My apologies for taking so long to continue the saga... and thanks to all who wrote asking for more. It was "Due to technical difficulties..." as we say in the airline industry. In my case due to a hard drive failure. It seems that I haven't been making it clear that this is not fiction, not even an embellished version of the truth, it's just my story, as it happened.
Eventually Vincent came back to the city. He had written to tell me of each and every man he'd been with while he was away, and each letter ended with the reassuring post script, "No exchange of fluids." I had written to him too, and added the same post script, but although I'd been able to receive his letters while he was in Europe all my letters were waiting for him when he got back to the city. Of course I knew to the minute when he'd be back and had I called him to let him know my schedule. I wasn't going to be in NYC for three weeks, but he told me to expect a hard beating. How Lord how the time dragged by! Eventually the day dawned, the weather forecast for the New York area was terrible, but expected to clear later, so that meant a delay of a couple of hours before we set off for JFK. Naturally whilst enroute we check the weather repeatedly, it was up and down, the knot in my stomach tightened and relaxed. My luck held, we landed late, but at least we hadn't had to divert. The first thing I did when I reached my room was to call Vincent.
"You just get in?" he asked.
"Yes Sir!" I said, "Just this minute Sir!"
"How soon can you get here?"
"When do you want me Sir?" I asked. Normally Vincent would have dinner before I arrived at his apartment at 8pm sharp.
"Right now Boy!" And it was an order that I was more than happy to obey.
I took the fastest shower, just long enough to make sure that I was squeaky clean, then down to the lobby. I took a cab even though I usually walked, fifteen minutes walking was way too long! I'd say it was no more than fifteen minutes from the time I'd called until I was in his apartment. As usual the things he wanted me to put on were waiting for me in his lobby. There was a VHS tape of an S&M session playing on the TV in the lounge, a very harsh whipping seemed to be in progress, and the odd words I could make out were in German. Doubtless Vincent had bought it on his trip, I hoped it would inspire him to inflict a really good beating. I looked at the things he had left in the lobby for me to put on, ankle and wrist cuffs, and the broad, black slave collar with the silver studs. There was what looked like a narrow stretcher, only an inch wide, it wouldn't even stretch my sac and I don't have low hanging balls. But it was quite short so it was pretty tight by the time I'd wrapped it around and fastened the press stud. And there was a new whip lying coiled on the carpet. It wasn't as long as a bull-whip, maybe four feet long, with a tassel of thin leather strips at the end clearly he intended to use it on me. There was a big mirror in the lobby, I looked at my reflection and thought about the very first night I'd come to Vincent's apartment, that had been so good, this night I hoped was going to be even better. I pulled on the black leather blindfold, and knelt down with my hands clasped behind my head to wait.
Vincent moved soundlessly, the first thing I sensed was a smell of leather, and my own breath blowing back against my cheeks, he was standing immediately in front of me. He had always come up from behind and moved my hands down behind my back to secure them by clipping the two wrist cuffs together. But this time he hadn't done that, my hands were still just clasped behind my head. I guessed that he wanted to do it differently, I didn't move.
"Take it off Boy!" he said. I knew what he meant, and leaned forward, tasted the leather, took it in my teeth. It was a very neat fit, tight around his waist, I had considerable difficulty getting a grip on it and pulling it down. As I struggled to get the jock-strap off I expected to feel the sting of a paddle on my ass, or sometimes he'd use a whip, but nothing happened. As the leather came gradually down his cock sprang free, he had a real good erection! Once past his cock the strap came away more easily and I dragged it down to his ankles. Again when I was bent right over I expected the pain, still nothing. "Kneel up Boy!" I straightened up. I felt Vincent's hands on each side of my face, almost as though he was going to bend down and kiss me. "Open up!" I opened my mouth and he thrust his fat cock straight into my mouth. Now his cock isn't all that long, but it is thick, and the head is magnificent, flaring, reddish purple, the colour and size of ripe plum, and it jammed in the back of my throat. I struggled not to gag, just about had it under control when he started to fuck my mouth. "Hold me Boy!" he snapped. I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do and there was no way that I could ask, so I took his ass in my hands and waited for him to say something. "Pull me in...hard!" I pulled at his ass in time with his thrusting, believe me I have taken bigger cocks down my throat, but Vincent's was more of a challenge than most of them. He thrust, and I pulled, harder and harder, I could feel his balls against my chin. The gag reflex was long gone by this time and he was getting way down my throat. Then, and this really took me by surprise, my mouth was filled to overflowing with his semen. So much semen, it just flowed and flowed.
