The week was excruciatingly slow.  I'd called him that night, the night after we'd met and I'd read the rules.  I'd begged for a waiver of Rule 5 and he'd laughed.  I'd told him I was ready and he told me that was good, anytime next weekend would be fine.  I'd pleaded for an earlier visit and he'd laughed again.  When I asked if it would be all right if I shaved in his bathroom when I got the enema, he paused.  He thought about this as I explained the communal shower situation in the dorm.  He gave me every impression that he was considering the request, and then he'd said no.  He reminded me of the experience in the bookstore.  I was going to have to prepare to do things in public to get from one step in life to the next, he'd said.  I'd argued that I was in the closet.  He'd said shaving wasn't necessarily gay, but recommended a lotion depilatory anyway.  He'd said it had smoother results.  And then, before he had hung up, he had told me he would call me Saturday morning to set up a time for my visit.

In the interim, I'd fought off every urge to take my cock in my hands and shoot off a load.  I'd found myself getting hard everywhere, in class, studying, playing tennis with my friends.  I'd taken to wearing a jock strap instead of boxers on almost every possible occasion, just to avoid the inevitable tenting as my cock developed a life of its own and took indecent liberties.  On Friday night, most of the guys had headed out to party either on Frat Row or in town, so I headed to the shower. I'd trimmed my pubes as far as I could with scissors in my dorm room.  With growing trepidation, I stripped off, took the bottle of lotion he'd recommended, and stepped under one of the shower heads.  I tried to relax as the warm water cascaded over me, but decided I should take advantage of the rare solitude to get to busy.

After washing, I turned off the water and toweled off.  The directions said to apply the lotion to damp skin.  I poured some into my hands and quickly rubbed it into what was left of my pubes.  I then applied it all over my sack and down my thighs to my knees.  I had to let it soak for five minutes.  Every one of those five minutes felt like an hour as I prayed that no one would come into the showers.  The time ticked by as I watched my watch.  It began to take even longer for each second to pass as a tingle began to spread on my skin under the lotion, and then the tingle turned into a slight burn.   Finally, I turned the water back on and stepped under it.  Even though I'd known what I was doing, I was kind of taken aback when the lotion washed away and left exposed, hairless skin.  I quickly turned the water off and reached for the towel before anyone entered when, my arm outstretched, I remembered my armpits.  FUCK!

I looked at my watch.  It had been almost ten minutes already, and I felt lucky to have had the shower alone that long.  But I had to do something about my pits.  I had to be hairless from the neck down, except my lower arms and legs.  Hastily, I grabbed the bottle of lotion and poured more out.  I slathered it under my armpits.  I looked at my watch again.  I thought about my ass.  The rules said all body hair.  I slipped my fingers into my crack.  I didn't have much hair there, just some wispy strands.  I coated two fingers with lotion and rubbed them into my crack.  I stood, naked, hairless, in the humid steam of the shower room, waiting as the second five minute period passed.  Silence in the hallway.  Silence in the shower room, too, except the dripping of water from a facet.  I cringed as I felt the burning set in on my pits and in my crack.

At last the time was up and I twisted the knob to turn on the water.  I raised my arms and the lotion washed down my chest, to the floor, and down the drain.  My pre-trimmed pubes, leg hair, and pit hair had started to clog the drain, so I bent over to scoop it out of the way.  Then I grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and pulled, letting the water wash down my crack.  The burning began to ebb.  And that's when the shower room door opened.

I immediately stood and spun my front to the wall, before the guy turned into the room.  He walked over to a shower head a few feet from mine, and as he approached, I tried to turn my body away, so he had no angle to see my crotch.  In my horror, I realized that I was starting to get hard again.  Fuck!  Hard in the shower room!  With a guy three yards away!  And all my body hair gone.  Fuck!  I turned the water off and reached over to grab my towel.  The guy glanced over at me as he unwrapped the towel around his waist and hung it on the hook beside his shower head.  He saw the bottle of depilatory I'd rested in the soap dish recessed in the tile, and then looked down to see the hair by the drain in the floor.

"Hey man, what the hell is up with that shit?" he asked.

My mind raced.  I seized on the first thing that popped into my head.  "Uh, trying out for the swim team.  The hair slows you down."

