I had been invited to go with Tom and Brian to a beach in New Jersey...a nudist beach. Oh Lord did I want to go! But as I explained the chances were slim to nil. All that week I was rostered for a series of reserve duties at home. I could be sent anywhere, or nowhere, depending on the weather, flight delays, and God I suppose. And apart from that, our layovers were normally 24 hours, with a pick-up time at either 4 or 5 p.m. No way could I go to a beach in New Jersey and be back in time for work. I explained all this, but said I'd call if things changed and by some miracle I was going to be in town. Well you know miracles do happen, sometimes. Someone went sick, I was called in, it was a 48 hour layover, rather than the usual 24 hours, I couldn't believe my luck.
The following Saturday I had to take a flight to Chicago then dead-head down to JFK, i.e. as a passenger. I called Tom from O'Hare to see if the trip to the beach was still on. It was.
"I'll pick you up at seven, don't over-sleep!" he said.
Over-sleeping wasn't a problem, the phone would wake the dead, getting to sleep was something else. It seemed like only minutes after I dozed off that the phone snapped me back to life. I grabbed a quick buffet breakfast downstairs and as I came out of the front door at two minutes to seven I saw the Jaguar XKS drophead with the hood down turn the corner of 57th Street. It was Tom. He was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of shorts, miniature dumbbells through each nipple linked together with a chain, nothing else, not even sandals.
"Howya doin?" he called out cheerfully rolling to a stop. "You look a bit overdressed for a nudist beach!" I was wearing a tee-shirt, shorts and sneakers. The door-keep was standing at the edge of the curb, He saw me every time I was in the hotel, I didn't dare look his way, but he must have heard. "Peel off," Tom said as I climbed in. It was a beautiful September day, warm, clear blue sky, but somehow it seemed odd stripping off my shirt on 7th Avenue in Midtown. Just twenty feet ahead a stop-light was red, but Tom insisted, the shirt had to come off. As we moved off down the Avenue Tom slipped his hand past the elastic waistband of my shorts.
"Just checking to see that you brought everything along," he said with a laugh, obviously in very good form.
"Oh yes, it's all here. All in good working order," I assured him.
"Hmmm...feels good, let's have it out." He pulled the elastic down exposing everything, but when he moved his hand the material slipped back up. "Take them off!" he said. "Go on...you're not going to need them today. Get them off!"
"But...Hey hang on." Tom was pulling at the shorts and the car was weaving. At 42nd, still on 7th Avenue, we were stopped again at a red light. "Lift your ass," he said, "they've got to come off!" There were only a few pedestrians crossing, but there were cars, vans, taxis all around us. I could see that if Tom didn't get his way he'd do something totally outrageous so I eased my shorts down to my knees. "ALL the way! RIGHT OFF! Give 'em to me!"
At this point the lights went green and as we raced off I slipped the shorts off. Tom insisted on taking them. He held them up in the wind waving them like a flag. "Now, keep your hands out of the way. If I see you even try to cover up they'll go overboard!" I knew he would too. "That's better," he added as I moved my hands down to the sides of the seat. "Now put the seat back, way back, I don't want you hunching forward to spoil the view."
I hesitated, he waved the shorts, I reclined the seat-back. I was totally exposed with my cock sticking up like a small flagpole. In a less conspicuous car I'd have felt less exposed, but a bright red XKS turns heads! I shut my eyes as we hurtled south. I know that every head we passed must have turned, but I wasn't looking. I heard several shouts, a couple of horn blasts, whether I'd been seen I didn't know, didn't want to know. When I felt the car turn hard right I opened my eyes, we were turning into the Holland tunnel.
'Thank you God,' I thought, 'We're out of Manhattan and haven't been stopped by the cops.' About five seconds after we came out of the tunnel I saw the toll booths.
"Jesus Tom, give me my shorts!" But it was way too late, he was doing sixty until he hit the brakes and we were at the barrier in seconds. In those few seconds my cock wilted, I shut my eyes again. We were at the toll booth for the best part of an hour, at least that's what it felt like. I heard Tom fishing for quarters in an ashtray.
"You want a receipt?" asked a woman's voice.
