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 6

Having fallen out with Paul I had to find someone to beat my balls, it was back to the personals in the leather press. Inevitably it was a slow process, I’d get the magazine, write to anyone who sounded interesting in a city where I’d have layovers. I’d mail the letters that day, but then it could be weeks before I’d get back to NYC to see if any had replied. By and large the response was very limited, very limited indeed. Once, just to see what would tempt guys to respond to their own ads I wrote some fictitious letters describing myself in almost improbable terms. “Nineteen years old, 5’ 8”, 150 pounds, blond, blue eyes, swimmer and body builder, eight inch cock, big balls, needing to be taught how to take cock and ball torture in bondage.” Wouldn’t you think that would have got the tops salivating? I sent the same letter to five tops who had ads in Dungeon Master; didn’t get one response. At about this time I got a flyer through the mail for The Ball Club. Don’t know it is still going, but Ken who ran it said it is, “For men with balls who know how to use them.” Basically it was just a listing for tops and bottoms broken down by states, with a few drawings, photographs and a story or two. So I joined, placed an ad, and waited. I did get a few responses, but almost without exception from places that I’d never get to. I did reply to half a dozen ads and over the next few months did meet up with some guys. However, not to get too far ahead of myself, all that took time to develop and meanwhile extramural sex was mostly hetero for a while.

One night I around this time I was in a restaurant in NYC, “The Pot Bellied Stove”, in Christopher Street, quite small, crowded, very gay. I was alone, had ordered and was waiting for the meal with a glass of wine. A couple of guys came in and to get to their table they had to ease themselves past mine. One of them sent my wine glass flying. By chance I managed to catch it before it landed in my lap although not before a lot of wine had spilled over the table. After the mess had been cleared up they apologized and introduced themselves, Geoff and Tony I think were the names.

“That was quite a catch you made,” said one. “With reactions like that you must be an astronaut or something.”

I assured him I wasn’t, and then they picked up on my accent. Where was I from? What was I doing in NYC? Etc. etc. This was always tricky for me. I know that many guys, and women too, thought I was bullshitting when I said I was an airline pilot, especially when I said I flew 747’s. I could see it in their eyes, and hear it in their voices. “Oh really! 747’s eh? Must be great!” The only thing they didn’t add was, “You wish!” The only time it bothered me was when I was talking to a guy I really wanted to get to know a whole lot better. I thought of saying I did something else, like a sales rep or insurance salesman, but then I knew nothing about any other profession. It would have been just my luck to find that the guy I interested in was a sales rep or insurance salesman, and it would very soon have become obvious that I was lying, end of story. The other problem was that if the guy did believe me he would launch into his favorite airline horror story, epic delays usually, and then follow that up with, “So you must have been in a lot of tight corners. Engine failures and all that. You ever been in a crash?” Well apart from the difficulty of convincing people that airline flying is incredibly routine, that engines virtually never fail, that I’d never even met a pilot who’d been in a crash, it was very difficult to twist the conversation back the way I wanted it to go, to sex for instance. If I did convince them, the next thing they’d say was, “Well you must have visited some fascinating places. What was the most interesting?” Well that’s the way it went with these two, young guys, early twenties, very good looking, and the most interesting place I could think of at that time was real close, under their table, right between their legs. That night the devil must have been looking after his own, I got a break.

“Say...I don’t know if you know the city,” said Geoff tentatively, “but this here is the Village, it’s very much a gay area. Know what I mean?” he added with a sly smile.

“Oh yes,” I assured him, “I know that.”

“Oh you do?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” I said simply. I thought they both looked a bit more interested.

“I thought all airline pilots are straight arrows,” said Tony.

“I’d say ninety-nine point nine percent are, but I’m the exception.” I didn’t bother to explain that I was bi-sexual, I was sure they wouldn’t be interested in the straight side of me. We had a few glasses of wine after the meal and got on real well. I was hoping for an invitation back to their apartment, but about ten o’clock Tony announced that they’d have to go because they were heading off to the Poconos next morning and had planned a very early start.

“It’s sure been good talking to you,” he said as they rose to go. “We must get together again next time you’re in town.”

