So many people wrote wanting the Pool Match to happen that I couldn't keep you waiting for it. I hope you like it!
Chapter 38
I woke up feeling cool, calm, and confident. Steven is also cool, calm, and very supportive and affirming. We leave for the local high school where the charity pool tournament is taking place after a good breakfast. We want to be relaxed, so we leave a little early so we can arrive and get settled at a leisurely pace. We're shocked that the parking lot is already filling up. There are also several media trucks there from both television and radio. We look at each other sharing our surprise.
Walking in, I'm immediately approached by the media and questions are thrown at me. "Is it true that the company you work for is sponsoring you and is willing to donate one hundred thousand dollars for your victory?" "Are you feeling the pressure considering how much is riding on this?" "How do you feel knowing that this charity match might break all the previous records of donations if you win?" "Will your job be affected by the outcome of this match?" Other questions are called out and I answer all of them optimistically and vaguely. I'm completely shocked by the media attention that this is getting. I'm equally shocked by the number of people filing in.
My boss arrives shortly afterward and is attacked by the media. He handles them like a pro and eggs them on and fires them up. People continue to pour in and buy from the vendors selling refreshments and souvenirs. I keep wondering how this got so big. My boss comes over to me when he's done with the media and I voice my astonishment to him. He answers smugly, "Think small, be small. Think big, be big. I don't do anything half assed. If this is going to cost me a hundred grand I'd better get my money's worth. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, Sir." I answer, "but, what happens if I lose?"
"Better yet, then, I get all of this advertisement free. It's a win/win situation for me. You won't lose though. I know you, you'll win. You always win. No matter what happens to you, you always prosper and come out on top. That's what makes it so much fun putting you down. Push you lower and lower because you won't give up, and then watch you come back from it and do it all over again. It's an endless source of entertainment to us." He walks away.
I look at Steven and ask him, "Was that a compliment?"
He slaps me on the back playfully, "Fuck yeah!"
My family and friends start arriving and filing in. My parents, some of my brothers with their families, Jesse and Ross arrive with their girlfriends. I wonder if they feel any awkwardness considering our recent activities. There doesn't seem to be any. I'm certainly okay with it if they are. Dan and his boyfriend come as do John and his boyfriend. Even Jimmy and Cliff come. Craig arrives alone. I knew Steven's parents wouldn't come. I'm so glad to see everyone. Cory arrives last with his girlfriend. They're full of energy and encouragement.
Michael arrives and comes over to us. Cory and Ross recognize him from the pool hall that night. Cory asks him if he's competing and of course he tells them he is.
Cory looks at me smiling, "Interesting. Very, very interesting."
They all move off to find places to sit as things start to get organized. Cory and his girlfriend hang back. His girlfriend takes my arm and quietly says to me, "I'd beat you too if you were my boyfriend and you looked at someone else like that." Cory looks at me with raised eyebrows and a contrite smile as they walk away. I wonder how much she knows, then I wonder what she meant by what she said.
I turn to Steven who's smiling wickedly, "Oh yeah, you're gonna suffer for that."
"What? What'd I do?" I'm thoroughly confused as he just walks away.
They make the announcements of how things are organized and how we're going to proceed. We pull numbers out of a box to see our places. Michael is in the first elimination round, and I'm in the second round. I'm glad because this will give me a chance to watch him play. I've never really gotten to do that. I've actually only played him twice. Both times it was a simple game of eight ball, and he swept the table. They toss for the break, and he wins it. That's a good advantage for him. He breaks perfectly, and makes the next eight balls. I wonder at his strategy, because although he's setting up the table well for as long as he keeps making the shots, if he misses one, his opponent can take full advantage of it. That's exactly what happens. He misses the ninth shot and his opponent runs the table, takes the next break and runs the next twelve. Michael takes up the stick, but has no decent shots. The table is barren. Good strategy on his opponent's part. Run it to the end, and give it up when it runs dry. Michael has the choice of trying to empty the table, which will require him setting up the balls, or pack the balls tighter and passing it back. I would pass it back. Michael tries to run it, but misses the second ball. His opponent finishes the run and takes the break again. He runs the next eighteen balls.
