Bondage, Balls, Pain and Pleasure

By: David Andrew
(© 2008 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 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 you called.” 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. (If you want to know about caning just ask.) 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?

Once the chains were in position he told me to strip and lie on the bed. Before I was naked I was hard, my cock nodded in time with my heartbeat as 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, then I 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. 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 he 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 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 toes. He bent my foot forcing my toes 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 absolute 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 least three or four dozen more to go! My cock, which surprisingly had 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 mutilation, 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 I felt a needle, 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, I mean there wasn’t the slightest sign that he’d jabbed me. 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 was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined it. 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. 

To be continued...

Posted: 05/22/09