Firstly, the usual warnings apply, if you're under age, if you don't want to read about sexual activity between consenting males, don't read this!
Secondly, if you're not interested in bondage, and cock and ball torture, you probably won't enjoy this part of my story...
This is a true story, I eventually got into real bondage, real cock and ball torture, and real pain. Most men will not understand how or why I did these things: some will be curious but will never try anything like this: a few will understand completely. There are no heroically endowed men, no 12 inch cocks, no goose-egg balls, not even multiple orgasms in quick succession, just the unvarnished truth. This is the continuation of Gay Temples which is in the Encounters Archive. In fact this part of my story was originally in Gay Temples, but as I got further into S&M I became more and more uncomfortable about posting to that archive, it's just not the place for cock and ball torture. If you have by any chance read it before in Gay Temples I can tell you that I will be continuing with the story..."Watch this space" as they say.
Some months after I got back from Tunisia the airline bought more 747's, and a number of the most senior pilots retired so my period in the wilderness came to an end. I still had to get through the ground school, safety training, dinghy drills, fire fighting, and type rating exam, and the simulator course, and finally line training. Just as tedious was that for about three months I had to fly with training captains, then line-training captains. During this period when one is under scrutiny one has to toe the line, that's the line in the local bar. In other words I'd stand in whichever of the local watering holes the crews were gathering in and be a regular guy, buy drinks and listen to the same old twaddle night after night. I'd been checked out on 707's by some of these guys and believe me they were still telling a lot of the same jokes years later! (The stewardesses always complained that pilots only talked about three things, fast cars, yachts, and fucking airplanes: and they were right too!) But after about three months I was free to enjoy myself again.
During my exile the specter of AIDS had arrived, but being away from the immediate scene I didn't really know how bad things were. It seemed like another of those newspaper stories that are blown up out of all proportion to sell copies. What I found when I got back to NYC was vastly worse than anything I expected. A few of the baths were still open, but my favorite, The Club, was gone, and those that were still open were under attack by every city official and health expert. Going to the baths just didn't seem to be a fun thing to do any more. (It is a strange thing, all those baths were open every day of the year for years on end, all full to capacity on many nights, but when I mentioned the baths to anyone in NYC in later years they always said, "Oh I never went to the baths, not my scene." I guess they didn't like to admit that they were once so irresponsibly promiscuous. Actually there was one guy I met who admitted to going, and enjoying it very much. When we met we'd reminisce about the 'good old days'.) By this time most of the stewardesses I'd been fucking, with a couple of memorable exceptions, were married or left the airline. Married ladies are dangerous, you never know when they might get an attack of conscience and tell all to their husbands. Bad scene! So if I'd wanted to get the new girls into bed I'd have to go through all the maneuvering to get one separated from the group, buying drinks, maybe a meal as well with no certainty of getting to fuck her at the end of the evening either. It was too much trouble.
What I wanted, what I needed, was sex with men. Besides, if I met up with a man there'd be no doubt about what was going to happen, we'd get naked, and we'd fuck one way or another. I went to a few movies, didn't turn me on any more, being groped in the dark just didn't compare with having sex with men in the baths. One thing I knew for sure was that the days of unprotected sex were over, it was strictly no exchange of body fluids from now on. I didn't want to suck on a condom so that meant that sucking was out. Even fucking lost its appeal when there was a layer of rubber blocking the sensations. Thinking-men had already changed the way they were behaving, but many weren't thinking.
On my first night in alone Manhattan I wandered around Greenwich Village, not much had changed. The bars were still packed with young, good looking guys being preyed on by older, not so good looking guys. The Ramrod was crowded, the Spike still going strong. I wondered if things had calmed down, went in to look around.
The ground-floor level was pretty crowded, all leather. I bought a beer and wandered around. I decided to go down to the basement, a slow process, easing my way through the crowd. At one point I was stopped by a bunch of guys all milling around in a huddle. As I waited in the crush looking for a way around the jam a hand found my zip. In a second it was down, I wasn't wearing any underwear, my cock was being pumped by some stranger's hand. I didn't even know who amongst all the guys pressing around me was doing this. I know it shouldn't have happened, but I stiffened up fast which of course made the hand pump harder. Whilst we were all jammed together nothing more could happen so it wasn't a problem, but suddenly the log jam shifted, the men around me moved away, except one who dropped to his knees in front of me. I wasn't sure what was, and what was not safe sex, so I twisted away from him as he tried to suck my dick into his mouth.
