Date: Fri, 28 Mar 2003 16:38:23 -0500
From: Allen Baker <sambrubag@fast.net>
Subject: Hung for Pain

			       Hung for Pain
			      by Allen Baker

     I went by the nickname Hotdog.  But he always called me JS.  For him,
my initials stood for different things at different parts of our
relationship.  To begin with, they were just my initials.  But later, they
ranged from Just Submissive to Jaded Slave to Jockey Sportster to
Justifiably Stripped to Jam-packed Speedo to ... well, you get the idea.
     We'd met on the Internet.  And for months that's where we
communicated.  He said he was an animal trainer for the film industry.  He
offered to train me.  To tame the animal cravings that raged inside me.  We
had some memorable sex-chat sessions that had me writhing with pleasure.
     But at the end of one spectacularly raunchy chat session, I supplied
him with a phone number, and that's when the true fun and games really
began.  He already had learned that I was 40 to his 54 years.  He was
nearly old enough to be the dad I occasionally called him.  We both had
brown hair and fur-covered bodies.  But I suspect that's about where the
physical similarities ended.  I had brown eyes to his blue.  A beard to my
smooth chin.  He had that still-slim build to my middle-aged paunch.  At
seven-and-a- half inches, I beat him out by an inch-and-a-half.  We did
share the fate of both having been fringe-clipped at birth.
     But his major envy was my nuts.  His rested in a neurotic pouch pulled
tight up against his crotch in spite of all the stretching regimen to which
it had been subjected.  But my walnut-sized orbs hung free and swinging in
a low-hanging bag that I kept shaved and ready for abuse.  So from the
first sight of my e-mailed pictures, he was more than ready to assault
them!
     That first phone call set the tone for the remainder of our
relationship.  When I answered, he inquired, "Is this Slave Hotdog?"
     At first, silence.  But he could probably hear my breathing change
from normal to a ragged sucking for air.  And finally I managed, "Yes,
Sir."
     It was two on a Sunday afternoon my time, states away from him.  He
must not have cared if I was alone or not or had other plans.  He didn't
even ask.  He was ready for a sex session, and he meant for me to supply
his satisfaction.  "What do you have on?"
     Another short silence.  It was taking me a bit to adjust my head.
"Ah, jeans and a t-shirt."
     "Underwear?"
     "No, Sir."
     "Ok, strip."
     "Ah, I'd better go to another phone, first."
     "Why?"
     "I'm in front of a window here."
     "Stop being a pansy and take orders.  Stay where you are and strip,
now!"
     "Yes, Sir."
     He could undoubtably hear the tremble in my voice.  I was frightened
at being nude in front of the window.  Or excited? Thrilled at being
ordered about.  Maybe all those things.
     When the rustling of clothing stopped, I returned to the phone.  "I'm
naked, Sir."
     "Good.  Now listen closely.  I'm going to give you a list of items to
collect.  You have five minutes to gather them together and be ready for my
callback.  I expect for you to answer on the first ring."
     When he phoned back, I caught it before the second ring started.  I
was afraid of not obeying him.  He didn't even say hello.  "Take the
five-foot chord, and tie your nuts in the middle of it.  Tight."
     I gave a low moan in response.  Eventually I was back on.  "Done,
Sir."
     "Ok.  Now grease up the butt plug and plant it deep."
     Another moan and my ragged breathing returned.  I popped open the lube
tube.  Then gave a sharp in-take of breath followed by a contented sigh.
"It's in, Sir."
     "Put a clothes pin on each nipple, each ear lobe, and in each
nostril."
     This time my voice came back slightly ragged.  "Finished, Sir."  The
clinking of the pins in my nose, as they shifted with my mouth motions,
beat against the telephone receiver.
     "Squat down and tie each end of the four foot cord to your ankles."
He could hear me breathing heavily as I did the required activity.  I
picked up the receiver again.  "How long are the cords between your ankles
and your nuts?"
     "About fifteen inches, Sir"
     "Now listen closely.  I want you to being to stroke yourself as you
listen to me.  As you get closer and closer to climaxing, I want you to
begin to slowly start to straighten your knees.  You may not come until you
have your legs completely unbent and are totally standing.  That should
pull your sack very, very tight, shouldn't it?"
