Owned and Trained by Mr. X

[bareall77]

On 07/01/2017 at 8:25 PM, asslikker said:

I found words to whimper, beg, demand Mr. X to rip me open, fist my hole, own me, take me, pull me into hell with him. Floodgates opened. A watershed of repression, tabooed yearnings, came flooding out. His massive size hit new depth inside my body. If not for the purple rush coursing through my veins it would not be possible to accept such a demon cock. Ring after ring he penetrated.

This is me. Rather, this is what I desire! It explains so much. I fucking love this story!

By far one of the most well written stories on this site. Very descriptive in terms of the environment, atmosphere, and what the characters are going through and thinking. It's as though we're experiencing what is going on with them!

 

[asslikker]

8 hours ago, ponyboy238 said:

I'd love to try some sounds.

They're awesome. Lots of sound players out there. Find someone experienced and be clean.

Edited January 15, 2017 by asslikker

[bareall77]

7 hours ago, asslikker said:

They're awesome. Lots of sound players out there. Find someone experienced and be clean.

And "drill players"? 

[Guest]

I can't wait to read what Vinnie is going to do to JT.

[asslikker]

Prolapse (Night 2)

You’re a sick puppy, I said to myself. After watching the concluding half-hour of the abuse Joey was put through, how could I be stiff as a board witnessing it? At Bar X Duncan stood off to a corner watching the shadow men who’d been aroused by his performance. The first group of men in line for Joey's ass were satisfied with simply fucking the half conscious kid strapped to the fuckbench. It was the few remaining men who lingered around waiting for the room to thin out, that slipped a few extra bills to Mr. X, these last men almost made me crack my nut, sick as that was. I don’t know if Joey had ever taken a fist, but the assembled men, maybe five or six, started testing out what the boy could take. With the first fist he was clearly awake, struggling against his restraints. The men were not gentle but took satisfaction in Joey’s pleas to stop. Several tried double fisting him but they failed in their attempts. The last couple were satisfied to piston and punch fist him, violating him with a good forearm before trading off to the next in line. The lube starting running pink then turned red, before Duncan saw that Joey could be seriously internally injured. He intervened and gave Joey's ass to the last man in line. He was a very thin old man—ninety, a hundred, a thousand year old priest?—practically skeletal. He negotiated with Mr. X and Duncan, giving Duncan a small black bottle and then went over and knelt before Joey’s ass. Crouching on his knobby knees he surgically felt inside the boy. Duncan came over and gave Joey a hit off the bottle the old man had provided. Joey’s head drooped even before the bottle was capped. Duncan sampled a hit. If it weren’t for one of the remaining spectators standing close to him, Duncan would have fallen. The spectator steady him and Duncan stood for a long while enwrapped in a hypnotic daze.

The skeleton soon had his fist in Joey going up to his mid forearm when Joey’s head bobbed up and fell again. The old man's rested inside Joey at the crook of his arm. He withdrew it completed and immediately reinserted it. Joey silently opened his mouth, his eyes saucers of black, as the man this time went past the bones of his elbow. Joey breathed rapidly trying to absorb the old man’s thin flesh and bones. The skeleton paused just for a moment to let Joey adjust to the depth he had penetrated, then immediately inserted his other bony hand in Joey’s ass. There was an audible gasp from Joey when the second hand entered. Joey’s head fell. Duncan was again awake and stroke over to give the kid another hit. Joey shook his head emphatically but Duncan whispered sternly in his ear, and held the reluctant boy’s head between his thigh and his hand. Joey surrendered to the inevitable and inhaled obediently first with one nostril then the other. Duncan held this there until the captive took two more hits.

The old man waited for Duncan to cap the bottle and step aside, then set the new hand trailing along his first arm. You could actually see the Joey's facial transformation. What was first reluctance then resistance to what the old man was doing internally to him, now Joey was assisting his own impalement. The old man met his new hand with the other deep inside Joey's body. The boy pressed his ass back on the old man's arms, trying to force the man's arms ever deeper. Me moaned and huffed with every inch he pushed and absorbed. At the peak of what his body could take, arms up to the withered biceps, the old man pushed an inch deeper extracting a frantic holler from Joey and then cruelly extracted both hands all the way out at once pulling Joey's innards with it. Joey cried out not in pain but in delirium, as his hole flared open displaying his newly exposed bright red entrails. 

***

I did as I was instructed. Water, then back on the giant phallus. I was able to take the speed bump and add a last few inches in pure sympathy with what I imagined Joey must have gone through. The video ended with Duncan unstrapping Joey and carrying him either unconscious or simply a crumpled sack of beaten meat with a thick river of spent lube and cum drooling out of his asshole. A final shot of Joey's head buried in the cleft of Duncan's hairy chest. On cue Mr. X and Riggs made their entrance.

"Is excellent video, no? Analytics says over seven thousand visits, five hundred downloads in first day," Mr. X chortled, holding out a contract. "Joey will be big star, already have signature from him. This is yours. You sign whenever." He placed his hand on my face evaluating my butt and the distance traveled. "Very good, boy. You come far ways. But now I want to show you what you will be like for me. Not tomorrow but goal for you. Riggs has present for your next step, yes Pig Riggs?" With that, Riggs climbed in the sling, strapping in his legs, spreading open to display his hanging asslips. "What do you think, almost virgin Boy Scout. You see bull cunt like this before?" As an afterthought Mr. X added, "Leave dildo on bed, take up butt plug and come over here. That big plug there."

Between pulling out the object and shitting it with my loosened ass muscles, I grunted till the dildo fell out. I went over and picked up the large butt plug Mr. X indicated and then went over and stood next to him. I bent to look at Riggs and Mr. X inserted a few inches of the plug in my ass. He gave an approving snort and I allow him to push it all the way in. "Oh, shit! Thank you, Sir." I examined Riggs' hole while my hole adjusted to the smaller object. "Holy fuck, Sir! I've never seen a hole with hanging flaps like that."

"Sit and wheel yourself closer. See full talent of Riggs' hole. Maybe pleasure him while I get preparations going. Poppers to inspire you." Mr. X went to the table and went to work on loading fresh points for himself and Riggs.

I took my hit and looked at his full, smooth puckered old man butt. A wave of lust got in me once I capped the bottle. I spread his cheeks and went in to get my first real taste of a man's asshole. I gave a lick to his hanging nutsack and ran my tongue down his taint. He was smooth, clean, but once I got to his sloppy asslips I got a taste of his muskier self. The poppers made me want to get more of that smell so I plunged a finger in him and pulled it out and sucked on it. He let out a cry of delight. What a dirty child I was, he sputtered. His sphincter and colon were softer than I could have imagined. I sucked on the outer flap of skin, every so often slipping my tongue inside as I circle around his hole. Each time I inserted my tongue down his shit chute he gave a loud moan. I used my fingers to spread apart his hole. It was so pliable that every time I spread him apart, it would stay open for a moment and I could see deep inside his cunt. It was bright pink then turned red the farther in I peered. He was pushing to expose more of his colon. I was fascinated how I was in some warped science experiment discovering the extremes of anatomy. This was not a boy's tight butthole like I knew mine to be when we started—how long ago? This was a sloppy pig's, extremely used manhole. I took another hit and began lapping it like a dog. We found a rhythm of him pushing, exposing more hole, and me licking as the next velvety layer of red innards unfolded.

His moaning increased. "That's it, lick that rosebud, pig boy," he murmured. His cock, fully erect, bobbed in excitement to what I was doing to him. His hole was cleanly scrubbed and I explored it with my mouth and tongue each petal he was blooming. I felt my own hole open with the new butt plug, smaller than the dildo I had been working with but still big enough to give a charge with each gentle bounce I took on the stool. But what I was sitting on was nothing like what I was seeing. I was envious of Riggs' accomplishment, and anxious for my hole to follow suit. Not tonight, I knew, but I thought with these two men's perverseness, I could easily be guided to follow Riggs' path.

Riggs pushed out his cock and I ran my tongue up his balls and up to his cockhead. There was a lot of precum dripping out of him, and I relis,hed the salty taste he was emitting. I kept splaying his ass apart with my fingers and leaned up to suck his cock straight down, trying to swallow as much of his eight inches as I could. I was turned on by him and what I was causing him to do. I wanted to take even more pleasure in him. My dick was hard as I stood up. I saw Riggs was watching me in the mirror, as I used my dick as a teasing stick, running his hole up and down, occasionally pushing in just the tip. "You little fuck," he moaned. "Give me your fuckstick, you back alley slut."

