I was gagged once again, with the hint of the flavor of his cum still in my mouth but quickly overcome by the bitter latex mouth plug pressing firmly against my tongue.  The clothespins had been removed from my arms and thighs, but remained on my scrotum.  They, and the nipple clamps still firmly in place, ensured that a persistent baseline of throbbing sensation washed through my brain.  I remained blindfolded and tightly bound on the bed, with no slack in the leather straps that attached the leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles to the bed.  The weight on the mattress shifted as he again turned, and new electronica filled the air of the gray room, bathed, somewhere on the other side of the thick black cloth over my eyes, in eerie red light.

I set my teeth firmly against the base of the mouth plug and clenched the stress ball, that tangible substitute for a safe word, in my right hand as he sadistically tapped each of the countless clothespins on my sack in turn with a finger.  I imagined him mouthing "eenie meanie miney mo" to himself as he decided with relentless indifference which would be removed first.  The sensation in my crotch was one of a mild burn as the pins collectively covered my sack, but I knew the pain would worsen as they were removed after they had been in place longer than I could reckon.  I braced myself to no avail, and shrieked into the gag as the first pin was released.  The dull burn erupted into white hot pain as blood rushed back the to flesh that had been deprived of oxygen while the wooden teeth had held their grip.

I took a breath before I realized his tongue was moving on my cock head.  No!  I struggled between fighting the pain of the removal of the second pin and keeping my sense aware to confirm the wickedness of his latest torment.  For each pin he removed, he was licking a circular path around the whole head of my cock.  No!  He hadn't given me permission to cum!  I wouldn't be able to endure this!  It couldn't be possible.  The sweet juxtaposition of pleasure and pain, and I hadn't cum in nine days.  I'd already suffered countless stimulations:  the days of denial punctuated by constant thought of him and the perverted whims I longed to sacrifice myself to; removing my own body hair and being caught in the dorm shower; the repeated enemas; the bondage; being bound and gagged; his application of the nipple clamps and pins; bathing his balls with my tongue; raping his ass with my tongue in a futile attempt at defiance as he removed the pins from my arms and legs; and sucking the last drop of cum from his cock.  Now he was assaulting my over-sensitive cock and balls, all while I was prohibited from cumming.

Slowly, one by one, the pins were removed from my nuts.  I whimpered and thrashed my head from side to side, occasionally trying to yell in frustration and pull my hands and feet free from their bonds.  It was useless.  I was at his cruel mercy.  My right hand kneaded the stress ball.  It was the only path to relief.  If I dropped it, he would stop whatever he was doing.  But it meant I would have to go home; the scene would end, and I still would not be allowed to cum.  All that I had endured today, for the past nine days, would be for nothing!  But, if I came without permission, he had promised to take pictures of me, naked, in whatever state I had been in when I disobeyed him.  That meant, now, being bound and gagged, the red marks of pins on my arms and legs, nipple clamps, pins still jutting up from my crotch.  And soon, very soon from the feel of the ball of fire in my groin, ropes of thick cum covering me.  What he would do with the pictures would be up to him.  He may post them on a web site, or send them to people at my university.  What a way to be outed!

I was on the edge of a blade.  If I dropped the ball, I would be spared the humilation, but not the pain of the pins.  He would stop what he was doing and release me, but the pins would still be in place.  I would have to remove them myself, and then without the torturous reward of the tongue teasing.  I could give in and climax, and suffer the horrible consequences.  My mind whirled.  I clenched every muscle in my body, trying to hold back the tidal wave of cum I could feel rising.  He had to know I was close!  He had to be able to see my balls pulling up to the root of my cock, my cock pulsing madly and the flood of precum I could still feeling pooling on my abdomen.  I hadn't counted the pins as he removed them, but it was no matter; I had lost count when he had applied them, seemingly hours earlier.

