As I wrote in Part 17 I used to write little items for the Ball Club Quarterly, sometimes of things Id experienced, other times fiction. One day I was talking to Ken Schein in LA who used to run the Ball Club and he told me that he'd had a letter from Paul. Remember Paul? The guy who'd pierced my balls.
"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."
"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. It took me hours to compose the letter, I must have torn up 30 sheets of hotel notepaper during the course of a long evening in Dubai. I knew I was going to have to submit completely, if I didn't there was no point in meeting Paul again, yet it was very difficult to put it in writing. However, the longer I worked on the letter the harder my cock became and the more my balls ached. The final version was much shorter than all the others, I just apologised for not coming up to his expectations and promised to submit unconditionally if he would agree to work on me again. His reply was tremendously enthusiastic, told me how much he had enjoyed torturing me, especially the piercing, and asked when we could meet. It was several weeks before he was in New York when I was on a two-day layover. Paul kept writing to say how much he was looking forward to having me at his mercy, that I wouldn't regret it, that I would gain confidence and he'd teach me to become a great bottom. For my part I can't say whether the long wait was good or bad. Having written "submit unconditionally" when I was hot and hard, I was now beginning to dread the day when I was going to have to put my whole body on the line. When eventually I saw the two day trip coming up I called Paul half hoping he'd be unable to meet that day, but no, he was going to be in New York, and he was ecstatic. Paul's letters were always written in airport departure lounges or on airplanes, his writing was always terrible, and I do mean terrible, they took a long time to decipher. The next letter I got from him was even worse than normal. As I gradually worked out what he'd said my pulse rate quickened, and a knot tightened up in my stomach. He told me he had a friend who owned a motel in Long Island, the property consisted of separate chalets, he'd agreed to let us use the chalet furthest from the office and would tell the staff not to go near it. I was to go out there in the morning and spend the whole day with him. He enclosed a page of the LIRR timetable and had marked the train he wanted me to take to Great Neck. Well there was no way to back out now, but just to seal the pact I wrote back that same evening promising to submit completely, I'd accept anything he wanted to do. I took the letter straight down to the street and dropped it in a mailbox, if I'd left it until the next morning I'm certain I would have re-written it in much blander terms.
The night before our meeting I slept fitfully and was up in plenty of time to get the train from Grand Central. The trip to Great Neck was just an hour, the longest hour I'd spent on a train, but not long enough. When I came out of the station I saw him in the car park, but as I got closer to the car I saw that there was another man in the back seat.
"This is David," Paul said as I climbed into the front seat. "He's come up from Washington and he's a bottom too, do you mind if he joins us?" I had no objection, in fact I was turned on by the thought of the two of us being tortured at the same time. "And to avoid confusion you'll be David," he said to me, and then turning to the other David in the back seat, "You'll be Davie," he added. When Davie spoke he had the strongest deep-south accent I'd ever heard outside of a film. As we drove to the motel which was some miles west of Great Neck I had a chance to look at Davie. He was young, I guessed twenty, but he was only eighteen as I later discovered. He was wearing a thin tee-shirt so I could see that he was slightly built, but not skinny, fair hair, crew cut, fresh complexion.
'Why would a bottom as attractive as Davie travel all the way from Washington to Long Island to get his nuts crushed?' I wondered. 'Surely there must be plenty of tops in DC who'd be only too happy to get their hands on his balls?' However, I was more than happy to have him along.
The motel was exactly as Paul had described it, chalets set on a wooded slope, well spaced out, clearly designed for couples who wanted complete privacy. He already had the key so he pulled up at the most distant chalet without going near the office. He told us to bring in the two bags from the trunk, then once we were inside he closed and locked the door. The room was bigger than the average motel room, two queen sized beds, and a sitting area with a sofa and two easy chairs.
"First off...strip!" he said. As I peeled off my clothes I was stealing glances at Davie's body, and I caught him doing the same to me. He looked as good as I'd expected, young, lean, better yet, no body hair, no pubic hair. That last made me jealous, I really wished I could strip it all off, but had never come up with any way I could suggest it to my wife. He was soft as he stepped out of his pants, I was jealous of that too because I was already hard and I so wanted to look relaxed like he did. His balls hung lower than mine, and they were bigger too. Already my mind was racing ahead, 'If he's come up from DC then maybe he'll need a bed for the night? Maybe he'd be happy to have the offer of a free bed? My bed? I'd be very willing to share with him, and if Paul doesn't drain my balls completely I'd be only to willing to fuck his ass.'
