Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.watersports
From: manicp@cts.com (Mike Pastori)
Subject: The Bet (MM)
Organization: CTSNET
Date: Mon, 3 Apr 1995 15:27:22 GMT
Message-ID: <D6H4Gr.B1t@crash.cts.com>
X-Newsreader: News Xpress Version 1.0 Beta #2
Keywords: golden W/S gay enema S&M B&D
Nntp-Posting-Host: manicp.cts.com
Lines: 75

                          The Bet

                                                Mike Pastori

     Peter sneered as Mike attached the chains keeping him
spread-eagled against the wall, "so I lost a bet. So I have
to serve you for 3 days. So do your worst. My turn will come
again; remember last year?"

     Each New years Day the two tops, good friends over a
long period of years, bet on the Bowl games. The overall
loser had to serve the other until 2359 the following
Sunday, be that a day or a week in the future. Mike did,
INDEED, remember last year. In fact, he spent his entire
year silently planning for just this comeuppance.

     Mike didn't enjoy water sports. He certainly didn't
enjoy being on the receiving end of repeated "golden enemas"
following a series of rough fuckings. Now it was going to be
Peter's turn.

     Peter had received a series of "clean-out" enemas
before being chained to the wall, so he hardly moved at all
as Mike inserted and inflated the double enema tube now
blocking Peter's asshole. Peter looked with feigned
indifference as Mike attached it to a nipple soldered onto
the bottom of a large coffee can and attached the can to the
wall, a little above Peter's head. Clear plastic tubing ran
from the can to the enema tube.

     Peter DID squirm as Mike--gently and with sterile
technique: the punishment was coming later--inserted the
Foley catheter into Peter's bladder and inflated THAT cuff
to keep it, too, in place. The straw colored stream of
Peter's piss--the Bowl games had been accompanied by a lot
of beer--flowed into a bag that Mike attached to the ring on
the leather ball stretcher holding down Peter's nuts. The
weight pulled only slightly--for now. Leaving LOTS of slack,
so the bag could hang WAY low, Mike used grey duct tape to
fasten a tube from the bag to a point on Peter's cheek where
some minimum struggling would allow the boy to get it into
his mouth.

     Peter pouted. Was this going to be a drink your own
piss on orders sort of thing? If so, Mike proved even less
imaginative than Peter expected. It was a lot of preparation
for a simple task. Peter didn't enjoy it, but he honored his
bets. If Mike said "drink," Peter would have done so.

     But Mike knew that, too. He moved an easy chair a pile
of porn magazines, and a riding crop in front of the bound
and helpless boy. Then he left the room to return with six
six-packs of beer on a wheeled platform.
     "I'm going to be nice to you," he told Peter as he
activated a countdown timer on the platform and popped the
top of the first can. "Over the next 18 hours, you're
staying right there. You get a can of beer every half hour."
So saying, he emptied the beer can into the coffee can,
knowing the air bubbles would cause some minor cramping but
the real punishment would come as the beer began to recycle.
Because as sure as Bud's a beer, Peter would HAVE to piss.
And, if the weight on the balls wasn't enough to cause him
to drink, once the bag was full and there was no place for
the full bladder to empty itself, Peter would have no
choice.

     "No choice at all," Mike mused aloud as he hit Peter's
already stiffening dick with the riding crop and picked up
the first magazine.




MANic Productions:      619-569-0530
POB 84922; SD CA 92138-4922 USA