I writhed under the delicious evil of his perversion.  Tears were streaming from my eyes, and I felt the blindfold grow sodden.  Tears less of physical pain than psychological anguish and indecision.  I wanted to obey him.  I needed him.  I needed his control.  His domination.  My sightless eyes recalled his blond hair and piercing blue eyes, his incredible body, which, even now, I had not seen naked.  Each thought was interrupted by the pain of a pin, the pleasure of a lick.  I hadn't even seen his cock, though I had tasted it.  He had held me back from sucking him all the way down, so I didn't know its length.  I knew its thickness, and craved it.  I craved it inside me, forcing its way into the depths of my ass.  That fantasy was nearly my undoing, and I quickly turned my mind elsewhere.  If I defied him, if I came, I might never have him again, or see him as I wanted to see him.  Pain.  Pleasure.

With a sob, I went limp.  I turned my right hand, prepared to release its contents.  Instantly, I felt his hand on mine.  His fingers on mine.  He held my hand closed and I felt his breath on my ear.  "That's the last one, Simon.  That's the last one and you did it."  My breath caught in my throat.  His hand still clutched mine, trapping the ball, as I felt his other hand come to my head and stroke my hair.  It broke me, and as he stroked my cheeks and hair, I wept.  The gag absorbed my sobs, but my body trembled as he comforted me, kissing my neck and shoulder.  "You did so well," he murmured, over and over, as I slowly regained control of my emotions.

As my heart and breathing slowed, I became aware that there was no music.  Physical sensation also returned, as I braided down to a normal level of consciousness.  My cock was still hard and throbbing, as it had been for what felt like the entire day.  It was sore.  So too were my arms and legs and sack where the pins had been, and all of my muscles throbbed from the exertion of my struggle against the bondage and the imminent orgasm.  The clamps were still on my nipples, but he held me as he removed them, and then I was free.

"You've been hard for a long time, Simon.  I want you to go down.  I'm going to untie you and take off the gag, but remember, you may not speak."  He removed the blindfold first, and my puffy eyelids fluttered open.  I looked at his face as he sternly unfastened the straps for the gag, and then unbuckled the cuffs on my wrists.  As he turned away to my feet to unbuckle my ankles, my eyes went down his body.  He was still naked.  He hadn't undressed until after he blindfolded me.  His chest was hairless and firm, developed not in the gym but through countless athletic activities, just like mine.  His arms and legs were similarly muscled, flexing and relaxing easily under the tanned and unblemished skin, but not vainly sculpted.  The angle at which he sat, turned away from me, deprived me of a view of his crotch until he had finished, and I laid on the bed, liberated.

When he turned back, smiling, I overtly glanced down to his lap.  His cock, now soft, was easily five inches long and as thick around as the ring I might make between the tip of my middle finger and the tip of my thumb.  His pubes were trimmed but not shaved, and his sack hung low and full.  I looked back up at his face where his smile had softened, seeking permission to touch him.  I wanted to put my hand on his cock, to feel its weight, and to fondle his balls.  Perhaps to arouse him again, so I could see how long and thick it was hard.  Perhaps also to stimulate him to use me more.  He shook his head, knowingly.

"No, Simon.  We need to get you cooled down, because we're not even close to being finished today.  You've come this far, and I don't want to have to send you home before I'm ready."  I knew my face reflected the disappointment I felt, both at not being able to touch him and because I sensed the implication that my orgasm lay far ahead.  "Get up.  I want you in a cold shower.  No hot water.  Stay there until you're soft.  I won't state the obvious."  It was a reaffirmation of the order that I could not cum without permission, so there would be no relief of my erection through masturbation.

"When you're soft, get out and dry off.  You can go to the bathroom if you need to, too.  You've been hard for awhile, so I don't know how full your bladder is.  When you're done, I want you back in here, face down this time."  I licked my lips and looked down at his cock, hoping this meant fucking would soon follow.  This thought did nothing to deflate my erection.  When I looked up as he continued, his face was impervious.  "You can't buckle yourself in face down, so just spread eagle and knock on the headboard again."  He took my chin in his hand and held my face firmly pointed at his own.  "No talking," he said with emphasis.  He then leaned over and kissed me deeply, his tongue fucking my mouth with determination.

He took the ball from my hand and laid it on the mattress.  "You've done very well, Simon.  I'm proud of you.  But there's a way to go yet," he said as I stood to comply with his instructions.  As I turned for the hall, he slapped my ass firmly with his palm.  I yelped playfully, though he couldn't see my smile, and headed for the shower.

