Date: Sat, 28 Jul 2007 13:44:14 -0700
From: David Andrew <daprivate12@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bondage, balls, pain and pleasure 13

After the beach trip it was some time before I got back to NYC. When I
checked my mailbox I recognized Tom's neat handwriting on a letter.
Naturally my pulse quickened as I tore it open, but it was a very short
note, "Give me a call as soon as you can," was all he said. I called and
caught him just as he was leaving the apartment to go to a concert at the
Lincoln Center. He didn't have time to explain why he'd asked me to call and
persuaded me to join him at the Tavern on the Green after the show. I was
almost relieved that he didn't want to beat my balls that night, I had an
early pick-up next morning, 6 a.m., but I know I'd have been unable to
refuse if he'd asked me. I was left wondering what he had in mind which made
it a long evening, part of which I filled by walking up to the Tavern. I
asked for Tom by name and was led way over to another dining room on the far
side of the restaurant where he was sitting at a table with another man who
looked familiar. I was wondering if by chance I'd met him in at some time,
in the baths, or something like that. When I was introduced to the guy I was
very surprised, he was a well-known local politician, a guy who projected a
straight talking, no nonsense image, whose face I'd seen on TV and in the
papers. I guess the reason I hadn't immediately recognized him was that I
hadn't expected to see him with Tom. I remember thinking that there'd be no
sexual discussion until he left, how wrong I was! After the introductions
Tom seemed to be very animated, very different from his usual laconic self.
"Listen," he said, "we're taking over the Carlton Club for a boys' night
out." (I should tell you that the club wasn't called the Carlton, Tom asked
me to be ultra discreet about all of this, and I could see in the
politician's face a sincere hope that Tom was right about my discretion.
However, the club was, and still is, one of the most prestigious in the
city. Many foreign dignitaries have addressed the great and good from the
premises.) "It's going to be a tournament, like a mediaeval joust almost.
We've got twenty-four tops lined up, and I want you to come as my bottom."
Already my cock was stirring, twenty-four tops and bottoms...public
sex...public S&M sex! I liked the idea a lot.
"The bottoms carry their tops pig-a-back fashion, all naked of course. The
tops will have lances, broom handles actually, the ends are rounded, but
there's no padding. You'll be wearing a harness that'll hold your nuts up
high and out front. The idea is that the tops try to make the opposing
bottoms drop their riders by jabbing and swinging at their balls... The
bottoms' balls that is. Oh, I should tell you  you'll be wearing a mask
that'll allow you a very restricted view straight ahead. That's so that you
can't see shots that are coming at you from the sides. We've found in the
past that the bottoms can drag things out just by turning and deflecting the
hits, it took too long to get results." It was obvious to me by this time
that if the politician wasn't actually going to be taking part he was
certainly going to be there, he was almost salivating as Tom described the
action. "In the first round there'll be four pairs competing, the last pair
standing will be the winners of the round. Next time around there'll be
three pairs, and the winners of this round will meet in the finals. How does
it sound to you?"
It sounded very hot; I wanted in. But I was surprised that Tom would want me
to be his 'horse.' The first time I'd gone to his apartment I'd left with my
tail between my legs. The second visit went better, much better for me and I
hope for him too. Then at the beach I'd gone with Brian, Tom hadn't touched
me except to pull on my cock for a while after I'd got back from the
enclosure. So what made him think I'd make a good partner when he must have
had many bottoms over the years?
"Yes," I said, "it sounds exciting. When is it?" Tom told me the date which
was more than a month hence, some way into the next duty roster which wasn't
out yet. Plenty of time for me to arrange to be in the city. Then I asked
him how he came to choose me.
"Brian told me about the whipping... Anyone who'll take a bullwhip on his
balls and then walk back along the beach is good enough for me."
"You let Brian use that thing on your balls?" The politician was looking at
me in a different way. I saw him in a different light too.
"I guess I just got carried away," I said. "It was a spur of the moment sort
of thing."