"Yes please." I couldn't believe it! He had this naked man in the car beside him, she was looking down from four feet above, and he wanted a receipt!
"I reckon you're gonna have a nice day," she said laconically. Tom was laughing heartily as he slowly eased the car away.
The relief as we headed down I-95 was incredible. My cock recovered, Tom used it as a gear-shift, the heat of the rising sun warmed my skin, all was well until Tom swung the car off the main road. We were going west, the nearest beach of any kind in this direction was several days away.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To pick up Brian...Elizabeth, New Jersey...that's where he lives."
My heart sank, we were headed into traffic, stop-lights, pedestrians. Sure enough there was a red light right at a bus stop, I closed my eyes again. Brian's house was set well back from the street, a Jeep Cherokee in front of the garage. At last I felt able to relax, we'd surely be going on in the Jeep, I'd be out of sight in that. No way! Brian as I told you is quite small, except for his dick that is, he wanted to ride in the Jag. Worse, he insisted on riding in the small rear seat. He loaded up some ice-filled bags full of food. Tom had brought another with wine which was already in the trunk. We set off again me still exposed in the front passenger seat. It didn't take too long from Brian's place, no built up areas, no stop lights. My only worry was the speed at which Tom was driving, seldom below ninety, often over a hundred. My only hope was that he'd give me my shorts in time to pull them on if a cop got on our tail, but I wasn't sure that he would.
We swung off the main road, turned left on a minor one and arrived at the State Park entrance, luckily there was no one at the Ranger's station as we went by. The first parking lot at the beach was already full. That annoyed Tom, it was the one closest to the gay end of the beach. The second was full too, we had to go on to the third. We'd come several hundred yards from the first car park, a lot of cars meant a lot of people. Even I could work it out, a lot of them were between us and where we wanted to be. Even in this park we had to park about five rows back from the sand. Once we'd stopped Tom handed me back my shorts.
"Put them on," he said. I was surprised, it seemed a bit ridiculous since we'd made it to the nudist beach, but we were surrounded by families so I wasn't about to argue. At least I could wear them as we walked back to the gay area. "Naked is okay on the sand, but here in the car park it's an offence!"
"You're kidding." I couldn't believe it.
"Nope! With both feet on the sand you can let it all hang out: put one foot in the parking lot and the law will be all over you. Isn't this a great country?" I wasn't about to knock the country, but it did seem absurd.
At this point Brian announced that he had to go and do something, I can't remember what, but he pushed off on his own in the opposite direction from the gay area. Tom opened the trunk. He handed me the large bag with the drinks, it must have weighed fifty pounds, luckily it had a shoulder strap which I slipped over my left shoulder. He hauled out a huge blue, plastic tarp which he tucked under my left arm. Two smaller cotton rugs were rolled up and stuck under my right arm, then he hung the plastic food bag on my right shoulder. It was quite a load. Tom carried two small, zipped bags, one I could see contained books and magazines, the other was closed. As we set off I felt like a donkey being led by its owner.
Once Tom stepped on to the sand at the edge of the car park he put down one of his bags and pulled off his shorts. He was quite a sight, silver studs and rings flashed in the sunlight. As well as the dumbbells through each nipple he had three rings in his cock, one in the piss-slit and two through the head, one either side of the urethra: three more silver rings were set down the center line of his scrotum. As I said there were families with kids, and straight couples all around us, didn't bother him in the slightest.
"Why don't you strip?" he asked. Then seeing that I couldn't because of the stuff I was carrying he added, "Here...Let me help."
"No really...it's OK. I'll just keep going till we get there then I'll strip." I was glad of the load, there's no way I could have walked bollock naked past those kids.
We walked quite a way. After the family area we passed the adult straight area, mostly couples, but quite a few parties of six, eight or ten. There were some stunning bodies, male and female. That's the advantage of being bisexual! Some were playing ball, some with Frisbees, all had lovely soft bits swinging and bouncing. We pressed on, it was easy to see when we'd reached the gay area. The men were preening themselves and their partners, they had their mirrors out, combing beautiful hair, oiling each other sensuously, in short they were gorgeous. Still we pressed on, I didn't know what we were looking for, but there had to be some reason.