“I’d very much like that,” I said, but inwardly I disappointed, it meant nothing.

“You mean that?” asked Geoff. “When will you be back?”

“Next Saturday,” I replied with hopes rising slightly.

“Saturday! We have a monthly card game with some friends...sort of strip poker...Would you be interested?”

“Interested? Just tell me the time and place, I’d love to come.”

Tony laughed. “You will, believe me!” 

They gave me their address, 12th Street, only a few blocks from where we were, 10pm start. I was more than happy. For the next week I just hoped and prayed that there would be no weather problems, no technical problems, and no one phoning me to ask if I’d swap duties. My luck held, 10pm the following Saturday I rang the bell at their apartment. I was welcomed, given a beer. Besides Geoff and Tony two other guys were already there and while we waited for more to arrive Geoff told me about the game.

“We call it Black Bess,” he said. (I think it is also known as Hearts) “There are going to be eight of us so when the cards are dealt we’ll each get six, the last four will be left aside face down. Whoever gets to lead off plays a card, we all have to follow in suit if possible. The object of the game is not to win tricks, but to avoid winning any tricks in which Spades have been discarded by someone who cannot follow suit. At the end of the hand whoever has picked up the most Spades looses one item of clothing. The guy who gets stuck with the Queen looses two items. If you pick up a hand that is just loaded with Spades you can play an alternative strategy which is to get all the Spades, including the Queen. If you succeed all the other players loose two items, but remember it is a high risk strategy, there may be a Spade among the four hidden cards. Get the picture?” I did, and I was hard already.

“Now let’s check you got the right amount of clothes,” said Tony. “What we start with is a jacket, shirt, pants, underpants, shoes, socks and a wristwatch.” I laughed at the wristwatch. “Yes I know, it’s ridiculous, but that’s the way we started the game and we’ve never changed. You don’t have a jacket, or a watch so why don’t you take this jacket, and here’s a wrist band, it’ll give you one more hand when the chips are down.”

(I never took my watch out with me when I went out to play. It wasn’t just because it was an expensive one, I wouldn’t have expected anyone I played with to steal it, but if I’d left it in some guys apartment I might not have been able to get it back next day. That would have been difficult to explain at home. I could have carried a cheap one but when I was enjoying myself I didn’t really want to be reminded of the time, especially since to my body it was already five hours later than New York time.) 

Half an hour later the game started. For me it didn’t go too well, six hands and I was down to underpants and wrist band. I did wonder if one of them was a card sharp and was doing some creative dealing, but I doubt it. It was probably because I was the new boy, when they could they dumped on me just to see me squirm. Others had lost too of course, I never had to pay a double penalty, but their loses had been more evenly spread. Still I wasn’t worried, we were all here to get naked and get off, and by this time my balls were aching so I was quite looking forward to the relief of shooting a load. Of course there were going to be more loads, but I reckoned that if I stopped pumping just as the jism was rising I could spread it out to at least three small shots. I lost again on the next hand. I looked at the wrist band, it was a nice one, broad, black leather with a rampant cock and pair of balls picked out in small silver studs.

‘Shit,’ I thought, ‘I’ll keep the band and give them what they want to see.’ My bikini underpants were so small that they hadn’t really been hiding anything anyway so I stood up and dropped them. This of course brought forth a cheer, and some ribald comments. I knew that in all probability I’d have just two more hands to play then I’d get to jerk off and I was actually feeling much better as I sat down. Strangely it was at this point that my luck changed. Round after round I escaped while the guy on my right, can’t remember his name so I’ll call him Jim, lost four garments in two games. When he lost again in the next round it was jerk off time.