"Get the beds together, then these chains have to be attached to the legs. One at each corner and one to the legs in the middle." As we did what Paul ordered we were close together at times, so close that our bodies touched. I was delighted to see that Davie was stiffening up too. When we had the chains in place Paul told us to lie side by side on the joined beds. I took a look sideways as Davie lay down on my right side, he had a real erection now, his cock was a bit longer than mine with a marked upwards curve so it didn't actually look longer as our cocks waved over our bellies. Paul secured our outboard ankles to the chains at the bed corners, then my right and Davie's left ankle were secured to the chain in the middle of the bed. Next he secured our wrists in the same way. Paul then blindfolded us and left us in the dark for the longest time. It felt so good having another bottom who was going to experience the pain with me, really hot, hot, hot! With our wrists secured to the one chain in the middle our hands met and our fingers interlocked. It was natural companionship, two men who had their balls on the line with no way of escaping the coming beating. I swear that my cock and balls were tingling in anticipation. Eventually I felt Paul climb up on to the bed. I felt his very low-hanging balls brush against my thigh as he positioned himself with one knee between each of our wide-spread legs. He took my balls in one hand, he must have taken Davie's balls in his other hand because we both started struggling at the same moment. It was a very strong, manual workout, very hard, very good. He released my balls and a moment later I felt Davie jolt against the bonds, and an instant later I took a really good hard hit with the pointed end of the Nutcracker right at the back of my right testicle which for me is the most sensitive spot of all. This went on and on, each of us jerking in turn, each grasping the other's hand tighter and tighter as the pain grew rapidly. As the pain soared it dawned on me that I was holding my balls up and tight. It was the stupidest thing, I can only think that I was doing this because Davie and I were squeezing each other's hands so hard. Once I'd realized what I was doing I tilted my hips up to give Paul a better shot at my balls and let them hang as loose as I could. That made it so much better. I let Paul have them, let him hit them, and I could take the pain without jerking against the bonds. But Davie was still jolting with each hit. I felt him trying to twist his hips, heard him gasping out loud, and his grip on my hand was almost too much to take. I wanted to tell him to relax, to stop fighting the pain and accept it, but Paul was the master so I said nothing. I knew it wasn't enough for him to inflict pain, he needed to see that we were suffering too. I had managed to slip through the pain barrier quite quickly, and for a while I was in heaven. But Paul wasn't going to let me get away so lightly, he just kept hitting harder. Inevitably I was finally overwhelmed. Suddenly the pain broke through, now I too tried to twist, to turn, and I was crushing Davie's hand at least as hard as he was crushing mine.
Suddenly the hitting stopped, the relief was wonderful. I did get a little anxious as we once again lay together in the dark, I knew that this session was going to include a lot more than ball torture. One of Paul's complaints was that I tried to limit what he could do, and I had agreed to take whatever he wanted to inflict. After a while I felt him on the bed again. Davie stiffened briefly then relaxed. I waited wondering. A couple of minutes later I felt something cold probing for my hole. I expected a dildo but this was thin, pointed, and it slipped in without any trouble. The next sensation was of cold liquid being forced up inside my body. I thought it might be a lubricant for a dildo, but I felt Paul get off the bed without forcing anything into my hole. Just a little later Davie started to squirm, then gasp, then groan.
"You got a problem?" Paul asked.
"Yes Sir... Please sir... I've got to go Sir!" What this was about I had no idea, but by the time he'd been released he was clearly desperate and scrambled from the bed. A little later I began to feel a burning way up deep in my rectum. My guts began to churn, then I knew why Davie had bolted. Paul had injected an enema. Soon I was gasping and asking to be released too. I could hear the results of the enema coming from the bathroom and I knew that I'd soon be in there too. When Paul released me I rushed headlong into the bathroom only to find that Davie was still straining on the toilet. I begged him to move, quick! He must have known how badly I needed to go so he slid off the seat to kneel on the floor. I threw myself on to the toilet and my sphinctre ripped open. I literally emptied my guts in one convulsing, wrenching dump, but even before I'd done Davie was imploring me to move, he needed to go again. And that's the way it was for the next fifteen minutes or so, switching places so fast there wasn't even time to wipe. Paul meanwhile was watching the two of us struggling, he had an amused smile on his face and that bugged me.
'What the fuck has shit got to do with sex?' I asked myself. 'This isn't any kind of a turn-on, it's just plain degradation.' I was pretty pissed off, I hadn't come all the way out to Long Island for this! Eventually Davie was done and he turned on the shower to clean himself up. I was still being wracked with waves of pain, really bad, even though there was nothing more to come. Davie headed back to the bedroom, I was still crouched in a fetal position in the bathroom, but I felt that the pain should ease any minute now. At this stage I remembered that I'd agreed that Paul could do anything, I'd written, "Whatever you want to do..." So I really had no cause to complain. When I thought this way I felt better, and now if the pain would only subside I too could take a shower and go back for more. But the pain didn't ease. Sometime later Paul appeared in the bathroom.