"This'll do," Tom announced, though the spot didn't look any different from any other spot in the last four hundred yards. It wasn't as though we had got away from the crowd, there were couples just a three or four yards to either side. I didn't argue, I was exhausted.
We were at the back of the beach if you know what I mean, a hundred yards from the water, behind us were sand dunes and scrub pine trees. We spread the tarp, then the rugs, put the food and drink on the edge. I had noticed the attention that Tom had attracted as we walked along. When he settled down on the rug I realized, or at any rate believed that every eye within fifty feet was looking at me. I busied myself arranging, or pretending to arrange. There's not many ways to arrange the few things we'd brought, it was time to strip. I was hard of course, probably the only full erection on the whole length of the beach, but if I'd waited until nightfall it wouldn't have gone down. God, how I wished my cock would just settle down, hang limp and casual like all those guys around us! I decided that there was no point in trying to hide it, if I let them see it all maybe they'd get bored, and eventually I'd get soft. There was a tanker headed into the Verrazano Narrows, I pulled down my shorts and stood with my legs apart, cock pointing up at forty five degrees pretending to be fascinated. Sure enough once I'd been checked out I was ignored. Soon Brian appeared.
"So, let's see them..." he said to Tom.
"See what?"
"The photographs!"
"Oh, shit, I left them in the car." Then Tom brightened. "David, you'll have to go back to the car!"
"What for?" I asked, we weren't into a Top/Bottom scene so I felt I could ask. "Need you to get some pictures from the car," he said holding out the keys of the Jag. I reached for my shorts. "You don't need them, you look great just the way you are."
I was dismayed. I thought about all those straights, and the families. "But you said the car park was off limits, that you had to wear clothes."
"Well so what! You like to take chances don't you? Why else do you risk your balls?"
"But..."
"Don't argue... You look good, show 'em what you got. Just do it! It's a dare!" I admit I was turned on by the thought, but I was scared too. My mind was thinking rapidly, I reckoned I could go back most of the way through the sand dunes. I must have looked in that direction because he added, "You can't get through that way, it's fenced off, you'll have to stay on the beach." I set off rather unhappily down the beach. "And keep your hands off your balls!" he shouted after me loudly enough for everyone within a hundred feet to hear.
I felt certain that every pair of eyes were watching me, of course that simply wasn't true, but that's what I thought. I went down towards the water thinking that there'd be fewer people down there. And in the gay area that was true, most guys were preening themselves and perfecting their tans. But heading back towards the car park I could see that there were dozens of people at the water's edge. I was most worried about the family area, didn't want trouble with an angry father. However, by the time I got near the picnicking families I didn't have to worry about my cock, most of them were too busy stuffing their mouths with food to notice just one more naked guy going by. I made it to the edge of the car park without any trouble, then I waited. This lot was now full of cars so there weren't many people about, they'd mostly gone down to the beach, but every time I was about to launch myself across the vast distance to Tom's car someone would appear out of nowhere either heading towards me or a car. I watched and waited for the longest time. I saw a Park Ranger's SUV drive slowly around the lot. My heart rate soared, but I knew that once the ranger was out of sight it would be the best time to go. A quick dash I thought, in and out. I set off in a rush only to be stopped immediately, the ground was gravel, and sharp! All I could do was to hobble forward wondering if I'd be able to throw myself down under a car should the ranger return. Not a happy prospect! I had thought that once I got to the car I'd be able to hide for while, perhaps wait until the ranger had cruised by again. I opened the door and threw myself gratefully into the privacy, but of course the hood was still down, the leather seat seared my ass and I leapt out again. The package was in the very small trunk, I found it and set off at a fast hobble. I made it unseen, at least not by the law. Winston Churchill once said, "There's nothing so exhilarating as being shot at and missed." Well I'd been missed and I was pretty damned exhilarated. I walked quickly back through the family area, so quickly that it was all that I could do to avoid breaking into a run. I didn't go down to the water's edge just made a bee-line for the gay area.
Tom saw me coming. "Well...Look who's here!" I dropped down on the mat beside him. "Congratulations boy! I really didn't think you'd do it."
"You mean I had a choice?" I asked.
"Sure you did...all you had to say was 'fuck you!" But I knew you'd like the challenge."