"What's the matter man?" he sounded aggrieved.
"Oh... I'm not ready yet," I said. It was better than saying, "I don't know if you've got AIDS."
"But look at it...You are ready for it..." he said still holding and squeezing my cock tight. I was terribly tempted, this was the first man to touch my cock in many months. I broke away, but I didn't pull up the zip, it felt so good to have my cock out in the open, to be natural. As I made my way through the crowd many men reached out for my cock, I let them fondle it as long as they liked. My balls too were there for touching, squeezing, pulling, but not for sucking.
When I finally made it down to the dungeon it was a scene from the past. They were sucking and fucking like there was no tomorrow, which I suppose was true for a lot of them. I doubt that there was a condom in the building. One sight I will never forget. Over to one side there was a table, on it a cage made of quarter-inch chrome or stainless-steel bars. It would have been about 36 inches long, 18 inches high, and maybe 24 inches wide. A young guy, perhaps eighteen although I very much doubt it, was crouched naked in a fetal position inside this tiny cage. His backbone was pressing against the top, his shoulders against the sides, his shaved head was pressed against the bars at one end and his toes stuck out between the bars behind his naked ass. Just looking at him made my muscles ache. Several dozen men were drinking and laughing all around him, but nobody took the slightest notice of him. In that crowded place he was alone. His head had been shaved, and although I couldn't see it all I'd say that his whole body had been shaved too. Certainly there was no hair anywhere around his hole, nor around his balls which hung down low beneath his butt. I was stunned, how could he stay crouched down like that? I couldn't take my eyes off him. There was a notice on top of the cage, "If you fuck the hole at the back use the one at the front to clean up!" As I moved around to the front of the cage our eyes met. His gaze was blank, totally blank. It was like the look you get from a cat, not your own cat, or a friendly cat, but a stray cat. There was no response, no way of knowing if he was suffering in hell, or in his own kind of nirvana. I had to move away.
There was another knot of men gathered around something. I couldn't see what it was that held their interest so I moved over to where they stood. As I approached a guy in front of me turned away shaking his cock off as though he'd just had a piss. He had, right in front of me was a bath-tub, a naked man lying in it his head tilted back, mouth open. All around the bath men were pissing on him. Again I could not believe my eyes, just stood staring. One by one the men around the tub drifted off as they finished pissing. The man in the tub opened his eyes, looked straight at me.
"That's a beautiful cock," he said. I was still hard. "Please let me have yours...Please..."
I had never been turned on by "water sports" or "golden showers" although I'd been asked many times. He really pleaded, his mouth was open ready to take my piss. I'd had two beers by this time, yet I couldn't do it. I don't know whether I should be ashamed to admit that I tried, or more ashamed to say that I failed miserably.
I wandered away, further into the back of the dungeon. In one corner, right at the back there was a sling, all black leather and bright, shining steel, brilliantly lit by three spot lights. I'd seen it there in the past, never seen it used. This time there was a man laying back in the sling waiting, another greasing his hands and his right arm up to the elbow. I'd never seen fisting before except on films and videos. Like many others I waited not three feet from the man's swinging butt. The top moved into position between the man's legs and worked the grease up into the waiting hole. First with three fingers, then four, then the thumb went in as well. The hand twisted and writhed as it slowly worked its way in, I was fascinated, amazed, how could that sphincter open so wide? Soon the whole hand had disappeared, then the wrist, still the twisting continued. The bottom writhed too, not it seemed in any great pain, more to help the penetration of his body. After about ten minutes the top's whole arm, right up to his elbow was up inside the bottom's body. How he took that length, and the thickness of the top's powerful arm I'll never know. Once the arm was all the way in the top started to pump it in and out of the bottom's ass. Long strokes, much longer than any man's penis could ever achieve. After a while the top used his other hand to work on the balls that were up tight and ready to shoot. It only took a few seconds of that treatment and the bottom sprayed his juice all over his chest. Not a drop was wasted, at least three guys were all over him licking up the jism even as it squirted out!