I thought he’d stand up and jerk his cock until he shot his load, either on to the table or maybe into a tissue or something. What happened was that he was grabbed by his friends and pulled backwards on to the table. The first thing I noticed about Jim’s cock was that it was really curved. I know they all are to some extent, but Jim’s was so bent that as he lay on the table the end was touching his stomach. Two of them grasped his ankles pulling them back under the table, two others did the same to his wrists, and a fifth guy started pumping on his curved cock. I could see that it wasn’t going to take long, his balls were tight up at the base of his cock and ready to shoot. In less than a minute the first squirts shot out, filling his belly-button and spilling over his stomach. But they didn’t stop there. They clung on to his wrists and ankles even as his struggling increased, and guy working on Jim’s dick kept on and on pumping. Soon Jim was yelling at them to let him go, but they kept going until every last drop had been drained from his struggling body. When they finally released him Jim lay on the table exhausted. At this point they all started to spread his jism all over his body. I was surprised, I’d been told they were all committed to safe sex, but I wasn’t sure if this was safe. Anyway, six willing pairs of hands spread it over his chest, stomach and down around his balls. Well this put a different complexion on things. I had thought I’d be able to ration my semen by stopping the flow, if I managed to do that I could give them two, three or maybe even four shots. But if we were all going to be jerked off this way I wouldn’t be able to give them even two loads.

When Jim finally got himself up off the table we sat down to play some more. I guess after the distraction of jerking him off most of us, actually all of us except one, lost some of our concentration because on the very next hand one guy got the lot, all the Spades including the queen. I couldn’t believe it, it happened so quickly, and no one saw what he was up to. It meant that four guys were stripped to nothing, Geoff had just his jockey shorts, and I had only the wrist strap, so the two of us were going to be jerked off, but Jim of course was bollock naked already.

“What happens to Jim now?” I asked.

“He gets jerked off twice of course,” was the reply.

‘Three times in a just a few minutes! I just couldn’t do it,’ I thought, but said nothing. 

I don’t know who decided, but it was agreed that Jim should be taken first so that he would have time to recover while Geoff and I were done. Once more he was pulled back down on to the table. This time his cock wasn’t hard and at first the guy doing the jerking was pulling on it rather than pumping so he slapped Jim’s balls a couple of times, that produced a response. After another couple of minutes of pumping there was still no sign of him coming so the slapping started in earnest. Jim was rolling his head and making thrusting movements with his hips, lifting his balls up to take the punishment. He was getting through the pain barrier and the jerker really laid on the slapping. When he came it certainly wasn’t a gush, but nor was it the dribble that I would have produced.

Geoff was next. He had been at the opposite side of the table from me so when he laid back his face was close to me. “Here, hold on...keep a good grip,” he said reaching back with his right arm. “I’ll be hanging on to you next.”

As he lay waiting I was looking at the length of his body. This was the first time I’d got to look at him naked, very nice too. He was only about twenty, maybe twenty two, very fair; clean, soft skin; neat little pink tits; no body hair on his chest at all. Best of all his pubic hair had been trimmed to just a thin line of fuzz about an inch above his cock, below that there was none at all. His cock wasn’t very long, no more than six inches with a big head on it, it looked strong. I held his wrist down below the edge of the table the way I’d seen the others hold Jim. It meant that I didn’t have to hold it tight, there was no way that he could break free from that position. When the pumping started I was fascinated to see the way the mouth of his piss slit opened and closed with each stroke, like a fish breathing almost. In less than a minute the mouth was opening wider and wider, then the juice spurted out. The first shot hit his chin, then it splattered all over his chest. I could see that he’d given enough but that wasn’t enough for these guys, they kept working him just like they’d worked Jim. Geoff’s breathing got heavier, but he didn’t struggle as his balls were milked dry, he let it happen.

When I lay back on the table Geoff was there to take my arm and I was pleased to see that Tony claimed my cock. As I have already told you I was more than ready to shoot, had been for the past hour or more. It felt so good to have all these guys around me, so close that I could feel their breathing, and everyone one of them concentrating on my cock and balls. My ejaculation was the quickest yet. I tried to stop the flow, nearly succeeded, but as Tony worked steadily on my dick unseen fingers started squeezing my balls. That was enough to get the flow started again, the juice squirted and squirted until there was no more to come. Eager hands spread the cum all over my body as they as they had done for Jim and Geoff. How the fuck I was going to produce yet more I didn’t know, but I’d have to if I was going to stay in the game, there was no way I could avoid picking up some Spades from time to time.

