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 5

As I said Paul traveled a great deal, mostly to the Far East, on business. We corresponded regularly, in his letters he repeatedly told me that I had to relax during our next session, let it happen, because I was totally safe with him. He also made it clear that he would be calling the shots. I was torn, the logical, reasoning part of my brain was screaming, “Enough of this… Stop NOW!” But some deeper, primitive part of my brain, the one in my cockhead, was driving me on. As time went by and the scary aspect of our last encounter faded from my mind the letters flying back and forth whetted my appetite for more torture. I promised that I’d try to relax, take what was coming. Over and over again he tried to convince me that I’d over reacted when he had pricked my scrotum, and asked if I would  reconsider piercing. My reply was always the same; no way.

It was many weeks before we were both in NYC at the same time, but eventually I was on my way to JFK. I remember looking around at the other crew members as we rode into town in the crew bus. We were on a two-day stop, they were all making plans for the next day, some girls meeting up to go shopping, another group planning to hire a car and head out to Jones Beach. ‘What would think if they knew what I was going to do tomorrow morning?’ I wondered.

After my first meeting with Paul I knew what to expect when he said it was going to be a long, hard session. This time he was coming to the hotel rather later, around 10, and I did manage to get a reasonable amount of sleep so I was feeling much better when the phone rang. This time he didn’t go to quite the same lengths to bandage my head, although he did use wax in my ears, and a blindfold, and he taped my mouth shut too. I did try to relax, not with any great success. First he secured me face down across the bed, my arms stretched out and tied to the far side, my legs spread wide and attached to the legs at the top and bottom. He gave me the same sensuous treatment with the cat before he started, but when the whipping began it was a lot harder than the first time. It really was hard to take, my cock and balls took a lot of punishment, but in a strange way it was intensely stimulating. When I felt the cold slippery dildo slip between the cheeks of my ass it eased the stinging in my hole, but I knew that the pain was going to be bad. As he worked the thing further in I realized that it wasn’t the same monster that he’d used before, this one was slimmer. I suppose this helped me to relax and he soon got it buried in my body right up to the plastic balls. A minute or two later it slipped out. I didn’t push it out, it felt quite good, it just sort of slipped out. When he lodged it in my butt again, it felt warm and slippery. It turned me on a bit harder knowing that this thing had gone right up into my body. He taped it with adhesive tape which held it for the rest of the session. He released my limbs and re-secured me spread-eagled on the bed on my back. He used the clothes pegs again, this too was worse than the first time because he used many more than of them. Attached one to every bit of my scrotum that he could get his fingers on, and the whole length of my penis, plus two on the head, they were bad. And two lines from the base of my cock all the way up to my tits. As he was putting them on I was counting so I knew how many had to come off!  I said nothing, but inwardly I was silently screaming. Once Paul was satisfied with the placement of the pins he must have stepped back to admire his handiwork because I was left lying in peace for a while. The searing pain eased, then he brushed his hand across the rows of pins! Up and down, left to right, scrotum to nipples, it felt like a blow-torch scorching my skin. I gasped and spluttered, couldn’t form words. Then as suddenly as it had started it stopped. I lay there breathing hard telling myself that this had to be a two-way thing, Paul had to get his rocks off too, I’d agreed to that in the letters, but it was so bad! Again I was left in peace for a few minutes, now I only had to survive the removal. Again it was worse when he started pulling them off my sac, the thing that I clung to was that it would soon be over. I was wrong about that. Once he’d taken them all off my sac he stopped removing them, then I felt the very gentle tap, tap, tap on my balls. Every hit on exactly the same spot. The clothes pins clinging viciously to my cock all jiggled with each tap, and he was barely touching my balls. What was It going to be like when the hitting got harder? ‘Oh please! No! Please don’t do this…” I begged, but I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t! Gradually the pain flowing from my balls increased, that believe it or not was a relief because it masked the pain from the line of fire up my cock. The first time Paul had done this ball beating I’d been struggling, trying to move my hips even though I was almost totally immobilized by the bonds. This time I was desperately trying to hold still, to minimize the movement of the pins. But the pain in my balls got so bad that I just could not hold still, I twisted against the bonds and then the whole line of pins up to my tits joined in the chorus of pain.