"Well spur of the moment it might have been, but we're well matched, we're
about the right weight for each other, you can take it and I can dish it
out. And you know what? There's real money bet on these tournaments, and
you'll be a dark horse. They've never seen you before, we'll make a
killing." He laughed heartily at the thought.
"He actually used the bullwhip on your balls?" The politician repeated
clearly amazed. He hadn't taken his eyes of me for the last couple of
minutes. "Right on your balls?"
"Well down my ass actually. It did connect with my cock and balls," I
admitted again. I really didn't want to get into that incident. Then Tom
dropped a bombshell.
"So..." he said quietly leaning much closer and looking deep into my eyes,
"when will you let me do the same?"
Looking back afterwards I suppose I should have expected the question, and
had some excuse ready. Isn't hind sight wonderful? In fact I was taken
completely by surprise. I didn't really want to take that punishment again.
It had been extremely painful, but I'd survived, there were no cuts, and the
marks had cleared amazingly fast so I wasn't sorry that I'd let Brian use
the sambok. But I'd done it, and didn't need to do it again. On the other
hand Tom had just asked me to be his partner in a very exciting evening, I
couldn't just say no. So foolishly I prevaricated.
"Well Brian has a very special bullwhip, very smooth, it didn't break the
skin..." My voice trailed away as I realized that Tom and Brian were good
friends, he could very easily borrow Brian's whip.
(At this point I should perhaps describe these whips rather better than I
did in the last part. I said that they are made up of many thin strips of
very soft leather no thicker than string, but they are whips, not cats.
They're about seven feet long, at the handle they're about in inch in
diameter tapering all the way to the end where they're about the thickness
of your little finger. At the tip of a real bull-whip there'd be knots, but
these had no knots, little bundles of the leather strips had been bound with
silk, maybe a dozen of them in all. So the last three inches or so looked
like a miniature cat, but very soft, very silky, very sexy!)
"I know, he bought it in Botswana. He brought one back for me too." I hadn't
expected that.
"It would have to be on a two-day layover..." Even as I said that I knew I'd
just agreed to let Tom use his whip. He knew that I had two-day layovers,
the beach trip was on a two-day stop,.
"How about right after the tournament? There's an orgy of sex right after
the final round. Can I do it then?" Everything about him, the way he leaned
closer, the way his eyes burned into mine, told me how much he wanted to do
this, there was no way of backing down now.
"Well...if I happen to have two nights..." That's all I could say.
Tom offered me a ride back to the hotel, but I wanted to walk, I had a lot
of thinking to do before I'd get to sleep.
'I could just not admit to having a long layover,' I thought vaguely. That
would have worked for a while, but it would have been pretty shitty too. It
would have been so much easier if I'd been tied to his bed and he'd been
crushing my balls when he asked me. I'd have been hot and hard and would
have agreed without thinking about it. That's how I'd let Brian do it, when
I was really turned on. Now I had time to think... More than a month until
the tournament. 'When the new roster comes out there might be a two-day stop
before that. If there is should I tell him? If I let him do it before the
tournament will he want to do it again afterwards?' I wondered. If only I'd
made it clear right from the first mention of the whipping that I never
wanted to go through that again Tom probably wouldn't have pursued the
subject. But I didn't, I'd acted as though it was no big deal, and so I'd
dropped myself into this. Tom was expecting to use his sambok and there was
no way out. What was done was done, it was my own fault, I'd taken it
before, I'd take it again.
I put in a request for a flight that would have me in NYC on the night of
the tournament and over the next couple of weeks I fantasized regularly
about the coming event. About being naked with dozens of naked men, about
taking the hits and ending up as the winners, about being whipped while they
watched. In these fantasies I only remembered the "good" pain, the pain when
I was really turned on. I could almost cum just thinking about it. When the
new roster came out I was shattered to see that I was down for four days in
the simulator followed by a week of safety training, that's putting out
fires in mock-up aircraft, jumping down escape slides, climbing into
dinghies, all thoroughly boring. The worst thing about being rostered for
the simulator was that there's no way of swapping out of this stuff, it's
cast in stone. We have these checks twice a year, each time with a different
instructor, it leveled the field and made sure that no pilot got an easy
ride because he had a friend in the training section. As I stared at the
roster other thoughts welled up; the whipping! Up to this time the whipping
was going to be part of an exciting evening, and with a crowd of guys around
to watch. I'd have been so turned on I'd have been ready for anything. Now,
suddenly, the crowded scene, the excitement, had disappeared like a mirage.
