly, but
in a normal conversational voice. We were not in booths, the tables were
very close together and there were people almost at our elbows, both sides.
But it got worse!
	"You said you've had your balls worked on, but how about your tits...? And
your cock? Asshole?" All this before I'd got a cup of coffee! I didn't dare
look to right or left, but even without looking I was conscious of the
couples on either side sitting stiffly in total silence, they must have
heard every word. When the coffee did come I had the greatest difficulty
swallowing it, it even tasted sour. The questioning went on and on. "I want
to get all this clear," he said, "because once we start I'm going to be in
control. I'll respect your limits, but since you'll be both blindfolded and
gagged we have to get things clear in advance." Mentally I was torn: I
wanted to get away from this place and the people around us: I was shit
scared of being at the mercy of this stranger, but I did want to go through
with it. It was madness. The reasoning part of my brain knew it was madness,
but a more powerful urge, a need, was driving me into danger. By this time I
knew that I was in deep water again! I gulped the coffee, almost gagged on
the toast, and in the end it was a relief to get away from the eavesdroppers
and go up to the room.
	 My room was in fact a suite. The hotel was owned by the airline, so
whenever they had vacant suites the captains were given them. The door from
the corridor opened into a lounge, another door on the far side of the
lounge opened in to the bedroom. The best thing about being in one of these
suites was that sounds from the corridor didn't reach the bedroom. The bad
things was that sounds from the bedroom couldn't be heard out in the
corridor, maybe a very loud scream, but Paul had said I'd be gagged. He was
suitably impressed with the suite. He had a suitcase with wheels, the kind
that almost everyone uses these days. He started to unpack it laying
everything out on a table. What a collection. Ropes, chains, shackles, steel
hand-cuffs, leather ankle and wrist cuffs, adhesive tape. There were things
in plastic bags and boxes that looked distinctly medicinal which I tried to
ignore. A couple of whips, one a magnificent cat with about 30 or more
plaited thongs, the other a 10 foot long bull whip. I told Paul that I
wasn't turned on by whips. Like Tom he started to reassure me, but I didn't
want to hear about how good it could be. I still have vivid memories of the
bare-ass caning when I was in school. He handed me four lengths of chain and
told me how to fasten them to the legs of the bed while he went on unpacking
and arranging his gear. I remember thinking how crazy this was. I was
actively helping to set things up so that this guy could torture my cock and
balls. What would any sane man think if he heard about it How could I be
doing this?? Right now I'm wondering hat you think about it.
	Once the chains were in position he told me to strip and lie on the bed. As
soon as I was naked he  put the leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles. They
were soft and padded, felt comfortable, each had a dog-clip which he
attached to the chains. As he pulled my left leg out to the side and secured
it to the chain I remember thinking that I could still break free; but I
didn't. When my right leg was pulled over and clipped to the chain I felt
that I could still put up some resistance, maybe get free; but I didn't.
When my right arm was stretched out and clipped to the chain I felt that I
could still try to fend him off with one free arm; but I didn't. I let him
take my left arm, pull it over so that my arms were spread as wide as
possible, heard the clip click on to the chain. Now resistance was
impossible, my limbs were stretched out wide, my whole body was at the mercy
of a man I met barely thirty minutes before. He told me that the only safety
signal that he would respond to would be the rapid clenching and unclenching
my hands, then he plugged my ears with soft wax. Suddenly I was isolated.
Any sound that might have reached me through the wax was drowned out by the
thumping beat of my racing heart. I pulled against the restraints, to see
how much I'd be able to move: I couldn't, not at all. My heart sounded
thunderous, I tried to relax, I couldn't, not at all. Next Paul placed two
pads of cotton-wool on my eyes and taped them in place. I remember thinking
that it was not a very effective blindfold, but I was wrong. Now he pulled a
rubber cap over my head, the kind that swimmers use, it covered all my hair.
Then started to wind duct tape around, and around, and around my head,
covering every thing except for small opening for my nostrils. I was now
experiencing the strangest sensation. I was isolated, cut off from reality,
with only the sound of my heart and my breathing.