He went through the ball beating twice on each testicle, but the time he stopped my whole torso was a mass of flames, and then he started removing more clips. One by one, with a long pause between each so that I could really appreciate the sensations, I swear there were tears forming in the corners of my eyes before the last tow were plucked simultaneously from my nipples. During all this time Paul hadn’t spoken a word, he spoke now.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try the piercing again?” he asked. I shook my head vigorously. He seemed to accept it, at least he didn’t pursue the subject. I felt him climb up on to the bed and kneel between my legs, his knees pressed hard against my inner thighs immobilizing my hips. Then he took my balls in his fingers and all hell broke lose. It was incredibly painful, yet wildly exciting, as he worked on my balls. He pulled them, slapped them, twisted them and dug his thumb nails into the flesh as he held them cupped in his fingers. There was absolutely nothing I could do to save them, but at the same time I didn’t want to save them, and it was this realization that enabled me to relax and let it happen, Suddenly the excitement eclipsed the pain, he could have done anything, I wanted it. I was on the point of ejaculating when he let my balls slip from his fingers and I felt him climb off the bed.

Again I was left in peace, breathing hard, but happy. Then I felt a cold wetness at the mouth of my cock. I wasn’t sure of what was coming, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. I could feel Paul’s fingers on my cock, that felt good. He seemed to be opening my piss slit with something. I felt a strange sensation in my cock, but I couldn’t decide what was happening, certainly there was no pain. It was the strangest sensation, almost as though he was slipping something into my urethra with a jerking sort of movement, each jerk sending it further into my penis. It felt good, sort of like being jerked off except that there was no sensation on the skin, it was all coming from the inside. Suddenly I felt my bladder start to empty, you know the feeling you get when you’ve had to wait a long time for a piss. But I wasn’t pissing, it was an uncontrolled flow, another strange sensation. I really wasn’t too happy when I realized that he’d put a catheter down my penis. If he’d asked I would have said no, then I remembered what he’s said about the top being in charge so I tried not to indicate that I was unhappy about it. With the catheter still in place he started to jerk me off. I don’t know if you’ve been jerked off with a catheter in your urethra but it gives a whole different meaning to the words ‘jerk off.’ There’s the sensation produced by the hand that’s pumping on your shaft that we all know and love, and then there’s another range of sensations produced on the inside as the plastic tube slides up and down almost but not quite in time with the pumping hand. And when I came it was fantastic. The juice couldn’t spurt out like it does normally, it oozed out, but the flow seemed to last for minutes rather than seconds. I was really glad that he’d done it without asking, if I’d had my way I would have missed an incredible sensation.

For the next two or three months we were at the opposite sides of the world; when he was home I was some place else, when I was in NYC he was travelling. We wrote regularly during this time. I’ll just give you an idea of how this correspondence went  - 

“You’re pretty good at taking ball torture, but if you want to be a really good bottom you’ll have to take more than that, like a full size dildo...and piercing.”

I suppose I was flattered when he said that I took the ball torture well. And yes, I did want to be a real bottom, but... So I replied, “Sorry, but I don’t want to get into piercing, besides I reminded him, “We agreed that there’d be no exchange of body fluids.” Of course there wouldn’t have been any been exchange, it was the best reason I could think of short of saying I was too scared to let him do it..

“A bottom should submit totally. There are very few veins in the scrotum, so it’s most unusual to see any blood at all. There’s absolutely no risk of infection because I always sterilize the skin and use hypodermics straight out of a sealed pack. What it comes down to is do you trust me? If you do you’ll let me do it.”

Remember that these letters came months after our first meeting, and I didn’t get the first until four or five weeks after the second meeting, so the thought of a needle wasn’t so shocking by this time. In fact I had even started wondering what it would be like.

“Of course I trust you,” I replied. “Would I let you tie me up if I didn’t? Remember, I could be called in for a medical at any time, straight off my return flight even. What would the company doctor say if my scrotum was bruised and marked?” There was always a bruise when they took blood at a medical check, not that they took it from my scrotum.

“There will be no bruise, no mark at all. You say you trust me and you want to be a good bottom. Well a good bottom submits. He submits and takes the punishment without question, and piercing is the ultimate submission to his Master’s will.” I didn’t tell Paul that I was by this time fascinated by the thought. Maybe he sensed something from my replies because he never dropped the subject.

“There will only be a slight prick, no worse than the first time,” he reassured me. “Definitely no lasting pain,” his next letter assured me. “Nothing like the pain that guys go through inserting metal rings and things into their scrotums and cocks, and plenty of guys do that.”

