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 18

One time when I was in Tokyo and wide awake in the middle of the night I decided to give Vincent a call. We chatted for a while and he asked me if by any chance I’d be in New York on a Wednesday evening about six weeks hence. I didn’t know at that time, and wouldn’t know until the next roster was published in a couple of weeks. I explained that it was now too late to request a flight on that date so I’d probably have to try and arrange a swap which wasn’t always possible. I asked what he had in mind, but he wouldn’t tell me so I was left wondering. When the roster was published I saw that by impure chance I was going to be flying into JFK that night.

On the Wednesday I called him as soon as I reached the hotel and asked what time he wanted me to come to his apartment. To my surprise he didn’t want me to come to his place, he still wouldn’t tell me what he had in mind, but said that he’d pick me up at the hotel at 10. This was late for me to be starting into a session, but I was more than interested. We were staying in the Hilton on 6th Avenue at the time which has a covered set down for cars and taxis so that’s where I agreed to wait. I saw him in the back of a limmo as it pulled off the Avenue so he didn’t have to get out. It was as well that I was there and ready to go, Vincent was wearing the full Master’s regalia, black leather waistcoat, bare chest, black leather chaps over his jeans, and big, black boots. Had any of my colleagues seen me get into the limmo with him they’d have assumed we were going to a fancy-dress party! As the car rocked down 7th Vincent reached into a bag and took out the studded slave collar he always had me wear during our sessions. Just having him fasten it around my neck got me hard, but still Vincent wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Eventually the driver turned off to the right somewhere south of Christopher Street and pulled up a couple of blocks further on. You may not know it but the streets in the Village are not numbered, nor in a grid, and as I’d not been paying any attention I really can’t say exactly where we stopped. Right beside us there were steps leading down from the sidewalk into a basement. A large ‘bouncer’ scowled at me as we descended, I was clearly too clean and neat. He started to say something when Vincent interrupted. “We’ll be checking...” he said, and we went on down. At the bottom of the steps we turned right and there was a desk with another two scruffily dressed guys behind it. Right behind the desk was a bank of small lockers with a notice on top, “Check your clothes and drink free.” Well the amount I drink in an evening it wouldn’t make any difference whether I paid or not, but now I knew what Vincent meant by “We’re checking...” Since I was wearing his slave collar I went along with it. I stripped completely, Vincent removed his jeans, but kept his chaps waistcoat and boots. He’d brought a small, black leather bag with him, which he now opened and pulled out one of those outfits made of black leather straps and bright steel rings. Don’t know what they’re called, but essentially there’s not much to them. He fitted this on me adjusting straps at the front, back and sides until he had one ring circling each of my tits. Another ring at the end of a strap hung down in front of my cock, and this ring he slipped over my cock, then set about forcing my balls through too. The first one went in fairly easily, but by the time he’d got it in my cock was absolutely rigid and getting the second one through was a lot more fun! (I’d seen these things many times in sex shops, but had never fantasized about wearing them, for one thing they’re expensive, but mostly because I couldn’t ever take anything like that back through customs. Yes they do search crews’ bags, and empty the contents on to the counter sometimes when they’re searching!) He then clipped a chain, a regular dog chain, on to the collar. Once he was satisfied he stepped back to admire his handiwork. By this time Vincent was more than half-hard, and it occurred to me that it was the first time I’d seen him before we had sex. I’d only ever seen him after he had come because I was always blind-folded until after he’d beaten the gism from my balls. He often said he’d come twice during our sessions, whether he really had I can’t be sure. Of course I’d sucked his cock many times, and he was undoubtedly hard then, but he was always limp by the time the blindfold was taken from my eyes. Vincent stowed our stuff in the locker, took hold of the chain, and led me out of the changing area to join in the fun.