I pushed it in, my first feeling of fucking an ass. And what an ass! How soft and giving his hole was. How plush and how much pleasure I felt in my engulfed cock. His hole was a wet crevice that gave absolutely no resistance as I pushed in. I was quickly up to my balls. Mr. X immediately saw what was I was doing, ordered me to get the fuck out of Riggs. "You little deviant shit, we might have to revise your contract, at least add a Top clause. I thought you were total bottom." He was swirling the liquid in the needles trying to dissolve the crystals. "I can see some situations where your talent would be appreciated. Councilman Greggs, I was thinking Riggs." He strapped a tourniquet around Riggs' arm and haphazardly stuck him. "But it's not always going to be about you, boy. Get that in your head. This time is about Riggs. This is how you treat some clients," he said, pulling the emptied needle out of Riggs' arm and snapping off the tourniquet.

Riggs raised his arm in the air, his eyes bulged, and he gave out a short cough. "Fuck," he muttered with a blank stare. His pupils were huge. He took me in, trying to focus. "Fuck, I want your little prick back in me." His look was demented, selfishly evil. His lust made my heart race and relieved that he looked incapable of getting up out of the sling. Still something tantalizing remained in his desires. His head fell back onto the pillow. "Please X, let the piece of trash fuck me."

"Alright. Only till I'm ready, and if you cum, boy, I'm going to cut off your balls and that will be the first and last fuck you ever have." He stuck himself with the second needle, used his thumb to register, then pushed down his plunger, and went through his ritual of capping the needle in slow motion, then holding onto the slings bars to steady himself. He went to work on Riggs tits. "Well, get your dick in him."

Not that I felt turned on, but out of fear of not doing what Mr. X said, I got up and place my semi-rigid dick back against Riggs hole. It easily swallowed me up and with some gentle rocking I felt the pleasure of Riggs velvety ass making me rise to the occasion. Both of them with large black eyes watched me fuck Riggs. When I was confident I wasn't going to fall out, I grabbed the top bar of the sling and began slamming my cock into his silky hole. It felt fantastic pleasing myself and being observed simultaneously by these two very drugged up and debauched men.

Steadying himself by holding onto the sling's pipes, he made his way behind me. I couldn't see him but felt him guide my arms down, and pin them behind me. "This is the way you fuck. Arms out of way of camera," he instructed. "Go all the way out and right back in. Let audience see your dick and then slam it back into pig. Could be young boy pig or old fuck like Riggs. Audience for every taste." I fucked Riggs, hard. Mr. X felt up my chest, tweaking my nipples, slithering his forked tongue in my ear, bit my neck a couple of times. His snake hand went down my side until it curved into my butt. He must have forgotten about my plug. "Ah no," he said to himself, a little disappointed. "Okay sit. Observe what you're little tight ass is going to become."

I backed out of Riggs, more turned on than ever. I wasn't going to last much longer, so it was probably good to get a break and let Mr. X turn his dark attention on Riggs.

Sitting next to Mr. X, I watched him grease up both his hands, and how, with a clench fist, he went straight and smoothly into Riggs. Riggs gave a grunt of pleasure and delight, breathing heavily. His hardon died but he was toying with the soft spongy mound incessantly. Mr. X withdrew his fist and immediately inserted his other. Like a locomotive taking off, his alternating fists started slowly and sure, but soon sped up to rapping Riggs' ass like a punching bag. Riggs looked in agony but spread his legs apart further. His eyes were looking up at the mirror taking in the devastation he was being put through and making animal noises, gnarling deep guttural incoherent words.

Mr. X quit abruptly, inserting both hands, palms out into Riggs' hole and stretched with all the power he possessed. Riggs' responded with rapid puffs of breath, his body spasming in tremors, making a racket with the chains. Mr. X encouraged him to push. Where before his asshole had blossomed like a large rose, now those same red petals were turning inside out. Part of his colon was protruding beyond his asslips.

"Fuck is that?" I asked, inching closer.

"Just wait," replied Mr. X. "Go play with his tits. We're both fucked up. I gave him more than you ever had. The more you distract him the farther you and I can go with him tonight."

I was interested in what Mr. X meant by that. I shuffled over to Riggs' side. He looked up at me pitifully, almost blindly. I was ready to start tweaking his nipples, but he asked instead if he could suck my tits. I bent over and at first he slowly nursed them rubbing my back, but as Mr. X quickly turned to his violent punching, Riggs grabbed me around my shoulders and pulled me onto the sling with him. His grip was steel and desperate. The harder Mr. X pile-drove into Riggs' gaping hole, the harder Riggs bit down on my nipple. My yelling only made things worse. Mr. X increased the velocity of his punching and Riggs increased the ferocity of his bite. Whose agony was more intense was a tossup. But again, Mr. X abruptly halted and spread Riggs' hole even farther than before. Riggs, a wild animal a moment ago, whimpered as Mr. X ordered him to push. He grunted out an enormous amount of flesh.

I looked up at the cracked mirror, now outside of Riggs' reach, and couldn't believe how much of Riggs' colon lay in Mr. X's hand. With his snake hand, his fingers traced a ring around Riggs' bloated sphincter. Mr. X's other hand held a good six inches of Riggs' colon.

"Now you finally make progress, Riggs!" Mr. X seemed to congratulate him. Riggs looked at his reflection in the mirror and sighed, both a sound of accomplishment and relief. "Boy, come, feel prolapse." It looked to me like a repugnant red slug, undulating slightly when I touched it. "It's like a turtle, very sensitive, wants to go back inside. But Riggs know it's a special pet, a most sensitive pet that he carries around for me inside. He knows it belongs to me and needs much worshiping." Mr. X picked out a capsule of amyl from his vest, broke it, sniffed and shared it with me. Mr. X knelt before the slug, flicked his tongue around and inside Riggs' prolapse. He grabbed my shoulder and knelt me before it next to him. We started lapping it together, both of us fondling it like a delicious object. Mr. X guide my face to what looked what otherwise would be its tail and told me to put my tongue inside. I did and felt a river of sludge greet me. Crisco and yellowish, pink and brown butt juice oozed into my mouth. I swallowed and stuck my tongue in deeper. "Good boy," encouraged Mr. X. I sucked on it, pulling out more of Riggs, both more of the red slug and more juices. Riggs' guttural mutterings came back as Mr. X encircled his forked tongue around the outside and I explored inside the prolapse. Mr. X put his arm around me and together we worshiped at the disconnected colon of Riggs.

The three of were entwined for quite some time, each of us emitting deep satisfied noises of debauched delight. I felt something nasty overcoming me the more I suck down Riggs' juices. I looked over and saw Mr. X watching me. His eyes had lost all color, were black pools staring into me. His hand slick with Riggs' slime, he ran his hand through my hair, slicking it solidly to my scalp. I licked his hand, saw more of Riggs' fluids running down his arm where they had been deep inside. Pink grease and streaks of brown sludge. I ran my tongue up his arm, swallowing fetid liquid that bonded me ever stronger to him. I couldn't help myself. I licked his arm to his bicep, and then, catching a whiff of his armpit, continued till my face was buried deep into the bush of piss and rank odor that he emanated. He caught my head in a vice, but I didn't want to go anywhere. I was happy exactly where I was. His other hand glided down my belly to my dick. He greased it with what was left of Riggs' secretions. He easy aroused me and brought us up both facing Riggs.

"This is what I wanted you to wait for, so your first fuck wouldn't be a nice, clean fuckhole but a degenerate filthy prolapse, something most boys never even dream of. Yet here you are, my new initiate." He was going to get me off right there, but he positioned me in front of Riggs’ 'tail' and held it in place while I inserted my very engorged dick slowly into it.

Riggs cried out in astonishment, his eyes, also black, looked demonically incoherent up at the mirror and back over to me. He seemed to roll in and out of consciousness. "Fuck me, boy," he teased. "Do what your Scout Master orders. Fuck my blown out cunt, and when the time comes I will do the same to yours."