Well that was true, I’d seen hundreds of them in the baths. By now I was no longer shocked by the thought of needles, they seemed so much smaller than those metal bars and rings that guys wore. In fact I fantasized about it, wondered what it would be like to hold my balls up for Paul to prick a needle into the skin. Just thinking about it brought on a hell of an erection. Still I wasn’t ready to admit that to Paul. However, he wasn’t easily put off, I suppose he was used to bottoms being reluctant at first. I can’t remember what my next excuse was, but he still persisted.

“You should try it at least once, otherwise you’ll never know what it is like. Let me use just one needle,” he suggested. “If you’re still unhappy I’ll never ask again. If it’s not too bad then I’ll use a few more.”

That of course could be read two ways: either he wouldn’t ask again, or that we wouldn’t meet again. One needle, that didn’t sound too bad, especially if he’d stop if I signaled that I really didn’t want any more.

“If I do take one, and if it’s not too bad, how many more?” I wanted to know. I was pretty much agreeing  to let him use at least one needle and I had a very hard erection when I wrote that letter. Pre-cum flowed out of my cock in a stream and I jerked off as soon as I’d finished writing. Still Paul wasn’t satisfied.

“If  it’s not too bad then how about eight or ten?”

I felt that I’d started down a slippery slope. Was it time to dig my heels in, or should I slide a bit further? I’d psyched myself up to submitting to one needle, there was no way that I would agree to eight or ten, but by this time I did want to experience being pierced, just once.

“Not eight or ten,” I wrote, “Maybe four.” I was sure I wouldn’t get past the first one, but now I’d agreed to four. Or was it a total of five? I also told him my schedule for the coming month. I still remember the feeling, slightly sick, as the letter slipped from my fingers into the mail box. I couldn’t get it back: there was no way I could back out. His reply was waiting for me in the hotel the next week.

“Four will be fine. You won’t regret it,” he assured me. And in the same letter he told me that he’d rearranged his schedule to be in town the very next day. I can tell you I spent another restless night!

I have a vast collection of tools at home and during this time when I was writing to Paul I had made a little device that I called Nutcracker Sweet. It was like a small hammer, the head was made form one inch square Plexiglas bar, about three inches long. One face was just cut square, the other end of the head I cut away the Plexiglas at an angle on each side so as to reduce the end to about a quarter inch square. I polished the whole thing until it looked like glass. The shaft was quarter inch fiberglass rod, nice and flexible! I tried it out on my balls, both bound tight and hanging loose. The big end made the skin of my scrotum sting, not the effect I was trying to achieve, so I covered it with an eighth inch thick piece of neoprene. That produced a real good thump and delicious pain; the small end was just polished so it delivered a very concentrated hit on one small part of the testicle, just wonderful! I had to make two or three before I got the weight and length of shaft just right to produce the best results. I had sent Paul the first “production” model and asked that he use it on my balls next time we met. He was delighted with the Nutcracker and promised to use it to good effect.

It had taken quite a while, but eventually we were both in NYC and free to play on the same day. Paul didn’t say what time he’d arrive, but remembering how early he had arrived in the hotel the first time I asked for a wake-up call at seven. When the phone rang I got up and had a very thorough shower, then went down to the coffee shop. I ordered my usual breakfast, fruit, cereal, toast and coffee. Waiting for it to be served I had time to think. By the time it came I wasn’t hungry. I managed the fruit, toyed with the cereal, didn’t touch the toast, but managed two cups of coffee. Now it was time to go back to the room to think, and wait, and think some more.

‘I’m in at the deep end now... Can’t back out...Right now Paul’s heading for the hotel...He’s going to pierce the skin of my scrotum...with a needle! How did I get in to this, it’s madness...but I’ve got to let him do it. I’ve only agreed to one...don’t have to take more. One shouldn’t be too bad...I’ll try to take it well...hold them up for him...’ I was trying to psyche myself up, in fact I was making myself more worried. It was now after eight, still no call from the lobby. By nine I thought I was going to throw up what little breakfast I’d managed to swallow.

‘Where the fuck is he?’ I wondered. By this time I was trembling all over, if I could have got in touch with Paul I’d have called it off, said I was sick, which wouldn’t have been totally untrue. Then the phone rang. I hope I managed to keep the terror out of my voice as I gave him instructions to get to my room. I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, ‘Well it’s too late now, you’ve really done it. How in the name of fuck did you agree to get into this?’ Then came the tap at the door. Paul was really cheerful when he came into my room, there was an enthusiastic air about him.