	I was left in peace for quite a while, not that I relaxed, but Paul didn't
touch me. In fact for all I could tell he might have left the room. After
what seemed like an age I felt a very gentle tapping on my left testicle, so
soft that at first I wondered if I was imagining it. Gradually over the next
couple of minutes the tapping got harder, just delightful, still on the same
spot, exactly the same spot. The testicle began to ache, it was getting more
difficult to take. I tried to move my hips so that Paul would have
difficulty hitting the same spot with every stroke, but I was spread so
tight that I couldn't move. I tried to twist from side to side, but only
managed a small movement and Paul continued to hit exactly the same spot
time after time. The pain built up to a crescendo, I would have screamed if
I had been able, but I was so well taped up that I could only grunt and
groan. Just when I thought the testicle would explode the tapping stopped.
Again I was left in peace. Just as my breathing started to return to normal
I felt a very gentle tapping on the right testicle. Again he took me to the
point of screaming silently, then just as suddenly it stopped. This time I
was left in peace for quite a while, naturally my mind was racing as I
wondered what would happen next. Then, tap, tap, tap. As soon as he started
again on my left nut I knew two things, one that he was going to beat the
right one again as well, and secondly that it was going to be even worse
than the first time around. I was right on both scores, the torture was
repeated exactly as before, and the second time was much harder to take than
the first.
	Again I was left alone for several minutes, Paul did this quite a lot, it
was not relaxing really because I lay there desperately trying to make out
where he was, fearful of what was about to happen. When he did touch me I
jerked against the chains even if he was being gentle. It was the
anticipation that made me jump. The next thing I felt was something cold and
slippery pushing at my hole. I realized that it was a dildo but that didn't
worry me too much, I'd been fucked so I reckoned I could take it. He pushed
harder, twisting it around trying to get it in.
	"Come on...open up,: I heard him say, his voice seeming to come from a
great distance. I tried but it felt like I was being spilt open. It was
agony. Again I tried to make him understand by shaking my head madly. I
didn't want give the safety signal to end the session, but this was just too
painful. Eventually he gave up and I found myself trying to thank him for
sparing my hole. Later, when I saw the dildo I knew why I'd been in such
trouble. It was massive, at least three inches across the head, there just
wasn't the slightest chance of getting that up my ass without doing a lot of
damage.
	I forget what he said at this point, I know he wasn't happy about being
thwarted. He took hold of my balls real rough, to put them in a parachute.
It was a tight fit, but he pulled them down and twisted them around,
handling them like pieces of meat, until I felt the press-stud snap shut. He
slipped a cord through the parachute then took the two ends down to my big
toes. He forced my feet up, towards my knees, then tied the ends of the cord
to my toes. In this position the cord was pulling my balls down, stretching
them to the limit. At first it wasn't particularly painful, but soon the
muscles in the back of my legs began to cramp. The only way to relieve this
was to try and push my feet down. But this pulled even harder on the cord
which dragged my testicles down even further. For a few moments my calf
muscles were eased, but now the problem was in my balls. I had to force my
feet back up, straining the leg muscles again. This went on and on, in
effect I was torturing my own testicles. I have no idea how long he left me
struggling to balance one pain against the other, but it seemed like an age
before I felt his fingers releasing the knots in the cord. The relief was
beautiful, I'd have thanked him if I could.
	When we were down in the coffee-shop one of the things he had asked about
was tit torture. Because of the closeness of the people on both sides I'd
kept my answers to the absolute minimum. I hadn't specifically ruled my tits
out of bounds, only said that my tits were not a turn on for me. This I
assumed meant that he wouldn't do anything to them. As you can imagine I
wasn't too happy when I felt Paul pulling on my nipples. However, it was not
unpleasant and sure enough the nipples started to swell up. The next thing I
felt was a truly terrible pain which I later discovered was caused by
nothing more than a clothes peg. Such a simple thing. Try it on your finger
and you wouldn't believe that it could cause much discomfort, but attach one
to your tits and it's hell, well for me it is. I tried to indicate that I
wasn't happy about the clip by shaking my head from side to side. Paul took
no notice, he took the other tit and clipped on a second peg. This was too
much for me, my protests became even more vigorous. Again I didn't want to
give the safety signal, that would have brought the session to an end, but
still Paul took no notice. I heard his voice in the distance.
	"Just relax...It's not that bad...If you relax you'll soon get used to it."
	When I'd almost got used to this pain I felt him remove the parachute. The
next clip was put on my scrotum way down low on the centre line at the back.
In an instant I entirely forgot about my tits. By now I was really
protesting, shaking any bit of my body that I could move, but another clip
bit into my sac just above the first. The third was placed just above the
second. One after another the clips were placed on the centre line of the
scrotum. By the time he reached the base of my cock I was truly in torment.
