Date: Fri, 06 Sep 2002 13:28:36 -0400
From: hjxol@hotmail.com
Subject: Story-of-a-top-5

What follows is pornographic.... Genuine feedback (positive or negative) is
welcomed. Jackass flaming will be ignored.

I want to thank all of you who wrote to encourage me. I truly appreciate
your input.  Since I don't really consider myself a writer, I depend  on
reader feedback to let me know what I write is not fucking boring.

This is a gay adult story with the consequent language and images. If
homosexuality and/or sexually explicit themes offend you then do not
continue. If these are illegal in your area, then you have my sympathy, but
you proceed at your own risk.

This is a work of fiction, and as such the characters are not bound by the
usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be undertaken
with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is your
obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily.

===============================================================
What does he want?

I'm not through with him yet.  I give him a chance to recuperate and then
start to organize my next protocol.  The last huge ball is still inside of
him. The delightful string is hanging out of his ass.  I want to add weight--
just a little at a time until there is nothing he can do to resist; until
every last bit of effort to hold it in turns to failure.

With a bit of ingenuity, some boy scout knots, an empty two liter Coke
bottle and a piece of rubber tubing, I concoct a swell weight to haul the
ball out of his butt hole.  The rubber tube drips water into the empty
bottle. What could be simpler?

While the bottle gradually fills I tell Jake a story. During my story I
provoke him with caresses, pinches, clips, dick strokes, slaps, bites, ball
twists and kisses.


My Story to Jake:

Once there was a jaded man, a very powerful, rich man. He could indulge
himself without reservation. He bought slaves from all over the world. And
because he hated the idea that they might masturbate and waste some precious
drop of sperm, he had their hands cut off.  Thereupon he found them so
unattractive without hands that he had them killed and replaced them with
dexterous men possessing huge balls. Yet he could not make his powers work
for himself.

The man could not find satisfaction. He tried ordering his stable to be
milked daily and their cum brought to him to drink.  Thus, each morning the
men were forced to jerk off. No cum, no food.  He tried drinking it. Then he
tried pouring on himself. First he poured it over his face. Then he tried
spreading his legs and pouring it onto his crotch.  The jism isn't fresh
enough he thought. So he ordered that dozens of men be brought to him each
morning to ejaculate fresh sperm onto him.  Still he felt unfulfilled. Why
was it all so lackluster?

He was distraught. If he, with all of his money and power, could not find
what he sought, then was something wrong with life itself?  He became
insomniac, walking the splendid halls of his palace day and night, coming to
ill-thought conclusions and reckless plans for his pleasure.

One night he heard a groan. A sexual groan. He walked quietly towards the
sound and peered through a peek hole into his harem. He spied a man. It was
impossible to determine if the man was in pain or ecstasy. Sweat dripped
from him; his body was convulsed; he seemed oblivious of everything but the
arm of another man between his legs, up his ass.  He watched the man squirm
and cry and beg. He watched the man lost in desire for a long time. Finally
the man's orgasm arrived; his perpetrator slowly withdrew his arm. It was
amputated at the wrist.

Shaken, the rich man went to his room. He had a dream. He dreamt he was both
the amputee and the crying, begging man. He could never be sure of what he
felt, of whose emotions were driving his dream.  He woke up. It was raining.
In the gloom of the dingy morning, he lay there, the bedding all snarled
around him. His sorry, stupid, belligerent face hanging.

Later that day he had his hands amputated.
 
End of my story to Jake.

I get a long fierce stare, but Jake is beginning to agonize as the weight
does its work teasing him open. His body claims his mind. His hole bulges as
he tries to keep the ball inside of him, the red color of the last ball
peeking out. The pins I've clipped to his nipples wobble as his pecs grip
and give in.

I start working, attaching yet more pins to his ball sac and dick, all the
while caressing his belly with my free hand. I tangle my fingers in his
pubic hair still sticky with cum from his last ordeal.