When at last he stopped thrusting I had a chance to think about what had happened, and wonder why he'd chosen to come this way, and so soon, something he'd never done before.
"Oh Boy..." he said quietly, "I really needed that!" He stood there for a minute or two with his cock shrinking in my mouth, then snapped out of it. "Now it's time for you to take a beating...and I need to do that too!"
When he had regained his breath he told me to stand up, then turned me around and guided me into the lounge. The sound on the TV made me wish I could see what was being done to some lucky bottom, but I didn't manage to get a glimpse. He stopped me somewhere in the middle of the room, then I felt something smooth and cool against my balls, but couldn't make out what it was. Vincent pulled my balls up and over this cool object. Now I sensed that it was a bar, not cold enough to be metal, so probably wooden. When I felt the legs of a chair against my feet I knew that I was standing at the back of one of his kitchen chairs, bent-wood I think they're called. I felt him winding a cord, or perhaps a leather thong, around the neck of my scrotum and over the bar, around and around so that my balls were stretched and held very tightly against it. Next he used a cord to pull my rigid cock up and hold it flat against my stomach. I guessed why he'd done that, to give himself a clear shot at my balls! Then he went to work with the Nutcracker, the small Plexiglas hammer I'd given him! Oh Lord that was sooooo painful! There was no slack at all, my nuts couldn't swing with the blows, couldn't so much as move, and since they were so closely bound to the wood it was like having the front and back beaten at the same time. I knew if he kept this up I too was going to come way too soon.
"Oh Sir!" I gasped, "I'll come Sir! I can't help it Sir!"
"Yes..." he said as he continued to hit. "You can come...but you're going to come again... And again maybe." This was the good news and the bad news all at once. It was good to know that I could come, but I'd been up and on the go for about 18 hours at this stage so to come again later in the evening, and a third time...well that would be a challenge. And as Vincent went on hammering at my nuts I realized that he had learned to be a lot harder during his trip to Europe.
"Sir! " I said, "I'm coming Sir!" I felt his mouth close over my cock so he must have been kneeling on the far side of the chair, then his thumbs went to work on my balls, around and around he crushed them as his mouth sucked expertly. My legs were trembling as he drained every drop.
Eventually he released my balls and guided me through to the doorway where I knew he'd make me swing the weights from my balls. He strung me up as always, ankles secured to the ring-bolts at the bottom of the door frame, wrists to another set in the centre overhead. I felt him fiddling with my balls, I knew what was coming. He had always started this phase of torture with a five pound weight, gradually increasing it to 25 pounds, the maximum he'd used, so that's what I expected. When he let the weight hang free it came as quite a shock, the full 25 pounds, and it seemed even more because my balls hadn't been worked on in a few weeks. Again it made me realize that sessions with Vincent were going to be harder than they used to be, much harder, and that thought made me harder too. Vincent had always used a parachute when he'd hung weights from my balls, this time he hung the weight from the ring at the back of the narrow collar so my balls weren't just pulled down, they were also tilted forward. I couldn't see them of course, but I could imagine exactly what they looked like, the skin pulled so tight that it was shiny. My cock was still tied up and out of the way, and since there was no leather parachute the testicles had to be clearly visible, a perfect target.