"My God...Are you all right?" he exclaimed when he saw me huddled on the floor. Clearly I wasn't alright. "I'll fill the bath... Hot water will sort you out." The water did help while I was in the bath. Paul went back to Davie expecting me to follow, but as soon as I got out I doubled up again. I stayed in the hot water until the pain eased then slowly dried myself and came back out into the room. When Paul saw me I could tell that I looked pretty grim. "Should I call a doctor?" he asked looking concerned.
"No, no way, how could I explain how I came to need a doctor in a motel on Long Island?" I replied.
"I could call a friend of mine, no one need know."
"No...I'll just sit a while, it'll pass." I still hoped that it would be better in a while so I sat in an easy chair to watch what Paul was doing to Davie. He was lying on the bed, not secured in any way, and Paul was wrapping his legs with cling-film. Round and round, passing the roll under his legs and winding gradually up to his hips.
"You've got to make sure the body doesn't overheat," Paul said turning to me as though this was something I might want to try on a man one day. He produced a small spray bottle and squirted a fine mist over Davie's legs. "If the body can't evaporate moisture it soon begins to overheat." As the wrapping continued up Davie's thighs Paul told him to keep his hands flat against his sides Paul rolled Davie from side to side passing he cling film under him and up the other side. When he reached Davie's crotch he started winding the film in such a way as to trap the cock and balls out in the open then continued on up his body all the way to his neck. After using several rolls of the film, and a lot of misting, Davie was wrapped up like a spider secures a fly. I don't know if his body was actually as stiff and unbending as it looked, but he certainly couldn't move anything except his toes and his head, his genitals were right out in the open and ready for torture. Paul used the "ball-screw" (just like a medieval thumbscrew that he'd used on me). I could see Davie's hands straining under the plastic wrap, trying desperately to reach his balls. He didn't succeed, couldn't move an inch, his face showed how much he was suffering. This reminded me so much of the very first time I had been tied up, when Mark had come to the hotel and tied me in just the same position. I remembered the strain as I too had tried to reach for and protect my balls. And even though what I went through that night was really only ball play I could empathize so strongly with Davie. I wanted the same treatment, and from time to time I thought that the waves of pain had stopped, but just moving to stand up made it come on again and I sank back into the easy-chair. Paul tortured Davie's balls for a good fifteen minutes non-stop. I had a real good view, those delicious testicles were just beyond arm's reach, and I saw each shining drop of pre-cum form and then fall from the lips of his curving penis. When it came time to release Davie Paul used scissors to slit open the plastic shroud, in just seconds the boy was lying bathed in sweat, and smiling the most alluring smile of satisfaction. I really felt jealous.
After toweling Davie's body, all over, Paul cuffed his wrists and ankles, then attached the cuffs to the chains in the center of the bed. Davie wasn't tightly secured which surprised me because with Paul I had never been able to move a muscle. There was sufficient slack that Davie could bring his hands down almost to his shoulders and could move his legs too. Paul put a gag in his mouth, pulled a hood over his head and rolled him over on to his stomach. This was the first good view I got of his butt, firm, smooth, very tempting, I still had hopes of getting him back to my room even though waves of pain and nausea were still washing over me. For a couple of minutes Paul stroked the smooth, rounded buns, Davie responded by drawing his knees up as far as the chain would allow, lifting his ass in appreciation. While still stroking Paul reached for a broad, heavy, leather strap, about four feet long, two inches wide, thick leather. As his hand slid off one cheek he brought the strap down across the raised buns with a resounding crack. The crack of the leather on skin shocked me, and I was only watching! Davie's body convulsed, first his butt flattened to the bed then lifted high in the air again as the second stroke slashed at the back of his thighs. He twisted and squirmed as stroke after stroke came down on his body, not just his butt, across his shoulders, across his legs as well. After a couple of dozen strokes most of the back of his body was bright red and still the hits rained down on him. Eventually he half turned to try and protect his back, but that made things worse for him, Paul struck across his hips and connected with his balls. I don't mean skimmed his balls, they took a full, solid hit. Of course Davie slammed himself face down on the bed again, but after a few more stinging strokes he was forced to turn over again, this time right on to his back. He must have known what was coming, and it did. He took four solid hits on his genitals, his cock as well as his balls, before he twisted back on to his stomach. By this time I wasn't sorry that I was missing out on this particular torture, I might have been able to take a few of the hits on my balls, but there was no way that I could have taken it on my shoulders and the back of my legs, no way. As Davie kept twisting and writhing, getting up almost into a kneeling position, the most that his bonds would allow, the hits kept coming, again and again and again. Soon his whole body from his neck to his ankles was dark, livid red. As far as I was concerned it was way too much punishment, just awful to watch never mind suffer. I didn't even want to see any more, but Davie kept twisting and turning, offering his back, offering his front, and Paul kept hitting. If this was what was required of a good bottom I decided then I'd settle for being a ball-man. With the beating still going there was a shrill ring from Paul's bag, it was his cell phone! He swore furiously, thought about ignoring it, then reluctantly threw down the strap and snatched the phone from the bag.