     "Oh, yes, Sir,"
     "Ok, start to masturbate now.  If I were there, I'd have your hands
tied behind your back.  That would be my hand stroking and rubbing the head
of your cock.  Teasing you to excited hardness.  Sliding my fist down your
dick and back up to the tip, over and over.  I'd use my other hand to
lightly tap on those nuts again and again until the gentleness of my touch
would be maddeningly torturous.  Occasionally, I stop slapping them and
squeeze them hard.  All the while, the object up your ass wouldn't be a
buttplug: it would be my prick moving in and out.  Bouncing your butt back
and forth in a delicious rhythm.  And I'd hook my toes into those cords
about your ankles and slowly, oh, so slowly straighten my legs and force
you to do the same.  And those poor, poor balls of yours would be pulled
ever farther and farther away from your cock root.  Closer and closer to
your knees.  They become oh so tender.  Oh, so painful.  The skin across
them thins with stretching and turns nearly translucent, exposing the bulge
of the veins encircling the orbs inside.  The pouch turns deep red then
purple under the strain.  And I plunge faster and faster into you hole,
pounding against your prostate, driving us both closer to orgasm."
     "Oh, Sir, I'm going to shoot."
     "Are you standing yet?  Don't shoot if you aren't."
     "I can't, Sir.  I'd need to stretch them another two inches to be
totally up.  Oh, please, Sir, let me shoot."
     "No way, boy.  Pretend I'm there, as I described.  I'm ready to fill
your ass with my spunk.  So suddenly I fully extend my legs, forcing you to
do the same.  Do it, boy.  Do it now!"
     At the other end of the line, he heard the phone clang against the
side of the table where I'd dropped it.  I gave a startled squeal that
escalated into an all-out scream, as I followed instructions and pulled my
nutcords to near snapping point.  My scream pulsed in time with my
climaxing spasms, then died away as I dropped to the floor.
      He gave me a couple of minutes to recover my breathing, before he
shouted into the receiver, "Pick up the phone, boy."
     My voice was raspy, "Sir?"
     "I'm going to hang up now.  I want you to remove the pins, one by one.
Then the plug.  Do not untie the cord yet."  He waited for me to obey.
When I was back, he issued his final order for the day.  "Waddle into the
shower and wash good.  Once you are finished and totally dry, then you may
untie your ankles, but not your balls.  Get dressed and let the cords
dangle down each pant leg.  Go out for dinner.  When you get back home,
strip down, tie the cords to your ankles, and bed down for the night.  In
the morning, leave the cord in place until after your morning shower.  Then
you may remove it totally.  Tomorrow at work, your very tender nuts will
remind you all day who those balls really belong to."
     He hung up before I could respond.

     I emailed the next day over my lunch hour to confirmed my compliance.
I'd had to put an icebag on my crotch before leaving for work and could
hardly wait until I got home to do it again.  I wished he could see me
trying to walk normally. I had a hunched stagger that had to be obvious to
all around me.
     My phone was ringing when I walked in the door.  I answered, "Hello?"
     "Strip right now and tie them again with the cord.  Do it!"
     A slight groan, but to my credit, I didn't whine or plead.  I was soon
back.  "You have a choice, boy.  One: tie a twenty pound weight onto the
cord for an hour.  Or two: leave them tied and connected to your ankles
until morning.  Email me tomorrow with what you decided and how it felt."
And he hung up.
     And so it went.  Not every day, but three or four times a week, my
phone was ringing when I got home from work.  And he long-distance tortured
and stretched his nuts for weeks.  Finally, it became too impelling not to
meet.  I took two weeks off for vacation and flew to be with him.
     He'd given me an address.  Both the cabby and I spoke at the same
time: "Are you sure this is it?"  He hadn't bothered to tell me it was a
deserted warehouse in a very bad part of the city.  He had told me that his
card would be on the door and it would be unlocked.  So, when I saw a small
business card taped to the entry, I paid off the taxi and went inside.
     He had a garbage bag inside the door with a note of instructions.
"Lock the door.  Strip to nothing and put your clothing and shoes inside
the bag and leave it here.  Put on the things in the bag and go through the
door in the far right corner of the factory.  Take the stairs all the way
to the bottom and wait."
     I was only wearing a jock strap, leather cuffs on my ankles, and a dog
collar held in place by a padlock, when I crossed the open warehouse floor.