Now there was only going to be Tom and me, his bullwhip and my balls. It was
going to be much harder to take second time around. There was a two-day
layover at the end of the roster, a week after the show, too damned late.
Since I'd left Tom with the impression that I'd almost certainly be able to
go with him to the tournament I had to call him to give him as much time as
possible to find a replacement. I couldn't call from home since his number
would appear on the printout so I had to find a call box. I wanted to
explain to him why I couldn't make it rather than just leaving a message, so
I had to call early morning NY time. Calling overseas from a call box is not
only expensive, it's frustrating too. The 50 pence coins, a dollar a drop,
only gave me about twenty seconds of talking time, but about five seconds
before the cut-off there'd be a series of beeps, and each time the next coin
dropped into the slot we were cut off for a couple of seconds, so the
conversation was thoroughly disjointed. Tom sounded really disappointed, I'm
sure he must have thought that there had to be a way around the problem, but
I think in the end I convinced him that there really wasn't. I remember
walking away from the call box feeling really pissed off that this check had
come up at the very worst time. I don't know whether it was the frustration
with the call, or maybe something more Freudian, but I forgot to mention
that I had a two-day stop coming up in five weeks. When I'd let Brian use
his whip I'd been taken straight from the upright posts to the log, it only
took a minute or two. I must confess that any time I wasn't actively dealing
with fires, dinghies, engine failures, hydraulic or electrical problems the
whipping preyed on my mind. Would I tell him about the long layover? There'd
be more coming up, maybe I could miss this one, let him do it at some later
date? Now I started to fantasize about how it would be with just the two of
us. Would he want to whip me right at the beginning of the session? Or would
he wait until the end? Would I be kneeling on his bed? On the floor? Would
he make me lie on my back and lay the whip straight down on my cock and
balls? But I couldn't have taken it that way, there would be marks across my
stomach. Sometimes I got hard thinking about it, sometimes I wilted. When I
thought about the pain in my testicles as the whip struck I was turned on;
when I remembered how it had made my balls rock hard I shriveled. When I
thought about the sting in my ass hole it was good, but the burning fire
down the length of my crease as I got up from the log wasn't a turn-on. I
never actually thought of not letting him do it, just not calling him again,
that never was part of my thinking. I'd said he could do it, I wouldn't go
back on that; come what may I knew I had to let Tom use his bullwhip on my
balls. Before the simulator session I had three nights in Bahrain, just
perfect for re-reading the manuals, but that's not the way it worked out.
Just to make sure I wouldn't be able to back down or put it off I decided to
write to Tom telling him when I'd be in town for the two-day layover.
Initially I'd planned a short note, that's all I had to do really, once it
was mailed I would be committed. At the end of the first evening I'd run out
of paper without getting it right. On the second evening I wrote a lot more,
explained how I'd come to let Brian do it, told him about the young guy
who'd been whipped right in front of me. How he'd kept his legs wide apart
to expose his balls for the whip; how I'd been turned on by seeing the whip
come down on his crack and curl over to scorch his balls; how his whole body
had stiffened momentarily after each stroke then relaxed to take the next
one. This version of the letter just seemed to take on a life of its own, it
grew and grew. I guess I don't have to explain this to anyone who has been
reading the stuff I write, you know how verbose I can be. In the end I
wasn't sure that I wanted Tom to know just how turned on I'd been so I
didn't mail this letter either. On the third evening I started again. This
was to be short, I really did mean to keep it short, but I ended up telling
him even more than in the second version of the letter. After finishing I
re-read it all, I hate sloppy grammar and spelling mistakes, and then on
pure impulse I added a postscript.