Still I didn't want to end the session because I did want more ball torture,
but the pain was so bad that I could hardly breathe. Once he'd reached my
the base of my cock I assumed that that was as far as he'd go. I was so
wrong! The line of clips continued up my urethra, he even managed to get two
on the head. But still that wasn't the end, he pulled up the skin of my sac
to attach even more on each side of the original line. He then worked his
way up from the base of my cock in two lines spreading out towards my tits.
Each clip burned like hell when it went on, but as more and more were added
the pain from the earlier ones seemed to fade, or at least was over shadowed
by the fresh pain of the subsequent ones. When finally he had no more skin
to put clips on he brushed his hand lightly across the tops of the clips. It
was like being scorched with a blowtorch. Behind my bandages I was screaming
silently. I couldn't understand why he was doing this, I'd told him tit
torture wasn't a turn on for me, but still he went on brushing the pegs
sending sheets of fire over my cock, balls, stomach, chest and nipples.
After an eternity I heard his voice again.
	"OK...OK you want me to take them off?" I nodded my head vigorously.
"Alright...you want it, I'll take them off."
	He first pulled off one of the pegs on my left tit. God Almighty! If the
pain was bad when he put them on this was ten times worse! And I knew that I
still had at lest three or four dozen more to go! My cock, which had
surprisingly remained erect until this point, wilted immediately. I don't
know how I got through it, not that I had any choice in the matter, they had
to come off. I'm sure I wasn't able to draw a breath until the last one was
plucked off. By this time I realized that I was right out of my depth. I was
playing with a real top, one who wanted more than I'd expected, or even
imagined was possible. Again I was left alone with my thoughts, where Paul
was I couldn't tell, probably watching me suffer. I expected the pain to
subside now, it didn't, not for several minutes of pure hell.
	If it had been difficult to relax before the session started there was no
way I could do it now that I knew that Paul would do just as he pleased
taking no notice of the indications I was giving. When at last breathing
became almost normal and my heart rate had eased to about 180 I felt a sharp
sting right on the centerline of my scrotum. In a flash I knew that it was a
needle, and assumed that Paul had injected something. I expected to become
drowsy, I knew I had to act fast before loosing consciousness. I gave the
safety signal frantically, but didn't really expect it to work. He didn't
have to release me, there was nothing I could do. To my surprise he
instantly started to rip the adhesive tape from my head. In just a few
seconds he had removed enough for me to speak.
	"What's the problem?" he asked looking alarmed.
	"The matter? I repeated. "What have you injected?" I still wasn't feeling
the effects of the drug, but I was sure he'd done something.
	"Injected?" It was his turn to be shocked. "I haven't injected anything,
nothing at all." Paul was still working frantically to release me, almost as
though I had had a heart attack or something.
	"But I specifically told you that I didn't want anything to do with
piercing. No blood or body fluids," I said angrily. I was truly pissed of.
	"So where's the blood?" he asked. By this time my limbs were free. I sat up
and looked at my scrotum, not a trace of blood! He hadn't wiped it off,
hadn't touched my balls since I'd given the signal. Not only was there no
blood, I couldn't even see a mark where I'd been stuck. Nothing. If Paul had
said I'd imagined it I really might have thought that I had.
"Well piercing isn't safe sex..." I said. I was still furious, but his reply
amazed me.
"That isn't piercing. That was just a little jab into the skin...Just to
give you the sensation." By this time I was beginning to feel foolish. Paul
was gathering up his things and putting them into his case looking
thoroughly pissed off. As I watched him packing his things away I really
felt stupid. Paul had come in to town especially for this meeting and I'd
blown the whole session because of the tiniest little prick on my skin. I
could see from his demeanor that he wouldn't be interested in meeting with
me again.
	"Well...I'm sorry that I reacted that way, but I thought..." I left unsaid
what I had thought. Paul picked up the whip and stowed it in the case. He
reached for the cat. "I really am sorry," I said again. Then on an impulse
added, "Would you please punish me...With that..."
	Suddenly his face brightened. "You think you deserve to be punished?"