"Get it swinging!" he ordered. "Come on...swing it!" As I thrust with my hips he stung my ass with a paddle, that made me jolt, the weights wobbled, oh that was good! A moment later he jabbed hard at my balls with the pool cue, connected directly with the right one, right into the meat! I gasped. "Keep it going... Get it up... Swing it Boy!" The commands came thick and fast with a jab or a stinging snap of the paddle to encourage me to do better. Vincent walked silently around me as I swung the weight so I had no way of knowing where the next hit was coming from. Sometimes the cue would be jabbed into the back of a testicle, other times from the sides or front. And sometimes he'd use the paddle, when he smacked my balls from below it really made me jolt, the weight would spiral out of control wrenching my balls in all directions. In a very short time I was in a lot of trouble, but then I realized that this was the best treatment to re-fill my balls so that I could give him another good load. That thought helped me to get the swing going, and allowed me to take the jabs, even the hits from below with the paddle, those were hard, but good too. Once I had myself under control I managed to take it all, and keep the weight swinging. When Vincent saw it he laid into my balls with relish. Now he wasn't ordering me to get it going but saying things like, "That's it Boy... This is so good... Yes, you need this as much as I do!" If he'd kept it up much longer he'd have had his second lot of semen quite quickly, but all good beatings come to an end.
When Vincent released my arms and legs and guided me through to the bedroom there were more surprises. Firstly, although I still had the blindfold on I could tell from the chinks of light that leaked in around the edges, and at the side of my nose, that the room was brightly lit. In the past Vincent had taken Polaroid photos of our sessions, usually they were not as good as they might have been because the room was too dimly lit so I assumed that was why it was now so bright. And the second difference was that he guided me to the side of the bed. I'd always climbed up on to the bed from the bottom where there was no rail, just the mattress, and in the past there had always been a pile of pillows that I'd lay over to keep my ass high for whipping. This time I felt a firm but padded surface against my knees.
"Lie down Boy," Vincent said. I lay forward and realized that where I'd expected pillows there was a sort of padded, triangular box. The side against my thighs was shorter and steeper than the far side which was longer and sloped down at a much shallower angle. Lying over this thing my ass was much higher than when lying on the pillows. The longer slope under my upper body made it very comfortable because the padding was thick, and very firm. Vincent secured my right leg to the chain at the bottom of the bed, my left leg to the one at the top, then he secured my arms in the same way on the other side of the bed. He removed the collar that had held my balls trapped, and the cord that he'd tied around my waist freeing my cock, then reached under my body and pulled it back so that it lay hard against the padding right under my balls. Now I felt really good, my ass was wide open, I knew that he had a very good shot at it as well as my cock and balls. When Vincent took my balls in his fingers I shuddered in anticipation.
"These feel real soft," he said quietly. "Have you stripped off more hair than you used to?"
"Yes Sir," I said. "I did it yesterday so that they'd look and feel good for you."
"They looked good when they were stretched by the weights...and they feel good too. I'm going to give them a good whipping...you want that don't you Boy?"
"Oh yes Sir!" I murmured, I could feel my sphinctre and scrotum tingling with anticipation.
"I've bought a new whip...especially for you." With this he dragged a whip right up from between my legs, it slithered over my balls like a snake, up the crease and all the way up the length of my back. I could tell that this whip was longer than the one he'd used in the past, I guessed at about four feet which turned out to be about right. I shuddered again. The next thing I felt was Vincent pressing the little knot at the end of the whip against my sphinctre. "I'm going to start with twenty, but the only the strokes that will count are the ones when this knot gets you right here." He pressed the knot again, my hole twitched. "You will keep count, but you'll only count the direct hits on your hole, if you make a mistake I'll start over. And one more thing...keep your ass wide open. Understand?"
"Yes Sir!"
"If I see so much as a muscle twitch I'll start the count again."
"Yes Sir!" The next thing I felt was Vincent kissing my buns, something he'd done in the past, but only after I'd taken a good whipping. The first stroke sliced down one side of my crease before slashing into the depth. It was much harder than I expected, I twisted involuntarily as I called "One."
"Doesn't count! Didn't connect with your hole...and you moved! So now you're at minus one, that means you're going to take 21!"
"Yes Sir... I'm sorry Sir!" I realized that if I didn't pay attention, and hold my ass open, and still, I could end up taking a real hard whipping. The second stroke was right down the middle, harder than the first and the knot stung my hole. I managed to hold still, except for my head that is, couldn't help lifting my head, but I did hold my ass still and wide open.