It's obvious to me, and anyone who really knows and understands the game, that Michael usually plays alone. He has considerable skill, but no strong strategy. He can play his own game well, but can't play his opponent's game. His opponent is quite good, very good, excellent even. Michael loses. He's out in the first round of eliminations. Fortunately, he had one really good run and doesn't lose by very much. It never occurred to me that he and I might not end up playing each other. I turn my attention to watching the others play; now knowing that I may play any one of them.
I win my first elimination round, my second, and my third. I go into the final round facing the opponent Michael had lost to. I've watched him play and know how good he is. I'm taking this seriously. There's a break between the rounds and this one is like a media circus. My boss is manipulating the media and playing up that he will donate a thousand dollars for every ball I win by, and one hundred thousand dollars if I sweep the game. I'm a little put off with his grandstanding. He gets my back up. I want to teach him a lesson he won't soon forget.
I psyche myself up. I've learned how to find my head space and maintain my focus under just about any conditions. I'm ready, but it comes down to the toss. If I lose the toss I most probably lose any possibility of sweeping the table. I'll win the game, I know I'll win, but I want the sweep. The coin goes into the air, my opponent calls it, the coin lands, it gets called, and it's mine. I get to break. I've got it! I feel it in my bones. I block out everything and everyone. There's nothing but me, my stick, and the table. I block out the sounds. I block out the people. I block out all my thoughts. I clear the first table in eleven shots. I clear the second table, again in eleven shots. I clear the third table in twelve. I break the fourth table landing three balls on the break. I take out two with my next shot, and that's the game. Fifty balls, in thirty six shots. Not my best game ever, but certainly good enough for today.
I come out of my head space and realize the crowd is going wild. My opponent offers his hand to congratulate me for the win and I grab him into a hug. I humbly admit that I was afraid of giving him a chance to shoot because I saw how good he is. I offer him a rematch anytime he's willing. I invite him to our house to play.
My boss is beside me in a heartbeat and he works the crowd and the media. He makes a big show of writing the one hundred thousand dollar check. He sings my praise, and that of the organization, and the event, and all the people who entered, and all the people who put it together, and on and on. I'm impressed. I can clearly see why he's so successful at all he does.
Steven, and my family and friends, surround me. It feels good. Really good. My boss joins us and I introduce him to those he doesn't already know. He absolutely insists on taking us all out to dinner to celebrate. I can't help myself and look around the room for Michael to see if he'll be joining us, but I don't see him.
We make our way out to our cars. Without even thinking, I pull off my shirt intending to change into a fresh one I've brought with me. Things get quieter and I realize it's because they can see some of the marks from the other night. I hurriedly put on my clean shirt but my mother stops me, "What are all those marks on you? How'd you get them?"
I think quickly and answer, "Roughhousing with Cory, Ross and Jesse. You know how they are." She slaps Cory's arm as my father raps Ross in the back of the head. Both of them reprimand the three of them for being so rough with me. Jesse gets the "you're the older one, you should know better" lecture. I should probably feel bad, but I don't. After all, it's pretty much the truth.
Cory tells Ross, "I told you to buy him ice cream, but would you listen to me? Nooooo."
We pile into our respective cars and form a small caravan following my boss's limo. He leads us to a nice restaurant and we all have a great time. He plays the perfect host and charms everyone. Everyone gets along great. There's a lot of laughing and teasing. It's the perfect celebration.
As the party breaks up, my boss asks Steven if he wants to stay together and go for drinks. Steven readily agrees. We say our goodbyes to everyone else and head out to the parking lot. My boss's limo driver pulls the car up at the first sight of him. The driver gets out and opens the doors for us and my boss instructs us, "Get in. We'll ride in my car. Give him your keys and he'll have your car picked up and delivered to your house." Steven hands the driver the keys and we get in. It is pure luxury and class.
It's kind of quiet in the car and the conversation is sparse. I lean back getting into the downtime paying no attention to where we're going. The car slows and I feel the bump typical of pulling into a driveway. The car comes to a stop. No one moves to get out and I assume we're waiting for the driver to open the doors for us. I can get into living like this.
The door opens and Michael is standing there. Before I get over the shock of seeing him, the limo driver pulls me roughly out of the car and pushes me down to the ground. Another guy joins him as my boss and Steven step out of the car to watch. They strip me naked right in the alley and keep me pinned to the ground. They tie my arms behind me and put a collar around my neck. They gag me with a bit gag and secure it tightly behind my head. They pull me into a standing position and hold me tight as Michael grabs my balls in a vice like grip. He lifts me by my balls until I'm balancing on my tip toes with the support of my boss's two goons. My balls ache, but it's my racing heart and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that have my attention.