I stood in the tub, bracing myself, and then reached for the cold water tap.  The water was frigid, and it hit me like a wall of icy razors.  I shivered under it, my cock defiant.  I wanted to turn on the hot water, just to moderate the temperature, just to take the edge off the arctic cascade, but he had said, "No hot water."  I had learned that his orders were precise, and he expected equal precision in their execution.  So, I stood shaking under the water as excruciating minutes passed until, at long last, my erection subsided.

I immediately turned off the water and, still trembling, groped for a towel.  I dried quickly, both to shed the last vestiges of the chill from my body and in eager anticipation for what might be next on his sexual agenda.  I also wanted to return to the gray room before my lustful thoughts prompted my cock to rise again, fearful that he may send me back to the shower -- or worse, that he may not believe I had obeyed him, that I had left the shower too soon, and that he would punish me by sending me home.

I was still quite cold as I returned to the dimly red-lit room, which he had left.  I climbed onto the bed and spread out face down, and just as I reached to knock on the headboard, I remembered.  I hadn't put the gag in.  He had said that it was a standing order, that prior to buckling in, I would strap it on.  He had waived the requirement that I buckle myself into the straps, knowing it would be impossible to comply face down.  Mentally thanking myself for the last minute catch, I reached to the floor, where he had left the mouth plug, and put it in.  With minor difficulty, I managed to fasten the gag behind my head.  I resumed the face down, spread eagle position, and knocked.

He seemed to appear out of nowhere.  I hadn't yet heard any of his footsteps in his apartment.  He materialized at my left side and began buckling in my wrist.  "Did you relieve your bladder?" he asked.  I shook my head no.  He continued making his way to each corner, first reattaching the buckle, then somehow, further tightening the straps.  "Your prerogative.  You may not need to go now, but you don't know how long it will be before I release you, do you?"  Aware of my mistake, I slowly shook my head no again.  "Lesson one today:  when I afford you the opportunity to provide yourself comfort, you should maximize that opportunity.  They are few and fleeting.  You can be sure I will reinforce this lesson for you so you don't forget."

As he finished, I knew it would be a long time before I was released from the bed.  He reached under the bed.  "Did you forget this or did you leave it on purpose?"  He held the stress ball in front of my face.  My heart skipped a beat and my eyes widened.  I mumbled stupidly into the gag.  If he withheld the ball, I would have no chance whatever for escape or control of the situation, even if I needed to be released more than I needed to cum.  "I'm going to be lenient with you, and give you the opportunity to have it, if you want it."

He left the ball on the mattress in front of my face.  He disappeared briefly, and I heard the armoire open.  "In addition to what I already have planned for you," he began, "you've earned yourself discomfort with your forgetfulness.  I'm going to lay three other items on the bed.  You get to choose one.  If you choose the stress ball, I'll put it back in your hand.  If you choose any other item, the stress ball and the item you chose go into the armoire.  The items that remain on the mattress after you've chosen will be used appropriately."  He returned to view with his hands behind his back and his eyes locked on mine.  "Nod yes to agree, or shake your head no and I'll let you go home.  Instantly."

Inwardly, I cursed myself for my stupidity.  FUCK!  In addition to his plans, there would be more torture.  And it was my fault.  I'd seen the contents of the armoire the week before.  It held items I had only read about, and some I'd never imagined.  Who knew what deviant selections he'd made?  But I was acutely aware of why I was here:  I'd met him on the internet, and I'd wanted him to use me.  That's why I was here.  To be bound.  To be controlled.  To be tormented.  I nodded.

One by one, he laid them on the mattress.  A parachute ball stretcher.  A butt plug, sculpted in latex to resemble a penis...a large penis.  Larger than I'd ever taken before, and if my guess was right about his cock, competitive with his own erection.  It had the ubiquitous indentation at the base of the shaft, of which there remained at least 8 inches for insertion, followed by a thick retaining ball.  Relatively thick, thicker than the rest of the plug, which was more than respectable.  The final item was a ping pong paddle.  It's implication was clear.  My eyes found his, pleading.