"That one doesn't count either! When I say hold still I mean do not move a muscle, not any muscle! You will lie there and take what's coming or I'll keep starting over! Now do you understand?"
"Yes Sir!" I said yet again. I took a deep breath.
"So, it's still 21 to take." I knew I was in for a real whipping. Vincent started over again. He was not nearly as accurate as either Tom or Brian, a lot of the strokes missed the centre line of my crease. Even when he laid one right down the middle they mostly were laid too long so that the knot missed my hole. I called out each stroke that found the target, got to seven before I made the mistake of moving, not because of the whipping, just one leg was awkwardly twisted and I moved just a little. It was after I'd taken the stroke, but that didn't cut it.
"So...one more time... From the beginning!" By this time my ass was on fire, and the seven hits which had connected with my sphinctre had produced an especially hot spot. But there was no way that I was about to complain, I'd waited months for this and I really did want it. I took another four strokes before he scored a direct hit, then another, and another. I was up to three again. A few more strokes and he found the length again, and put another four on target. So now we were up to seven again when Vincent pulled the next one short, way short, the knot connected with the back of my left nut, and hard. I jerked, not so much because of the pain, but because not one of the strokes so far had gone for my balls so I had not expected it. "Boy you are going to be real sore by the time we're through with this..." Vincent said.
"Yes Sir! Thank you Sir!" What else could I say.
I completely lost track of the total number of strokes I took, but this time I did manage to hold totally still until Vincent had put the full compliment of 21 strokes right on target. My hole felt as though it had been reamed, and I don't mean with a tongue!
"Boy it would have been a lot easier on you butt if you'd just done what I told you to do. I've a good mind to start over just to teach you a lesson! What would you say to that Boy?"
"Sir if that's what you want to do Sir then of course I'll take whatever punishment you want to give me..." I said it, but I really hoped he wouldn't start over again. More whipping yes, but not concentrating on my sphinctre.
"Well Boy you're going to get more punishment. Fifty with the cat, same rule, you hold still."
"Yes Sir... Thank you Sir."
"You count them out." Again Vincent struck harder with the cat than he used to do. (He had struck pretty hard in the past, but he'd worked up to it. This time there was no ramping up the punishment, from the first stroke each one stung.) Shoulders, ribcage, buns, he was especially hard on the insides of my thighs, and he raked the back of my scrotum and my cockhead that was sticking down below my balls. Somehow I managed to hold still until the end. I heard the cat land on the bed beside my head, then Vincent was kissing my burning back and buns!
"You alright Boy?" he asked.
"Oh yes Sir...I'm alright...I needed that Sir!" I said, and I meant it.
I felt more kisses on my buns, then he pulled my balls up and back out from between my thighs and kissed them too. "Now it's time to use the whip these...and your cock. Are you ready for thirty Boy?"
"Sir I'm ready for anything you want to give me."
"Same rules apply, each time you move a muscle I'll start over... Understood?"
"Yes Sir... Thank you Sir..." THIS I wanted!
I heard Vincent moving something behind me, but the sounds made no sense so I had no idea if this was to be a part of some new torture or not. After a bit he moved around to the far side of the bed so that he was standing nearest to my head. Now I knew what to expect, with the new longer whip he would easily be able to reach past my body, reach far enough to get at my cock and balls. The first hits were hard to take, then I was past the pain, again and again I felt the glorious pleasure as the whip connected with my balls and the knot found my cock. Thirty strokes was not nearly enough, I'd have taken twice as many, four times as many, but of course I'd have been skinned! Vincent threw down the whip then walked around the bed. I felt him take my balls again and kiss them over and over.
"I've made some marks," he said sounding concerned.
"I don't care Sir."
"They're not real bad, I hope it won't be a problem..." He was getting back to reality, I didn't want that.
"Sir I wanted you to mark me."
"It's not going to be a problem?" Vincent sounded doubtful.
"No Sir... Honestly! I'm offering them to you... Really I do want you to leave your mark them. I added.
"Well if you want me to mark you I'm going to turn you over and lay the whip on them."
"Thank you Sir. I'll hold them up for you Sir!"