My cock pierced him deeper, but unlike my first penetration of him earlier when he was sloppy and loose, getting inside his prolapse was difficult. I felt like I was pushing it in. While Mr. X held it with slippery hands, the stretch I was giving his already pulled out colon was putting him over the edge and in pain. Or was it ecstasy? This was new and unreal to me, Mr. X was right, I could never have imagined it. Was I hurting him or was it part of the new revelation to me on the connection between pain and pleasure? All I knew I was so aroused in how I felt, in the power I had over this man from whom I wanted only one thing desperately, but felt after tonight we'd never get back the the innocence of auditioning for a part. So, yes, I now wanted to fuck him, to cause him pain. Whether it brought him pleasure too, I didn't care. My need was immediate, superior, utmost. I got a regular stroke going, not too deep to push him in, but enough to keep me aroused. There wasn't any trouble with that. Mr. X pulsing his prolapse on my member was keeping me on edge, short of cumming that I wanted dreadfully to put off.

A distraction, one question had been floating in the background for the last couple of hours while the drugs were wearing off. It needed to be asked of Riggs' at his most vulnerable. With my dick starting to rock him harder, I blurted out before I censored, "You were never going to give me the part, were you?" I rocked the sling only slightly harder, but enough to have his prolapse disappear like a sea anemone, taking my cock inside with it. It was unearthly sensation, one over too quickly, but, amazing, followed up by Mr. X's hand following me inside.

"Fuck, man," I said to Mr. X, "yessss. Jerk me off inside Riggs. Fuck, that's incredible. Don't stop. Aw, fuck." The three of us were conjoined. Riggs eyes were open but cold and dead as a shark. Mr. X, not enough to owning my cock in another man's ass, was playing with my butt hole too, fingering the plug, pulling it partially out then letting it snap back inside my hole. My senses were overload, and the hanging question I felt Riggs had answered with silence made me spewed a river up his butt. Mr. X increased his rhythmic stroking when he felt me gushing. As he focus his pressure on my cockhead with his thumb, each milking he gave me brought another spurt of cum. He rubbed and rubbed my cockhead. I was flinching but still spewing my seed inside Riggs. He released Riggs and wrapped his snake arm around me tight as an anaconda, and with his other hand extracted the entire buttplug in one tumultuous motion. Without his embrace I would have collapsed. As it was my legs went weak, dangling like a marionette clutched by his arms. I fell out of Riggs' hole, juice and sperm leaking out his ass. I threw my arms around Mr. X's neck trying to regain my balance. He scooped up my legs and carried me like a rolled carpet over to the bed. He lowered me and laid next to me. The snake hand that he'd just had possessed Riggs' prolapse, still heavily greased, now testing my hole. It was his snake hand and I knew where it was headed.

He pushed in his cockhead to get his venomous elixir in me. Piss warmed my chute till he was finished. We lay like this until he knew his chems were affecting me. Now I was the one who was shaky. In the semi-darkness, I struggled with reality, I was starting to hallucinate. "Mr. X," I said, "I'm seeing things."

"Tell me," he hissed in my ear.

"I'm tweaking hard. Strange things, Mr. X, like equations and hieroglyphics. I see them zipping by. I focus on them, they rush ahead so I can't hold onto them." I was shaking again in a drug fever.

Mr. X felt me trembling. He pulled up behind me, spooning and providing me with his internal fire. Gripping me forcefully, he provided comfort. He rubbed my abdomen and my chest. "It'll pass, boy, especially once we give you a final booster."

"I'm so fucking high, Master. I don't even know how long I've been down here. When are we?" I asked, putting a hand behind me, just to feel someone was really there.

"It's Saturday night, boy," he said. "Time we start the real party, yes?" He nuzzled my butthole with his dick.

I couldn't help rubbing up against him, no matter how much I was shivering or how much my brain was sizzling, I still craved dick. "Geez, Sir, what have we been doing so far?"

"Foreplay," he responded. "Time to modifying you to my liking." Just the tip of his penis entered me. Enough to cause a seal. Slowly I felt a second batch of his warm elixir drizzle into me. I knew by now how I would be in a few minutes. I was a captured insect whose prey continually injects the most intoxicating venom, devouring me alive while holding me as his meal. He finished pissing a few last squirts, he didn't have a lot left in him, but the feeling I now carried inside was enough to alter my mind about resisting another slam.

 

[bareall77]

Holy FUCK!!!! EXTREMELY INTENSE! 6in prolapse! And that's just the start! GREAT chapter! 

[asslikker]

The Canary

"Pain is weakness leaving the body," Marine Motto

 

"Did y'all drink all the milk," Leah called out in the hallway from the kitchen. She heard a 'Yeah' from his room. "That just ain't right, JT. Now how my supposed to have my morning tea?" JT didn't answer so Leah walk down to his door. "You up?"

"No," said JT, muffled under the covers.

"Well, you best get up or you'll be missing speech. And Miss Marshall don't like when you miss even one of her classes."

"Then she's gonna have to come on over here if'n she wants to see me. I feel poorly." Leah opened his door and stood next to his bed, him hiding under covers. He peeked out to see her standing there, hand on hip, empty tea cup dangling from her finger.

"Whew," she whistled. "What cat dragged you in?"

"I don't rightly recall."

"What'd ya mean, you can't recall?

"What I said. I remember meeting someone and I had a drink, and then I don't remember. He must of put something in it, cause next thing I remember was being home in bed with my clothes on."

"When? Saturday?"

"Must of been Sunday."

"You mean you went out Friday and don't remember anything till Sunday. Jesus Christ Almighty, JT. You were out of it for two whole days and can't remember a thing? Or you don't wanna admit to remembering a thing?"

"Leah, lay off. I feel I got cramps and fever."

She felt his forehead. "Well, you're sweatin' like a whore in church. I'll get you some Motrin." He looked up at her with sad puppy eyes. "What? Stop that. If you're feeling bad you probably did something you should feel bad about." She saw a stash of crumpled up money lying on his dresser. She counted it. "What in Sam Hill? You got two hundred and fifty bucks. How'd you come up with two hundred fifty dollars sitting on your dresser? I thought you were broke."

"Uh, that's part of what I can't remember. I woke up in my clothes and saw the money and can't remember where it came from."

"Jeremiah Tiberius Reynolds, you know you don't ever need be ashamed of telling me anything. You know I wouldn't tell your momma or you daddy. But you be honest with me, hear?"

"I'd tell you, but I swear to the Almighty, Leah, I can't remember a thing after that drink on Friday night."

Her spider eyelashes blinked as she looked him over. "Well, you look sicker than a dog. I'll tell the Academy when I get there. Lemme fetch you the Motrin and you sleep."

"Thanks Leah. I promise to go out and get milk when I get up. I wish I knew where that money came from. Maybe it'll come back to me."

Leah brought him back the pills and some water, kissed his forehead, and let him be.

He heard the front door lock. He recalled full well where he'd spent the last two days and nights, although at the end, Saturday night, when he passed out after an hour of getting balls and dick electrocuted, the last six words he recalled, and there were only six while strapped to the bed, were Vinnie's. Each shock accompanied a word: Muscles, Are, Required, Intelligence, Not, Essential. MARINE. Vinnie ingrained it into him at every opportunity, and used it to signal that he was about to let loose pure hell, no holds barred, on whatever punishment he was inflicting on Jeremy.

Jeremy kept waiting for the time when he and Vinnie would hold each other's balls and squeeze till one or both of them came. He kept waiting for Vinnie to say, Look at my dick, look at my dick, and then it would be over and Vinnie would collapse, like he did in his videos, and there'd be a manly hug and it would be done. But it never came. All Vinnie did was abuse him the whole time. Yeah, at the beginning he made him feel things he never did, and it was crazy, but he was so out of it because of the slam. By the time Saturday morning came around, things started to make sense, but then he saw Vinnie shoot up and his real suffering began. He was gagged so he couldn't tell him to stop, only yell while getting kicked in the balls when he couldn't take any more. Or when he actually got a screwdriver stuck down his shaft and electrocuted, it went on for so long he lay at the end just twitching with every round of electricity. Vinnie got frustrated and slammed him again, and ramped up the abuse a hundred million times. His tits were electrified, pins stuck in them. He got a mask put on him and a vice put on his balls and felt them get crushed, but because he couldn't see what was happening, all he felt was pain. There was no fun in just pain.