“So...When do you want me do it, the piercing, at the beginning or the end?” he asked as the door shut. My mouth went dry. It had to be the most bizarre question I’d ever been asked. I still couldn’t believe that this was happening. Of course if I’d had the guts I’d have said, “Do it now!” But I didn’t.

“Oh...um...at the end...Yes, at the end,” I heard myself stammer. Anything to put it off. But it was as though somebody else was speaking for me, I mean no man can say when he’d like needles in his scrotum, it just couldn’t be real.

Paul started with the whipping again. This time he had me on an easy chair in the lounge area of the suite. My legs were spread out over the arms, my head hanging down over the back. This way my ass was right on top of the padded back of the chair and my cock and balls were very much exposed to be raked by the cat. The whipping got me really hot so, for a while, I forgot about what was to come. He then tied me down on the bed, usual way, and put on a blindfold. I was surprised that he didn’t tape my mouth, or use wax to block my ears. When he started on my balls, like the first time, hitting them very gently, gradually making it harder and harder, and he was using the Nutcracker. This time the pain was worse, or should I say better? He started with the softened, blunt end, but even so my balls ached beautifully, the sort of pain that flows out of the balls and up into the guts. For me that is the very best torture, the more I get the better I like it. I knew what was coming on the second round, the pointed end. The pain really was fantastic, instead of just hitting the same part of the testicle he was able to pinpoint the exact spot. The spot he went for was right at the back of the testicle, to my mind that is THE most sensitive bit. In just seconds, even while the tapping was very light, I was in real pain, but it helped to know that this was what I’d asked for when I sent him the Nutcracker. I knew that if I made any effort to avoid the beating Paul would see what I was doing, he’d persist with it just to watch me suffer. So I tried to lie still, even held my balls up as much as I could so that he could get at them. I think it worked, or maybe I was more turned on because I’d asked for it.

Another device that he used on me for the first time was what I’d call a “Nut Cracker,” I don’t know what the real name is, but it was an adaptation of the ancient thumb-screw. It was a cup, maybe two inches across, very thick walled. Set in the side was a half an inch diameter screw, rounded end, not a sharp point. Paul pulled and pushed at my balls to get the left one positioned in the cup. He handled it so casually pushing it in with his thumb as his fingers grasped the other one to keep it clear. I don’t know why, but that sort of handling always gets me really hard. Once he had the left one inside the cup he tightened the screw a bit to trap it. Gradually he continued to tighten the screw: it squeezed down inexorably on my testicle. There was no way of relieving the pain, it just grew more intense with each turn of the screw and I just had to take it. After the beating I’d just taken this was really severe ball torture. There was no way of escaping the pain, struggling or objecting would have encouraged Paul to crush the testicle even harder. I just had to let it happen. As soon as I did this I was able to absorb the pain as it poured out of my testicle and flooded the whole of my body. I was so hot I could have come as he crushed the first one. Paul must have seen the pre-cum flowing.

“Don’t even think of coming,” he said sternly. “Even if you do you’re going to take a lot more.”

Just when I thought I’d scream he released the pressure. Just as it had been with the pegs the pain increased as the blood flowed back into the crushed nut. Then I felt him pushing my other one into the cup. I would say that this way of crushing testicles is even better than the usual ball-press which crushes both at the same time. I suppose it’s because I knew that when he’d got through with the first one he’d do the same to the other one. When he’d done the right ball he forced my left one in again, but this time he’d turned the cup so that the screw pressed down on the back of the testicle. This was much worse than the first time. I suppose that was partly due to the fact that it had already been crushed. It took all of my concentration to let my balls hang loose as the pain built up; and again I knew that the right one would be tortured next. It was hot, hot, hot!

Each time I was left in peace between the bursts of pain I had a chance to think. I wondered if Paul was preparing the needles. I wondered how he’d tell me that the time had come for piercing. Would he say, ‘It’s time, hold still.’ Or maybe he’d ask if I was ready. No, he didn’t have to ask, I’d already agreed that he could do it ‘later.’ Would he say anything: or would I just feel the sting as the needle went in? I felt Paul’s fingers on my balls, he was putting a strap around the neck of my sac trapping the balls. Could this be it I wondered? When I felt the cold sensation of my scrotum being cleaned with alcohol I knew. There was another short pause, my heart was racing, I tried to control my breathing. Paul’s fingers took a hold of my balls again, then almost immediately I felt the sting on the left side of my scrotum. It was sharp, but very brief, followed by a slight pressure on the side of my testicle, then nothing.