"I thought I'd made it absolutely clear..." he started, but clearly the person at the other end wasn't about to be put off. Over the next couple of minutes I gathered that something had gone wrong at work and he was needed right now! Paul swore some more then finally shrugged and hung up. "Something's come up at work," he said redundantly. Then looking at me he asked, "Will you stay with Davie till I get back? Please?" It was strange having Paul asking me to do something, he'd always been the one in charge, right from the very first time we'd met in the hotel coffee shop he made it clear that he would be in control. I still wasn't in any fit state to leave the motel, there was no way I would have gone more than a few feet from a toilet bowl, so I agreed to stay until he got back. Paul went into the bathroom and reappeared in a suit, what a sudden transformation, hot leather top to businessman in sixty seconds. Before leaving he pulled out a bottle from his bag. "This will take the sting out of Davie, rub it in, all over, there's a lot more to come and I want him fit for it. You too, I'm still going to work on you!" Then looking at Davie he said, "Don't release him...You can enjoy him, fuck him if you want to, there are condoms in the bag, but don't torture him!"
Paul left I looked at the bottle, it had obviously been brought back from the Far East, Chinese characters, and Bahasa script too. In it there was a clear liquid, oily, with a slight smell of camphor. I wanted to start on Davie's balls, but decided that I'd work all the way down his back before taking his prize possessions. Starting at his shoulders I worked the oil into his skin, it seemed to give him relief almost immediately, but maybe any massaging would have done as much. When I got down to his buns I worked my way deep into the crack even though the strap hadn't gone down in between his cheeks. Davie clearly didn't mind, he raised his butt and spread as wide as he could. I resisted reaching under his body, that took a lot of will power, those hairless balls were within inches of my fingers, but I continued down his legs all the way to his ankles before telling him to turn over. When he rolled on to his back I had it all laid right before my eyes. As I said a while back he had no hair at all on his body, not on his chest, not under is arms, and of course no pubic hair either. I couldn't resist asking what he did to remove it.
"For my pubes and under-arms I had electrolysis, for the rest I use Nair," he said.
"Isn't electrolysis expensive?" I asked.
"It is, but it puts the price up, they like it that way."
"The price goes up? The price of what?" I was puzzled.
"I'm a rent boy," he said casually. "They like boys with no hair, the smoother the better, shaving isn't good enough. Most of them would like to have young boys, really young ones with no pubes, but they're afraid of the law. They also want decent sized cocks and balls so they'll pay extra for the likes of me. I make them feel like they're fucking a young boy, but it's legal." I was really surprised by his answer, and by the matter-of-fact sort of way he spoke about being a rent boy. I massaged his chest, but my eyes never left his crotch. At long last I took his balls, they were delicious.
"Are you always the bottom?" I asked as I massaged the oil into his nuts.
"Mostly...all the regulars, but sometimes a guy wants to be fucked. Very occasionally I'll find one who wants to be whipped."
"And do you take a whipping too?"
"Yes of course, nearly every time. All the regulars want to whip me before they fuck me. Sometimes they want a full night of torture, I like that. It's risky the first time I go with a guy, especially if he takes me to a motel way out of town, like this one, but the money's very good. I can live for a month on what I can get for a night of torture." He made it all sound so natural, I guess pilots talk much the same way about landing a 747 in bad conditions so I shouldn't have been surprised.
"Is Paul paying you too?" I asked. I shouldn't have asked, it was none of my business, but I couldn't resist.
"No of course not!" Davie seemed surprised at the question. "No, I came to him because he's known as one of the best tops. I wanted to see if I could take it, and have my limits stretched too. The more I can take the more I can get."
Well I guess that's a better reason than I had for submitting to torture. Davie was working on his CV, honing his skills, and improving his employment prospects. I was severely tempted by his body, I'd have loved to fuck him, or suck him. As I massaged I fantasized about sucking his testicles into my mouth, and I'm sure I'd have done that much, but for the waves of pain that were still washing over me every few minutes.