The guy laughed a little.  "Man, swim team trials don't even start until like winter.  Whoever told you to do this shit got you real good.  And besides, I think you'd probably want to get the rest of your arms and legs, too."  With that he turned on his shower and turned away from me.  Luckily, he hadn't seen my erection.  Rather than wrapping my towel around my waist, I balled it up and clamped it down over my crotch, pushing my hard cock down.  I bent down, scooped up most of my hair, and walked quickly to the opposite wall.  I dumped my hair in the trash can by a sink, grabbed my clothes, and stepped into a toilet stall in the main bathroom.  I knew my face was burning as I pulled on my clothes.  My skin was still wet because I hadn't tried to dry it with the guy in the shower room and the stall was too cramped to do it in.

At last, I emerged, and darted out into the hall and into the sanctuary of my room.

Saturday morning I'd woken up hard.  It was not a new experience, but I could not convince my cock to go down.  I was not going to give into temptation a mere hours from my appointment, so I got dressed, stuffing it into a jock like I had all week long, and headed for the dining hall for breakfast.  I grabbed a cup of coffee, but remembered as I raised it to my lips that caffeine was prohibited.  I definitely didn't want to have to postpone just for something stupid like that, so I put the mug down and ate my toast and eggs without a drink.

When I returned to my room, I had voice mail.  With growing excitement, I listened to the message.  It was him.

"Simon, this afternoon, at three thirty, the front door will be unlocked for exactly one minute.  You will enter without knocking.  You will close and lock the door behind you.  You will take off all your clothes.  When you are naked, you will report to the bathroom.  You will bend over the edge of the tub and pull your cheeks apart with your hands.  You will not say a word, but when you're in position, kick the side of the tub and I'll come in and do the rest.

"If you do not come in within the minute allowed, the door will be locked and that will have been your only chance this weekend.  If you are not naked and have not complied with Rule 1, I will order you to leave.  If you speak, I will order you to leave.  If you disobey any instructions I give you after you arrive, I will order you to leave.

"I'll see you at three thirty."

My day was shot after that.  I had some schoolwork to do, but there was no way I could concentrate.  I headed to the bathroom to shave my face.  I'd wanted to wait until I'd heard from him to make sure I didn't have a five o'clock shadow in the event he hadn't wanted me to come until late.  I was hoping the shower from last night would be enough, because I knew on Saturday the shower room had pretty steady traffic as guys got up late, worked out, and took their time to start their day.  It occurred to me as I shaved my face and the guys entered and left behind me that, since I had no pubes or body hair, my own bathing routine was going to have to be pretty well organized to avoid the peak hours.

I forced myself to think of other things.  I tried to get some work done.  I started to go outside, but my dick would not go down and I was getting tired of keeping it wedged into my jock.  In my room I could walk around with it hanging out, but not outside.   At two, I decided to get up and go, preferring to be early and sit in the car in his parking lot than to be late and miss a whole week.  I got dressed again and headed out.  The usual thirty minute drive took only twenty as I flew, weaving in and out of traffic like a lunatic.  But I pulled into his parking lot and parked beside his silver BMW.

I sat in the car impatiently for twenty minutes.  2:45.  Forty-five more to go.  I got out of the car and started pacing the walkway outside his building.  I could feel my jock getting moist as precum drooled.  I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone more than three days without cumming.  Now, it had been three times that.  At three o'clock, I climbed up the stairs and sat on the landing by his door.  He'd said not to knock, and I remembered from my first visit that his orders were always precise, and he expected obedience to them with equal precision.  I sat there on the landing, fidgeting, just as I had at the bookstore while he'd stared at me silently the week before.  At last, an eternity after I'd arrived, I heard the lock in the door click.  I leapt to my feet.  My hand on the knob, I paused.  I went over the rules in my head.  Clean.  Check.  No drugs.  Check.  Silent.  Check.  No limits.  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Check.  I skipped no cumming without permission; I knew I had that one down.  I opened the door.