"Doesn't anyone worry about AIDS?" I asked the guy next to me who was fondling my balls.
"AIDS?" he asked, clearly surprised. "You can't get AIDS from cum. You can only get it if you're already sick, if you're healthy you'll never get it."
"But that's not what I read..."
"Never mind what they say, they're only trying to scare off young gays. They know that all the best looking, and the smartest young guys are gay. They don't like it, so they're trying to make them go straight. There's no truth in all that crap."
I wondered if I was dreaming, if I'd wake up in my bed in the hotel. As I made my way back to the stairs I saw the cage again. One guy was fucking the boy's ass through the bars. At the other end of the cage the boy was licking a very long, slim cock that I guess had just come out of his hole. This place was just too dangerous, I had to find a new source of extramural sexual action. I turned to the magazine ads.
I read a lot of magazines. One thing that caught my eye was an article on s&m, and, as the author pointed out, s&m didn't need body fluids to make it hot. I remembered the time I'd been worked on in the Club. I'd thought about that evening every time I'd had sex with a man, every single time, but none of them had ever done anything like that to me again. I'd always had a craving for more of that painful pleasure, I'd moved hands down to my balls, wrapped fingers around them, whispered, 'Squeeze...Please...' None of them really squeezed, not one. But reading this magazine I realized that I wasn't alone in this craving. At the back there were personals, tops looking for bottoms, and bottoms looking for tops. A lot of them in NYC too! One seemed to jump off the page, a top looking for beginners, and his box number had a Manhattan zip code! Well I was a beginner, at least I wanted to begin, so I wrote to him that same evening.
Next time in the city there was a letter for me in the hotel. I knew who it was from without looking at the postmark. I was trembling as I took it up to the room. The letter was very neatly written, a good start. He was the same age as me, seemed to be about the same size, lived in the Village, 6th Avenue at 13th, gave me his phone number and asked that I call. I was shaking as I dialed, nearly sick when I heard the phone ringing. Part of me hoped that there'd be an answering machine, the other part wanted action. When he picked up it took me a few seconds to get any sound out of my mouth. I don't know what I expected of a man who wanted to torture other men's genitals, but he sounded quite normal, very well spoken in fact. His name was Allen, he worked for the city in some sort of social services job. He knew of course that I wasn't American and asked how I came to be in NYC. I was always reluctant to tell guys that I was an airline pilot. I often sensed disbelief, and even those who believed what I said only wanted to know was what was it like to fly a 747, how many times I'd crashed, how many close calls I'd had and so on. It was always difficult to get the conversation back to sex. Allen was no different so the conversation drifted way wide of the mark. I was just about to give up hope of getting back to basics, even my heart rate was down to normal, when he asked if I'd like to meet.
Wow! Would I? "Yes," I said. "Very much."
"So when will you be back?" This wasn't what I wanted to hear having gone this far.
"I'm not sure," I said vaguely, "but I'm free tonight. Any chance we could meet tonight?"
"Well I have a problem tonight," he said. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or sorry. "I've got a cousin staying with me at the moment."
"You could come to the hotel," I said naively.
"Well suppose we meet someplace? Sort of break the ice. Do you know the city?" I assured him I knew it well. "So why don't we meet in 'The Lion's Head'?" I knew it and agreed to meet him around eight. For the next hour until it was time to go to meet Allen I was in a turmoil. Was I mad? Of course I was, but I'd wanted this for so long I wasn't going to back out now. I could end up injured, or dead, but something was driving me to do this, I had no choice.
As I walked into the pub I saw Allen sitting at the back. I have no idea why I knew it was him, but I did. I walked straight up to him.
"Hi, I'm David," I said. 'Is this man going to beat my balls?' is what I was thinking.
We got on well from the first moment. He asked me what I had experienced, what I wanted. I told him about the man who had worked on my balls in the baths; how much it had turned me on; how I'd thought of it almost every day. Once I got talking it all poured out, I even said that I wanted to have a similar experience, but tied up this time so that I could neither escape nor protect myself. To my surprise I was able to tell him all this without any awkwardness, it just seemed natural.
"Well," he said, "if we're going to play we'll have to go back to my place to pick up a few things first."