Vinnie laid him back, gentle like, and Jeremy thought he was going to be nice to him. Vinnie put a gas mask over his head filled with popper smell and was starting to get into it because of the aroma and Vinnie playing with his cock. But then he felt a needle go through the skin between his balls and his shaft. It wasn't a point for slamming. It was just the needle part. He screamed into his gag and inside the gas mask, but that didn't do nothing. Another needle when in right above that, and on and on until Vinnie had put in a stack of needles that reached up to the head. Jeremy thought that'd be the end of it. But after a long wait he heard Vinnie unwrapped another set of needles. He said in a different tone of voice, one lacking any emotion like the first night, one that sounded cold and clinical, "Muscles," and another needle went right through his dick head. It hurt more than anything he'd ever felt, a feeling so intense things went dark for a moment. Vinnie waited for Jeremy to get back to full consciousness. "You back with me, cowboy? Camera's are rolling. We don't like dead air. Where were we? Right. Are," and a second needle perpendicular to the first, punctured through his urethra, out the top of his glans. Jeremy screamed, then made rapid pleas through his gag. He didn't have to pay him, just stop. He wouldn't tell nobody, just let him go. "Required," Vinnie replied. A third needle when in his pee slit and out the right side of his glans. "Just three more to go, partner. I'm sure you heard of Jacob's Ladder in Bible class. I did in catachism Well, this is my take. Intelligence," and with that Vinnie shoved another needle in Jeremy's pee slit emerging out the left side of the glans. Jeremy repeated 'please, please no,' which fell on deaf ears. "Not a ladder going to heaven, no," Vinnie stroked all the needles that ran up Jeremy's shaft, "but one going down to hell. This one's going to smart, sport. Take a big hit. Not!" and Vinnie punctured Jeremy's left testicle straight in with the needle going all the way into the core. Jeremy thrashed in his chains, trying to push himself off the bed. He pounded his fists against the bed, grabbed at Jeremy. "Essential," and the last needle punctured his other testicle. Jeremy tried to hold it in, but Vinnie pulled out the needle apologizing. "Sorry, partner, missed the center target. Once more, Essential!" Jeremy shrieked straight for one minute until the acute unimaginable pain subsided to only to an intense painful throb. His whole member was a constellation of wounds each one individual, taken together excruciating.

Vinnie kept playing with Jeremy's cock and the needles gouging him. Jeremy felt the familiar alligator clamps that had shocked his nipples and earlier when the screwdriver was in his cock in the wee hours of the first night. Those early e-stims, Vinnie called them, those were a "three-piece warm-up band, JT. Now get ready for an opera." It agonized him, Vinnie hooking up the electrodes to the needles in his cockhead and shaft, but when he place the clamps on his testicles every movement made adjusting them tore through the center of the internal flesh of each ball. "Done in a second. You just hang in there, partner." Jeremy whimpered but endured the pain. There wasn't much else he could to.

"Now I remember you don't like having your butt played with and I can't blame you. I'm the same way. And believe me I don't derive any pleasure in this but what's an opera without base notes." He felt Vinnie pushing a lubed object the size of a quail's egg up his butthole. It slid passed his sphincter and land next to his prostate. "Hope that wasn't too personal, but I think we're pretty much beyond that. Okay, orchestra tuning up." Electrodes randomly zapped each part of his cock and ass and jolted him in every direction at once. Then quit.

At first he only felt, or not even felt, thought, yeah, thought about a pulse in his prostate. There was something definitely there as least he thought so. But then he definitely felt a ticking, annoying at first but becoming stinging. Then the sting transferred to his glans then moved first up then down the ladder of needles to his balls. At his balls, the stinging became a jolt, a large jolt in the left, then an even larger zap in the right, then both, then repeated—left, right, together, left right, together—each time increasing in amplitude. As it crecendoed to an intensity that made him dance to an unheard tune, just as suddenly it quit.

"Pretty impressive, right?" Vinnie started the pattern again, this team in a higher key. Allegro—sharper, faster, more emphatic. "So weird huh? Where'd I learn to be this musical? Asbury Park high school marching band? Oh, no, no, no. What are you, crazy? Paris? Vienna? Try Nicaragua, Jeremy. Didn't know the Nicaraguan's had a taste for the classics? Well, not the pomp of the oompah marching band played for the generals standing on balconies. No, basements with captains and lieutenant-colonels supervising sadistic soldiers that I received training first hand. Ah, those classic strums on the guitar, beautiful serenades I heard out the window, covering my shrieks inside the chamber. Chamber music," he laughed.

To Vinnie, Jeremy's background screams were of a pattern, but you had to listen closely. He'd start with a flare of intense voltage deep in his rectum, then traded up to a quick succession of yelps as the head of his penis erupted in head-thrashing, teeth-gritting anguish. The pain, like a xylophone running up and down his shaft, was a favorite of Vinnie's. He'd often come back to it like a chorus or a refrain. His main melody, though, remained in the balls. The agonizing sound produced by the balls he perfected and was closest to, partially through trial and error, but principally through personal experience. Vinnie made a few adjustments since he hadn't heard Jeremy singing for a minute or two. "Since I was caught up trading arms—we sold to those in power and those wanting power because that's what we do—as a prisoner my country had no need or any more knowledge of me. I was on my own. I have to tell you, Jeremy—" Jeremy bellowed out a torturous screech, "Oh! Fuck yes, that's it! You get it now! Jeremy, I have to tell you when it's every man man for himself and you're the only man, you are fucked! I know you feel me. And those crank electrical generators that they show in movies, they get the job done. I would have like to share it with you, but they are hard to get a hold of. I've tried, believe me. The basic set up attached to a man's balls unlocks the keys within a few days. Cause there's no scars or damage, you can start again from scratch. Then another few days after you've sung, for your captives to be sure there wasn't any lying. Then a few more days just for hell of it. Since our government has a policy of not paying ransoms—which was the point for the Iran-Contra controversy, Jeremy—go think of that irony." Playing with dials and switches, Vinnie got Jeremy singing a beautiful series of rhythmic screams. His songs literally were music to Vinnie's ears. Vinnie had sung them, why not the boys that came to him too. They would share the splendor, justify why'd you'd say anything to make it stop.

Something with a samba beat? Vinnie made a few changes to the syncopation and undulating amplitudes, voltage would generate on one set of cycles, while another pattern altogether at odds with the first would, eventually, pair up. What was singularly bearable—more teeth-gritting stuff—when the two electrical patterns merged, physically, and—because you could predict it coming a mile down the road—psychically, it paired up unendurable torment opening those teeth to a sustain hollering. If the tormentors were truly good at the job (and Vinnie learned expertly from his), well, a sustained, especially piercing one note of agony could indefinitely be strung out. Or until the singer passed out. Or died. It happened. Usually this was set in the minor key of "no-no-no" for the performer was aware of the terrible logic of the song. Jeremy was at this stage. Vinnie listened enrapt. Jeremy's cries, then screams, when he saw what was about to happen, were pitch perfect. The boy wasn't dumb as he looked. (Although Vinnie noted he looked pretty darn good. He stuck his middle finger in the boy's butt to fine-tuned the plug to ensure it was aligned with the prostate and got a zap for his trouble.) "Okay, choir boy. Ready for the finale? Time to make you a soprano. Time for the fat lady to sing." Jeremy adamantly shook his head. He wasn't going to be able to live through this. "Muscles Are Required," Vinnie said turning the dial to the top until Jeremy yelled his guts out.

"And who takes you in, Jeremy, after you've given your all for your country? Well, who would that be, Jeremy, question mark?" He gave a game show buzz sound and accompanied it by a shot up the dial to 10. "Incorrect. The correct answer is Cuba!" Vinnie brought the dial back to 6. "And who do you get turned over to once you've sung any other songs with a Latin beat you might have in you? No, wrong again!" Vinnie dialed up to 10 a second time, and left it there watching Jeremy flop like a pinned frog on his soft leopard-spotted bed, before bringing it down and leaving it at an intense 7. In a game show voice he replied to himself, "The answer is The Kremlin—who knows, as a special operative, you must have one or two last songs to sing to be valuable enough to finally get traded back to the U.S. of A.—and as a canary you'd do anything to survive the wires connected to your balls." Vinnie turned up to 10 and left it there, monoguing something terrible over Jeremy's horse, rasping shrieks.  "A dishonorably discharged, Jeremy, for what it was all worth, at an Oakland loading dock. No marching bands, no crowds, just a few dock workers and a familiar Russian junky who just so happened I'd share a cell with. A plant you might ask? Probably, Jeremy, but one who might could put you to work in a bar in San Francisco. Maybe set you up with your own business. 'No scruples, but many rubles,' Mr. X, the only one there to greet me, certainly was lyrical. He was poetry in a perverted soul, had and still has many connections. You could make good life here, he told me when he drove me into the city. A sleazy one, but do you care at this point? Screw the world like it screws you.