Beyond the lobby where we stripped was the basement club. It was a big room, maybe forty foot square, and high too, a good twelve feet to the vaulted ceiling. On the left as we went in there was a makeshift bar, several chest freezers and a stack of beer crates. We got beers, not a difficult choice, it was Bud or Bud. I looked around. There were a lot of men; tops in full leather regalia, some with open crotches like Vincent, others with regular leather pants; there were naked bottoms; and then a couple of dozen I’d call voyeurs because they weren’t obviously either tops or bottoms, nor naked either. Strangely I didn’t feel naked, the leather straps I was wearing concealed nothing, but feeling them against my skin gave me the sense that I was wearing something. Set in the middle of the far wall opposite the bar was a raised platform, about four feet high, and on it there was essentially a bench with a padded top maybe four feet long, two lengths of chain hanging from the ceiling over the platform, and there was also a pillory, I believe that is the correct name. It consisted of an upright 4x4 post with a cross beam made of two lengths of 2x4 timber. These were hinged at one end and each had semi-circular cutouts, smaller ones to trap a man’s wrists, and a larger one in the centre for the neck. All this I guessed was for a very public exhibition. Just looking at it sent a shiver down my back. I was surprised that Vincent would come to a place like this because he is a very private person. Our sessions had always been just between the two of us except for two occasions; once when there had been another top, and on once when there had been another bottom. But I never knew who either of these guys were, nor did he ever tell me anything about them.

‘Surely he won’t to make me to do that,’ I thought. But what would I’d do if he did? I was wearing his slave collar, if I refused would it cause something of a rift between us? I really didn’t want that. The men were milling around, a lot of groping, some pulling at cocks and balls, some of the bottoms were forced to their knees to take tops’ cocks in their mouths. One big guy came right up to me and grabbed my balls. Vincent didn’t like it, he positively bristled, and put his arm protectively across my shoulder making it clear that I was his property. The big guy wandered on. Just a few minutes later another top came up to us, but instead helping himself like the first one he nodded at Vincent first, the most fleeting acknowledgement. Vincent let go of the chain which he’d been holding in his left hand, his right hand slid down to the middle of my back. He didn’t push me towards the top, but the gesture was eloquent, “He’s mine, but you can use him.” Strangely that made me feel even hotter. The top felt my smooth, hairless balls he asked how often I shaved them. When I told them I didn’t shave, that I plucked the hair, he went down on his knees to suck them into his mouth. This had me worried lest he move to sucking my cock, Vincent was the only man who I’d allow to do that. But he didn’t, he just enjoyed my balls for a while, then thanked Vincent, and moved off. As we moved further into the room Vincent saw some tops he knew and taking the chain again led me over towards them. As we threaded our way through the crowd hands fondled my balls and butt, but just a brief gropes and I have to admit it was a turn-on.

Each of Vincent’s friends had a bottom with him, and these were really bottoms, not just wearing slave collars like me. They were shaven from their heads to their ankles, tattoos all over their bodies, two of them kneeling at their master’s feet, another was crouched right down in a fetal position quietly licking his master’s boots. This one had a large, red arrow pointing down from the small of his back into his butt crack, and written on either side of the arrow in large, Gothic letters was “Fuck this end! Clean up at other end.” I felt more than a bit out of place. On the ride down in the taxi Vincent hadn’t called me “boy” as he did when we were having an S&M session, and even after I’d stripped he still didn’t play the role of master, we were just together. Sure I was wearing his slave collar, but Vincent didn’t tell me to kneel so I was the only bottom in the group who was standing. There was general chat about both the tops and their bottoms, some of it bitchy, some admiring. Whilst this was going on I saw a very young guy more or less being pushed up on to the platform followed by a much older top. Suddenly a silence spread across the room.