“You did well!” As I stood up Tony gave me a hug, I could feel the wet stickiness of my cum as our bodies came together. “You let it all go...that’s good...makes it a real challenge.” I didn’t bother to tell him what had been going on in my mind.

Jim came back to the table, he was definitely not hard. They played with his balls, slapped them about some more: his cock stirred. “Get the nightstick,” someone said.

“No...Just give me a minute,” said Jim. But I saw one of them take a long, black nightstick from behind a cupboard door. It was a fine looking weapon, two feet long, smooth rounded end, very dark wood with a satin, almost oily finish.

Jim had his eyes closed when the rounded end was jabbed into his sac. His body jolted, I saw his left ball pop out from under the stick like a melon pip. He let out a roar that would have been heard down the street if the building hadn’t been such a massive, old stone structure. The next jab landed right on target again. Jim jerked and roared. The third jab forced one of his balls up into his body, you know, into the pouch up at the side of the penis. Do your balls go up there? Mine do when they’re forced, feels good, but once in there they’re trapped with no room to move at all. I could see the bulge of the testicle, so could the guy with the stick. He jabbed at it, or rather at the opening to the pouch. This slammed into the back of the testicle, jamming it further in and making it impossible for it to slip out. Jim rocked from side to side as much as he could with four guys hanging on to his limbs. He was yelling all the time, but there was no way for his left ball to escape, it was hit over and over again. When he finally came there was no more than a teaspoonful, very jellied, just about filled his bellybutton. He had to be helped off the table and through to the bathroom where I heard the water running for quite a while.

It was decided that it was time for refreshments, we all moved through to the kitchen where the refrigerator was full of beer and wine. Only one guy still had any clothing on, the one who’d pulled off the coup, all the rest of us were naked. I felt good, and relaxed, I’d shown them what I got, I’d given them a good load. Strangely after seeing the beating they’d given Jim’s balls I felt better. I knew what to expect, I knew that my balls could take a good beating and I actually wanted that nightstick, wanted to show these guys that I could take it too. I’d just got a glass of wine when I saw something that got me worried. On one of the counter tops there was a sheet of glass, eighteen inches square, with a heap of white powder, I’d say it might have been about two tablespoons, in the middle. Never having anything at all to do with drugs of any sort I don’t know if this would be considered a large amount of coke. I knew that I wasn’t about to try it, but what I didn’t know was how it would affect the judgement of those who did. Might someone get carried away, do something dangerous? I was still wondering what to do when three or four of them lit up joints. If the coke made me nervous the marijuana made me scared because I knew that I’d be inhaling the smoke like it or not. I also knew that the drug could be detected in blood samples even days later just from inhaling other people’s smoke. Most people only have to give a blood samples when they go to their doctor, it’s their choice. But pilots can be asked to take a medical check before, or after, any flight either by their company or by FAA inspectors. It is not done often, four times in my career, but it is done without warning. It is done politely, “Would you come round to the Medical Center? Just a routine check,” but there was no way to decline the invitation.

I took Geoff aside and told him I’d have to leave. I’d hoped to get away quickly and quietly without making a big deal of it. At first he was amazed, then he said he’d get them to put out the joints. This caused more discussion. Everybody had an opinion. “There’s no way it can affect you if you don’t smoke it.” “There’s no way they can detect it.” “They can’t force you to take the check, it would be unconstitutional.” It was no good. Even as they were trying to persuade me to stay, which is what I wanted to do, I was breathing the smoke. I had to dress and leave.

It was such a sudden end that I found myself outside on the sidewalk feeling like I’d just woken from a vivid dream. But I’d woken too soon, I still needed to come again. I was back in the hotel soon after midnight feeling lost. Thinking about the evening and what had happened gave me a hard on. I had to come again, just had to, to prove to myself that I could have done it at the game. Tried jerking off, but something was wrong. I could neither get it off nor relax and go to sleep. Finally I put on a cock-ring, a tight one to hold my balls up high, then took my sneaker in my left hand and used it to beat hard on my balls as I jerked off with my right hand. I made it, but it would have been so much better if I’d been beaten with the nightstick with seven guys to enjoy the scene.

To be continued...

Posted: 06/12/09