The boy was unresponsive. He switched off the tens unit and began putting away his toys.

"Intelligence." Boys willingly sign on dotted line in my country for less. Boys in the slums fist themselves, take rape of old men, take shit for eating, take American baseball bats up themselves for food, for American men to download for enjoyment. Everyone goes home winner.

"Not." That's four sessions back to back. Two with masks. Two face uncovered. That's two-fifty in one weekend. More than he got in a month wired from back home. On the walk back to his apartment he figured out what four weekends like that would get him.

"Essential." And that wasn't even the private one-timers who paid a lot, lot more, Vinnie promised. Maybe five hundred for one night, depending on what he would be willing to do. He had his email and would be in touch. He'd keep the headshot, if JT didn't mind.

 

Edited January 18, 2017 by asslikker

[TTFN]

That was one intense electro session.

[asslikker]

Intensity is one of the things Mr. X appreciates in his stable, ponyboy

[asslikker]

Stereophonic (Midnight)

Mr. X pulls out. He suggests I squeeze to hold in his piss. He steps over to the table to prepare my points and slaps Riggs' ass to get him to get it together so he can help him. Riggs needs time to get out of the sling. He slowly drops his feet and tries to use the momentum to leverage his body to a sitting position. I'm lying there feeling how content I am, but know I should be sitting up too.

Mr. X tells Riggs he wants me to have a double slam as a capper for the night. I'm kinda sad at the news about the evening ending, but I'm getting real jittery and a little paranoid at the show of footsteps I see at the window. My hole feels empty but I also know that won't be for long. Everything feels twitchy, like my skin is being stung in a million places by jelly fish. My teeth grind. I feel annoyed, angry, anxious, without a reason.

Get your ass on the table, says Mr. X. I don't get the sense he's much aware of me or how I'm feeling. He's on a mission, the first part of which is getting his points all set up.

I pass Riggs who reaches out a hand and feels up my dick. I stop for a second and feel his other hand going up my crack. He fingers my hole and pulls back to give my butt a hard crack. Instinctively I now say Thank You, Sir. It's automatic, like I'm saying it in my sleep. I'm also beginning to see figures in the dark now. Faces like you see on an Etch A Sketch—wiry, jagged lines in the dark forming faces. I tell myself it's the drugs, but that doesn't stop them from forming.

I use the sling's poles to help me get closer to the table. I put a hand on Mr. X's shoulder. His skin is on fire. I feel drawn to him because my skin feels like wet ice. I nuzzle in back of him and he nudges me away, a spoon in one hand, heating the contents with a lighter. How much? I venture to ask him. Point three and three. And with the chem piss, how much? You'll be fine, he answer distractedly.

I make it to the table, which is up at a forty-five degree angle. I feel like everything needs to be in slow motion, that I can't skip a step in adjusting myself to climb on it or I'll fall to the ground. I get up but I'm stuck until someone can help me with my legs. Riggs is there, unlocking the back of the medical table, lying it almost flat, me traveling down with it, the room travel down, the ceiling moving down. I look up behind me, upside down, and it's dizzying. I watch shadows of upside-down feet walking by the window. I wonder who they are, if they're going to be joining us. I hope not. Irrationally I fear there will be more people coming. The last thing I want is to meet any more people tonight. As much as I don't want the evening to end, I fear it will never end.

Riggs grabs a leg and drapes it over a stirrup, then drapes my other leg in the other one. He adjusts them apart so more of my hole lies open and exposed. A light is switched on and I feel his shadow fall over me. He stands between my legs letting his cock dangle over mine. He releases a lock by my arms and two arm supports spring apart from the table. He straps one small cuff over my right wrist, then the left. He pushes out the supports so my arms are now at right angles to the examining table. Riggs pushes them until they lock in place.

Mr. X observes I'm ready and comes over giving Riggs one of his needles and a rubber hose. I'm excited and fearful at the same time. I'm not sure what they're doing but like the fact I'm literally in the dark as to what to expect. Riggs comes around to my left, Mr. X is on my right. Both men take the rubber hose to my biceps and tie them off. They swab my arms and located a vein. I'll go first, says Mr. X to Riggs, then you follow up once I'm in him.

"David," says Mr. X. It takes a second for it to occur to me that he's talking directly to me, bending over in my face. "You are having a very good slam first. I want you to ride like before. I'm going to start opening you. You think you can't take it but how much you're ass has taken already, you are ready for your first fist. I want you to feel the rush of Riggs second slam when I go in, and you go over the edge with my fist going in you. You understand?"

Okay, I say, looking up in the mirror at my spread out body. I hear his words but have no idea what he's getting at. Get ready, he tells Riggs, not me. I am barely here any more. I am a reflection to myself, looking down upon my body. Mr. X's needle is piercing my skin. It hurts and feels good that we're finally moving. Looking down I see the liquid turn crimson. I look up to Mr. X's face. I can't find his eyes. His head is only black sockets. His cheekbones collapse in his face in the harsh backlight. Shadowed grey strands stand out from his chin. His shoulders are impossibly broad and strong—I want him to crush me; his fat tits have piercings that play and dazzle in the light; his snake hand plunges the crimson liquid into me. I feel the rush travel up my arm and disperse through the corridors of my body. I close my eyes and feel it overtaking me. Separating one part of me from another. Mr. X's venom travels to my brain, some to my heart, some to my lung, some to my groin, which I feel Mr. X's hand is testing with several fingers. So much is happening at once I give up trying to understand, just look up in the mirror and see what my body looks like when it's rushing. I can tell you what I see. Who else would I tell? It flushes red, my chest heaves, my pelvis pushes down on the snake hand I see poised to strike. I can't focus on anything, but feel everything. Riggs' clear liquid turns red, and quickly disappears. I feel a second, larger wave usurps the first. I'm tumbling like before but this time no one catches me. I turn inside out as a hand pries me apart, a large palm of pain and succumbing. I want the snake head and am rejecting it at the same time. Mr. X is forcing me to accept him, and I want to but can't physically take him into my body. These are thoughts I don't own. He does. He is telling me things, what he wants, what I have to do. I respond by opening, by bearing down, guiding him into me. And then he is in. I throb on his hand. I picture the hand inside. I look up and see the wrist I'm swallowing. I thought the sensation would cease once I surrendered but he wants more, he is continuing to find a path through the deeper cave in me. It is easy. How can it be easy? It slides without effort, like a chute that had been laid and the hand is simply finding it's way in to rest, to settle. He then he is in a deeper crevice, and still his snake is traveling deeper. I cry out, I hear myself saying something, it's not coming from me but from the mirror above: Let me get use to it. He had the opposite idea. And tells me things he's doing, wants me to do. I feel his every inch, his twisting hand, the shrill tendrils of his fingers, touching barriers that fall to his nail-less finger, the tip of the snake, it's tongue that finds the smallest opening and bores and scratches to collapse another barrier, and finds he can grind the seal into submission, and I want him to, and what started as a hole only as wide as the tip of his finger, penetrates, now caves in for several fingers, like the tentacles of a squid follow the single finger, spreading apart and conquering another compartment. He spreads his fingers making way for his arm to start entering me. I see his rapid progress, but close my eyes and see it even more.