"Sure, no problem," I replied, but I wondered why he didn't bring something with him to the pub.
His apartment was just a few minutes walk from the pub, third floor on a low rise building. Allen started to shove some lengths of rope and other bits and pieces into a duffel bag, I tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, I'm not sure that it was convincing. He handed me a sheet of note paper which surprised me.
"Write yourself a letter," he said. I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. "Write that you are going to take me back to your hotel for an s&m sex session with me. Add my name and address. That's all you have to say. Put it in this envelope and address it to yourself at the hotel. We'll drop it in a mail box by the subway entrance." Then seeing my surprise he added, "It's protection for you. I brought you here so you can see where I live, you can see I'm a regular guy, you now know my address. It means that I've got to make sure no harm comes to you tonight. If it does, well this letter will turn up to prove that I was with you. Anytime you go with a guy you do this. Understand?" It made me feel better, Allen obviously didn't have any intention of going too far. And I took his advice, when I met a guy for the first time I always mailed a letter just as he suggested, it made sense.
We took the 'R' train uptown, it stopped right underneath the hotel, The Omni, where we stayed at that time. The hotel lobby was packed with kids aged about 11 to 18, boys and girls, all in uniform. It was the annual MacDonald's Marching Band competition. They were in the lobby, the elevators, the corridors, boys eyeing girls, girls ogling boys, so much budding sexuality. I felt that the two of us stood out like sore thumbs in that very young crowd, not just because of our age. We were going up to my room for sex, and I'm sure a lot of the kids had the same hopes. We were going up for gay sex, maybe some of them were too. What made us so different was that I was going up with a man who was going to torture my balls. Even amongst gays that was 'different'. Fortunately we didn't meet any of my colleagues on the way up. I felt both relief, and added tension, as I closed the door of the room behind us.
"This looks good," said Allen. "Get your things off, everything!" There was a subtle change in his voice, it was an order. I felt a little sick, but did as I was told. Once I was naked he pointed to a spot near the side of the bed. "Over here, stand facing the bed."
I stood where he wanted me, my cock sticking up at about forty-five degrees, my balls up tight as though I was ready to come. Allen looked closely at me from one side.
"Move back a bit... A bit more...That's fine," he said. I wondered why he was being so precise. He crouched in front of me, real close, then grabbed my balls and rolled them around between his fingers.
'Oh God,' I thought 'I've waited a long time for this! He's got my balls. Now they're going to take a beating,'. It felt so good I moaned quietly.
He pulled a six foot length of rope from his bag. Starting with the middle of the length he wound it tightly around my sac trapping my balls. A few more turns and they were forced right down so tight that the skin was taught and shiny. Next he brought the rope ends up, criss-crossing up around the length of my penis, then passing the ends around my waist he tied them tightly in the middle of my back. I looked down, my cock was pulled up flat against my stomach, my balls were sticking way out in front. It looked really good. Allen dropped to his knees, took another length of rope and tied my ankles together, then my calves, knees and thighs.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
"Sure," I said, trying to sound like I meant it.
The next rope secured my wrists down at my hips, then pulled my elbows in close on either side of my body.
"Still OK?" I nodded. He took a red silk scarf from his bag and tied it around my head covering my eyes.
'Wow!', I thought, 'I hadn't expected that.' But still I felt good.
I felt Allen's hand in the middle of my back, then he gave me a shove. As I felt myself toppling forwards I naturally put my foot out to prevent myself falling. At least that's what my brain told my muscles to do, but of course my leg didn't move at all. This was all happening in slow motion, as I fell further I tried to put out my hands to break my fall. That didn't work either. I crashed on to the bed, doesn't sound too bad does it? Nor would it have been except that my balls hit the reinforced edge of the very firm, commercial grade mattress. Allen had placed me in exactly the right spot when he had made me move back a bit before tying my legs. Not only did I land on my tightly bound balls, I bounced, and came back down on them again and again. When I stopped bouncing I lay there unable to move, the weight of my body crushing my testicles. I was in agony. I tried to roll over, but without leverage from either my legs or arms I couldn't do it. All I managed to do was to rock back and forth which made the pain worse.
"Please...No...this is too much," I pleaded. Allen made no response.