	"Yes Sir,"
	"You're right, you do. Get back on the bed, face down at the edge...over
here...at this side." The commands came fast. He positioned me so that I was
lying on my stomach, my hips at the edge of the bed, legs draped over the
side. That seemed to me to be about the right position for whipping, my ass
was very available, my cock and balls were safely under my body. He then put
the leather cuffs on again. Next he used a double ended dog-clip to attach
my left ankle to my left wrist, my right ankle to the right wrist. I was now
in the sort of position you see when sky-divers are in free fall before they
open their parachutes. In just those two simple and quick moves he had me at
his mercy again. I was held very securely, but not uncomfortable. At this
stage he did something that had me worried, he pulled my cock and balls out
from under my body, my cock was now pointing straight down at the edge of
the mattress, my balls nestled just above it. There was no way I could close
my legs to protect them, but I wasn't too worried, I mean no one would use a
whip on a man's balls would they?
	The next thing I felt was without doubt the most sensuous feeling I have
ever experienced. Paul brought the cat up between my legs, the thongs
slithered around my cock, over my balls, up over my ass, slipping through
the crack, then up the length of my back to the nape of my neck. Wowww!
That's the only way to describe it. I guess the sensations were enhanced by
knowing that this same cat was going to be stinging my ass when the whipping
started. From my neck he slowly dragged the cat back down my body to my
balls again. By this time I was squirming with pleasure. I'd completely
forgotten my fears, I wasn't even thinking of this thing he was using as a
whip, it was an instrument of pure ecstasy! He kept this up for several
minutes by which time I was ready for anything. The first stroke was quite
sharp on my left buttock, the second stung the right one. Two, three, four
more on each side and my ass was burning, but I was so turned on it wasn't
too hard to take. Paul switched the whip to my shoulders, that wasn't so
easy, it made me twist and turn with each stroke. I'd managed to keep my ass
tightly closed by holding my arms and legs as far in over my back as I
could. It was a strain, soon the muscles were aching. Paul was switching
between my butt and my shoulders, harder now, but I didn't dare protest. He
was just playing with me, waiting for my ass hole to be exposed. I tried so
hard to keep my buttocks clenched but, in spite of my best efforts,
gradually my limbs began to ache so much that they fell out to each side
just as Paul obviously knew they would. Still he worked on my butt and
shoulders. Every now and again I'd pull my arms and legs in, but when my
strength finally gave out my legs fell out to the sides, my crack opened
wide. The very next stroke was much harder, right down the middle. It was as
though a dozen bees had found my hole, and another hundred had stung my
balls. Oh yes, he laid it right on them. I dragged my limbs back in to
protect them, Paul switched to my shoulders again. I only managed  to keep
my limbs up for a short time, then they fell outwards again. Once more Paul
laid a stinging stroke down the middle. I tried to close up again, couldn't
do it, my legs just didn't respond and I was wide open for the whipping.
After the next stroke I made no effort to save myself. Once Paul saw this he
started raking my body, switching between my hole, my buns, my shoulders, my
balls & my cock. And you know, this might sound like a strange thing to say,
once I had accepted that I could do nothing to save myself I relaxed. From
that moment on I couldn't get enough of it. Soon I was trying to spread my
ass wider and lift my hips so that he could get a better shot at my
testicles. All too soon he stopped.
	"It's time for you to come," he said. Then he took my cock in his hand and
started to pump.
	It was beautiful, his fist thumped into my tenderized balls with each
stroke. In seconds I shot a massive load out on to the carpet. He had done a
fantastic job on me. It was Paul who turned me on to whipping, or rather
being whipped, and for this I'll always be grateful. Later, when I'd been
released, I asked him why he had used so many clothes pegs on me when I
clearly did not liked it, and had clearly been turned off. His answer
surprised me.
	"Because I'm a sadist of course. That's what turns me on. This has to be a
two way thing...you get what you want when I torture your balls. I get what
I want when I see you suffer pain that you don't want."
	I couldn't think of anything to say to that. It did have to be a two way
thing otherwise why would he bother? Secretly I wished he'd seen me suffer
by torturing my balls even harder, but I said nothing. We parted on very
good terms, both of us wanting a repeat performance.
	Paul traveled a great deal, mostly to the Far East, on business, so it was
many weeks before we were both in the same place at the same time. Meanwhile
we corresponded regularly, most of his letters being written on flights or
waiting to board. In his first letter he told me how much he had enjoyed our
meeting. He told me I had to relax during our next session, just let it
happen because I was totally safe with him. He made it clear that he was the
one who called the shots when he was working on a bottom, not the other way
around. He also said that I'd over reacted when he had just pricked my
scrotum, and asked if I would  reconsider piercing. My reply was simple; no
way.