"Open your fucking eyes and see what I'm doing," he says. Riggs is next to me, breaking a capsule under my nose. I am pushing my hole against a forearm. It is too big to open any farther and yet it does. Mr. X works me inside and out. Bees buzz in my head. I hear his words in a foreign tongue, not the meaning but the intention. I am opening to him. I am watching what he's doing. I feel his power. I'm empowering my own destruction. He slowly closes his hand into a fist. I detect his fingers curling, nails scraping my walls, pinch against contracting rectal undulations, thinking I'm shitting when it's the exact opposite. He first pushes in then pulls out a fraction of an inch which convulses my body in spasms of bliss, and his caresses pull him deeper. I see a shine in his black eyes toward the back of his cavernous skull. They shine like coal, like burning coal, glow red, like staring into a furnace, feeling the searing heat, the flickers of flames, and eyes staring back at me. He tells me with his eyes to push and push down on his arm. Riggs crack another capsule and I feel myself falling uncontrollably down on this demon's arm. He is expressionless, takes all the emotion out of the act and replaces it with my obedience. And no, I can't resist him. The sensation of pulling my body apart on his arm is impossible to resist. I feel myself start to quiver on his arm until it builds to heaving myself on him. He twists his body, his shoulder twists away from me and I see my hole moving up to his arm pit. He twists back in a crouch, his shoulder coming up from below, delivering itself a blow that pushes his arm pit, black hairs trailing into my cavern. His toothless maw opens into a fiendish smile as he sees me giving in to destroying myselft. I push and bounce no matter the torment his arm provides. It is the torment I want, and lick my lips in debauched desire. I show him what I want and he is more than delighted to provide me my own annihilation.

It's Riggs who slows me down. He's trying to calm my writhing body. Mr. X roars, Let him be destroyed! Bass words, deep and dead, flow into me, but it is the actions of Riggs that slows my bodily offering of sacrifice. I don't want to cease this overpowering desire, but each time Riggs soothes my frenetic body from impaling onto this proffered arm, a little more of who I was returns to my brain and body. I see the storm of waves in the mirror, whitecaps, slapping on this foreign object slowing to ripples, then gentle, soothing swell of tide. It slows my mind, too, allowing me to accept what I've done, knowing how good it feels and still want to survive beyond this night.

Mr. X continues to plow my hole, but without me to gut myself, the residual of me, of who I am, remains. I feel the draw he offers me. I accept his punishment, but not my death.  

 

Intermission

Assemblyman Brenner has been dead for years now, so I can tell you it was his dog he'd kept at his farm in the Salinas Valley. He never gave the dog a name. I think that's just cruel. Who does that?

His wife never visited the farm—all those migrant workers. She stayed in their Sacramento gated estate, which he would reside in only when the California state house was in session. For both their sake's—keeping up appearances for her daddy's inheritance money, and for his varied special interests—the house sessions were thankfully brief.

Dana Shaftow arranged things. Transportation of the dog was one of the things he arranged. Vinnie was his San Francisco contact and the one who would provide the talent. Money would funnel through X Corp. and everyone would come away rewarded. Vinnie, the talent, Dana Shaftow, and Mr. X. The assemblyman would have a VCR copy for his own private use, and a clause in the contract (which officially didn't exist) stated Mr. X was permitted to make unlimited copies for wider distribution. Vinnie and the talent received a one-time fee; Dana Shaftow's boss, Judge Reinhardt of the D.C. circuit, and Dana Shaftow himself, and of course Mr. X, would receive on-going residuals. The initial overhead costs were born by Assemblyman Brenner. He already had three of these specialty videos on his shelf hidden away on his farm—two with girls, one with a boy. His part of the revenue stream from downloading and sales went first to an off-shore account and then back-channeled into his campaign funds. The three tapes he financed were like gum. After so much use they lost their flavor. That, and they were all on the young and scrawny side. Even though the fax was low quality that he received on his farm Sunday afternoon, he liked the look of this jungle boy—long hair, defiance in his eyes, young and certainly not scrawny.

He put in a call to Dana Shaftow and one to Vinnie. On his end, Vinnie put the wheels in motion immediately. Dana caught the call on his cell, waiting in line in a Washington D.C. dry cleaner. Sure, he knew of a secluded house on the market, across the bay in Tiburon. Wealthy, quiet neighborhood. Plenty of privacy. No, no one would hear a thing. Yes, he could get if for one night. Friday or Saturday. He'd have to check with the real estate agent. He'd connect with Vinnie and confirmed everything. He snapped shut his cell phone, then, to the elderly Chinese woman behind the dry cleaning counter, he handed over a certain blue, cum-stained dress. He arranged to pick it up the following Sunday.

I might also tell you that, lest you fret, K9 would not be the worst thing to happen to JT. The aftermath of the event, and the cascade of subsequent events produced from that weekend, well, that would be. Still, he'd be better off than Joey but that's not saying much.

***

Okay, okay, Mr. X is saying. I'm not really following any of this shit anymore. I'm so fucked up I don't know my name. You did good, he keeps telling me like that's supposed to mean something. He points to his wrist, maybe a half an inch up. I guess he's talking about the fist that just got shit out of me and that's as far as I went, not like up to his armpit like it felt like. He's telling Riggs to strap me down and he's bringing the table up to a forty-five degree angle. Then he's saying I think we're about done tonight. One more thing. Fuck, whatever. He opens up a black doctor's bag. Was that always here I'm wondering?

Riggs did an excellent job restraining me. I can't budge an inch. I'm pinned like a butterfly. I wish I cared. All I can think of is a slice of pizza, a coke and salad with little sliced olive with Italian dressing from this little pizza stand on my corner. Two-fifty special. It's about all I eat. I know I should eat. I should probably sleep too. I can't tell you really where I am, who I am, what time it is. I know I've been fuck, fisted, shaved, pissed in, pissed on, probably pozzed, but hell if I know if any of this really true. I think it happened, but I also thought a moment ago I was riding a man's arm who I first met tonight up to his arm pit. Swear to God I thought I felt his arm pit hairs tickling my asshole. He's putting on blue surgical gloves. He snaps them, I think for my benefit. Snap, snap! But I'm through trying to figure out what's going on. He's washing one of my tits that seem much bigger than usual. It's hard for me to even recognize them at the moment. I look at his tits and Riggs', and though they're hardly that size, they are pretty ginormous. Funny I can remember Mr. X and Riggs but have lost myself. He holds out forceps and pinches one of my bloated tits. I flinch but after tonight its gotta be something really big to grab my attention. Fuck! He's holding out a long needle that he's about to—

They're both looking at me, talking. They seem pleased. My tits are throbbing. The only thing I catch is Mr. X telling Riggs to not let him pass out again. I guess that would be me passing out. He wants me to feel it, Mr. X is saying. 'It' has an ominous ring. I look down at my tits and see two small bars going through them. They smart like a bitch, so why do I like them. I want to touch them but I'm completely restrained. Mr. X is washing my dick. Now then, David. He's saying it straight into my face again. I guess I'm David. I go through a huge nerve cluster, one of biggest in the body, and I'm going in deep in you so you can eventually have 00 gauge like me. I guess this all makes sense in some universe, not the one I'm in currently; he might as well be speaking Russian. Maybe he is. He's pointing to my dick, turning it over, rubbing a spot maybe a quarter inch down from my piss slit. I wish I had some opinion about this. Some dread or excitement, but I feel completely drained, emptied. He takes a long steel instrument with a sharp point out of the medical bag. It has a small ring at the end of it, size of a quarter. Whatever. An 8 gauge he's explaining as he's inserting the instrument into my penis. He's feeling under my shaft. He looks in my eyes telling me, Take deep breath.

I'm not drained any more—a shock jolts up my spine, rings an alarm in my lizard brain, and ricochets right back down to my cockhead! Riggs is holding me by my shoulders. I feel every shred of skin tearing apart making way for a sharp needle ripping through my spongy flesh. Blood spurts from under my dick and streams red piss over the table. Riggs is frantically putting down paper towels but can't keep up the with the flow. I'm sure I'm screaming but every conscious part of my brain is in the tip of my dick focused acutely on the most excruciating sensation of metal being dragged into and out of my shaft, tugging at it like a claw, encasing it, pliers pinching and locking the invader in place. Mr. X withdraws his pliers leaving behind a metal ring that enters my piss slit, comes out the shaft, and ends with a captured ball completing the circle.

"Beau-ti-ful," slowly gushes Mr. X. He admires it. He shows it to Riggs. He can't help himself—I see he's possessed. He goes down on me, blood leaking and all, giving me the most punishing head of my life.

[Fillitup57]

How I wish this would have happened to me in my 20's-  to have met someone like this and to show me what it is to be a pig bottom.  My cock just drips when I read this. 