After a couple of minutes of struggling, and ever more urgent appeals, I realized that this was exactly what I'd fantasized about since that guy had first worked on my balls. This is what I'd asked for, to be bound and tortured. Now I was going to have to take the pain. Once that thought came into my mind I felt better. Instead of struggling I lay still, allowed the pain to fill my guts, to flood through my body. Suddenly it was delicious.
When Allen saw that I had relaxed he lifted my legs and swung them up on to the bed so that I was lying on my back. I felt his fingers on my balls, he squeezed hard, very hard. I yelled.
"We can't have that," he said going over to his bag. "Someone will think you're being murdered, they'll call security. Now wouldn't that be awkward?" When he returned I felt something that smelled of rubber pressing at my lips. "Open up!" It was a command.
"No...I don't want it," I muttered through closed teeth. He pressed harder. "No really...No don't...I'll be quiet."
"Just open your mouth, you've got to take it." I continued to plead. "Right," he said, "I'll make you open up." He left the bed, I heard the door being unlocked. "What do think those kids will think? Do you think they'll be impressed by that cock standing up there?"
The scarf over my eyes had moved a bit, I could see down the side of my nose. I twisted my head so that I could look in the direction of the door, it was wide open, I was in full view!
"Please! Shut it! For God's sake shut it! I'll take that thing, anything!"
The door swung shut with a clunk. He'd given me a real fright, any of my colleagues could have come by. Allen adjusted the scarf, then I felt the rubber thing at my lips. I opened up without protest. Once it was in it didn't feel too bad, like a short fat penis. I couldn't form any words at all, only make gurgling noises. To tell the truth I was a bit scared, I had to keep reminding myself that I'd asked for this, but I was glad Allen had made me mail that letter.
For the next hour and a half Allen put my testicles through hell. I strained furiously at the ropes securing my arms. I was desperate to reach my balls, to protect them from his probing, squeezing, pulling, slapping fingers. I screamed, but it was an internal scream, only Oooh, and Eeee and Aaaah came out. It was as though I was a specimen in a laboratory experiment: Allen worked away in silence neither pausing nor hurrying in what he was doing to me. Finally he stopped torturing my balls and started to pump on my cock. In seconds the juice spurted out with such force that the first squirt hit my face on the side of my nose, the second hit under my chin, and God only knows how many more splashed down on my chest.
When Allen removed my blind-fold I was surprised to see that he hadn't stripped, he was still wearing his jeans and shirt. I couldn't even see a bulge in his pants. Maybe he'd jerked off while working on my balls. I didn't ask. Even though this was my first experience of bondage and s&m I understood that he was the top, I was the bottom.
We met several times over the next three or four months, but then Allen was promoted to some supervisory position. His case load increased enormously, he still wanted to meet, but often didn't get home until after ten at night, three a.m. to me. It wouldn't have been too late for me if I'd had anyway of keeping hot, but sitting around all evening waiting meant that I was tired long before the action started. It was Allen who suggested that I contact the New York Bondage Club, he knew a member, gave me his number. A Bondage Club! Sounded real hot. I had to try it.
I called the number, turned out he was the organizer. His name was Bernie, he is, or was then, the driving force behind "Bound & Gagged", the bondage magazine which at that time he was trying to get off the ground. The club met on the second Wednesday of each month. My next trip was on the second Wednesday, I went along.
I arrived at 8 sharp. That's the trouble with airline pilots, we all live by the second hands of our watches. The meeting was in a tiny hall just off University Place, the sort of place that amateur dramatic societies put on plays. At first sight it wasn't a likely place to hold an orgy. All wooden surfaces: bare wooden floorboards, non too clean: wooden seats: some long, low, wooden benches: not a soft surface anywhere. Only Bernie was there when I arrived so we had a chance to talk as we arranged a circle of maybe thirty chairs. Looked like he was expecting a good turn-out which was encouraging. He told me about the equipment that the members had made or bought for the club, so I reckoned there must be some mattresses, or at least mats, to lay on the floor. Over the next half hour another eight or ten guys arrived, one like myself was there for the first time. About nine-thirty there was talk of locking the door, then a couple more appeared. Another delay. Another one turned up. More talk among the regulars, us two new boys were conspicuously ignored. Finally about ten the door was locked. Now for the action. The Bernie got everybody to sit, a much smaller circle than he'd expected.