The boy was naked of course, not a trace of body hair, very pale skin, very slim, and as I said very young. He also seemed to be completely passive, his cock was long, but hanging limp. He hadn’t resisted when he’d mounted the steps to the platform, he’d just done what he knew he had to do, he had no choice, and I’d say no opinion either. He didn’t even seem to be aware of the crowd looking up at him as his Master cuffed his wrists together and then attached the cuffs to one of the chains that hung down from the ceiling. The Master was a well built man, wearing only tight, black leather pants, his swollen penis very visible against his left thigh. When I saw the cat I was puzzled, the thongs were short, no more than 12 inches, and thin, not even as thick as leather boot laces. However, when he started whipping the boy’s buns the top really laid it on hard. It must have stung because after a while the penis started to stiffen. The top moved around and concentrated on the boy’s chest. Again and again he lashed at the boy’s nipples until the whole area was bright red. The penis grew steadily and as it grew it curved upwards, and now the Master concentrated solely on it, paying special attention to the head. Again and again he swung at it until the boy was writhing and twisting on the chain. The onlookers encouraged the Master, “Yeah Man! Give it to him! Harder, he needs it harder!” coming from all sides. Then, standing just behind the boy, the top threw down the cat, pulled open his leather pants and pulled out a fine, strong, fat penis. “Fuck him...fuck him...fuck him...” chanted the audience. The top grasped the boy by his hips and rammed his cock repeatedly into the boy’s butt crack. Once he was in he started to fuck...hard, long, strong strokes. And as he fucked the boy’s ass he reached around with his left hand and worked the boy’s balls, while with his right hand he pumped on the long curving cock. It didn’t take long to bring the boy to orgasm, a great cheer went up when the semen spurted out, several long streams of shining, silvery beads. Since the boy was very near the front of the platform a lot of it hit the men who were closest to the action. There was a rush on the bar for beer, and a buzz of excited conversation as the boy was helped down.

Whilst this had been going on a top beside me was feeling my butt, then when the fucking started he probed with his middle finger.

“Hey man!” he said to Vincent, “This one is tight! Must be a great fuck!” I guess I was tighter even than normal being fingered by a stranger, but Vincent had never tried to fuck me so I wondered what he’d say.

“Yeah, real tight, makes a real sweet target for whipping” Vincent said casually, but he made no mention of fucking. Once the boy had been released and led away Vincent leaned very close to my ear. “What did you think?” he asked. I knew that there was more than one way of taking his question: “What did you think of the whipping?” Or, “What did you think of ejaculation?” Or, “What do you think of the idea of getting up there?”

“Really impressive amount of cum,” I said.

“Yeah, but not a real whipping,” Vincent said.

“It must have stung. Did you see the colour of his chest? And his cock took a lot of punishment too.”

“But still it wasn’t a real whipping, not hard at all. He didn’t touch the balls, and even if he had there’s no weight in that thing, wouldn’t have really hurt. You could take much more than that.” Again it was ambiguous. If he’d said, “You want to show them that you can take more than that,” I’d have known exactly what he had in mind.

I was saved from having to say any more by the next young guy, not as young as the first, getting up on the platform with his top. He was already hard, clearly he knew what was going to happen, and wanted it too. He was secured on the bench with the padded top, face down, ass over the edge. He was whipped with a regular whip, quite a long one, but the top stood to one side and all the strokes were laid across his butt so the whip never curled down between his legs, never reached the interesting bits. Next up were a couple of tops with two bottoms. One was attached to the chains, one wrist on each chain, the other was put in the pillory. He was secured facing the audience, but some guys in the crowd wanted him turned around so that they could see his ass as he was whipped. So the boy was released and re-secured with his back to the audience. Now some guys shouted that they couldn’t see his cock. There was a bit of good humoured banter until eventually the pillory was dragged around so that the boy was facing to one side and everyone seemed satisfied. One of the tops was using a leather strap, like a long belt, which he used folded in half. This produced quite a crack as it connected, but I soon realized that the noise  was much sharper than the sound of leather on flesh, mostly it was the sound of one layer of leather slapping against the other. And the bottom’s face proved the point, he showed no signs of suffering so either he was really stoic, or the beating wasn’t as hard as it sounded. The other top was using a whip, but he wasn’t laying it on hard either. The tops switched places from time to time, but again both of them were standing to side so all the strokes were across the buns. There were more bottoms taken up on to the stage, some attached to the chains, others put in the pillory, maybe a dozen, none of the whipping was at all severe. It would have been repetitive except that there were a variety of ways the bottoms could be secured. The crowd certainly enjoyed the spectacle and there was a lot of raucous advice and encouragement from the floor. Once more Vincent leaned close to me. I braced myself for what he might ask.