'Shit! Shit! Shit!' that's what I thought.
Brian was, probably still is, one of the organizers of the Chicago Hellfire Club's week-long orgy of sex and pain. He opened the package of photographs and spread them out on the mat. They were large prints, eight by ten, full colour, obviously been taken by a professional, the lighting was just right, focus crystal clear. The first ones were of group scenes which weren't of any interest to me. You know what it's like when you're shown pictures of a party. If you weren't at it, and don't know the people, it doesn't matter how good the party was it just isn't interesting. The only thing that kept me interested in fact was that the men were all either completely naked or wore vestigial leather outfits, and there were some excellent close-ups of crotches. Eventually we came to shots of three guys being tied to upright frames, legs apart, arms spread out to the sides. The frames were set in a circle with the 'victims' facing inwards so that each could see the other two. They were all naked as you would expect. The close-ups of their genitals showed that they were all well hung, all very hard. As we leafed through the pile we came to shots of the start of the whipping.
"Now you can see in this one," Brian explained, "six tops worked on these guys. These three used cats, these ones had bull-whips. The cats were used to get the bottoms fired up, through the pain barrier. As you can see here there's nice blush to the skin, nice and red. Now in this shot you see they're using the bull-whips. Look, you can see the difference straight away. See the welts!"
It was awful. In the next few shots the backs of the three men were literally shredded. It was just like a scene from a movie about the navy in the eighteenth century, blood all over their backs. If it wasn't for the fact that Brian and Tom had been present at the whipping I would have said that the photographs were fakes. The last ones in this series was of the three bottoms being taken down, and the most amazing thing to me was that they still had erections as they were laid on stretchers to be taken away.
There were a lot more shots of pain and torture, I'll tell you about some that I can still see clearly in my mind even now of two guys being 'mummified'. That's what Brian called it, and it is a very good description. Two bottoms were lying on trestle tables, their arms were down their sides, palms flat against their thighs, legs together. They were then wrapped in bandages, starting down at their feet and working upwards. Both had erections. One of them had his cock covered by the wrappings, but the neck of his scrotum was tightly bandaged and his balls left out in the open. The other one had his both his cock and balls left out. They were gagged, wax plugs were put in their ears, their heads were covered in swimming caps then bandaged too leaving just a small hole at the nostrils. At this stage it looked like an elaborate and interesting 'scene', but then strips of bandage soaked in Plaster of Paris were laid over the prone bodies. Masses of strips, lashings of plaster, soon they were encased. One had his cock sticking straight up out of the white mass, his balls, nice big ones, in a very long sac were lying loose on the rock hard surface. The other had only his balls visible, held in a tight bunch by the wrappings and the plaster. It was all I could do to look at these images. It wasn't that they were going to be tortured that bothered me, that's why the genitals had been left out in the open, but the thought of being encased in plaster unable to move, not even twist or squirm a bit, that made me feel sort of queasy.
"Isn't that very risky?" I asked. "Suppose he choked, or had a heart attack or something?"
"Oh...we'd have got them out pretty quick," was Tom's laconic reply. "We had all the cutting gear right there."
"Well maybe, but how long is pretty quick? I mean you'd only have a minute or so if he choked."
"They weren't there to eat a meal you know. There wasn't anything for them to choke on."
"Actually the biggest problem is the heat," said Brian. "As the plaster sets it gets hot. So this whole process took quite a while, they could easily have overheated if we'd done it too quickly."
When we came to the shots of the torture it wasn't possible to see how they were suffering in the static photographs, no facial expressions, no straining muscles. They poured hot candle wax all over the exposed flesh. Of course it hurt, but there was no visible agony, just genitals covered in wax. They put a couple of dozen vicious looking clamps with little teeth on every bit of skin they could get hold of. The proud penis, still hard, had a sound forced down the urethra. Although it wasn't obvious from the shots Tom told me that they'd worked up to the largest available, one centimeter in diameter. The cock was till hard when they pulled it out. Then there were spring loaded clamps, heavy duty things that woodworkers use to clamp wood when gluing. I've looked at those things in hardware stores. Even wondered about using them on my own balls. I tried one on my hand, the fleshy bit of muscle at the base of the thumb, but it was way too much for me. Yet these guys had one on each testicle, and the testicles were virtually cut in two by the pressure of the jaws. I wanted to scream just looking at the picture. Eventually we came to something I recognized, the ball clamp that Brian had used on my testicles. On looking closer I saw that the hand in the picture was wearing the same ring that Brian wore.