He looks me in the eyes, "So, who do you think is getting fucked tonight? You're not stupid enough to think it's me, do you? So, if it's not me, who do you think it's going to be?" I look over at Steven and find him and my boss casually leaning against the side of the car.
I'm lowered face down into a dirty puddle and hog tied high and tight. Michael simultaneously grabs me by the back of my hair and reaches between my legs and grabs me by my balls again. The driver puts his wet shoe down on my back and pushes me to the ground as Michael is pulling me up by my hair and balls. I arch my back in a useless effort to reduce my discomfort. They hold me like that for what seems like an eternity before rolling me over on my side. Michael straps a leather band with a leash attached around my balls. He tugs them up and ties the leash to my collar. I'm pulled backwards by my arms and legs and forward by my neck and balls. This is so fucking uncomfortable.
The two goons lift me up to my knees and hold me by my arms. Michael takes his cock out and pisses on me in front of all of them. They continue to hold me as I watch my boss, Steven and Michael, get back in the limo. They carry me over to a van parked in the alley and put me in the back. I'm lying on my stomach crushing my own balls underneath me. They slam my ass with a couple of really hard smacks. I wonder if they were told to do that or if they just took it upon themselves. The doors slam shut and one of them gets in the van while the other goes back to drive the limo. We drive a long time and I struggle for balance and comfort as we ride. I have no idea where we're going.
I'm left in the van for quite a while after we stop driving. The guy who drove the van stays with me. He doesn't stop with the verbal abuse. "You fucking little turd. You are so fucked, shithead. What a piece of shit you are. I've never seen a bitchcunt like you." He doesn't stop the whole time we're waiting.
Two new guys come out to get me. They are deep black, big and muscular as hell, heads shaved, hairless bodies, and wearing perfectly cut leather pants and nothing else. They easily lift me by my arms and thighs and carry me into what looks like a barn. The two drivers follow them in and just stand by the door watching. The other three are standing there waiting and watching. The raw wood of the structure is dark and heavy. The floor is heavy rubber matting often found in a horse barn. I barely get a glance at the equipment before I'm laid face down on the floor and untied. One of them puts his bare foot down on my back to hold me in place. I don't even think of trying to move away or resist. Everything is taken off but the collar and the bit gag. I'm flipped over onto my back and he puts his foot across my throat. I lay as still as possible.
My boss's command to them is plain and simple, "Make him hurt." I have no time to prepare myself. One of them moves lightening fast and secures a vice clamp like grip on the muscle connecting my thigh to my groin. The pain is intense and my leg pulls up involuntarily as the muscle contracts. The other guy tightens the same type of grip on my underarm muscles. They hold their grips as I scream in pain. They let me go and I curl up trying to protect and compose myself. One of them grabs my foot and pulls my leg straight. He uses the pressure points in my foot to cause excruciating pain and I squirm, twist and turn on the floor trying to get free. I can't. I end up face down and the other guy grabs my shoulder blades, works his thumbs under, and presses hard. I can't get away from the pain.
An open hand lands on my ass in the single hardest smack I've ever gotten. A second one lands on the other cheek. He slips his thumb up my hole and clamps down with his other fingers causing my sphincter to spasm. The pain is excruciating. I'm already crying.
"Beg fucker! Beg for some mercy. Beg like the faggot you are. Beg like a bitch should beg his superiors." I sob out begging for mercy and relief from the pain. I promise to be good and do whatever they want. I grovel and beg like a pussy in a desperate attempt to get them to stop. It's all useless and incoherent through the bit gag anyway. I cringe in despair every time one of them moves in to hurt me again. I'm pushed to my fucking limits of endurance before they give me a break.
I'm lifted and carried over to an elaborate set of stockades. I'm made to kneel on all fours and my head is locked in. My wrists are locked in next as I remain on all fours. My knees are pulled apart, and slightly forward, before being locked in. My ankles are locked in last, but just as securely as everything else. Another stock is secured around my waist and locked into the rest of the stockade. I can't move at all.
A hose is put up my asshole and I'm filled with water. I hold it until I'm told to release it, and I evacuate and drain into a tin tub that's been placed under my ass. This is repeated several times. I assume they do it until the water runs out of me clean. I try to control the deep burn of humiliation I'm feeling.