The apartment was dark.  The curtains on all the windows were closed, and so were the ones over the French doors to the balcony.  The only light was what persistently penetrated the curtains and what spilled in through the open door.  I could see him, lying still, his eyes closed, on the sofa.  The same techno, ambient music was playing on the surround-sound, not the same track, but the same style.  I closed the door and locked it.  Wordlessly, as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I stripped off my clothes and folded them neatly by the door.  When I had finished, made my way into the bathroom.  I left the light off, taking the hint from the rest of the apartment, felt my way around to the tub, and assumed the position:  bent at the waist, hands on my ass, pulling my cheeks apart.  I tapped the side of the tub with my foot.

I heard nothing, so I was surprised when I felt a hand touch the small of my back.  "Don't move," he said.  I felt something cold and wet against my hole, and then the enema nozzle slipped into me.  "I'm doing this because you've never had it done to you before.  In the future, you will do it yourself.  I don't usually allow the enema to be done here, but knowing your circumstances, I'm making an exception for you.  Consider yourself exceptional."  He turned on the water, and I felt it begin to flow into me.  "When you feel like you can't hold anymore, tap on the tub with your foot again," he instructed.  It didn't take long, as I felt my guts fill and stretch until my torso felt like a water balloon.  I kicked the tub again.  Rather than turning the water off, he took the tube in his hand and, still resting the other on the small of my back, began to fuck me with the nozzle.  I groaned at the friction in my hole and the pressure in my guts.

"Good," he said.  "Groaning is fine.  As long as there's no speaking.  Not a single intelligible word."  He continued fucking me with the nozzle as the water flowed into me.  I felt like my intestines were going to burst, like my stomach was going to swim, like my breakfast was going to get washed back up my throat.  I began to whimper softly, but I never stood nor released my ass cheeks.  He crimped the hose in one hand and turned the water off.  He continued fucking the tube through my clenched ass lips as the cramps worked their way through my abdomen.  I started moaning in pain and he stroked the small of my back with his hand.

At last, he spoke again.  "I'm going to take the hose out now, Simon.  When I do, I want you to stand.  Keep your ass tight, and do not spill any water.  I'm going to leave the room.  I want you to do 25 deep knee bends, and do not spill any water.  When you've finished, you may relieve yourself in the toilet.  When that's done, repeat the enema.  You know what it should feel like when you're really full now, so I expect you to do as good of a job as I have.  When you've finished, repeat the knee bends and then expel.  Then clean off.  You then have permission to go into the gray room.  You will lie down on the bed, buckling the cuffs around both ankles."  He paused.  "Take your dominant hand away from your ass."  I took my right hand off and held it in the air to the side.  "After your ankles are cuffed, you will cuff your left wrist with the right hand.  The wrist cuffs can be fastened with one hand.  It might be difficult, but with practice, you'll manage it with ease.  When you're done, knock on the bed frame with your free hand.  From now on, this is your standard routine.  Two enemas, then you strap yourself in.  There is one more step that doesn't apply today, but I'll tell you about it later."

He pulled the hose from my ass and laid it in the tub.  His hand left my back and I stood.  He was gone.  The deep knee bends were torture.  I had to clamp my cheeks tight as well as my hole to keep the water inside, and I know I still felt some dribble down my thighs.  Nevertheless, I loudly grunted through every one.  I realized he could count how many I did by my grunts.  When I had finished, I sat on the open toilet in what seemed the nick of time.  The water poured out of my ass like Niagara Falls.  I groaned loudly with relief as the pressure subsided, then whimpered as the cramps continued, each forcing a new spurt of water from my flooded guts.  When I felt empty, I wiped myself clean, flushed, and repeated the process.

I appreciated the agonizing position he had put me in as I fought the instinct to turn the water off at the first sensation of fullness.  I avoided the temptation of cutting short the process, though.  I assumed he would know I had cheated by the length of time the water ran or how quickly I began grunting through the knee bends.  When I could truly stand no more, I fucked myself with the nozzle for a few seconds as he had done, then crimped the hose, turned off the water, and pulled the hose free.  The cramps came sooner and were more severe the second time, and I nearly lost the water on each of the last dozen knee bends, but at last I returned to the toilet and let loose.  When I again felt empty, I laid back against the tank, exhausted.  And this was only the prep work for the main event, I reminded myself.