I was fearful and wondering why I had come, by the time I reached out my
trembling fingers for the doorknob.
     I opened the door and looked into a stairwell.  The steps lead down to
a lower level.  But the area was totally dark.  The ceiling revealed an
empty socket.  I took a deep breath and headed for the steps.  The light
dimmed and went out as the door closed behind me.  Even if I strained, I
saw nothing.  The only sound was the movement of my bare feet on the steps.
In the dark, it took me a while.  When I finally reached the bottom, I
remained silent and shifted from foot to foot in my nervous state.
Finally, I saw a flashlight switched directly into my eyes.  It jolted me
with surprise.  I'd been anticipating him coming down the stairs, not
waiting in the dark below.
     He didn't speak.  But slowly moved the light to a ceiling beam ten
feet in front of me.  Dangling from a chain was a pair of handcuffs.  Then
he moved the light to the right to a small wooden box on top of which was a
blindfold and gag.  Using the light he circled the two items and flashed
the light back to my face.  Then down to my wrists and back to the cuffs.
I understood and moved to the box.  I reached for the gag and fastened it
in place.  Then I took the blindfold and moved over under the handcuffs.  I
put the leather over my eyes and then groped for the cuffs.  It took a
couple of seconds, but I located them and eventually got them into
position.  I felt a shutter pass through me as the second cuff clicked
shut.  I was his captive.
     He moved about the play space.  He must have been lighting candles to
provide vision and atmosphere, because I could hear the sound of the
striking matches as he circled about me.  Then he began to gently stroke my
chest and hips and back.  Gently, sensuously.  Over and around, calves and
thighs, biceps and abdomen.  And finally my sex.  Then he left me erect,
aroused, and alone.  I heard him move to the toy bench.  He picked up
something and returned to my rear.  The first strike of the flogger caused
me to gasp.  Not in pain, for it wasn't a heavy blow, but from surprise.
I'd seen, but never experienced the bite of leather on my skin.  He
continued with a definite pace and rhythm.  He varied the placement of his
blows the entire length of me.  Shoulders, calves, biceps, rump.  And
slowly, he built the pace and intensity.  And soon, I found myself flowing
into the hurt. Melting into the pain.  Marrying with it.  And the hits
became wicked in their intensity.  And I loved it.
     Soon we both were panting with effort.  Finally, it stopped as
abruptly as it had started.  He probably needed to rest his arm.  Over my
own breathing, I did not hear him.  Could not place him.  So when the
flogging began on my chest I was unprepared.  I groaned anew, inspiring him
to continue.  Eventually he reached my crotch.  I had never been
intentionally struck in the groin before.  I saw stars from the first
touch.  Soon, I was in agony.  The muscles in my lower abdomen screamed and
pulled taught, attempting to protect my maleness.  Deep within my gut, I
began to get sick.  Nausea passed in waves with each attack on my nuts.
But, to my amazement, I never lost my rigid boner.
     Finally, he ceased his leather attack, and stillness again enveloped
me.  I hung from the cuffs, attempting to regroup.  But the pain in my
balls continued, and my dick oozed a clear drizzle from its throbbing slit.
And I was still as hard as I'd ever been.
     When he removed the blindfold, I still had an visual adjustment time
in spite of the dim, candle-lit environment.  Slowly, the room resolved
into discernable objects.  Posts and beams, concrete floor, decaying wooden
shelves and work tables, rotting crates.  And candles all around giving an
eerie, flickering glow.  On a table to the right stood a duffle bag with a
profusion of sex toys littering the space around it.  Among the items I
spotted the recently discarded flogger, gleaming with our mingling sweat.
     On another table was a series of wooden boxes in good shape.
Obviously not part of the discarded items left behind when the building was
abandoned.  Each box had metal handles for carrying and small, vented holes
in the sides.  Animals?  Could be.  He was, after all, a trainer.
     It was to one of these that he next went.  A small one.  He open the
lid and reached carefully inside.  His hand came out with a writhing bundle
that started to wrap about his wrist.  Snake!  Oh, God, had I ever told him
how great my fear of snakes was?  I didn't think so.  He just happened to
hit on my phobia.  I couldn't look away, as much as I wanted to.
     Slowly he brought his hand close to his exposed crotch.  The two-foot
snake immediately slithered under his rigid cock and started to wrap itself
about his scrotum again and again.  It continued to bind his sack tighter
and tighter.  Sir closed his eyes and let his head fall back as he began to
luxuriate in the exotic feel of a living ball stretcher.