"Gentleman," he started, "we have two newcomers tonight so I thought I'd say a few words to welcome them and explain exactly what we do and how we do it. Firstly I think we should all introduce ourselves." The introductions rolled around the circle, then Bernie was back in the center of the circle addressing Richard, the other newcomer, and myself. "You should know that we do take our clothes off, that's why we have to wait until the door is locked. And this will be a hands on evening."
'Sounds good,' I thought.
"Secondly, safety is the cardinal rule. If I see anything unsafe taking place I'll ask to stop. If you want to try anything risky this isn't the place."
'Sounds sensible,' I thought.
"Thirdly, we have a load of ropes in that box over there, and there are more toys in the cupboard. Use anything you want, but put it back when your through."
'Sounds like mother speaking.'
He went on for a while, too long, what we needed was action. When finally he was through guys started to strip, and pair off. Again, us new ones were left out of the pairing, completely. To my surprise most of them only stripped to the jockey shorts, and they all kept their sneakers on too. Well, the floorboards were pretty rough so I suppose it was a good idea, just didn't look very sexy. The ropes came out, lots of rope. There were hooks screwed to the walls on one side of the room, another one was lowered on a rope right in the center of the stage. A couple climbed up on the stage. The top tied his partner's wrists with a cord, attached the cord to the hook which was then pulled so that the bottom was at full stretch. The top then removed the bottom's jockey shorts, now he looked better. The bottom was a big guy, heavy rather than well built: certainly not 'well defined'. His tits were full and soft looking, but his nipples were amazing. They must have been the size of the filter in a cigarette. Really, more than a quarter of an inch across and nearly half an inch long. There was no sign of an erection, his cock was short, no more than two inches, but it was fat, really very fat. His balls were large, much bigger than mine, and hung low in a long sac, that made me very envious.
'At last some action,' I thought, but it wasn't quite like I'd imagined. For the next twenty minutes the top wrapped ropes around the stretched out figure. From his ankles to his armpits there was an intricate web of cords and knots, the sort of thing a man-eating spider might do to its victim. The lovely balls were trapped by several turns of rope, the fat cock too was bound, but it didn't swell up at all. Several other members gathered around to admire the work. Some made suggestions. One modified the upper body cords to produce a ring of knots around each fat nipple. All agreed that that made the effect much better. Nobody touched the genitals, they were totally ignored as though the guy was a neuter. One of the bystanders produced some tit-clamps. Several were tried, most were too small, but one pair with really vicious teeth was finally selected. I saw the bottom wince as they bit into his flesh, it looked so sore it almost made my eyes smart. Next they tried out various weights, the kind that fishermen use, which they hung from the clamps gradually increasing the load on the nipples. I don't know what the load was, but by the time they were satisfied those fat nipples were stretched down about an inch or more and blood was oozing out where the teeth cut into the flesh. Still nobody touched his balls and those tit clamps made me feel slightly sick so I wandered away.
I'd noticed some guys going through a gap in a curtain at the back of the stage, first a couple, then three more, then another two. None of them came back out so I went to see what was happening. I went to the back of the stage and stepped through the gap. The stage was raised about four feet, behind the curtain was a drop back down to floor level. There, lying on a mattress was a naked man, bound and trussed as only these rope experts could do. Around him knelt the six others. I stood looking at them for a moment before I was noticed. They all turned to look at me, staring, like masks, their faces blank except for their eyes. Each pair of eyes was saying the same thing, 'FUCK OFF!' No question about it, they didn't want company. I left.
On one side of the theatre three other guys were being strung up with ropes hanging from hooks set in the walls. I found myself standing beside Richard. We'd both stripped off completely since we'd expected to be in the action so I got a good look at him. I'd say he was barely twenty, a bit on the heavy side, but only a little, his body soft and pink, just ripe for torturing. He had average sized balls, a nice cock, uncut, pre-cum oozing steadily, but like me his erection was definitely drooping by this time.
"What do you think?" I asked quietly.
"I'm not sure, do they do anything else?"