"Choose one, Simon.  I'll touch each one.  When I touch your selection, nod again."  My eyes remained on his.  It took only a moment to decide.  I had to choose the ball.  If I chose anything else, I would have to suffer the other two.  Suffer them without relief.  Without escape.  Without mercy.  By choosing the ball, I would have to endure all three items, plus whatever he had originally had in mind for me, but at least, if it was too much, I could sacrifice my orgasm, drop the ball, and go home.  He looked down to the bed, and my eyes followed his.  He touched the paddle.  He touched the plug.  He touched the stretcher.  He touched the ball.  I nodded vigorously.  He smiled wickedly, picked up the ball, and pushed it into my waiting hand.

"A safe choice," he chuckled.  "I wonder whether it was the best one."  He returned to the armoire where, presumably, he made more selections.  Those he had already planned to use, before I had fucked up.  He walked past me, around the foot of the bed.  I felt the mattress give way as he knelt between my ankles.  I tried to turn my head over my shoulder to see what he was doing, but the bondage was too tight and I couldn't see that far.  I felt him reach under me and scoop my privates out from under my abdomen.  Just the feel of his hand and the nervous anticipation of what lay in store for me sent the blood rushing back into my cock.

He was wrapping something around my cock head.  He had started before my erection grew, and as my cock swelled, it was quickly confined.  "This is a simple device, Simon.  It's a leather cap that fits over the cock head, like a miniature leather condom.  It's fastened in place with a narrow lace, tied behind the head.  It's extremely effective at denying sensation to the cock head.  Well, pleasurable sensation.  As you can probably tell by now, the lace doesn't give as your cock swells to erection.  This is actually designed to help you.  It should keep you from cumming without permission as you instinctively hump the mattress.  Plus, I'm going to leave your cock down here, pointed towards the foot of the bed.  I like seeing it there.  And it makes an easy target."

I pulled and kicked at the restraints, and grunted with frustration.  The angle of my cock, and the weight of my abdomen pressing down on its root against the mattress, was uncomfortable but not insufferable.  The lace, tied tightly just below the crest of my glans was another matter.  I tried to wriggle my hips, trying to leverage against the mattress to peel the cap off, to no avail.  His head appeared in front of my face, smiling at me.  He moved his nose within an inch of mine.  "And now it's time for the first of your selections!" he announced gleefully.

He moved away, taking the ball stretcher from sight.  I heard him attaching something to the rail at the foot of the bed.  Quickly, he was on top of me, straddling my hips facing the foot of the bed.  I felt him gather up my nuts, pull them deep into the bottom of my sack, and then fasten the stretcher around them.  The pressure was already unpleasant, but he pulled the parachute down and away from my crotch.  I tried to pull myself down with my legs, flexing my thighs and calves to bend my knees, but the straps holding my arms would not yield an inch.  I heard a click as something locked around the weight ring of the stretcher. I began panting, sucking air through my nostrils, when I felt him lift his leg and dismount from his straddle position. The mattress under me lifted me further.

My right hand worked the stress ball. I was on the verge of panic, not from the pain, which was intense but bearable, but from the complete immobilization and the psychological effect of the ball stretching. I felt him lay beside me.  I opened my eyes, which I had clamped shut when he fastened the stretcher to what I presumed was a strap tied to the foot of the bed.  He was watching my face intently, his face impassive but his eyes deep, his pupils wide.  He was stroking my back with one hand.  "Close your eyes," he said softly.  I closed them and felt him move to my ear.  "Just give in to it."  He was almost whispering.  "Don't flex, don't fight it.  Slowly relax.  Take a deep breath.  You've done so well, and I know you can do it.  You've shown you can."  His hand continued to move slowly over my back, an island of warmth in the sea of my still chilly flesh.  A sense of pride at what I'd taken so far welled up, and it diminished the ache from the ball stretching.

I took a deep breath.  I slowly exhaled, consciously trying to relax my muscles as the air flowed out of me.  When my lungs were empty, I was nearly limp.  The pain was still there, but it was dull.  I could concentrate around it.  My hand stopped pumping the stress ball, stopped threatening to burst its synthetic casing and spurt its gooey filling over my hand.  I began to compress it with a regular rhythm, synchronized to my now regular breathing.  "Good," I heard him say.  His hand was traveling lower down my back.  "Stay under control, Simon.  I want to play with this," he said as his fingers stroked my ass cheeks.  "I want to play here, and I can't if you go home."  He slipped his fingers into my crack, rubbed the tip of one against my tightly clamped hole.