"Thank you so much for asking me to be your partner at the tournament, I
really appreciated it. I feel that I should have shown my appreciation by
being more positive when you asked if you could use your bullwhip. I knew
how much you wanted to use it on my balls, but I made excuses. Please
forgive me, I'll take the whipping that you want to give me."
Needless to say I hurriedly sealed the letter and dropped it into the mail
box before I had a chance to re-think the whole thing. Curiously from this
point on my fantasies became positive again, the fact that my balls might go
into a spasm, and the certainty that I'd be left with a line of fire down my
butt didn't bother me any more.
Initially the weeks dragged by so slowly, but as the day came closer time
speeded up. I remember waking one Thursday and realizing that in one week
I'd be heading for NYC and the bullwhip. That made my stomach tighten up a
notch. Then on the following Monday the thought was, 'It's going to happen
this week!' Another twinge. On the Thursday morning I really had to make a
real effort to concentrate on anything but what was coming. We normally flew
leg and leg about, which is to say the pilot who flew the first sector did
the radio work on the next. The non-flying pilot always had more to do than
the flying pilot because he did all the communications, copying clearances,
passing estimates to ATC and the company, checking the weather at the
enroute alternates, the destination and the alternates for the destination.
You won't be surprised to hear that I gave the outbound leg to JFK to the
copilot. That took care of the flight because I was too busy to fantasize,
but my mind began racing again when we were in the crew transport heading
into Manhattan. The driver went via the 59th Street Bridge and I remember
looking at the Manhattan skyline and thinking, 'Before I leave this island
Tom is going to lay his whip right on my balls.' I could hardly breathe.
I called him when I got to the room, there was an answering machine, but
he'd added an extra bit to the message. After the usual spiel his voice
added, "And if it's you David... I accept your offer and I'll expect you at
eight." This would have been at about five-thirty; two and a half hours to
kill. I walked up to check my mailbox in the Post Office at 69th Street, it
was better than sitting around waiting. There was a letter from Vincent, an
unusually long one for him telling me in graphic detail what he'd done to a
German youth in an S&M club in Frankfurt. I actually felt jealous, but it
distracted my mind for a while. On the way back to the hotel I passed a
drugstore and on impulse decided to buy myself some Advil just in case I
needed a pain-killer later that night. Having found what I wanted I was
heading back to the checkout when I happened to see a poster advertising a
depilatory cream, Nair it was called. I'd never used anything like this
before, but something clicked in my mind. I wanted to look especially cool
tonight, Tom had wanted to shave me the first time we'd met. I visualized
what I'd look like without any pubic hair. No, I couldn't go that far,
couldn't explain that at home. However, I could strip away all the fuzz from
my buns, and the hair down around the back of my scrotum, down where I
couldn't pluck and didn't care to risk using a razor. That wouldn't be
noticed by my wife, but Tom would see it. I can't tell you how guilty I felt
as a lay the two items on the checkout. Back in the hotel I re-read
Vincent's letter savouring all the details, that got me hard. Next I read
the instructions that came with the tube of Nair. I think it had to be
applied and then left for fifteen minutes. I don't have much body hair, and
what there is is blond so it's not all that noticeable. However once I
started spreading the cream I got really enthusiastic. From the back of my
balls I worked it right up my ass crease, then feeling some fuzz on the
cheeks I spread it outwards on both sides. Next I did the inside of my
thighs all the way down to my knees. I considered the little patch of hair
on my chest but decided that it would be rather too obvious when I got home.