I cleaned off again, and noticed a cloth and towel on the counter by the sink.  I took the hint and used them, washing thoroughly.  I then went into the hall and stood in front of the door.  I took only a moment, then swung it open and stepped in.  Although, unlike the bathroom, the room had a window, like the bathroom, it was pitch dark because of the black cardboard that sealed out the light.  I felt for the bed, sat in the center of it, and felt for the cuffs.  The leather straps were somewhat loose, and I buckled the cuffs around my ankles, and then, after some work and determination, my left wrist.  I knocked loudly on the bed frame.  Several minutes passed, and I considered knocking on the bed again.  Just as I raised my hand to do so, his silhouette appeared in the doorway.

He stepped into the room.  He didn't turn on the overhead light, but walked around the bed to the side of the armoire.  I followed him with my eyes by tilting my head back on the mattress.  He slipped his hand behind the armoire and presumably flipped a switch.  The room was bathed in soft red light, like a photography developing room.  He walked back to the bed and took my right hand, fastening the wrist in the remaining cuff.  He walked around to each corner and crouched, and somehow manipulating the leather straps, pulled them tight so I was stretched taut, as if to be drawn and quartered.  He then sat on the bed.

"You're doing very well, Simon."  He was stroking my hair softly.  "The one step that you didn't do today that you will do every day in the future is put this on."  He reached under the bed and took out a leather device with three leather straps and what looked like a butt plug where they joined.  "This is a mouth plug.  It's like a butt plug for your mouth.  The plug part goes in, obviously, and the two side straps fasten behind your head.  You then fasten the third strap over your hair to the other two."  I looked at the gag, eyes wide.  The plug was not long, maybe three inches, but it was easily two inches in diameter.  I bit my lip and looked from it to him.  I was tied down to the bed.  He was about to gag me.  I remembered what he'd said when we'd met about panicking and second-guessing everything.  For the first time that day, my cock began to wilt.

"I didn't forget about our deal," he continued.  He put the gag on my chest and reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a ball, firm but yielding, a stress ball filled with silicone or something.  He pressed it into my right hand.  "If the scene gets too intense, you drop the ball.  The ball drops and I stop whatever is happening and untie you, all right?"  I nodded, somewhat relieved.  "However, if I untie you, you go home.  That doesn't mean you can't ever come back, but it does mean that we're done for the day.  Do you understand?"  I nodded.

"The last thing, Simon.  Do not cum.  I know it's been a long time for you, and I'm going to go slow so I don't push you too hard.  If you think you can't hold it and I haven't given you permission yet, you need to drop the ball.  If you break any of the other rules, the punishment is simply that I send you home.  However, if you break rule five, since you'll have already gotten what you want, sending you home is not a valid punishment.  The punishment for breaking rule five is tailored to each individual.  In your case, the punishment will be that I use my digital camera to take pictures of you, tied, gagged, and with whatever other instruments or accoutrements are on you or in you, and while you're still coated in your own juice.  The picture will be sent to whomever I like.  A web site, perhaps.  Perhaps selected email accounts from the university.  Perhaps all the email accounts at the university.  As you can see, the punishment for breaking rule five is quite severe.  I hope you take it seriously."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he anticipated my move and held his finger up.  "It is your responsibility, Simon.  You have the ball."  Then, he leaned down and kissed me on the lips.  "Now open up," he instructed as he picked up the gag.  I paused, eliciting a frown, and then reluctantly opened.  His face relaxed and he slid the plug home.  It literally filled my mouth, stretching my jaw open and holding it wide, and slipping almost back to my uvula.  He then told me to raise my head, and I did, allowing him to fasten all three straps behind my head.  I felt like Hannibal Lecter at the psychiatric hospital.  He then stood and walked through the door.

I stared at the ceiling, and I noticed something I hadn't noticed on the tour a week ago.  A wooden block had been bolted to the center of the ceiling, directly over the center of the bed, and from the block hung four metal rings.  It took me a minute to figure that out, but when  I remembered the metal clasps fastening the leather straps to the bed frame, I realized that they could be unfastened, and that, rather than being stretched horizontally as I was now, I could also be stretched vertically, or at least diagonally.  I moaned.  I also noticed that there were four small speakers, one in each corner of the ceiling.  Just as I saw them, I heard the music spilling in from the living room stop.