‘Not too terrible,’ I thought, ‘Only three more...I can handle it.’

“You OK?” he asked. I nodded. “Didn’t I tell you it wouldn’t be bad? You want more?”

I couldn’t say yes, couldn’t say anything, I just nodded again. Paul was handling the right ball now. Again the brief, sharp sting followed by pressure. There was a long pause.

‘Why doesn’t he do it...get it over?’

After what seemed like an age his fingers were back on my balls. The next stab was on the top, followed by pressure down on the testicle. When I felt the last sting in the same spot on the right one I knew I’d survived.

‘Well at least that’s over. I’ve taken it, don’t need to go through that again!’

“Do you want to look?” Paul asked.

“Look? Oh no...No I don’t.”

“Come on...it looks so good,” he said pulling off my blindfold. “And not a drop of blood!”

I didn’t want to look, but once the blindfold was off I couldn’t help lifting my head up off the bed. What I saw shocked me more than I can tell you. There were four green plastic tops of the hypodermic needles sticking out from my scrotum, it was obvious that the needles were buried in my testicles!

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed, “They’re in my balls!”

“Yes, of course.” Paul was surprised that I was surprised.

“But I didn’t think you’d stick the needles all the way in.”

“Ball piercing means just that. You must have known. It doesn’t do any harm, they’re just soft tissue. There are hardly any veins, that’s why there’s no blood.”

“But if I get an infection...I told you I can be called in for a medical check any time, maybe after I get back off this trip. There’ll be bruising, there always is. And my wife, how will I explain that if she sees it?” I knew there’d be bruising, there always was.

“There won’t be a mark, no mark at all. I promise.” I still wasn’t convinced, it just couldn’t be true. Needles stuck into my balls, right up to the hilt, this wasn’t what I thought I’d agreed to. “Now, it’s time to come, do you want to come with the needles in? Or do you want me to take them out first?” I’d heard some surprising questions, but this had to be way up there with the most bizarre.

“Oh no, take them out first...Please Sir,” I added hastily. I just couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have my balls pumping juice when they were stuck full of needles.

Taking them out took only seconds and I felt nothing. Paul jerked me off with one hand while he paddled my balls with the other. The rush of semen was quite spectacular.

As Paul finished packing his things into his case he said casually, “So we’ll have no more problems with piercing. I’ll use a lot more next time.” It was a statement not a question. I was taken back, especially by ‘more next time.’

“Oh...I thought that you only wanted to do that once...You said in your letter...” Even if it hadn’t been as bad as I feared I didn’t really want to be pierced again.

“Once?” He was surprised. “No I’ll do it again and again. Lots more needles next time. And one day I’ll pierce you cock and tits too.” This was too much for me to take in. “Well we can talk about it some time. I’ll write...let you know...” Paul left pretty much convinced that although I wouldn’t admit it I did want it again.

Over the next few months we wrote to each other. Paul reminded me that he’d told me on the first day that he would control the scenes, yet every time he tried something new I objected. This was true, but I still didn’t have the guts to let him do whatever he wanted. I especially didn’t want that big dildo. Many years ago, long before I knew I was bi-sexual I’d split my sphincter, not by sticking anything in, not even because I was constipated. In fact it was a very bad dose of diarrhea, it came on with such force that something split. Luckily I was at home when it happened and was carted off to hospital. There the doctor explained what had happened stitched me up under a general anaesthetic. I’ve told you that I have been fucked three times, and one of those guys had a monster cock, but the dildo that Paul wanted to use was even fatter. I was sure that I’d be split open if he tried to force it in. Now I was in a bind: Paul wanted a free hand to pierce my balls, my cock, my tits and he wanted to use the dildo. All four were difficult to accept. If I said no to all of them I was sure he wouldn’t bother to work on me again. I played for time. First I explained about the sphincter problem. Then I said I needed more time to get used to the idea of having my cock and tits pierced. Finally, to let him see that I really wanted our strange relationship to continue, I told him that I would submit my balls to him and accept his limits. I hadn’t meant to add anything more, but once I’d written that sentence it was as though something inside me, a reserve or reluctance, gave way. I got carried away. I told him that I would offer him my balls and that he could do anything to them short of injury or castration. I also said I’d drop one limitation each time we met. What I had in mind was letting him pierce my balls as much as he wanted at the next meeting, my tits at the following one, my cock at the one after that and so on. Paul was pleased to know that I’d give him a free hand with my balls, but still reminded me that I was trying to control the scene.