“If I’d brought my whip would you have let me take you up there?” he asked. Everything I thought I knew about Vincent assured me that he’d never go up there in front of all these strangers, but still is was a relief to hear him say, “IF I’d brought my whip!”

“Sir,” I said, “tonight I’m your boy. If you wanted to take me up there I would obey you of course.” We were standing so close to his friends, all hard looking tops, what else could I say? However, since he hadn’t brought it I wasn’t too worried.

“But if I had brought it you’d have let me?” I looked around the room.

“Yes Sir,” I repeated feeling rather too confident. Vincent was looking straight into my eyes as the smile slowly spread across his face.

“Wait here a moment, I’ll be back,” he said turning towards the door. I can tell you I felt physically sick, and mentally sicker knowing that I’d let myself be trapped so easily.

My stomach was all knotted up when he returned carrying our favourite whip, and grinning from ear to ear. “Come...” Vincent said taking hold of the chain attached to the slave collar, “we don’t want to miss our place in line.”

‘Oh yes we DO!’ I thought. But there was no way out, his friends were egging him on, so I allowed myself to be lead through the crowd. If I could have gone straight up on to the platform there would have been some relief in getting it over with, but another young boy was up there being whipped, and as we got closer to the steps I saw that there were yet another top and bottom waiting at the steps. As we waited in line I grew steadily more nervous, and yet I didn’t know why I was so anxious. Yet as we waited I began to shiver. It was ridiculous, I’d been naked with dozens of men in the baths, I’d lost count of the number of times I’d been whipped, and I knew that the whipping wasn’t going to be truly traumatic, after all Vincent wasn’t going to be using a bull-whip. But I couldn’t stop shivering, and I when I thought that the guys around us might notice it only got worse! Luckily a thought came into my mind. ‘If Vincent had asked if he could have some of his friends join us when I was secured to his bed for whipping what would I say?’ The answer of course would have been, ‘If it pleases you Sir!’ Well some of these guys were his friends, sure there were some others as well, a few hundred, but basically that shouldn’t make any difference. What it came down to was that Vincent wanted to whip me in front of his friends, and suddenly I felt okay, we’d show them.

As the top ahead of us took his boy up on to the platform we moved up to the steps. A pot-bellied biker in scruffy leather and a filthy tee-shirt stood up in font of us. “This boy your property?” he asked Vincent.

“Yes he is,” said Vincent. The biker then turned to me.

“And are you submitting willingly to your owners orders?” he barked. I didn’t really feel “owned” but I agreed that I was going willingly. Then addressing both of us he read a spiel from a clipboard about no one being responsible for anything that may or may not happen. He covered the organizers of the event, the owners of the building, the staff on duty, even the barmen and the brewers, and every eventuality that even an insurance salesman might be able to dream up. We both agreed that we understood and we both had to sign the form. It would have been so much easier if we’d just gone straight up on to the stage. Waiting for the beating reminded me of waiting in line to be caned in school, and the shivering started again just like it did in school. (If you want to know about caning just ask, but believe me there was good reason to shiver when waiting to be caned!) I can honestly say I do not have the slightest idea as to what happened to the boy ahead of me, don’t know where he was secured, nor what was done to him, and although he must have come right by us I don’t even remembering him come past on his way down. Eventually Vincent jolted me out of me reverie, time to mount the scaffold.