I looked down and saw him returning.  He entered the room and closed the door behind him.  He plugged a small black box he carried into a small jack hanging from one of the speakers.  He plugged the box into an electrical outlet, and several lights flickered to life.  He keyed several buttons, and music began to pipe into the room.  It was again similar to the techno, ambient music he apparently always listened to, but this had a stronger rhythm, almost primal.  He stood, moved his back against the door, and closed his eyes.  He stood that way, still fully dressed, silent, unmoving, for at least a full minute as I watched him, helplessly engrossed in his behavior.  He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.  He looked at me intensely, the same impassive stare with which he'd regarded me to such unsettling effect the week before.  He slowly, methodically, moved his gaze over every inch of my body, beginning with the soles of my feet, and up to my eyes.

When his eyes locked on mine, he raised his hands and cracked his knuckles.  He then slowly rubbed his palms together and walked towards me.  Instinctively, I pulled hard against my bonds, trying to struggle, but it was futile.  The leather cuffs were unyielding, and he had tightened the straps so that my arms and legs had no slack against which to fight.  When he stood at the foot of the bed, he took one of my feet between his hands and began to massage it.  His eyes never left mine.  My cock, which had only somewhat softened, filled to capacity with his touch.  He firmly gripped my foot and began to press his thumbs into the sole, rubbing in small circles.  I moaned into the gag.  He worked his way from the toes to the heel.  I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation as relaxation finally flowed over me.

I felt his hands leave my foot, and I looked down to see him move in front of the other.  He repeated the process there, and began slowly massaging up my shin.  He worked up to my knee, then moved again and worked from the knee down to the ankle of the other leg.  He moved to the head of the bed and imitated on my left hand and each forearm in turn.  My eyes followed his.  I felt completely content except for the urgent pulsing and drooling of my cock, which alternately jutted up at an acute angle from my lower abdomen or jerked up into the air perpendicular to my crotch.  As the track ended, I realized he was synchronizing his timing to the CD he was playing.  He stopped massaging and disappeared above me.  I tilted my head back to see him open the armoire.  I moaned in anticipation.

He pulled something from a hook on the inside of the door and turned back to me.  He smiled faintly as he saw I had tilted to watch him, and then I saw that the item was a blindfold.  He leaned over me and covered my eyes, then slipped his hands behind my hair to fasten it over my gag straps.  My sensation of vulnerability increased exponentially, and I began to squeeze and release the stress ball in my right hand.

Next I felt his hands move slowly, softly, barely touching me, running down over my upper arms, one hand on each side, down and through my armpits, which he stroked with his fingertips.  I jerked, ticklish, and he moved on, slowly over my chest and down over my abs.  I began to relax again as he continued past my waist and down my thighs.  When he reached my knees, he moved his hands to the inside of them, and slowly, teasingly, moved up towards my crotch.  I tried to buck my hips up to encourage him, but as I did so he removed his hands.  When I settled back onto the mattress, he resumed.  I was moaning almost constantly now, and I felt like I had a lake of precum drippings collecting below my navel.

My legs were stretched wide apart by the restraints, so it was easy for him, on reaching the apex of my inner thighs, to slide a finger up into my crack.  This time I pressed down into the mattress, trying to control his finger, trying to get it to slip inside my hole, but he pulled it back.  Fingertips stroked my balls, and then up the underside of my shaft towards my cock head.  It flexed, and one hand firmly held it by the root as the other began to rub circles around the perimeter of the head.  I could feel the pent up orgasm building, and I knew if he kept this up, I would cum.  He hadn't given me permission, so I tried to flail.  Again, it was useless.  I moaned and grunted at him, trying to protest, but he ignored me.  My hand frantically worked the stress ball.  If I let go, I would be sent home, and I knew that meant no cumming.  On the other hand, the punishment for cumming was so unthinkable, I didn't dare.  I was torn.  To my great relief, his hands left my cock.  In fact, they left my body entirely, and I was left wondering where he had gone.  And then, my aural sense unimpaired but recently ignored, I noticed the track had changed yet again.