I waited the full fifteen minutes then took a long, long shower. I must say
the effect was striking. As the water washed away the cream the hair just
disappeared. I hadn't used it on my scrotum, because it was already
hairless, but as the short hairs on the inside of my thighs washed away my
sac seemed to be even more naked than I'd ever seen it. When I eventually
came out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror, I bent over, my ass
was completely and utterly hairless. I really liked what I saw, especially
as I knew that this was what Tom was going to be looking at when he tortured
me. I dressed in jeans, a tee-shirt and a zipped jacket because the evenings
were now quite cold. No underwear, never wore underwear when I was going out
to have sex with a man, I wanted him to have quick and easy access to the
hard and soft bits. Tom's apartment was about a three minute taxi ride, or
twenty minute walk. Since I still had some time to kill I walked.
It was a fine evening for walking, I pressed his bell at exactly eight
o'clock, pilots are always exactly on time! There was a buzz, I stepped in,
as I climbed the broad staircase my heart rate increased steadily. In this
building there was only one apartment on each of the three floors, Tom was
standing in the doorway. He was wearing the black leather chaps that he'd
worn the first time I had come to his apartment, they only covered his
thighs, no crotch, no back. To my surprise he was distinctly aroused, not
fully hard, but not the long, soft, swinging cock I'd always seen in the
past. In his right hand he held the handle of the bullwhip, the tip was in
his left hand. He smiled broadly as I approached and then dropped the looped
whip over my shoulders so that it was around my neck and pulled me close.
When our bodies touched I could feel his cock stiffening rapidly.
'He's going to do it right now,' I thought. 'There's no way he's going to
wait until the end of the evening.'
"You're looking well," he interrupted my thoughts, "but over dressed."
"Yes Sir," I agreed. Leaving the whip draped around my neck he unzipped and
removed my jacket. He held on to the whip as my tee-shirt was pulled over my
head. He fumbled with my belt, then when he unzipped my jeans they fell to
the floor. I was hard of course, his hands went for my balls. We stood there
for several minutes, both naked with the door wide open behind me.
"You feel good too... They're so soft," he murmured.
'But they'll soon be as hard as walnuts,' I thought. "Thank you Sir," I
said. He slipped the whip around my butt using it to pull me in real close.
He was now fully erect too, his cock pressed against my belly beside mine.
"You feel good too Sir," I said. I couldn't see his cock at this time, but I
could feel that it was a lot longer than mine. It occurred to me that I'd
never seen him even slightly aroused. On my first visit I was such a wimp I
doubt that he ever got an erection. On the second visit, which went much
better, he may well have been hard, but since he'd pulled a hood over my
head as soon as he'd spread-eagled me I never saw it.
"You're going to let me whip them?" he asked rolling my balls around between
his fingers.
"That's what I've come for Sir."
"So how come you didn't want to know anything about whips on your first
visit?" This took me completely by surprise. It was true, I had freaked out
when I saw the whips on the coffee table in the lounge. The only thing I
could think about was the caning at school, the searing pain and the
terrible bruises across my butt. I had wimped out and been ashamed of myself
on that first visit. When I answered his ad the second time and discovered
who I'd written to I really didn't think he would bother with me again. When
I'd spoken to him on the phone and explained that we'd met before he had
said that he couldn't remember the meeting and cordially invited me to come
on over. Clearly he had remembered the meeting, but for whatever reason had
decided that I was worth another chance.
"Sir... I got scared when I saw all those whips," I said weakly. "But now
Sir, I will take whatever punishment you wish to inflict." I'd already said
as much in the letter from Bahrain, but still it wasn't easy saying it out
loud to a man with a bullwhip wrapped around my butt. My voice was a bit
weak, Tom was kind enough not remark on it.
"They are in good shape boy," he said squeezing my balls harder, "but I want
them to be aching before I whip them. You had been hard for hours when Brian
whipped them, they must have been aching then."
"Yes Sir, they were," I admitted.
"Well they'll be aching again tonight. Don't worry, you'll be ready, you'll
want it." Now here's a strange thing, the man who is going to whip my balls
says that he's first going to beat them, make them ache, and for some crazy,
incomprehensible reason it makes me feel better! Tom slipped the whip from
my butt and stepped around behind my back to close the door. "Come, it's
time to get started." For the first time I got to see what Tom looked like,
the interesting bits that is. His cock wasn't the longest I've ever seen,
nor the fattest, nor the biggest head, but it was drop-dead beautiful. It
looked strong, that's the best word for it, maybe eight inches long,
slightly curved, dark red head. His balls hung low, they always did, in a
lovely soft-skinned sac. In short he looked exactly how I had always wished
I could look.