I climbed the steps behind Vincent, saw him point at the bench on the far side and followed across the stage in a trance. I was aware of the sea of faces, but I made a point of not looking at anyone. I had a feeling that if I didn’t make eye contact with anyone then they couldn’t actually see me, not the real me, just some naked guy who was going to be whipped. By blocking out the faces I also seemed to cut myself off from the sounds and was only vaguely aware of unintelligible noises coming up from the crowd. Vincent plucked at one of the leather straps and said, “This will have to come off.” I’d become so comfortable in that “garment” that I’d completely forgotten it. Now he had to get my balls out of the tight cock ring, and he made me turn so that the crowd could see what he was doing! It had to come off, so I just shut my eyes. The first one hurt, my whole body jerked as it popped out and the guys nearest the platform let out a raucous cheer. One voice said, “Push it back up!” Strangely enough with my eyes closed so that the crowd was no longer visible, I now heard what they were saying very clearly. The second testicle popped out fairly easily and very soon the leather straps fell away. Vincent had me lie face down on the bench, then moved me back a bit so that my balls were hanging down over the edge. Then, with a showman’s flourish, he reached under my body to pull my rigid cock back so that it too was out in the open between my legs. I heard an appreciative murmur from the crowd. The securing didn’t take long, about an hour, or so it seemed to me! Just before Vincent stepped away from me he leaned forward and ran his hands over my butt, spreading the cheeks apart. “Yeah man! Lay it in there!” someone shouted. That produced some laughter. Vincent bent down close. “Now we’ll show them that cocks and balls can take a whipping too!” he said.

He started out gently, if any whipping can be called gentle. But gradually the pace quickened, and the strokes came down harder and harder. Unlike all the other tops he was standing by my head, I knew that his fat cock was just above my face, but I couldn’t see it. Vincent was aiming to lay the strokes right down my crack, some missed the centreline, but most were pretty close. Some of the strokes were laid short so that the tip stung at my sphinctre, others he reached further forward allowing the whip to curl over connect with my balls, and if he reached even further forward it wrapped all the way over to sting my cock beautifully too. Most of the time I was aware of the crowd as a murmuring background, but whenever the whip wrapped around to my balls the noise level went way up. It sounded like a mixture of “Yeah” and “Ohhh” and Ahhh! I have no idea how many strokes Vincent gave me, but I do remember him leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “Now I’m going to turn you over and blow their fucking minds!” This took me by surprise, I’d never heard him use a swear word, he’d talked about fucking of course, but had never used the word in that sense.

He released, then re-secured me. My legs were wide apart again, the target was very clearly visible to the crowd, and now I could see Vincent’s cock, just above my face, looking bigger than I’d ever seen it. As I expected, all the strokes were directed at my cock and balls. The noise level from the crowd went way up. There was cheering, and catcalls, and whoops of delight at each direct hit. Honestly, I was so turned on I hardly felt the whip. Soon I realized that I was going to cum, all the other bottoms had been brought off facing the crowd, but Vincent hadn’t said anything about how he was going to finish the beating.

“I’m going to come!” I said, but with the noise he didn’t seem to hear me. Still the whip kept belting into my balls. “I’m going to come any second!” I repeated much louder. He looked down at me.

“Good! Shoot it!” he said swinging even harder. And I did! My semen splattered down on my face, chest, and stomach. A cheer went up from the audience, Vincent, still standing at my head, was smiling broadly. Then he dropped the whip and started to pump on his own fat cock. Very soon his gism splashed down on my face and chest. Before releasing me he leaned forward low over my body to spread our juices from my crotch to my face. As he did this his cock was within inches of my mouth...and then it was in my mouth! By the time he released me I was wet and slippery, and I’d sucked him clean.

As we made our way down from the platform there was still quite a bit of noise from the audience, whistling, foot stamping and whoops. Again I made a point of avoiding eye contact. Once we stepped off the platform we were surrounded by bodies. There were hands feeling my balls, inspecting the damage. There was a lot of ooohing and aaahing as my cock was twisted this way and that, but the marks weren’t too bad. Some blackish purple blotches on my cock, and smaller purple marks on my scrotum, but certainly nothing like the bullwhips had left so I really wasn’t worried at all. The thing that struck me as strange was that guys were congratulating Vincent at every step, but no one said anything to me. It was as though Vincent had been on stage carving a statue which he was now taking back through the crowd, they might have admired his work, but of course they wouldn’t have spoken to the statue. We worked our way slowly through the crowd to where Vincent’s friends were standing. There was a lot of back-slapping, which is to say the tops slapped Vincent’s back. They all checked my crotch and told Vincent what a great job he’d done. Again not a word to me, not one. Their slaves were still crouched at their heels, only one of them raised his eyes high enough to make eye contact with me. His eyes remained blank, indecipherable, I couldn’t tell if he envied me, or felt sorry for me, just no feed back at all. One top came through the crowd carrying a beer for Vincent, just one. Vincent handed it to me and said he’d take one too. The guy who’d brought the beer looked baffled, couldn’t have been more surprised if Vincent had given the beer to a parrot on his shoulder. And judging from the expressions on the faces of the other tops none of them would have thought of giving their slaves anything, except a kick perhaps. This experience gave me some small insight into what it must be like to be a slave, clearly they aren’t seen as real, live, sensate beings, just objects.