[Guest bbfistcumpig]

One of the hottest storys here - please keep on writing - thx for that

[bareall77]

On 17/01/2017 at 9:13 PM, ponyboy238 said:

That was one intense electro session.

Holy fuck was it ever! With each needle my thought was, "what's he going to do now!?" 

This story is not for everyone. But I will say, @asslikker, your creation and attention to detail make each graphic sex scene as intense mentally as it is physically. Easily one of the best I've read! 

How many times will I be saying that!?

[TTFN]

Your detailed account of David's first fisting was excellent, reminds me of my first time except that I only had poppers for help.

Hope we get to hear about JT's adventures with Assemblyman Brenners borrowed house across the bay.   

[asslikker]

Hump Day

Monday I took off from school cause I felt shitty. I got a call in the afternoon from the L.A.P.D. My dad—a police officer due to retire in two years—had been killed in a drug bust. They were deeply sorry for my loss. The funeral would be held Wednesday. They'd hoped I could make it.

I didn't feel anything. I sat on the bed, the only furniture in the room, staring at the alarm clock waiting to feel something. The second hand moved but nothing inside me did. Well, I felt shittier. Responsible. Inadequate. Mr. X says porn is pleasure plus guilt plus shame. Without shame, just pleasure and guilt, it's simply art. Shame is the key ingredient to raising art to the level of pornography. I felt pornographic and didn't care.

I called Riggs' office and got his secretary, Cameron, a very pretty man with the deepest blue eyes. Why was I thinking about his deep blue eyes? I was horrible and shameful. I was a degenerate, it was my fault. I was the irony in my father's death. I pushed all this down and told Cameron what had happened. He gave me his condolences and I hung up. I cried and then I didn't. Riggs called me back that evening to see how I was. Okay, I told him. No, you're not, but that was okay. He would arranged for a flight for the funeral. I declined, he said nonsense. Go for the funeral and come back the next day. Mr. X was impressed and was peeved with him—Riggs—for not having me signed to a contract before I left his house. Staggered home from his house was more like it. He, Riggs, was impressed too. Despite his non-reply when I asked him if I was ever in the running for the lead—I understood now with how much meth he slammed, he was incapable at the moment of answering, much less even understanding the question. He was sorry that this was the first moment he had the chance to tell me. Yes, I was still in the running for the part, in fact, he could see no one else coming close to clenching the lead. Maybe Jeremy was still a possibility, but I was in the lead for the lead. It was the first I'd heard Jeremy mention, but Riggs continued, "But," Riggs cautioned, "Mr. X definitely wants to talk to you as soon as you're back. But I would say this. Take your time. I know what he wants to propose. But you need to think it through. Know what your getting yourself into."

I thanked him, puzzled and unsure what he was trying to communicate, while I was trying to work out in my own mind what I wanted. "What about this," I proposed. "Can I take you up on a one-way ticket and I'll drive back with my dad's Cadillac. I would be back in class on Thursday."

"Boychick, you take as much time as you need. Class is just class. Your father is your father, no matter how you thought of him." I heard on his end the phone quietly set in the cradle.

I still hadn't slept since Friday morning—that is, if you don't count the black outs in the playroom. I felt a bizarre electricity buzzing through me. A mild hallucinatory state I knew was from the aftermath of the slams, where I saw meaningless illusions of light everywhere. In my apartment, I had a fan on high trying to lower the temperature in the stale, hot room. It's whir fed into an audio hallucination of a radio station playing inside my head. It was the white noise of the fan that my brain, still running on overdrive, was translating into soothing music. It was that music I finally fell asleep to for the next thirty-six hours.

***

Cameron knocked on my door Wednesday morning with the flight ticket leaving in two hours. I thanked him, got dressed, took a cab, nodded off on the flight and landing at LAX just before noon. I took a cab to the cemetery, where dozens of black uniformed officers had assembled. There were also two women present I didn't know, both boo-hooing. I avoided them. I was a little paranoid in the presence of so many police officers, but most were family friends that I knew from when I was little, had come over to our house for bar-b-ques. Not so much of late. I kept my dark glasses on and covered up the bruise on my neck with my starched collar and a tie that felt like a noose. I was roasting in my dingy polyester suit during the ceremony, but it was what I owned. Afterward, Roy, my dad's boss and total jack off material—unibrow, crisp side burns and cropped hair, heavy dark beard even when freshly shaved—gave me a big, bear hug and passed me over to my Uncle Glenn, dressed in his expensive Armani suit. His wife and kids couldn't get away, he apologized. A pretty awkward moment lapsed between us as he let me go, my arms still hanging by my sides. My uncle drove me to the house. He said he would be willing to arrange to store the furniture and sell the house. "Whatever," is the best I could come up with. My body still had a trace of electricity running through it and I just wanted to get out of my suit, maybe take a dip in our pool before I left.

At the house everything felt surreal, like I was a ghost floating through it. My room was just as I had left it before I moved in with Perry. My trophies were still on my desk; family photos of better times hung on the walls—Disneyland, Yosemite, I couldn't stand looking at our faces; a poster of Nirvana (Curt Cobain was the last man I looked at before I went to sleep each night); my Boy Scout knot board; me and Chief, my dog till I was ten, sat framed on my nightstand. I tore off my suit leaving it on the floor and got into my swimsuit. I went out to the small, cramped pool in our backyard through the den's sliding glass door. My uncle had flipped on the Dodgers and was helping himself to one of my dad's beers. I guess my dad wouldn't care, right? "I ordered a pizza," he said, as I was passing through, "if you're hungry."

I closed the sliding door, feeling the warm, familiar beach breeze engulf me. The pool took up almost all of what remained of the back yard after the den addition. We were lucky, we were rich, I always thought. We were an elephant in a tutu, we were a ridiculous illusion of a family. We were pornographic.

Feeling my uncle's eye on me, I decided to strip off my bathing suit and flash my new P.A. On the diving board, seeing the metal reflected by the sun, illuminating the otherwise shadowy back yard's wooden fence, I dove. I swam the length of the pool underwater. Just like the Hockney painting. When I got to the end, my uncle stood there with his beer. "You should have on a red jacket," I said looking up to him. He squinted at me. I tilted my head and banged some water out of my ear. "Uncle Glenn, why don't come in and join me."

"Maybe once the pizza get's here. You hungry?" Cue pizza delivery boy. Ding dong.

"Famished," I said, while Uncle Glenn went to the front door. I swam a couple of laps feeling for the first time the strange drag of my P.A. I flipped around like a dolphin feeling all the new sensations it gave me. It was healing fast as Mr. X said it would. The salty piss cleanses it, so piss a lot, he said. Tits leave alone. It was tender to the touch and constricted in underwear which made me leave off underwear for a while.

Uncle Glenn came back with the pizza box and set it and a bunch of napkins on the glass table. The table took up the remaining three square feet not taken by the pool. My father was so ridiculous he even bought an umbrella to shade the table, even though that corner of the yard never got sun. I pushed myself up out of the pool, flexing my triceps purposefully in the act. Uncle Glenn had already gotten his slice and was in a deck chair when I got to the open box. I was slick, shiny, still dripping when I picked up my slice. Nude and completely hairless. "Pineapple, ham. You always had the best taste, unk." He eyeballed me again. I could tell he was getting a hardon. He glanced at my tits and then at my crotch as I dropped my legs and left them dangling in the water. "Thanks for coming," I said, "I know it must have been hard getting away from your practice and all."

"Did you have those done in San Francisco?" he asked, waving a finger at my piercings. I nodded and gave a short, squat smile. "I hope it was done in a sterile environment."

No, it was done after multiple slams and getting fucked and fisted for the first time, with tons of grease, piss and cum coating me. "Oh definitely, very professional," I said. "The girl was certified."

"What's with the bruise on your neck and arms?" he questioned.

"Fight class gets pretty out of control sometimes. Check out my ass," I said, rocking up to expose my welt to him. Like I ever had to ask him to check out my ass. I saw my uncle relax a bit. I didn't want him relaxed. "So how's Aunt Martha and the kids?"

He began taking off his shoes. He'd already draped his Armani jacket on the back of his deck chair, now he was starting to loosen his tie. I fluffed my dick off my wet balls. Even with the tender pinch I felt in the tip it was starting to rise. "Busy. School, garden club. Jimmy's goalie on the team, so lots of running around to practice, games. Boy has he grown. When was the last time you saw him?"