As I massaged his body I wondered about how such an attractive, well spoken young guy had become a rent boy. I had to ask. He told me that his family were one of the oldest and richest in Richmond, Virginia, lived in a mansion in the most exclusive part of town. He'd always known he was gay, but his father was rabidly homophobic so he kept it a well hidden secret. He had a friend in school who was also a closet gay, the two of them did manage to have sex from time to time when they were alone in the house, it was risky, but that made it all the more exciting. One day the inevitable happened, his mother came home unexpectedly and caught the two of them naked on his bed. They both dressed and hurried out leaving his mother in shock. Some hours later he decided to go home and face the music. As he approached the house he saw all his things laid out on the side-walk, his stereo, albums, clothes, even his bedroom furniture. He knew he couldn't go back, not ever, so he took just one pair of jeans, a tee-shirt, a pair of socks and underwear. Then he just walked away from everything he'd ever known.
I asked him what he did, where had he headed for. "Oh," he said calmly, "I wasn't naïve. My father hated faggots, he ranted and raved about the politicians and lobbyists in DC ands what they got up to so knew where I had to go. I knew that there'd be plenty of men there who'd pay for what I've got." And that's what he did. I asked if he'd ever tried calling home, he said he had called once, his mother answered, when she heard his voice she hung-up. Seemed very sad to me, but Davie was over it, he was making a lot of money, had already bought a one-room apartment for himself and one rental property. "So how come you came up here on the bus? Why didn't you fly?" I asked. "Because it's cheaper," he said, "everything I make goes into property. I'm making good money right now, but my career isn't going to be getting better as time goes by. And I won't be getting a pension that's for sure! I might have another two or three years in the big money, but after that I'll be living off rental properties." For someone who'd been thrown out on the street at sixteen he seemed to have made the best of a bad situation. After talking to Davie I got the impression that he was happy with the way things had gone, felt he'd now be able to take more...and get more too!
When Paul returned he took one look at me and I could see from his face that I didn't look any better than I felt. Again he wanted to get me to a doctor, but it was just too risky. I still had waves of cramping pain, but I wasn't crapping any more, and although I felt nauseous I wasn't throwing up so I decided to make my way back to Manhattan by train and go to the company doctor. It was a miserable ending to a day that had held promise, but after watching what Paul had done to Davie I think I'd have been way out of my league. What he did to Davie after I left I have no idea.
Back in Manhattan I called the company doctor. He sympathized, agreed that it must have been something I'd eaten, (I didn't tell him which end it had gone in!) and gave me a shot. By nightfall I was feeling drowsy, mostly the drug I suspect, but also from the stress of the day. About ten o'clock the phone woke me from a deep sleep, it was Paul. We talked for a long time. I said that I'd decided that I never wanted to take the sort of beating that Davie had taken. He assured me that Davie had been leading him on with body language. His argument sounded very much like the Rodney King case.
"He kept raising his ass, kept turning over and offering me his balls... You could see that. If it had been too much he'd have just lain still, then I'd have known that he'd gone as far as he could go." I guess from what Davie had told me it was true to say that Paul hadn't gone too far, but I still found it difficult to believe that his body language was begging for more. I reckon that if you're being beaten that hard you just have to keep turning to spread the pain, and if you can only turn over and over inevitably your balls are going to be "offered up" for the beating. Paul tried to reassure me that he'd never planned to beat me that way, and maybe if I hadn't had that bad experience with the enema I would have been more receptive to the idea of doing it again. But riding back in the train I realized that it had been foolish to go way out of town without thinking up some reasonable explanation as to what I had been doing. It wasn't that I needed to tell the airline, or anyone else, where I was going or what I was doing. But if I'd happened to meet another pilot, one with whom we socialized at home, who'd had some legitimate reason for being in Great Neck then I'd have had to come up with a story that could be re-told at home lest he ever refer to the time we met in Great Neck for instance. It's not easy to come up with a convincing story at a moments notice, especially not one that will stand re-telling at home! I remember thinking before my first visit to the baths about what I'd say if I saw one of my colleagues. I decided that if it ever happened I'd take the bull by the cock, not even try to avoid being seen, but go for it balls out. No explanation would be needed, we'd both know exactly why we were there.
I never did meet up with Paul again, I suppose that shows that he was right, I am not a good bottom, just a ball-man. I went back to Vincent at every opportunity and wrote to him after every meeting. I used to get quite carried away on long, fallow evenings in far away places. There was one more memorable evening I spent with Vincent...that'll be the next, and last installment.