The tub is dragged around and put under my face. This is so fucking horrible! I'm terrified at what might be coming. The limo driver comes over and pisses on my head. His piss soaks me and runs down my face and lands in the pail full of my waste. The other driver follows suit and does the same thing. It is so much worse being pissed on by them then it is to be peed on by Steven, or Michael, or my boss. I don't know why.
The stock my neck is in is unpinned and I'm pushed down toward the liquid waste in the tub. I push back up in an effort to prevent touching the water. It's locked back in place with me left in the position of struggling to hold my head up to keep my face from making contact with the mess in the pail. It doesn't take long for my arms, shoulders, and neck to be aching from the burn of holding this position. The blow straight down my ass crack, connecting with my asshole, hurts like an absolute motherfucker and my reaction causes me to dip my chin and lips into the disgusting water. The bit gag holds my mouth open and there's no way to prevent it from entering my mouth. It happens with every blow, despite my best efforts to be prepared and prevent it. I blow out hard to get whatever might have entered my mouth out of it again.
Michael comes over and grabs the back of my hair. He slowly, but firmly, pushes my face down. I do my best, but can't prevent it from happening. He pushes my face down into the water until it is covering my mouth and nose. He doesn't let it reach my eyes. He pulls me back up and the bastard does it again. I hold in my urge to curse him out as he releases me and walks away.
Steven comes over and sits beside me. He talks to me quietly and calmly. "Don't let him win. Don't. You and I are in this together. We're a team and we always come out on top. Show him what you're made of. Show him how good we are together. Show everyone how well I've trained you." He lets the affirmation and the encouragement work inside me. "I want you to lower your face into the pale and hold it there until I tell you to get up. Not your eyes; but I want you to get in deep. Don't disappoint me. Do it now." Oh fuck it, What's the difference anyway. It's already happened. I just do it. "That's it. Just hold it in there. Good boy. Okay. You can get up now." He walks away triumphantly. I'm not sure how or why I'm supposed to feel proud of this, but oddly enough I feel like I've gotten Michael back somehow.
I'm released from the stocks and dragged outside. My wrists are secured into rigid irons on either side of a stationary vertical pole. The irons are slid down the pole until I'm in a sitting position with the pole between my legs. They grab my ankles and pull me forward hard, slamming my nuts into the pole. They tie my ankles stretched out to stakes in the ground. I watch the two drivers carry the pale out of the barn with the other three walking a distance away from them. When they're all in a good, but safe, position to watch, the pail is dumped all over me. They leave me like that with the van driver to guard me. The verbal assault begins all over again. "Shit licker. Shit dump. Toilet whore." He's endless and merciless.
I'm miserable, humiliated, and embarrassed in front of this jerk. I don't know why it works this way for me. I find it exciting, arousing, and sexual when a scene involves Steven, or Michael, or even my boss, and my brothers. When they're not around, it's just humiliating and degrading. This guy is good looking and sexy as hell. The verbal abuse is usually a real turn on. If the others were here watching I'd be rock hard, as I've been through most of this so far. Instead, I'm having my own little pity party.
I'm relieved when they come back out. They release my legs and slide the rigid irons up the pole so I'm raised into a standing position. They hose me off and scrub me down with soap soaked brushes. The brushes are used unnecessarily rough, but it feels so good to be clean again. I'm brought back inside, still dripping wet.
Waiting for me is a medical table. I hesitate a second and try to pull back, but the two black guys have me off the ground in a heartbeat. They flip me over and drop me down onto the exam table. I'm slid down so my butt is hanging off the bottom end, and my legs are strapped into the stirrups spread as wide apart as my physiology allows. My arms are strapped down to the armrests. I'm strapped down across my lower waist, and my upper chest under the arms. The head of the table is raised up at an incline so I'm looking down on myself.
They gather close to watch and an instrument table is rolled next to me. I whimper into the gag. Michael stands between my legs, puts on a show of putting on a pair of rubber gloves. To my surprise he takes hold of my dick. I figured he was going for my ass. I instantly start to bone up. He works my cock until I'm just shy of rigid. He takes a package off the instrument table. I watch both scared and curious. He opens the package and pulls out what I immediately recognized as a catheter. I plead into the gag. Steven puts his hand over my mouth. Shit.