I followed him through to the bedroom. The bed was covered in the black
sheet, the chains laying on the corners seemed to shine brighter than ever
before. When he slipped a leather hood over my head I didn't tighten up as I
had done in the past. For the first time I was relaxed with Tom, I knew it
was going to be painful of course, but it was going to be good. Strange
isn't it? I guess knowing that the whipping was going to be really painful
made the preliminaries seem less daunting. As Tom secured me, spread-eagled,
he seemed to be much more gentle, more caring. It's not that he had been
rough in the past, he'd been casual, but this night he touched me lightly,
stroked my arms and legs as he got them into position, caressed me all over
once I was tied down. I could even tell the difference as he eased my
testicles into a ball press, he handled them so gently, so lovingly, I was
almost ready to cream before he started to turn the screw. He pressed them
hard, really hard, but whereas in the past he'd have been jocular and
flippant, this time he made appreciative sounds, encouraging sounds. He was
willing me to take more, and it worked too, I took way more pressure than
I'd ever taken before. At some point he must have slipped electrodes between
my testicles and the press. They must have been flat slips of metal because
I didn't notice them at all. I did feel the electrode he wrapped around my
thigh, and the one like a butt-plug that he slipped in too. He also slipped
a sound into my urethra, it went in a long way, right into my bladder I
suspect. Still I felt no apprehension at all, this night he could do
anything he wanted. The electrical stimulation was wonderful, I couldn't say
that about my previous experiences with electricity, but that night I guess
I was way up high. When he switched the power to my balls the cords tried to
pull them up into my body, but there was no way they were going anywhere.
The result was a wonderful, deep, wrenching ache that reached right up
through my guts. It felt as though the testicles were being torn from my
body, and you know what, right then I wouldn't have minded! The sound, being
metal, was also an electrode, and when he switched to power to it the
wrenching on my cock felt as though I was being lifted clear of the bed
supported only by my penis. When he removed the ball-press the pain was
truly spectacular, and to make the most of it he applied an electric probe
to my balls, touching them at the back, front, sides, all over. Later he
slipped them through a very tight steel ring so that they were trapped.
Getting the first one through wasn't too hard, but the ring was so small
that it took a lot of pressure to force the second one into place. When he
finally popped it through my whole body jolted. But still I remained
relaxed, so much so that I really was surprised myself. For the rest of the
session he worked my testicles with his hands and the occasional zap of
electricity to each of them as well as my ass and penis. From time to time
he'd pump my cock as he applied electric shocks via the sound. This brought
me to the very edge of coming over and over again, but he stopped me each
time just before the juice squirted out. As you can imagine this treatment
soon had my testicles aching wonderfully. And Tom was right, once the ache
built up I began to want the whip. Eventually my balls ached so badly that I
began to beg him to whip me. Still Tom continued to pump, shock, pump and
stop. Eventually it just became too painful to take any more.
"Please Sir," I pleaded. "Please whip my balls Sir. I'll take anything you
want to give me Sir!"
"Will you take four boy?" he asked.
"Yes Sir," I said immediately, perhaps too quickly.
"How about six?"
"Yes Sir...I'll take six Sir!" I had said I'd take what he wanted to give
me, and I think if he'd asked for eight I so much needed to ejaculate, that
I'd have said yes.
"Good boy. We'll make it six then..." From the speed at which he started to
release me from the bed it was obvious that he wanted to get to the whipping
too..
Tom went to a closet and dragged out what I'd describe as a low coffee
table, about three feet wide and four feet long. It had thick legs, about a
foot long, with castors. The top was covered in black imitation leather,
slightly padded, with short chains attached to the corners.