 The next time we met was as painful and pleasurable as I’d hoped. When it came to the piercing I was able to hold my balls up with some pride. There was one thing that surprised me. He’d put about ten or twelve needles into my balls when I felt the next stab on the left followed almost immediately by another stab on the right. I thought he’d put two in in rapid succession. But with the next one I distinctly felt the stab on the right, pressure on the right ball, then on the left one, then the stab on the left. The pressure on my left ball had been to the left, followed by the sting. I realized that he’d pushed a long needle right through both testicles to come out on the other side. For a moment I felt sick. I can’t explain why it seemed worse to have a needle go all the way through both balls, but it did. Then I remembered what I’d written, “I’ll offer you my balls without limitations.” I’d written those words, so I had no reason to complain. After that I felt better, I was doing what I’d promised, I tried to hold them up a bit higher for the next long needle. Paul noticed.

“That’s a good boy,” he said approvingly. “Hold them up for me, there are a lot more to come.”

He used 36 needles in all. I can honestly say there was not a lot of pain involved, it was just a matter of getting into the right frame of mind. Once I realized that I was truly offering another man my testicles, the most precious and private parts of my body, I felt really hot. After the last needle was stuck into me he told me that I looked incredibly good. Just moments later I felt his hot semen splatter down on my chest. After a short silence he asked if I wanted to come with the needles still in place.

“It’s your choice Master,” I was pleased that my voice sounded quite strong.

“Good boy. First you must look at yourself.” I knew that there would be a lot of plastic tops, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. The whole surface of my scrotum was covered in little green and blue plastic ends of the needles. There were six long ones that had gone right through and were sticking out the far side, just like meat on a skewer. I wasn’t turned on by the sight, what turned me on was the thought that I’d offered Paul my balls, he’d used them and he’d ejaculated looking at what he’d done to them.

“Lie back,” he said, “I’ll take out the ones near the base of your cock, then I’ll be able to jerk you off properly.”

I felt eight coming out, not that there was any pain. I didn’t know what to expect with all those needles still in place. Then Paul’s hand wrapped around my cock and started pumping. I could feel a lot of stinging on the surface of my scrotum as my balls were bounced around. Little stings scattered all over, then came the flood of semen. Oh Lord what a flow...what a release!

Still we kept writing. I told him he could pierce my tits next time we met, so I was very surprised at his reply. His letter came as a shock. He said I was still trying to control the scene. He reminded me that he was the one who had to take responsibility for the scene, that if I trusted him I should submit without limits.

“You say you want to submit,” he said. “The only way a bottom can show his top that he’s truly willing to submit is to offer his body to his Master. No if’s or but’s. That is the only way to great s&m sex.”

I was pretty pissed off by the tone. I told him I’d gone further and faster than I’d ever expected to go. If he couldn’t understand my problems then perhaps we shouldn’t meet again. I didn’t get any reply. Maybe the problem was that guys who get to flying as commercial pilots are not submissive personalities. The only way to survive in flying is to be in command of the aircraft and the crew. There’s no way to get through a four hour session in the simulator with a succession of systems and control failures unless you can keep on top of the problems, and remain in control of everything. Anything less and it all falls apart very rapidly which means looking around for a career change!

As far as I am concerned any intercourse, especially sexual intercourse, is an interaction between two or more individuals or parties. To have a satisfying intercourse both must get as much as possible of what they need out of the exchange, anything less and one or other is left feeling short changed. Frank and I had hit it off immediately because he didn’t want submission, he wanted my balls. I gave him what he wanted, he gave me what I craved, pain in my balls. Nor did Tom ask for submission, he just assumed that he could do exactly as he pleased with the body tied to his bed. We didn’t really hit it off on my first visit because I was way out of my depth. He wasn’t too pleased when I persuaded him to stop the shaving for instance, but he didn’t go on about submission. Much later our paths crossed again and this time things went much better because I’d had more experience. However, that was further down the road...

To be continued...

Posted: 06/05/09