     He returned to the table and opened a larger box.  He took a stick
with a rubber ball attached to the end and put it into the box.  When he
retrieved the stick, it was coated with snake coiled around its length.
The snake's head rested on the ball.  With his other hand, he picked up a
card from the table and then came to stand in front of me.
     "I train animals to respond on the film set to symbols on cards.
Watch."  He held up the card to where the snake could spot it.
Immediately, the snake opened its mouth.  I watched in fascination as it
lunged and sank its long fangs into the ball.  "All my snakes have had
their poison sacks removed.  But I still wouldn't call them harmless."
     He placed that snake back into its box.  He opened another small one
and pulled out two small snakes.  I started to panic as he approached me.
I started to shake as he reached down with one and allowed it to stretched
out to my crotch.  I jumped as it tentatively touched my skin.  I whimpered
as it began to encircle my left nut.  I wound around and around and around.
Then he offered my right ball to the other snake.  It started its own
circular dance about my right one.  The two of them coiled tighter and
tighter, forcing my nuts apart and down to the end of my sack.  The weight
of them stretched my scrotum lower down my legs away from my dick root.  I
groaned in pleasure.
     He went back to the larger snake's box and hauled it out again.
Having seen it in action, I finally understood Sir's intent when he allowed
it to coil about my cock.  What the snake hadn't shown before was its
rhythmic contractions.  Slowly it began to undulate its muscles up and down
my prick.  It was an exotic masturbator!  It soon had me panting and no
longer thinking about anything but getting my rocks off.
     Sir rolled a large mirror in front of me.  It was rickety and in
disrepair, cracked.  But it had been recently polished and easily reflected
the erotic sight back to me.  He went to the largest crate and opened it.
He didn't have to reach in.  A huge head popped into view and began to
climb his arm.  The snake's body was every bit as thick as his arm.  It
kept coming and coming and coming.  I didn't see the end of its tail until
sixteen feet later!  Sir picked up a set of his symbol cards and moved
behind me.
     Without one bit of preparation, Sir buried his hard cock up my bung
hole.  But what made me gasp was that huge constrictor repositioning
itself.  It wound about our legs and torsos, securely binding us together.
And then sir began to fuck.  I could see his face staring into the mirror
over my right shoulder.  The boa's head rested on my left.  Sir paced
himself in his assault on my prostate while the snake on my dick continued
to milk my length.  I was still sensitive from the all-over flogging.  My
skin responded to the alien sensations.  Through slitted eyes I watched the
strangely stimulating sights in the mirror.  Soon both of us were breathing
heavily.  I moaned through the gag as I felt my nuts try to contract
upward.  Sir recognized the signs.  He flashed a card at my crotch.  I
watched in horror as one of the vipers opened its mouth and quickly sank
its teeth into my left testicle.  I was still screaming into the gag when
another card flashed and my right nut was similarly impaled.  But I still
was hard and excited.  The pain only increased my passion and his.  The
third card caused the boa to move slowly about my neck.  I began to panic
as I realized I was about to have my air cut off.  Suddenly, Sir redoubled
his attack on my rear.  He, too, was about to shoot.  His rapid blows to my
inner hot button pushed me to the edge.  He flashed another card and I
watched in horror as the snake on my cock prepared to strike.  My first jet
of spunk flew just as its fangs buried themselves into the head of my
prick.  The boa cut off all oxygen, and my sight began to dim and narrow to
just the view of my crotch.  I could feel Sir spasming up my ass.  My lungs
burned.  I grew dizzy and shot over and over and over.  The snakes became
coated with the abundance of my orgasm.  Finally, my eyes rolled back, and
I passed out.

     When I came to, I was laid out on one of the work bench surrounded by
candles that were nearly burned down.  The duffle bag was gone.  The crates
were gone.  Sir was gone.  Just a hotel key and a note:
     "JS, go to the hotel and clean up.  Get some food and be back here at
midnight.  In the meantime, I suggest you get a well-deserved rest.  It's a
long weekend, and you're going to need it."
     Stiffly, I got off the table and blew out the candles.  As I felt my
way to the stairs in the dark, I wondered what animals might await me when
I returned.  And suddenly, I was hard again.