Michael uses the appropriate lube and slowly slides the tube up my dick. It feels so strange. Not painful. More like a dull heat and rubbing feeling. We all know when he reaches my bladder as my urine flows out freely, beyond my control. He lets me drain into a basin. I can't fucking believe this is happening, though I don't really know what's going to happen.
He opens another package and takes out a bigger tube. He lubes it and slides it up my ass. He inflates the ball at the end of it so it holds itself in my hole.
The bit gag is taken off and replaced with another gag that looks like a big pacifier. Another tube is slid thru a small hole in the center of it. I feel the tube slide over my tongue and stop near the back of my throat. I swallow hard wondering what's coming.
A bag resembling an intravenous bag is opened and attached to the tube in my mouth. They hang the bag from a stand next to me. A similar bag is attached to the end of the catheter tube hanging from my dick and also hung on the stand. A bigger bag is attached to the tube up my ass. I'm starting to figure this out and don't like it.
My boss takes the bag leading to my mouth, opens it, pisses into it, seals it, and hangs it back up on the rack. It takes a minute or so until the first drip works its way down the tube and fills my mouth with the acrid taste of his urine. Steven takes down the bag with the tube leading to my dick. He opens it, pisses into it, seals it shut, and hangs it back up. We all watch as his piss slowly fills the tube and finally reaches my dick. The biggest bag is taken down and Michael, and both black guys, piss into it. Again, it is hung back up to drain into my ass.
The process is slow and everyone is content to patiently watch, for a while. The drain into my mouth flows slowly, but steadily, keeping the constant taste of piss in my mouth. My boss grows impatient and gently squeezes the other bag and I feel my bladder filling with Steven's urine. I feel the pressure increase as it reaches full capacity. The hose is crimped with a clip so his pee can't flow back out. Michael squeezes the other bag sending their mixed piss from the bag rushing into my ass and filling it. The pressure of my full bladder is the worst of it.
Michael holds the tip of my dick and slowly slides the tube out. It feels like I'm pissing, but I'm not. He holds my piss slit closed once the tube is removed. My boss helps him by taking a sound out of a sealed bag, lubing it, and then working it into my dick and sliding it all the way in. I watch, and feel it twist itself around to seat itself inside of me.
I'm amazingly calm with all of this going on. The tube is slid from my ass and I'm given the sharp command to hold their piss inside of me. Michael lubes a porcelain butt plug and plants it up my ass. Between the butt plug and their piss, I have an incredible feeling of fullness.
Bands are put around my balls. My dick is slid up and down against the metal sound inside of it until I'm rock hard. Several bands are then placed around my dick. My calm is slowly disappearing as I figure out what's going to happen.
The wires are attached; first, to the butt plug up my ass, then to the bands around my balls and cock, and then to the sound. They visibly relax and settle back as the preparation is completed. My anxiety grows as the preparation is completed. Michael makes it worse, "Oh fuck, this is going to hurt. It sucks to be you. There are eight guys in this room and you're the only one suffering, the only one hurting, and the only one being humiliated. This is your lot in life. Your place is to suffer and serve, to bow down before men and grovel and beg at their feet. To be obedient and respectful and to accept whatever suffering they want to inflict on you. You know why? It's because you're a low life," He turns on the current to the dildo up my ass. I tighten against the sudden assault, "cock sucking," my balls are hit with the first band of current making them feel like they're slowly being cut off with a dull knife, "piss and cum swallowing," my dick stings like a mother fucker as the current works its way up the outside bands, "shit licking," the sound feels like a hot dagger slicing up the inside of my dick, "dog fucked bitch," he increases the current to all of them at one time, "slave, boy, slut, whore, pig." He nails it all harder and I break out in a sweat trying to cope with the intensity of the assault taking place inside and outside of me. A deep, slow, and steady groan involuntarily comes out of me.
I watch them, watching me. My muscles are contracting involuntarily. The dildo is moving itself as my sphincter contracts and twitches from the electrical stimulation. My cock is bouncing all around as it spasms. The muscles in my stomach and pelvis are having spasms pulling me into a curl. I see the bulges in their pants and look down at my own cock amazed that it's as hard as theirs. Michael is right. I am fucked up. He lets it go this way for a while and then hits it up higher. My muscles twitch and spasm fast and erratic. My groan turns into a scream. I gasp in air so I can scream again. The piss in my mouth is overwhelming as I suck it down as I breathe fast and hard. They let it go until I'm just about going to lose it. They stop just before I'm going to use my safe word. I don't know how they do it. How do they know just when to stop?