"I was thirteen, he was ten. We had a fun time when he spent the night that time." I let that hang a little ambiguously, not relenting from our locked gaze. He took off his tie and unbutton his collar.

"I don't suppose your dad's swim suit would fit my big gut?" he asked as casually as he could. I had to stifle a laugh, opting for a non-committal shrug instead.

"Prob'ly not. Why bother. No one can see back here."

"Sure," he said, slipping out of his shoes, socks, pants and shirt, hanging his clothes carefully over his chair. Uncle Glenn had gained a lot of weight since I'd last seen him. Same narrow face, high forehead, but his hair was now white and his cheeks were jowly. My father always worked out, but Dr. Glenn never. Too busy. Dad would come home and I'd watch him swim laps in our pool. He wasn't overly muscular, but he did have memorable arms and thighs. That's why it was such a shock to see my uncle standing there in his extra-large 2xist (2xist? really?) black underwear with his flab hanging all over. "So, why no hair? Is that a thing now?"

I was at half-mast but was slowly deflating looking at him. I started to play with myself since I saw him staring at my crotch. "It just feels better when I'm rubbing up against a hairy man."

"I bet," he said, stripping off his underwear, acting like it was a joke. His long schlong with plenty of hair over his crotch was totally erect. Where my dad's pubes were dark, his were light grey. He jumped in the deep end with a huge splash, displacing water all around the deck. "Good choice, David. This is what I needed, after—"

There was an unsettling silence while we both floated for a while. I decided to change that and slowly bobbed closer toward him. "I think this is what you needed," and I put my hand around his large cock and tugged on it. I pinched one of his fat tits and then the other. He grabbed my dick but I lurched away cause of its soreness.

"Fuck, yesss. I agree, boy. Do you know long it's been?" I counted to myself the last time. Five years I calculated. "You are one hellava good looking boy. Take after me, don't you?" I said nothing, but climbed up the pool steps and took some cushions from the chairs and laid them out along pool side. He came up behind me and felt up my ass. He insert a finger and, feeling no resistance, added another. "Hell, boy, you're so loose." He added a third and jumbled around bringing out a fart. "What have they been teaching you up there."

"Just what you're about to do to me here." I knelt on all fours and after he spit on his cock, knelt, he easily glided straight into me. It felt good to have him inside me. On some level we both needed this fuck, probably for different reason, but still a fuck is a fuck, and this one was, like the others, pretty hard, fast and loveless. This time I knew full well what I wanted. I rammed my ass into his wet, hairy cock, and he had me by the hips pounding me with a frantic rhapsody that probably hadn't seen a fuck in five years. A quick-before-we're-caught fervor that I never understood before. He steamed urgently ahead like a huge locomotive, breathing heavy, wheezing horribly. It was always short with him. On the final few thrusts he lurched fully into me, holding me with his sword at its peak, then pulled out and thrust again, holding it there, feeling every inch of me. Then one last time, thrust, and held my hips tight against his rod. I could feel him, spurt after spurt, his cockhead pulsing and spitting inside me. He pulled out and cum drained out, running down my leg and stained the cushion.

I didn't give him a moment to get away.  "Okay, unk, my turn. You lie on your back this time."

He sat back on his haunches on what he just heard. 

"David, no, I don't do that. Never, never, never," he protested.

He protested, me thinks, a little too much. "But I know you want to. Look at your cock, unk. Still all wood." I bent over to suck his rock hard member. I tasted my assjuice mixed with his cum. I swallowed his juicy fuckstick till his grey pubic hairs brushed my lips, till his fleshy crotch crushed into my face. I was of his flesh, my face buried into his flesh. First one leg awkwardly kicked from under him, then the other. He held both arm back to prop himself up while I ran my mouth up and down his quite plump member. I played with his balls and ran my fingers back to touch his his soft, moist anus. He jumped. I placed a hand on his chest and slowly he leaned back until he was completely prone. I lifted his legs and spread them to expose his furry brown hole. He was still wet from the pool, tasted of chlorine and his musky, fetid maleness. I parted his asslips with my fingers and tongue. He let out a cry of ecstasy and fear—ecstasy that he loved it, and fear that he loved it. I rimmed him mercilessly as he squirmed under me, pushing his lips out letting me get deeper inside him. I spied some old suntan lotion on the glass table, reached up and lubed his hole. I cautiously and generously greased my cock, sensing if the tenderness would upend my intentions. Seeing my uncle spread legs, his brown wet hole fully exposed, it didn't matter. I stuck my P.A. in his virgin cunt with one finger, then slid the rest of my member slowing up his quivering shithole. "Wait," he hollered, "it hurts."

"Just figuring that out now," I breathed on top of him, using my weight to push into him. His breath was rapid and his face contorted in pain. But he wanted it. I know he wanted it. "If you didn't want this you would have pushed me off a minute ago," I reminded him using his words. I pulled out a little and felt my dick firmly resolve to rape him. I plunged in again and pulled out feeling the trail of metal following my meat. Each push was agonizing and thrilling, for both of us; exciting me to pursue my desire, for him to succumb to his hidden desires. Yes, it hurt but hurt so good. This was a refrain I was learning, from no one else but from my own senses. Fucking him felt good on so many levels. The wet, slippery viscosity of the lotion was perfect because I could feel him fighting me internally—his hole was incredibly constricting, what a contrast to Riggs—but fucking him was like jacking off into a crushing fist. The harder he squeezed to eject me, the more I was pleasured. "Keep it up, keep fighting me, keep me from cumming. Squeeze harder, Uncle Glenn, that's it!" I looked down and saw his own cock dripping. As I picked up my pace I started jacking him too. Looking up at me, he winced every time I ran my P.A. over his prostate. We were both looking into each other's eyes, kinda shocked, kinda dirty, both wild eyed, when his cell rang. I was hard inside him, toying with his hole, as he reach for the phone in his coat pocket. "Oh, Martha," he said, pleading with a hand for me to exit. It only made me stiffer and punch his hole harder. He grunted. "What? No, it was moving, yes. I'm close, closing—" he grunted again, and the years I felt helpless gushed out of me, banging him furiously. "Oh, Jesus! What, no, I suspect I'm overwhelmed. Oh, fuck! Martha, I'm sorry, it's just, I can't—"

"Hi Aunt Martha, it's Davie!" I yelled, as he covered my mouth with his hand.

"David and I, we're trying to—. It's hard, dear, so hard. Oh!" I shot my wad right up his Hippocratic hole, feeling the river of cum and tension of the past couple of days, past lifetime, ooze right out of me. He surprised himself and shot all over his face right after, getting it in his eyes, stinging himself.  "I'll call you back." He snapped shut the phone. "Oh, Jesus, David, David, David. What have we done."

"You've done nothing." I pulled out seeing a bright bead of blood on the tip of my P.A. I grabbed a few napkins weighted down by the pizza box and wiped Uncle Glenn's dripping red ass. I went to the bathroom, flushed the bloody napkins, and got a roll of cotton bandages to wrap my dick in. The bleeding wasn't bad, it would soon stop, but I wanted nothing so much as to get out of there. I'd already taken out most of my stuff. I took the picture on the nightstand and the knotboard on the wall. I made sure Uncle Glenn had my number, assured him I'd sign the paperwork, no problem, and grabbed the car keys in the kitchen. I was out without a scene. We'd never mention this, like all the other times, again.

The garage housed the family car. And like everything else about the house, it was way too big  to fit comfortably in its space. I squeeze sideways facing my father's workbench. I popped open the car door, but just before getting in I saw a misplaced wrench on the table. I picked it up and put it up on its outlined rightful place on the pegboard. Each tool—hammer, screwdriver, wrench—had its rightful place. With the wrench back in place, all was right with the world.

After stealthing my uncle I no longer felt my family was pornographic. Quite the opposite. I left shame behind next to the pool. It no longer belonged to me. I felt a little bit guilty—perhaps—and mighty pleasured—my smile showed that—but no shame. Feeling pleasure with a hint of guilt, I felt what I was leaving behind was art.

I pulled out of the drive, took the top down, and pointed the over-sized, white Caddy toward the long drive up the coast.

Edited January 23, 2017 by asslikker