The next sensation caused me to tug with sincerity against my restrains as I felt the sharp teeth of nipple clamps bite into my flesh.  I screamed into the gag as, with no warning whatever, the tight springs took hold on both nipples simultaneously.  I writhed in pain, still clutching the ball in my fist.  My toes curled and I bucked against the mattress.  I felt his hand stroking my sternum as I panted, and as my breath returned to normal, he again vanished.  The track was the same.  I felt teeth bite into the soft, hairless flesh of my nutsack.  I shrieked into the gag again as the sensation was joined by second, and then a third.  Clothespins.  I knew from the porn stories I'd read on the web that I was in for trouble now.  The pain of having clothespins applied was nothing like the pain of having them removed.  He continued to pinch folds of my sack with the wooden devices as I writhed and begged and tugged to no avail.  One after another, until I'd far lost count.  I was certain that my balls had to look like a pincushion when I felt him stop and sit on the bed by my side.

I thought he was done.  I should have known better.  He pinched the tender flesh along my tricep and attached another clip.  Tears were flowing from my eyes now, and I was squeezing the stress ball until I was sure it was going to explode and ooze goo all over my hand.  Still, my cock bucked up and down, like a signal flag over my spiny scrotum.  At least two dozen pins lined the bottom of my arms, a dozen on each.  The pain was growing dull, but I knew it would return sharply when the pins were removed.  I was in too far now, my cock needed release and I couldn't release the stress ball.  Now, with the pins already on, the pain would only worsen if I were released.  I stopped fighting against the restraints when I felt one of the pins almost pop off.  Flexing my muscles pulled the skin between the pinchers.  When he knelt on the bed between my ankles, I simply whimpered.  Long and low.  Helpless.

He pinched the skin along my inner thigh and locked a pin onto it.  I sobbed.  The pain of the pins on my arms and sack had almost deadened away into a warm, red fog over my brain.  I knew the sharp pricks on my thighs would soon fade as well.  As with my arms, I knew I had at least a dozen pins on each inner thigh, with more real estate available when, mercifully, he stopped.  The track had ended again.

Music began playing again, and I waited anxiously for the next torment.  Slowly, I realized, he wasn't doing anything.  The track was slow, long, and almost seductive.  As it filled my ears, the pain from the tit clamps and clothespins continued to fade and merge and meld into a thick, enveloping fog.  My brain felt hazy as it rocked on a calm sea, the fog covering me like a warm blanket that gradually felt as though it were dissolving on top of me, being absorbed into me.  The music softly pulsed, and the throbbing of my cock was like a distant lighthouse, a single beam of semi-conscious reality as everything else evanesced into oblivion.  There was only the music.  There was only the fog around me, over me, and in me.  There was only the involuntary flexing of my cock.  I gave voice to a long, deep sigh as I surrendered to it completely.  Still, the music played.

I had been riding the gentle of waves of that calm sea for what felt like an eternity when the music faded to nothing.  I felt movement on the bed as weight was added to the mattress.  I was still disconnected from reality, so I didn't realize he had straddled me until I felt him carefully raise my head by slipping his hand behind it.  I didn't realize he was unfastening the straps to the gag until he pulled the plug free from my lips.  My jaw ached as I could close my mouth for the first time in what felt like days, but the ache simply faded into the red fog as new music, somewhat faster than the previous, began.  I felt something soft and warm on my lips, and I opened them, tasting with my tongue, exploring.  Some unknown depth of my brain registered that it was his sack, and I began to lick and suck at the salty surface as he held me to his crotch with one hand and slowly stroked my hair with the other.

I was so detached it bordered on delirium.  The track ground on and I continued endlessly, licking, sucking, mouthing, nipping with my lip-covered teeth, at what he presented me.  Each brush of my tongue felt the weight and firmness of his balls, and each time I sucked them in, I knew they were in my mouth and I savored them, but the fog still covered me.  The music, my mouth and the sensations it experienced, tactile and taste, and the scent that rose up into my nostrils, were all I knew.  So I worshipped him, I made love to him through his nutsack, because it was all I had.  And somewhere through it, I became aware of his breathing, and the slow rocking of his hips as his sack shifted in my face.  As the deep breaths first became ragged, again, the music stopped.