A shiver ran through me.  His finger disappeared, and as my eyes fluttered open, I felt it return, wet with spit, rubbing against my entrance.  I was spread eagle and tightly bound.  I was open for him.  My lidded eyes did nothing to conceal my lust, now fighting with the pain for control, as his wet finger played at my hole.  He watched my face, waiting patiently.  At last, he found the right moment, the right moment in my breathing, the right look on my face, and pressed his finger home.  It slid into me and I closed my eyes, groaning into the gag.  I hunched my ass up to his hand, no longer caring that doing so pulled my balls against their tether.  My cock head pulsed, trapped behind the leather and lace, and I knew the little cap was filling with precum.

My lust threatened the precious balance of my newfound rhythm.  I struggled to remain focused as his finger slipped into me as far as it could reach, and then pulled slowly back.  He repeated this countless times, never touching my prostate, watching me wash away in the sensations, staring at my face as I kept my eyes closed.  He added the second finger at the perfect moment.  I felt the increased pressure in my sphincter, slight friction as his first round of spit was drying.  I didn't care.  I wanted it.  I wanted him inside me.  I wanted his fingers, his cock.  I wanted anything, everything, he would give me.

My eyes flew open as he pulled his fingers free.  He kissed my upturned cheek and then sat up.  He took the butt plug from the mattress and disappeared to the armoire.  Trepidation, dread, at the size of the thing he was about to put into me, crept into my brain, but I banished it.  It was roughly the same size, I thought, as he is, and I need him inside me.  So I can take this.  I must take this, because I must take him.  I heard the tell-tale squish of lube being rubbed over the latex surface, and I saw him pass me again.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on relaxing as I felt him kneel again between my ankles.

The lube on the tip of the plug was cold as it hit my orifice.  I grunted, but he continued on undeterred.  Slowly, but with resolve, he began to apply pressure on the plug in his fist, pressure to slide it into me.  At first, there was resistance, and then I consciously conquered my remaining fear.  I ordered my hole to open, forced my ass to yield, pressing down to take the fake cock into me.  As the head made its way in, I cried out into the gag.  My muscle was stretching, and it had been a long time since I'd been fucked last.  The period of celibacy and the size of this invader made me subconsciously flex my muscles, trying to keep it out.  "Stop fighting," I heard him order from behind me.  I moaned plaintively and clenched the stress ball with all the strength in my forearm.

"Stop fighting, Simon!" he repeated more emphatically.  I slowly yielded, and he waited.  I could sense his impatience, but he did not ram the plug home.  As he saw me relax, he slowly resumed inserting it.  He did not stop, and I did not resist, until it had slid completely inside me, and my hole clamped around the narrow tube between the shaft and the retaining ball.  "It's inside you now," he informed me.  "It's in there until I take it out.  And when I take it out, I promise, you won't be empty for long."  He made his words sounds ominous, a threat hanging in the air, but he failed to appreciate that his cock was my reward for taking the huge plug.  It was what I had promised to myself in return for my efforts.  As my guts resettled around the intruder, I felt greater chill as my perspiration evaporated.  I'd exerted myself to take it.

As he walked past to the armoire from the foot of the bed, I smiled through the tears that had welled up in my eyes.  He was rock hard, and I knew it was because of me.  His cock did not disappoint as it throbbed, it was easily as big as the plug filling me now.  Eager with anticipation, I couldn't take my eyes from it as he stood in front of me, leaned over, and tied a fresh, dry blindfold into place.  Again immersed in darkness, there was only a second's pause before I heard the first beat. He'd turned the music back on.  As the soft electronica piped into the room, I felt him climb onto the bed once more, straddling my hips.  I could feel his dick against my back as he leaned forward.  He began slowly massaging my shoulders, my arms pulled taut to the bed frame by the cuffs and straps.  I reveled in the firm touch, the warmth of his body at every point it touched me soothing after the icy shower.