Once all the hubbub had died down Vincent asked me what I wanted to do, stay on a while or head back to the hotel. Other tops were taking their boys up on the platform, but I’d seen enough. I asked if going back to his apartment was an option, he smiled broadly! “It isn’t too late for you?” he asked.

“It’s never too late for that!” I assured him. He called the limmo company and there was a car at the door by the time we were dressed. At the exit someone came up to speak to Vincent. “Take this,” he said holding out a business card. “Any time you want to bring your boy just show this at the door. Free in...free beer, it’ll be on the house!” It amused me to think that I, the one who’d been on the receiving end, wasn’t worth so much as a glance.

Back in his apartment he took a good look at my balls. “No more whipping tonight,” he said. I was a bit disappointed, but I knew he was right.

“How about the weights?” I asked.

“Yes...okay,” he agreed. In no time I was blindfolded and strung up in the doorway with 25 pounds swinging from my balls. At first he was very tentative when he jabbed with the pool cue and only used the blunt end. But I wanted more.

“Do it Sir! Harder Sir! The other end Sir! Please Sir!” I begged. Gradually the jabs grew in intensity, then he switched to the pointed end, and then he forgot all about restraint. He was jabbing at my balls and stinging my butt with a paddle harder than he’d ever done before, and I knew there was going to be plenty of juice when I came again. When he took me through to the bedroom he told me to lie on my back. I assumed that he was going to whip my balls again.

“I’m not going to use the whips,” he said, “enough marks, enough damage for one night.” I was disappointed, by this time my balls were aching beautifully and I really wanted more pain. Then he added, “But don’t worry, you’re going to feel it.” He knelt astride my hips, poured some oil on my scrotum, then tied my balls with a leather thong. Around and around he wound it until the balls were trapped tightly, then he went to work on them with his fingers and thumbs. He really did a number on them, squashed, squeezed, twisted, slapped them from side to side, top and bottom. I was in agony and heaven. When I told him I was about to come he just kept working away. Then I guess he felt the testicles tightening up because at the last second before I shot he leaned down and took my cock in his mouth. I’m sure I came even more that second time than I had on the platform.

Over the next few months I went to Vincent’s apartment at every opportunity. He took me through hell and brought me off in heaven every time. Then, out of the blue, two events changed my life. The first thing was that company made the senior pilots an offer that was simply were too good to refuse if we took early retirement. A very generous lump sum paid tax free, and a full pension even though I would not be entitled to it for several years. There were two catches, we had just days to accept or reject the offer, and we had to leave at the end of the month which was about two weeks hence. I really didn’t want to leave, but an accountant friend looked at the numbers and told me just how ridiculous it would be to refuse the offer. I had just one last trip, to Hong Kong not New York, not that it would have made any difference since my wife came with me!

However, I was not out of flying for long, I signed up with a cargo carrier within a month. We worked 20 days on and 10 days off, we didn’t have any sort of schedule, just went where the loads need to go, anywhere world wide. And it was after my very first trip that my wife went in for a routine check-up. The doctor called an hour later, a mammogram detected that she had cancer and had been admitted to hospital to be operated on the very next day. I knew right then that my days of playing around were over.

Now that my own true story has run its course I intend to post a couple of fictitious stories, the first will be called “Irian Jaya.” If you like S&M fiction take a look. 

Posted: 05/07/10