Vincent released my limbs, then dragged the padded box away because it would not have been comfortable under my back. He replaced it with the pile of pillows as I turned over, then he re-secured my arms and legs really tightly. My back was arched over the pillows, my cock and balls up high, once the whipping started I slipped straight through the pain barrier again, amazing how that happens when you really want the pain. Thirty strokes were laid on quickly, I craved more, but Vincent insisted it was time to come.
"Well Boy you've got your wish, I've left my marks. Now how do you want to come for me?"
"Sir I want you to beat it out of me. I don't want to jerk off...just want you to beat my balls until they explode."
"That'll make the marks even worse..."
"Yes Sir! Please do it. Please Sir...I want you to make my balls black and blue!" I'd been shocked the first time my cock and balls had been badly bruised, but the marks had faded so quickly that I no longer feared that I'd have to find some way of hiding my body when I got home. I really did want Vincent to mark me, to mark me as his own! "And I want you to hit hard enough to make me come... Please Sir," I added for good measure.
I expected the beating to start straight away, but I was wrong. Vincent took off the blindfold, I blinked furiously in the bright light, and when I did manage to focus the first thing I saw was a TV set right beside me off the end of the bed. A bit more blinking and I saw a bruised looking cock and a couple of battered looking balls. I was looking at myself. Then I saw the camcorder on a tripod, now I knew why the room was so brightly lit!
"Now Boy you're going to watch while I beat you... Like it?" Vincent asked. I wasn't sure that I wanted to watch, especially as the camcorder was zoomed right in on my crotch so I'd see it all in glorious Technicolor and close-up! However, this is what Vincent had set up, so of course I said I wanted to watch. He pulled the restraints tighter, zoomed the camcorder in even closer so that my cock and balls filled the entire screen. When I saw the Nutcracker that I'd made for him months before I knew the finale was about to start.
(Since I doubt that many of you reading this will remember what I wrote about the Nutcracker I'll re-cap. It was like a small hammer, the head was made from three inches of inch-square Plexiglas bar. One face was just cut square, the other end of the head I had cut away the Plexiglas at an angle on each side so as to reduce the face to about a quarter inch square. I polished the whole thing until it looked like glass. The shaft was quarter inch fiberglass rod, nice and flexible! The big end was covered with an eighth inch thick piece of neoprene so that it didn't sting my scrotum yet produced a real good thump and deep, delicious pain. The smaller, more pointed end was just polished so it delivered a very concentrated hit on one small part of the testicle, just wonderful!)
Vincent started with the blunt end, worked all over each testicle. He didn't just hammer away, there was a pause between each hit as he looked at my balls and selected the spot to hit. He hadn't warned me to hold still, nor could I if I'd wanted to, so I felt free to be very vocal, not asking him to ease up, but rather to lay it on harder. And watching the hammer smack into my balls, in real close-up too, was an incredible turn-on. I was in ecstasy, and pretty close to coming even before he turned the Nutcracker over; after that it was just wild! I bucked and twisted but the hits kept coming, over and over again the Plexiglas sank into my testicles. The sensations completely overwhelmed me and the struggling exhausted me to the point where I just gave up, lay there and let him hit and hit and hit. When I came it was the most explosive ejaculation I'd ever had. Not even as a teenager had I experienced such a flow of semen. Vincent didn't even stop when the flow started, gave me another ten or fifteen solid hits for good measure. Then he threw down the hammer, knelt astride my chest and started pumping on his cock. The big head was just a few inches from my mouth, I could see the piss-slit opening each time his hand pumped down the shaft. I saw it fill with shining liquid which dropped on to my chest, then another and another, then his juice hit my face. Some hit my mouth, some went further up just under my left eye, and some fell short to land on my chin. Then he collapsed on top of me on the bed. "Oh Boy I don't know what I've done to you..." he murmured.
"I don't care, just don't care, that's what I wanted, what I needed," I said. We lay there for a the longest time kissing in his semen, then took a shower together. Later as we lay on his bed again we talked about what we'd just done, about his trip, and the men I'd been with while he was away.
"What was the best bit about this evening?" he asked.