"I had it made to my own design,: he said with some pride. "This is the
third version, you're going to be the first to try it out." By this time
reality was beginning to sink in, I'm sure I should have thanked him
profusely for giving me the honour of being the first victim, but I didn't.
Tom had taken the electrodes off and out when he released me from the bed,
but hadn't removed the wrist and ankle cuffs, nor the metal ring from my
scrotum. He had me kneel on the board and attached the short chains to the
cuffs. My wrists and ankles were close to the corners of the board so my
arms and legs were spread wide. I could still move my butt backwards and
forwards as well as side to side, and was wondering how well I'd be able to
hold still for the whipping. I really wanted to please him, and take it
well. Tom resolved the issue when he wrapped a broad belt around my waist,
the sort that weightlifters use for back support. There were two straps on
each side attached to rings in the belt, with a ratchet device to pull them
tight, the sort of straps that you'd use to secure stuff on a roof-rack or
trailer. Tom hooked these to the chains at the corners and pulled them
tight. Once all four were tight I could still move my head, and wiggle my
fingers and toes, but my body, specifically my butt, I could not move at
all.
"You might find it best if you keep your head down and pressed hard against
the board," Tom said. I lowered my head to see what it felt like. Man, I was
wide open, completely exposed. I had forgotten about the steel ring around
my scrotum until I felt Tom take my balls in his hands again. He gave them
another brief but vigorous work over before putting his thumbs on the back
of the testicles and pushing both out at the same time. That produced
another spike of pain followed by a wonderful deep ache. Believe me, at that
moment I needed the whip! Tom moved around to stand near my head, he had the
whip in his hands, the end coiled on the floor just in front of my eyes. He
looked down my at back for the longest time. I was well below him so he
could line up his strokes perfectly with the crease in my butt, and with my
legs being spread so wide the whip was certain to wrap around under my butt
to lash my cock and balls. When the tip of the whip lifted out of view I
shut my eyes.
The first stroke was every bit as bad as I remembered from the whipping on
the beach. I didn't scream, didn't struggle, but only because I couldn't. I
was just plain frozen. For the longest time I wasn't even able to take a
breath, must have been nearly a minute. The crease down my ass felt as
though it had split wide open and my balls had exploded, but my mind was
still working, I was wishing that he would get on with it, get it over. I
could see Tom's feet, he was just standing there looking down at me, I guess
he knew what was going on in my mind and was savouring the sight. Just as I
took the next breath he struck again. The second one wasn't as bad as the
first, mostly I suspect because I was in shock, or had been numbed by the
first wave of pain. This time he kept me waiting even longer.
"Please Sir do it! PLEASE!"
"You want it? You want it harder?"
"Yes Sir..." Then I heard what he'd said. "No...not harder Sir."
"But you said yes, that's what you said first, so you really do want it
harder, don't you boy?"
"Sir, whatever you want Sir. Please do it Sir..." I really was desperate, I
was going have to take six strokes and the quicker I could get through the
punishment the better.
Tom stuck twice in fairly quick succession. They may have been harder, but I
was in such pain that I can't say that I noticed the difference. I expected
the next two to follow, but he stopped again.  When I opened my eyes I
couldn't see his feet. I felt his hands on my butt, spreading the cheeks
apart, then he fondled my balls.
"You're looking good...no cuts. You can take a bit more. Will you let me
make the last two real good ones?" How can a man agree to that? I wanted to
say no, to plead with him, but I didn't want to get into a discussion,
wanted it over with.
"Sir...I said I would take whatever you want to give me. Please do it Sir!"
The last two strokes were terrible. For the fifth Tom had pulled back a bit
so the tassel at the end of the whip didn't reach my balls but went off like
a fire-cracker in my sphincter.  The last one reached much further around
under my body and scorched the tip of my penis. I have never had a blowtorch
on my cockhead, but if I ever did I'm sure that this is what it would feel
like. This wasn't good pain, it was too much, just utterly overwhelming. I
was struggling like a mad man, straining against the restraints, but not
moving at all. Each of the six strokes had gone straight down my crease so
there was a long line of fire reaching around under my body, my testicles
felt enormous, big, pulsing balls of pain, and the whole length of my penis
was on fire too.