It takes a couple of minutes until I settle down. They let me linger like that. Once the bag of piss is empty, they take the tube and the pacifier gag out of my mouth. I nod that I understand the instruction not to talk. The dildo is pulled out of my ass and the gush of their urine following it is caught in the pail again. I say a silent prayer that nothing else is done with it. I'm expecting them to remove the sound, but they don't.
Another cart is wheeled over. My anxiety jumps. Oh fuck, no. Steven's look is stern, giving me a warning to keep my mouth shut. My chest is wet with a cloth before the shaving cream is spread across my chest and stomach by one of the "black guards", but it's Michael that takes up the straight edge. He rakes it right down the center of my chest. I know there's no turning back. Tears well up in my eyes as all my chest hair, and all the hair on my stomach is shaved away. My pubic bush and all the hair from my ass has been waxed away for months already. So now I'm hairless from the neck down, except for my underarms. I look at Steven pleadingly, and he winks letting me know he'll let me keep it. I am so grateful to him.
I see them looking down at me as the remaining soap and hair is wiped away with the towel. They look really pleased with what they've done. I force myself to look down and I'm amazed at what I look like without hair. I look good, damned good. I look ripped. I look at Steven and can tell that he really likes what he sees.
FUCK! Another cart is wheeled over. My mind rushes. I can't decide if I want this to happen or not. I know it's supposed to be up to Steven, but it is my body. I figure if I can't decide, then I might as well let him have what he wants. The point of my nipple is pulled forward and a tight band is put around it. The same thing is done to the other one. I'm told not to move. Steven slides his hand over mine. The pain is quick and searing as my nipple is pierced and the ring is slid in right behind it. My anxiety is higher for the second one because I know how much it will hurt. I cringe at the new pain going through me. I look down and I'm amazed there's very little blood. The bands are cut off and that hurts more than the piercing itself. I have to admit, I like how it looks. I scream as the disinfectant is poured all over each nipple and burns through the open wound.
One of the black guys moves between my legs. He wipes my perineum down with the disinfectant they used on my nipples. I fight back the panic. He takes out a tattoo gun and slips in a sterile needle. He dips it in the ink. He goes to work on my perineum. It hurts, but I can handle it. He works a long time. I have no idea what's been done, but everyone looks pleased with the result. Steven looks very pleased.
They hold a mirror down there so I can see. It's a tattoo of a black dog collar and leash on top of an S & M flag. Inside the collar it says Steven's Bitch. I like it. I look at him communicating my approval and satisfaction. They spread grease all over the tattoo to protect it.
Michael takes hold of the sound that's still sticking out of my dick and works it. He slides it in and out. He slowly twirls it. It feels strange, slightly uncomfortable, but kind of good. My dick is rock hard again in no time. I'm released from the table and made to kneel in front of all of them. The rest get comfortable as Michael attaches the wires to the sound again. He turns it on. It sends a strong, pulsing sensation through my dick. I adjust to it after a minute or so and it actually feels good. He turns it up slightly higher and it doesn't feel so great anymore, but it's not awful. They just watch me take it for a couple of minutes. I can handle this level of discomfort for a long time, so I'm thinking he's going to turn it up again.
Instead, he gives me the command, "Take it out. Slide the rod out of your dick." I figure, okay... I take hold of it. I'm half expecting a shock to my fingers but there is none. I slowly pull and it starts to slide out, but it hurts like an absolute bitch! I let it go and it slides itself back in. I look up for instructions figuring I must be doing something wrong. "I said take it out. I meant now." I take a breath and try it again thinking I'll try it a little faster this time. I take a firm hold on it and pull. I get it out a small way and the searing pain starts again. I reflexively let go and it slides back in again.
"I said to take it out, asshole. How fucking stupid are you? What don't you understand?" Michael sounds pissed.
"I don't know how, Sir." It sounds stupid, but it's true.
"It's not rocket science, shit head. You hold the end and pull. Think you can manage it?"
I brace myself and try it again. I hold the end firmly determined to slide it all the way out. I pull; it comes about an inch, maybe two up my shaft and hurts like hell. It feels like a hot fishhook is being pulled up the inside of my dick. I'm afraid I'm damaging something and let go again. The fucking thing slides back in. Fuck.