The next track began as he turned above me.  It had a slow but very defined beat as chords of electronica softly played over it.  I felt pressure on my face and again opened my lips and stuck out my tongue to explore.  As I brushed his soft skin, I knew he had turned and his ass covered my mouth.  I slowly licked his hole with the tip of my tongue, tasting the smooth, clean, hot flesh.  It was while the tip of my tongue was at his opening that I felt a sharp light penetrate the warm fog as pain shot crisply to my brain.  Perception zeroed in and I knew he had removed the first pin from my arm.  I knew too that the jolt of my reaction had buried my tongue deep into his hole.  I began fucking him with it, slowly, as he sat over me.  I detected the approaching beat in the music, and knew.  The second clothespin was from the other arm.  I whimpered into his ass, my tongue still embedded in it.  The beat repeated, and the third was taken from the first arm.

It was beautiful in its calculated symmetry.  The music.  Alternating arms.  My tongue in his ass, sliding in and out.  My whimpers which faded into sobs before he'd removed a half dozen pins.  I was clutching the ball tightly, kneading it with my fingertips, pounding them into the yielding mass.  I fucked him with my tongue because it was all I could do, as more and more of the fog, the deep, dark redness of the warmth that enveloped me was broken by the bright shafts of light.  As I moved my face around in his crack, I knew that the moisture that slickened my cheeks was made of my tears, but I endured it.  I knew the pins had to come off, so it would be pointless now for me to drop the ball.  So instead I only clutched it more tightly, taking my frustration out on it and the hole I rudely raped with my tongue.

When he'd finished my arms, I felt the weight on the mattress shift as he leaned forward on one elbow, his ass still over my mouth, to reach those on my thighs.  As he slowly freed each fold of the flesh, he gently brushed his shaved cheek over the head of my cock.  The cruel association of such pleasure with each new burst of pain was truly overwhelming.  I could no longer tongue his hole as I laid back, crying into his ass.  After the pins had been removed, he tenderly massaged the abused skin on each of my legs.  Several minutes passed, and he sat back up and repeated the massage on my arms, again soothing the pain with his fingers and palms, as if pulling it from my nerves and releasing it into the ether.

Too soon, the music changed.  He turned above me again.  I held my mouth open, knowing I needed the gag or something in my mouth to keep myself under control.  I could not afford to break the rule against speaking now.  He obliged with the warm, firmly spongy head of his cock.  First he rested it on my lips, and when I realized what it was, I raised my head and enclosed it between my lips.  He had been drooling too, either while I bathed his balls or ate his ass or both, but I sucked the juice from his head and swallowed it greedily.  I began to suckle on it like a starving calf as he softly stroked my hair with both his hands.  His fingertips buried in and massaged my scalp as I sucked on him with desperation.  It took almost no time for the deep breathing to return, or shortly thereafter, for the breathing to become ragged.  I eagerly tried to lift my head, to impale my throat onto him, to take more of his long cock into me, but he held me back.  He simply soaked his warm knob in my mouth as I licked rapaciously and sucked hungrily.

I felt his muscles tense, and then he groaned, breaking his silence for the first time since he had turned on the music seemingly hours earlier.  It was followed by a harsh intake of breath, then a guttural grunt, and then his cock head pulsed in my mouth.  And then it happened.  The first burst filled my mouth and I sucked it down as it was followed by the second.  I swallowed each load, sucking even harder, trying to pull it forcibly from his balls.  His breath was distinctly audible, and his hands clutched my skull tightly, until after a dozen rounds, there was simply no more to give.  I relinquished my suction, but gently massaged his slit and the surface of his head with my tongue, thanking him.  He sat back on his haunches, pulling himself free of me, as he caught his breath.

I wanted to thank him for giving his cum to me, but I knew I couldn't speak.  I ran my tongue inside my cheeks, trying to find some residue, some new taste of him, but finding none, I licked my lips.  I felt him rise, and he surprised me by leaning over and kissing me deeply.  I nearly came from that alone, as his tongue pressed into mine and I sucked at it as I had his cock.  As he pulled away, he again stroked my hair, and I felt the plug of the gag at my lips.  I opened and, as he refastened the straps behind my head and the music changed yet again, I knew that we were far from done.