"Is that you and the clamp you used on me?" I asked Brian.
"Yes," he confirmed. "It was the first time I'd tried it."
"But the screw, it's almost all the way in..."
"Yes..." he mused. "Almost all the way ..." He obviously had fond memories of torturing those balls. "But see this one... even further... right into the middle of his nut!" This was the guy who's balls were tied up tight. "Can you imagine what that's like?" he asked. I couldn't.
The next shot of this guy was a close-up of his balls. The testicles had swollen quite a bit since the first shots were taken, they now looked about the size of duck eggs. In the next shot there was what looked like a black night-stick resting on the balls, not crushing them, just laying on them. Next came an action shot, the night-stick blurred as it swung down on the testicles.
"Jesus! What's that thing made of?" I asked.
"Rubber, solid black rubber," Tom replied.
"How hard is it?"
"About the same as a baseball bat." He said it casually. Just an average baseball bat. He turned to the next shot, the bat connecting solidly with the balls!
'Fucking hell!' I thought, there was nothing to say. There were several of these shots, the blurred bat coming down on the naked balls. The skin split open during the beating, the white plaster turned to red. The last was taken from a point right opposite the batsman, almost on a level with the suffering balls. It was a close-up again, caught the moment that the bat impacted fully on the balls. It had slammed right down to the plaster, the meat of the testes spread up both sides of the shiny black rubber, there was blood everywhere.
"Surely a man's balls can't take this sort of treatment? Didn't that destroy them?" I wondered aloud.
"Yes," said Tom.
"Do you mean, 'Yes they can take it,' or, 'Yes they were destroyed?'"
"They were destroyed." That's all he said.
"It's what he wanted," Brian added hastily. "It wasn't a spur of the moment thing. It was just a question of when, and where, and how it would be done. When he heard that this other guy was going to be mummified at the Hellfire meeting he decided that that was the way he wanted to be castrated. He planned all the details, even brought the bat."
"So what happened to him after this?" I asked.
"Oh he was whisked into hospital to have it all taken care of. One of our members is a surgeon so there were no questions asked." I was left completely speechless.
About this time I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd both burst out laughing at my consternation, that this was all an elaborate hoax. But they didn't. There were lots more shots of bodies tied to racks, hanging from hooks, laid out on trestles. These were general torture, nothing compared to the ball beating. After we'd gone right through the pile Brian saw that my cock was not only hard, it was dripping steadily.
"Ah!" he said. "I've got something I'd like to try on you." My concern must have shown, which wasn't surprising after what I'd just seen. "No, no... It's nothing like that." He searched in the toy bag and came up with what looked like a two inch long section of heavy bronze pipe. "Take a look at this," he said handing the thing to me.
On closer inspection I saw that it wasn't a piece of tubing, it had been machined out of a billet of bronze. It was beautifully made, satin finish, about two inches in diameter. The walls were not a constant thickness like a tube, but were thickest in the middle, tapering thinner at each end. I was also surprised by the weight, could have been half a pound which gave it a very pleasing substantial feel, but I wasn't sure what to make of it. The diameter was too large for it to be a stretcher, most balls would slip out, yet it wasn't a cock ring either.
"It's beautiful, but what exactly is it?" I asked.
"Come here...Lie back and spread your legs."
I did as I was told. Brian pulled my left ball through the ring. The right one was a bit more difficult, they were slippery with sun-tan lotion, but he got it through with a bit of pleasurable struggling. They felt good with the weight of it hanging on them. It was a fairly tight fit, but not as tight as a stretcher. Next he took hold of my cock and bent it over trying to get the head wedged into the ring.
"No, no, no," I protested quietly trying not to draw the attention of the guys around us to what was going on. "It won't go in like that, you'll never get it in."
"Just lie still, it won't break." Brian wasn't bothered about the guys around us, at least a dozen faces turned towards us. He moved to kneel on my left side to give them a better look.