"What's your problem asshole? Do you have shit for brains? I want it out now!" Michael sounds very pissed.
I don't know what to do. "Sir, I don't know what's wrong. It hurts really badly. It doesn't hurt like that when you do it. I must be doing it wrong." There's a kind of pleading in my voice.
"Oh, let me explain it to you. You're a low life pig and I want you to suffer. I'm happiest when you're the most miserable. You get tortured and I get happy pants, so I set up different ways of torturing you. We enjoy it, and you don't. Understand now, douche bag? Now take that fucking rod out of your dick before I turn it up again."
I break out in a sweat. I put my hand on the rod. I can't bring myself to do it again. Michael warns me, "If I have to take it out of you myself, I am going to turn it up, and have them hold you down, and do it so fucking slowly you're going to suffer like you have never suffered before. Although I would enjoy that, I don't know if anyone else would. Why don't we ask them? Who would like to see that?" They all raise their hands, except Steven. "So what's it going to be asshole, you or me?"
I try it again. I hold my dick in one hand and the rod in the other, and I pull. Oh fuck! Dammit! I get it the same inch or two and can't stand it. I let it go and the mother fucking thing goes right back in. I'm ready to cry. I can't fucking believe it. I can't do this to myself. They're all laughing. Michael starts in on me again, "It has to come out, dick head. You can't live your life with a rod up your dick. You already have a bladder full of someone else's piss in you. Want to try it again or do you want me to do it for you? Your choice."
I have no fucking idea what to do. I look at Steven hoping he'll help me, or at least tell me what to do. I give him that look, the one that always gets to him. He gets up and comes to me. He sits on the floor next to me with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and he leans back on his hands. He tells me, Lie down and put your head in my lap. I lie on my back and put my head on his thigh. His hand comes up and he caresses my face. "You're just a slave. You can't be expected to take care of yourself. You need help and guidance, right." I'm so touched by his caring that I almost well up in tears. "You need some help, right?"
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Unfortunately, for slaves, help comes with a price. So, I'm going to help you, but I'm going to have Michael turn it up some more."
I stiffen beneath him. I don't think he understands. I beg him, "Oh please, Sir, it hurts so bad!"
"Of course it does, but it's not doing any damage. It just hurts, is all. You can do this so stop being a drama queen. Turn it up a bit Michael." He does it, and I'm instantly aware of the new sensation. I'm amazed at how quickly I'd gotten used to the old one. "Now, I'm going to stay here, and you get to keep your head in my lap. We're going to do this only once. If you don't let me help you then you're on your own. Now take hold of the rod and pull it out of your dick. One smooth and easy motion. Now!" Fuck! I take hold of the rod and start pulling it up. Oh fuck it hurts. I barely hear Steven somewhere over the pain. "Keep going, don't stop, pull it out." I keep pulling. It won't move fast. There's like a suction pulling it back in. I let out a howling scream and keep pulling it out. I feel it traveling up my cock and for the first time ever I regret having a big dick. I feel it reaching the top. It's searing hot and even more painful as it reaches the tip. It pops out of my piss slit and I toss it away. I curl up in a fetal position clutching my cock and bury my face in Steven's stomach. "See, that wasn't so bad. Next time let's skip all the pussy/cunt drama." He gets up leaving me lying on the floor.
I have to pee, really bad. All of a sudden it's a major issue. "Sir, please, I have to pee really badly. I don't think I can hold it, Sir. Oh please." I'm holding my dick clamped shut with my hand.
"That's my piss inside of you. I like the idea of my piss in you." Steven taunts me.
"I can't, Sir. With everything that's happened I can't hold it. Please." Some of his piss dribbles out and runs down my hand. Without thinking, I raise my hand to my mouth and lick it off. That's it, "I'll drink it, Sir. I'll keep it inside of me that way. Please let me pee, please." Shit! Some more dribbles out. I lick it off my hand and then lick what landed off the floor. I look up ready to beg some more and realize they all just watched me lick piss off the floor, without being told to do it.
They just watch... I have no choice. His piss flows out of me and I bend over to lick it up even as I'm still pissing. They just leave me to it. It takes me a while to lick it all up and they just hang out watching and talking as I do it. I wait for them in a kneeling position when I'm done.
Steven looks at Michael, "I believe there's a bet to settle." Michael doesn't look happy.