"It has been absolutely the best for me, everything was just incredibly exciting," I told him. I could see that that pleased him. "And for you?"
I'd have to say it was the weights... Your balls were pulled down so far...the skin was shining...and with no parachute they were a perfect target. I'm never going to use a parachute again, it's going to be that strap, and maybe even heavier weights!" He laughed when he said that, I hoped he meant it. "I had the camera running, but the light wasn't so good in there...you want to see it?" Did I! Vincent ran the tape back and there I was in the doorway. The picture was somewhat grainy, but my balls were very clearly visible as the tight shiny skin reflected the light. I'd swung weights from my balls of course, but had always been blindfolded when Vincent did it so I'd never seen the cue jabbing into them. I was fascinated, could almost feel the rod sinking into my flesh all over again. I noticed that Vincent's cock was leaking again and reached out to spread the pre-cum over the lovely head.
"Oh no Boy..." he said wincing and laughing, "I haven't come so much in years..."
"So? Let me just fool with it..." With that he moved one arm to give me more room as he reached for my balls with the other hand. And that's the way the conversation continued long into the night.
As I've told you I had written to him each time I was with a man while he was in Europe He had only recently read them and wanted to know all about my experiences, especially the trip to the beach and the bullwhip, (a subject he came back to on several occasions). He was also curious about how I later came to let Tom use the bullwhip too.
"If it was as severe as you say why did you let Tom whip you too?" he asked. It was a reasonable question.
"Well I was Tom's bottom the day we went to the beach, he introduced me to Brian. But for some reason Tom just didn't seem to be in the mood to play, so when I went off with Brian he was the one who got my balls. If Tom had come with us and he'd used the bullwhip I wouldn't have let Brian do it too. Then later, when Tom asked me to come to the tournament with him, that was flattering I guess. So when he asked, 'How come Brian got to use the bullwhip and I didn't?' I just felt that I owed it to him. I'll take it for you if you want to do it."
"No, it could do too much damage," Vincent said, but I could see that he was fascinated by the idea.
"Well if you do want to try it I'll take it," I said. I'm not sure, but I think he might have wanted me to ask him to get a bullwhip. If he had bought one I certainly would have let him use it, but that punishment is so severe on the testicles that I felt that it was something that should only be done very infrequently. (His new whip was just about perfect for both of us, it produced real pain, bad enough to make me writhe and strain at the restraints, but not so bad that I couldn't hold my ass wide open and my balls up high for more.)
Eventually I was overtaken by sleep. We went out for breakfast next morning, then I headed back to the hotel. I was always a little anxious when I stayed out all night, supposing I found a message light blinking on the phone? If it was the company it would be no big deal, I wasn't required to sleep in my own bed, but if my wife had called about some crisis and I hadn't responded...that would be a big problem! However, there was no message, so feeling better I set out to the Post Office to check my mailbox. I used to write little items for the Ball Club Quarterly, sometimes of things I'd experienced, other times fiction. There was a letter from Ken Schein in LA who runs the Ball Club asking me to call when I was in town. I called.
"Guess who I was talking to this week," he said. I had no idea. "Paul, he'd very much like to meet up with you again." Remember Paul? The guy who'd pierced my balls.
"Well I'm not sure that I want to..." I said. He asked what had gone wrong. "Paul was never satisfied with what I could let him do. He always wanted me to submit without any conditions, absolutely none at all."
"Well that's what I do when he tops me," Ken said. "I lie back and take what's coming." I was surprised that Paul had used Ken as a bottom because to me Ken was a guiding, advising figure, so I'd assumed that he was a top too. "It's hard," he continued, "but you have to trust him completely. It's the only way, you have to submit completely." I still wasn't sure that I wanted to meet Paul again. "That's a pity," Ken continued. "You know he told me you were one of the best ball-men he's ever worked on. He feels you just need to be taken further, you need to learn to accept everything and then you'll be a really great bottom."
Well it was flattering to be told I was a good ball-man, and Ken was continuing to pour reassurances into my mind, and telling me how much Paul wanted to work on my body again so in the end I agreed to write to Paul and see if perhaps we could get it together again.
That will be the next installment...