Just seconds after the last stroke I felt Tom's semen splattering on my
back. The next thing I felt was his hands on my cock, jerking it vigorously
under my body as though he was milking me. With each stroke the head seemed
to grow bigger and more painful. I cried out asking him to take it easy, he
took no notice, just pumped harder. Of course it didn't take long, my semen
shot out in a strong spurts, very jellied white gobs. Then Tom was kissing
my back, the back of my balls, my buns, all over.
"Oh God boy that was so beautiful... So good... I just got to do this to you
again... Once is not going to be enough." He pulled my balls back and out
from between my legs. "God they look so good... They're as hard as rocks.
They are just magnificent!" There was no pain as he handled them, or more
accurately no extra pain, they were just balls of pain. He went on and on
like this for the longest time before I felt his hands releasing the straps
and then the cuffs. When I was free he lifted me up and kissed my lips.
"Please David," he said, "Will you let me whip you again? Please!" Now he
was the one who was pleading.
"Maybe one day Sir..." My voice faded away when I saw my cock for the first
time. The shaft was blackened, I'd expected that, but the head looked
terrible. It was swollen to twice its normal size, but not just evenly
swollen and bigger. The lips were hugely fatter, and black. There were very
dark red ridges across the hood where each of the leather thongs had wrapped
over the end of my cock on that last stroke. In short my penis looked
ghastly.
'How will I ever be able to hide this?' I wondered. 'This isn't going to
fade, not for days.' I really wasn't feeling good, but then Tom kissed me
again and I melted. With our mouths locked he reached for my balls and I let
him have them all over again.
We showered together, the longest shower, and Tom continued on a high. When
we came back to the bedroom it seemed to go without saying that I'd stay the
night. He spent the next couple of hours massaging my body, all over, but
especially the bruised bits, the interesting bits. I asked him how the
tournament had gone.
"We were knocked out in the first round. My boy took two hard hits in quick
succession and seemed to be okay, then with the very next hit he folded
over. You'd have taken it...we'd have won." I thanked him. Eventually we
fell asleep, but at some time in the night I woke to find that Tom's hard
penis was pressing into my butt crack. I wasn't sure if he was awake. I
moved slightly, his cock slipped between my cheeks. I lay still for a
minute, then Tom moved. Soon his cock was probing at my very tender hole.
"No," I said, "there's no way you can do it, not even with a condom."
"I know," he said quietly, "but I need to come again. And I think it would
help with the marks if I work a bit more cream into you." He worked the
cream into my crease with his penis and into my cock and balls with his
hands. We both came surprisingly quickly.
By morning the marks had started to fade. By following evening I was
beginning to get some hope that I might just pull this thing off again. When
I got home my wife had a cold, a real stinker, I always sleep naked, but she
didn't even see me undress, she was out of it.
I don't know whether I'd have let Tom use the bullwhip again or not.
Luckily, or unluckily, he moved to Washington for several months, something
to do with oil industry legislation that he was lobbying for or against so
our paths never crossed again. At least not yet. Would I let him do it
again? All this happened a long time ago, now I remember the excitement more
than the pain, so I probably would. Would I let anyone else do it? Probably
not.  Also I fear that I might come to want the bullwhip, need it even, but
then my balls would have soon become totally desensitized, or seriously
damaged. The ordinary whips and cats that you see in sex shops do not
deliver anything like the impact of a bullwhip. That's not to say that they
couldn't cause injury, but at least it's much less likely.
Not long after this meeting with Tom, Vincent returned to NYC. While he was
away I'd been writing to him at his apartment telling him what I was doing
in his absence. Needless to say I had told him ALL about the beach and the
night I'd spent with Tom. Most of all I earnestly begged him to use his
whips more, harder, and directly on my testicles.