"Like what?" I countered. I wanted to find out what he'd expected before I told him how I felt about what I'd seen so far.
"Well I thought there'd be some... you know... some ball work..." his voice trailed away uncertainly.
"Yes, I'd thought the same," I agreed. "Maybe later..." So, Richard wanted ball play too!
Some of the guys who were being tied up still had their shorts on, a few were naked, none of them had a hard on. When the tops started releasing them I began to wonder about 'later'. Other bottoms took the place of the first three. Again the ropes were wound round and round in intricate twisting detail. Some tits were tweaked, nothing like the guy on the stage, but all cocks and balls were ignored, except for one guy. He really interested me. He was clearly a top, mid-forties, lean, about my height, five nine, wearing black leather pants and waist-coat, with hankie and keys signifying something in s&m circles. But it wasn't his appearance that intrigued me, it was his sardonic sense of humor. Every time a bottom was all strung up this guy would come up real close to speak to him.
"How'd they feel? Have you ever considered castration?" he asked with a smile as he fondled the bottom's balls. He fished into a pocket and produced a vicious looking knife. The bottom blanched. "You'd hardly feel it. Well perhaps you would, but not for too long."
"No, no way!" said the bottom shaking his head.
"Well would you let me take just one of them? You wouldn't miss one, and you know the other one always grows bigger to compensate." At this point Bernie saw the knife and let out a shriek. "My God! Are you mad? Get away from him!" His voice was shrill. The man in black just laughed and holding the knife out he bent the blade over, it was made of rubber. "That's a bloody fool thing to do!" he said clearly rattled. "Oh relax for fucks sake..." Then turning away he added, "Some people just can't take a joke." He worked his way around the bound figures making witty remarks to the tops. "Why don't you do this... What about doing that to them..." He was a character, I felt I'd like to get to know him, but wasn't sure just how to approach him. Eventually I decided that I'd seen enough and was about to leave when Bernie, who had been hovering like a mother hen, came over to Richard and I.
"Now," he said, "you two don't seem to be getting in the action." It was the understatement of the evening. He called a top over, we were led up on to the stage.
Once we were up there my hopes, and my cock, started to rise. The top stood us facing each other, real close, touching each other. I felt Richard's cock rising strongly against my stomach, my own was pushing right back at him. The top reached between us and grabbed our cocks in one hand then started to wind a cord round and round, starting from the base up, tying them tightly together. Things were suddenly looking up! Once our cocks were bound the top told us to spread our legs wide. In this position he tied my right ankle to Richard's left one, then wound the rope on up our legs, again in a series of knotted loops. He did the same to our other legs, then bound our bodies together from our asses to our shoulders. Our cocks had swelled up a lot since they were tied, the cord was real tight now and I could feel the wetness of Richards pre-cum spreading down from my stomach to my thighs. He was getting wet too because whilst all this was going on I was fantasizing about what was coming. Our legs were wide apart, two pairs of balls were readily available to all these tops, we were going to suffer for sure. Richard's face was very close, our cheeks were touching. Before the AIDS crisis we'd have been kissing long and deep whilst we were secured, now we could only enjoy the feel of our cocks flexing against each other.
By the time we were all trussed up quite a few of the other guys were standing around watching. Now I thought they're going to put us through an initiation ceremony. Maybe each of the members would be allowed to take a turn at using us. I just knew it was going to be good. Then I felt the knots being pulled apart! Two minutes later the two of us were standing looking at each other. Richard was as surprised as I was. We both decided that we'd seen enough, I asked if he'd like to come back to my hotel room and beat each other off. And I mean beat. There was so much pent up frustration he was only too happy to come. I savaged his balls as I jerked him off and he did the same for me.
After that first visit I really didn't think I'd be going to another Bondage Club meeting, but ... The next time I was in NYC was exactly four weeks later, second Wednesday of the month. First I checked my mail box, no responses from the personal ads I'd replied to. Bought some magazines, one or two promising personals, but none with phone numbers, only mail boxes. I thought about the Bondage Club meeting. I wasn't particularly interested, but at least I'd get to see some cocks and balls, maybe it would be better this time. I remembered the guy in black leather, if he was there maybe I could get talking to him. That thought turned me on some, and since I hadn't anything better to do I decided to go to the meeting.