The struggle went on for the longest time. Brian kept telling me to relax. But having my cock twisted and bent in front of an audience there was no way it was going to soften. He squirted some suntan lotion on to the head, that helped, but it made it harder for him to keep a grip on the shaft. He then crushed the head between his thumb and fore finger. That hurt and my penis wilted a little which enabled him to force it under the edge of the ring.
"OK, just a bit more and I'll get a grip on the head," he said cheerfully. He was enjoying this, to tell the truth so was I. Once he'd got enough of the head through he used a towel to get a grip on it and pulled hard. My penis was extruded through the ring like toothpaste coming out of a tube! Man, it felt as good as it looked. And looking at it made it swell and swell. Soon my cock looked bigger than I'd ever seen it, and my balls were bunched close up under the curving shaft. Now I didn't mind who was looking, it was just fine with me.
"There's no way you're going to get this thing off." I said.
"Don't worry, I'll get it off, but not for a long time yet."
We lay for a while soaking up the warmth of the sun. The beach is just across the water from Coney Island and when JFK traffic is landing on runway 13 R & L the flights from Europe, and the North East generally, are taken on radar on a long loop south of the airport, then around to the west to make a final approach from the northwest. This track takes them up the Verrazano Narrows just off the New Jersey coast. At this point they are descending from 2500 feet to 1100 at the final turn. As we lay there I saw two of our 747's come by, so close that I could easily read the registration. What, I wondered, would my colleagues have thought if they'd been able to see me now? Naked, surrounded by naked queers! And definitely going to have sex with them! All this time Tom had been reading the magazines he'd brought, all the regular leather and s&m publications and some thin paper-back books too. After Brian was through with me I looked at the books. They were the most unutterable trash. I was amazed that anyone as educated and articulate as Tom would waste his money on them. (Brian later told me that Tom had season tickets to everything in the Lincoln Center.) One was about an American college kid who was sent on vacation to his Uncle Vlad who lived in a castle in Transylvania. (Wouldn't it have to be Vlad? And Transylvania!) All cocks were at least a foot and a half long, all balls the size of ostrich eggs, all ass holes were begging to be fucked, including the virgin college kid. Worst of all was the dialog which would have been embarrassing if it had been written by a ten year old. Brian and I started to tease Tom about his taste in reading matter, but surprisingly Tom didn't take kindly to being teased, he really seemed to enjoy the books.
I had a look through 'Dungeon Master', a magazine that I'd always thought of as "far out". It seemed quite tame after what I'd just seen in the photos. While I was reading Brian decided that I needed some sun cream on my back, maybe it would be more accurate to say on my backside. I thought of the time in Ostia when I'd got the young Italian guy to rub cream on my back. (I wrote about that in Gay Temples in the Encounters Archive). I'd come a long way since then. That day I'd hoped that I'd get sex with some guy, any guy! Now I was with two real hard tops, and I was certain that my cock and balls would be tortured before the day was out. Brian did spread some lotion around my shoulders, rapidly moved down my back, then lingered the longest time on my butt. He really seemed to like my butt, his fingers traced the crease, slipping further in at each pass. Needless to say I didn't resist, I lifted my hips, spread my ass and did everything I could to encourage him to go further and further in. First it was one finger, then two, finally three. My balls were being squashed by the massive metal ring, my hole was being probed, I was being watched by so many guys, in short I was in heaven!
"I'm going to come," I said quietly. "I've got to come!"
"Don't you dare! Not without permission, not till I say!" Brian whipped his fingers out and slapped my ass so hard that it really hurt. That stopped the flow instantly.
"But Sir," I said slipping into the slave's roll. "Please Sir, my balls are aching so badly. I beg you Sir, please let me come." My cock head was a dark purple color and the veins stood out on the swollen shaft. My balls too had now swollen so much that they were getting painful. I really did need relief.
Brian rolled me on to my back and looked at my genitals. "I think it's time we went for a walk."
"Oh yes Sir! Thank you Sir!" To my mind that meant relief was at hand.
"But you understand that I'll want more later?"
"Oh yes Sir," I'd have agreed to anything if it would release the pressure in my balls.