"Thank you, Sir." The words make my cock jump. I take a deep sniff of
poppers myself.  I wait for the emptiness to fill me. With dreaming, half
closed eyes, I hold my balls and cock, squat to match his, press my hips
forward and use my dick to distress the pins clustered on his cock and
balls.  He is still in possession of himelf. There is some time,

"Jake, tell me a story." I order. He hesitate for a long time, then,
speaking almost inaudibly he begins.

Jake's story to me:

A jaded powerful man bought me. His money could buy him anything. I was put
in his harem. He had every hair on my body plucked out of me.  Someone would
come every morning and force me to jack me off then collect my sperm.  They
were unrelenting, pressing me with caresses, pinches, clips, dick strokes,
slaps, bites, ball twists and kisses.

One of them had no hands. He could not pinch me, put clips onto me, nor grab
my balls. Still, his kisses made my cock stand up.  He would look at me with
such intensity, I would look away. Every morning he would come to me and
press his tongue into my mouth, my cock would fill with blood and drip clear
precum. I would hold the cup and he would touch me. I would shudder and my
dick would spit big gobs of sperm into the cup.

One night, I was asleep and he came to me. He kissed me in that way that
makes my body tense up then soften.  He holds me. One arm around my neck,
the other between my legs, prying me open.  His handless wrist presses
against my hole. His eyes drill into mine.  "Who am I?" I think, and I
return his pressure. When I stop thinking, his arm is in my gut.. "Oh God...
Who are you?" I ask him.

I wake up. I am alone. Outside it is raining.

Later the powerful man comes to me. Shows me his bloody stumps.

I throw up.

End of Jake's story to me.

When he has finished, I silently scrutinizing his face the way he does mine.
My cock swells, pushing my foreskin back, the wet dickhead sneaking out for
air and ripe smelling ass.

It won't be long before Jake looses his impossible challenge, and I will be
forced to punish him for his disobedience.  He bravely struggles to squeeze
the ball back inside. But his muscle is tired and weak from the repeated
effort to hold itself shut against the growing strain. He can't talk
anymore. Sweat beads up on his face and drips off. I wipe away the drop
hanging from the tip of his nose.  Every ounce of concentration is on his
muscle. I distract him, adding a clip. He groans as he looses his grip and
the weight drags the ball down. He's loosing ground. He cries out when the
ball strains him, hitting the point of resistance where he is still tight
and then continues heartlessly to stretch him open yet more.  His asshole
distends under the weight.  Clenching his teeth he makes a mighty effort and
the ball disappears once again up his ass.  With his ass now clenched, he
tries to catch his breath. I hold the poppers under his nose, knowing that
it will be his undoing. So does he. He breathes in deeply. He slowly
releases his grip; unchecked the ball stretches him wider and wider. He
starts groaning and arching his back, his thigh muscles shaking with
tension. I take his cock in my hand and start to pump it. All of the clips
on his balls and crotch shake and make their presence unmistakable.  I feel
his orgasm growing, ruthlessly swallowing his ego, his self-control, his
self-awareness, taking him into its complete control. Its ferocious spasms
shake him as it unmasks to reveal itself a demon yanking on nerves endings
and soul. Jake can't take any more. He savagely grinds his hips, pumping his
cock into my fist. Clips drop off. The ball hits the floor. He screams and
the demon flees, tearing something out of Jake's heart as he goes, and
leaving behind souvenir goobers of warm sperm on my face.

For a while, aftershocks continue to rock Jake.

It's raining outside. I can hear it on the skylight. Jake hears it too.
Cautiously, his ego comes out of hiding to reclaim its territory.

I let Jake down and untie him. He wilts in my arms.  His long limbs hang
exhausted, his breathing returns to normal and he searches my face again
with his eyes. "Thank you, Sir"

I am pleased with myself. Why shouldn't I be? Why shouldn't I be.

How long have we been here in this room?  I don't want to know what time it
is.  The two of us are quiet and listen to the rain.


To be continued...
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As always, your comments, criticism and thoughts are welcomed. But please
don't ask me about the two stories built into this episode. I have no
answers. I don't know where they came from nor what they mean. My only
feeling is that they are like dreams which are seldom about what they are
about.  They were not written to exploit brutality or fetish.

Thanks, 
hjxol@hotmail.com