This time I wasn't so punctual. There were quite a few guys there when I arrived, but not the guy in leather. Everyone was admiring a rack that someone had constructed for the club. It was made from two-by-fours, stained dark brown and black, it looked old and worn. It was about eight foot long with a flat bed for the victim to lie on, and a large windlass with wooden spokes to tighten up the rope. It really was very well done and I got hard just looking at it. Eventually it was time to lock the door, time to strip, still no man in black. I was in some doubt about stripping completely this time, especially when I saw that quite a few kept their shorts on, but what the hell, I was hoping for sex so I let it all hang out, or perhaps I should say stick out. A few minutes later as we were gathering around the rack there was a furious hammering at the door. There was a look of panic on the faces. Bernie, our 'leader', pulled on a pair of jeans and opened the door just a crack. I heard a familiar voice, in strode the man I was hoping to meet.
"Cops!" he was saying as he strode past Bernie. "In this city? In this Village in this city? Do you think they give a fuck about a few bare ass gay men? Don't give me that crap!" Bernie was not pleased, I was delighted.
Now it was time for a volunteer to be racked. I would have loved to be the one, but as a new boy I was reluctant to step forward. Bernie's side kick decided he'd be the first, climbed up on to the flat bed and lay down. He still had his shorts on, big, baggy, boxer shorts.
'Surely he'll take them off,' I thought. His hands were tied above his head. 'He can't do it now, but surely someone else will pull them off.' No one did.
Once the hands were tied his legs were secured with a broad leather strap, the rope from the windlass was attached to the strap.
"Never mind his ankles," said the man in black, 'tie the rope to his balls! That'll get his attention." He was smiling, maybe it was a jest, but then again maybe not.
Now it was time for the torture to begin, my cock was leaking steadily. To my surprise, although on reflection I shouldn't have been surprised, it was the man on the rack who directed the tightening.
"OK," he said. "Take up the slack. A bit more... Oh wait... OK take it up a bit...No not too much...Slacken off a bit..." That's the way it went until he was nice and comfortable. I doubt that his cock even stirred, if it did it was well hidden by those voluminous pants. After five minutes he asked to be released. As the next 'victim' climbed up on the rack I heard a voice by my shoulder.
"Well!" said the man in black, "He sure looked like he suffered!" He had moved while I was watching the racking and was now looking down at my cock. "You look like want a go."
"Yeah...well I guess it might be good, but I'd want to go a bit further than he did." I knew he was interested, I was whetting his appetite.
"So...you'd like to be stretched out would you?" His hand reached out to feel my balls.
"Yes," I said turning towards him to give him what he wanted.
"Well we don't need that contraption. Why don't I just get a couple of ropes? See what we can do?" He was now working quite hard on my balls, but I made no attempt to stop him.
"Sure, let's do it," I said.
He pulled a few lengths of rope out of the 'toy box', then led me to a long low bench or form, the sort of thing you find in schools, about six foot long, eighteen inches across.
"Lie down, make yourself comfortable," he said with a smile.
"I don't want to be made comfortable," I replied. I knew I was pushing it, but what the hell!
He tied my ankles together under the bench, that meant that my legs were well spread. He took my hands, raised them above my head, then tied them with a rope that went under the bench. That's all it took, two minutes and two short pieces of rope and I was in heaven waiting for hell.
"By the way," he said, "My name's Tom." It seemed ridiculous, introductions before torture.
"David," I replied simply. But I wanted more from him, I wanted his full name, phone number and address. I knew I'd get that before the evening was out if he enjoyed himself now.
He was good with his hands, knew exactly the right spots to apply the pressure to the testes. He also used his belt, folded in half, it made a splendid noise as the two layers of leather snapped together as they cracked into my balls. Much more noise than pain actually, and soon we had most of the group standing around the bench. I was in seventh heaven, not only was I getting the beating I craved, it was out in the open with an audience. I could see the looks ranging from incredulity to envy. Some unable to believe that any man would allow this to be done to his most precious jewels, others wishing for the same treatment. I can still remember the feeling as I came under the gaze of all those men. Pure vanity, but just beautiful.
Tom asked me to call him next time I was in town. That is the next episode...