Relaxation washed over me.  Even my right hand, rather than clutching the stress ball tightly, loosely clung onto it.  He worked out from my neck and over my shoulders, carefully and deliberately moving along the perimeter of my back to my hips, where his own thighs were parted over me.  I could distinguish each of his fingertips as he kneaded my muscles, and I was moaning into the ball gag, trying futilely to rock my hips against the mattress beneath me.  The leather cap on my cock head and the lace tightly tied below the crest of my glans denied me the phallic stimulus I craved, but I relished the sensation that flowed through me.

His hands worked up their way up the center of my back, on either side of my spine, and when he again reached my neck, they moved out across my shoulders.  Rather than returning down my ribs, this time they passed over my biceps, then my forearms.  I felt him lie down on top of me, his chest against my back, and his arms wrapped under my chest and crossed in an embrace.  His weight added to the tension in the straps securing my limbs to the bed and the strap pulling my balls down from my crotch.  I felt him seize a still-sore nipple between the fingertips of each hand, and then his breath was on my ear.  I was electrified as he tentatively licked the earlobe, then took the lower tip between his teeth, biting gently.  He rocked his hips, grinding against me, and I could feel his cock sandwiched between us, partly wedged into the upper valley of my crack.  I knew my body must still seem cold to him because of how intensely warm his seemed to me.  He rolled my nipples between his fingers as he humped at me.  As the small of my back grew perceptibly moist from his dick drool, I could feel my own cock throbbing between my legs.

He pulled one hand from under me briefly, reaching down to adjust his erection so it, like mine, pointed to the foot of the bed.  He slid his body down mine a few inches, and he began to kiss and lick the juncture of my neck and shoulder, occasionally scraping it with his teeth.  I wanted desperately to writhe beneath him, especially as his hand returned to my tender nipples, but my bondage afforded no slack.  My moaning was virtually continuous and unbroken by this point, when I felt him thrust his pubic bone against the retaining knob of the butt plug embedded deeply inside me.  I gasped, and heard him snicker.  He repeated the motion, and I again felt the plug surge inside me, vibrating against my prostate.  He began to establish a definite rhythm, and each of his thrusts elicited a groan from deep in my throat.  "Just think, Simon," he murmured, "if you cum now, what a great picture I get to take of you.  You're tied down to the bed, your balls stretched, a plug clearly visible between your cheeks."

It was a clear challenge, and even though I knew I was scared to be outed, some aspect of the humiliation in the scene he described added to my arousal.  I was both horrified and inexplicably turned on at the thought of how I would look in such a photograph and at the prospect of having it sent to people who knew me.  "You're blindfolded, ball gagged," he continued, punctuating each sentence with a thrust.  "It would be so obvious to everyone that you're a slutty little faggot, wouldn't it, Simon?"  I moaned in agreement.  "I haven't given you permission to cum yet, but you can feel your balls churning, can't you?  Even as they're stretched between your thighs?"  He was right.  My balls were churning, and I knew I moving ever closer to the edge, despite the leather cap over my cock head, despite the fact that my balls were prevented from drawing up in their sack by the stretcher and the strap connected to it.

"Do you want to cum?" he asked.  I nodded frantically.  "You know the consequences, don't you?"  I wailed into the gag, pleading.  "You know, don't you?" he repeated.  I nodded reluctantly.  "And you still want it, don't you?"  The regular thrusting was taking its toll, my prostate felt like a tuning fork at the root of my cock.  The nine days of abstinence.  The afternoon of delicious sexual torture.  Lust was depriving me of reason.  I couldn't give in, I couldn't cum, I would be disobeying him.  The reality of what he would do wouldn't be erotic, not like the fantasy in my head.  I remembered the stress ball.  I couldn't cum.  I had to hold it back.  He was taunting me, adding psychological torment to the physical.  Again, I found myself at the banks of the Rubicon, with seconds left.  I would either cum or drop the ball.  I felt his teeth on my neck, biting gently, and knew he was marking me.  It would be now or never, I knew.

And suddenly, he was gone.  I fell back from the edge, quivering emotionally and physically.  He had rolled off me at the last possible instant, and again, my brain slipped into a more conscious state.  The music had stopped.  The track had ended.  He had known exactly when to begin teasing me, he had known exactly how many seconds he had left.  I was still reeling as the first notes of the new track started, when the first crack of the paddle fell on my left ass cheek.