Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com
Jack's Insertions
or
a single man's guide to a happy marriage
or
how I became Mrs. Johnson's bull lover
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August 2006 First entry
August 21, 2006 -
As you probably know, assuming you have listened to Uncle Jasper and me in our "Suckin' Spit & Talkin' Shit' episodes, I was seduced by one Frank Johnson. At least that's how I remember it. He might feel as though he was coerced by both Jasper and me to soften his conservative attitude towards us and our broadcast, but whatever, the end result is that Mr. Johnson and Jasper and myself have an ongoing understanding.
All that has happened since the day Frank chose me over Jasper is worthy of its own telling, and in the next few days I will be making entries to this log until we are up to date. Then, I will add to it when something of note happens between us.
Yes, I did get his telephone number. No, Jasper never did get his lecherous hands on it. The following day, and every weekday for the next several, Frank and I would use our one-hour lunch breaks to meet at my apartment, where he would receive my stress-relieving BJ. In return, I would receive his manual, strong-but-caring strokes to drain my testicles.
Now, one might think that this would be enough satisfaction for any queer man/married man arrangement, and even though for me it was, for Frank it was not.
He never asked about anal intercourse, which is good because it did not interest me, but rather, he guided me in another direction. He introduced me to his wife. Together, they have introduced me to a world I never before dared to consider, and, much like Navy John was to the young Jasper, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are rapidly becoming my mentors. My insertions will take you there with me.
__________
August 22
Frank and I had carried on for nearly three months before he threw me the curve - he asked me to come for dinner - to his home - with his wife.
"Uh, geez, Frank," I stumbled. "Do you think that's a good idea?"
"Sure. There's nothing to worry about. Our relationship is solid. In fact, I've already told her about you."
This did not necessarily please me. "Shit, man, don't you think you should have let me know you planned to tell her? And by the way, what did you tell her?"
"Nothing about this. I told her you came in to apply for a broadcast license and that we started talking about football. She thinks you and I are in the same fantasy league. That's all."
I let it go at that. I figured I knew enough about football to hold this charade together, and besides, Frank and I are fanatics of the NFL and discuss it often. What the hell. If something was said; if one of us slipped up, it could only hurt Frank and the missis. As for me, that would be the end of Frank and I'd have some good memories to take with me, assuming I got out of their house intact before his outraged, heartbroken wife extracted my blood. It has never been my desire to be a home wrecker. I can only assume a man looking for blowjobs knows how to handle his own marital situation.
All went well, but imagine my surprise when, during our after-dinner coffee and slices of cheesecake, Laura Johnson said to me, "So, Jack, Frank tells me you are quite skilled at sucking his dick."
__________
August 23
Mercifully, they only allowed my irregular heartbeat to continue for a few seconds, then Laura and Frank Johnson burst into laughter.
"Let me congratulate you, Jack," Laura said. "That cock of his is hard to handle and I'm not very good at it - not with my mouth, anyway."
Frank joined in. "Besides, she doesn't enjoy sucking on it and I quit asking her."
"I told him to go find somebody who knew what they were doing," Laura said.
"Yep. And I struck gold when I found you, Jack."
"Well, damn, Laura," I was finally allowed to speak. "Frank said your relationship was solid. He wasn't kidding."
They both joined me on the couch, forcing me into the middle between them, and Frank said, "Laura has many talents and we share all secrets. One of them is downstairs. Want to see it?"
"Sure, Frank. You've got me all excited. See?"
"Come on," Laura said.
They escorted me to the basement. It was a full, finished space with a roomy, 10-foot ceiling, carpeting, furniture, the works. Standing against one wall was a wooden frame, black in color. The height was at least nine feet. Two horizontal boards crossed the top, leather straps dangling from one, chains dangling from the other. On one side, two sets of wooden stocks ran from the front to the back of the frame, while on the other side, two boards connected front to back, corner to corner, forming the letter "X".
"Come on, Jack," Frank said. "It's got rollers underneath. Help me move it."
We brought the frame to an open area in the center of the room.
__________
August 26
While I undressed, Laura taunted her husband. "Why do you constantly disappoint me? You know what my flogger can do. You know how it can shred your skin."
As she spoke, she also toyed with him, draping the suede leather strands across his shoulder, then slowly dragging them down his chest. She circled him, stalked him, threatening to strike, but only teasing with brush strokes down his back or chest. Frank remained erect on his knees, arms hanging limp with mouth silent.
"You must enjoy the pain," she continued. "Otherwise, why would you disobey me? Huh? Why, Frank? Answer my question."
He looked up at her, not with eyes of remorse as I expected, but with a look of hatred. "Because I like it, that's why. He's a professional. You are pathetic. I did it, and I'll do it again. Nothing will change my mind."
She let the flogger fly, striking him with medium force across his chest, stomach, arms, back and shoulders. He never made a move or a sound, just remained upright with arms at his sides while staring at the ceiling. After about a dozen blows, she turned to me.
"Jack," she hesitated for a few seconds and scrutinized my body, smiling at me with a rather lustful gaze. "Go to my cabinet. On the left wall are two padded cuffs. Bring them to me."
As I followed her orders, she berated her husband with a new round of flogging. "All right, mister. Sure, you can take my blows, and you will. But we will see how tough you are when your skin is stretched; when I bring those nerve endings to the surface. You will regret your obstinance, and it won't be from the pain alone. No, no, no, I have other ways of cutting you down to size."
Again, Frank took his beating like a man, silent, motionless. I found the cuffs. They were padded inside, black leather outside, with a metal O-shaped ring attached to each. I brought them to her and she told me to clamp them onto his wrists, while she continued flaying away on his back. After figuring out how to release the latch, I opened one, knelt in front of him and took his hand. First, I secured the cuff, then I clamped it shut and repeated the process for his other wrist. When I was finished, I stood and Laura stopped the beating.
Laura circled in front of her husband. "If you move, I'll give it to you with all my strength. This was just a warm-up."
She took me by the arm, led me towards the frame. "Jack, see those two chains?"
"Yes." They dangled a few inches beneath a horizontal board at the top. Attached to the final link of each were metal hooks.
"Those O-rings go on the hooks. He won't fight you. Get him up there."
I grabbed Frank's arm and he voluntarily stood, then cooperatively walked with me to the frame. I lifted the arm and connected the O-ring of his cuff to the suspended hook. To repeat the process with his other arm, I had to pull his body upwards with it. When hooked, Frank was suspended from the top of the frame, arms spread about three and a half feet apart and tips of his shoes barely touching the floor.
Seeing this man suspended, shirtless, helpless, did something to me. Even though I had seen him shirtless many times before, suddenly the beauty of his chest and belly was magnified. And when Laura resumed flogging his back, my penis, which had been erect since Frank and Laura had first surrounded me on their couch, began to discharge its syrup. I guess you could say I was getting into the right frame of mind for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson's little playroom.
"How does it feel now? Still think you're tough?" She intensified the strength of her blows, circling to strike his back, rib cage, chest and belly. As for Frank, he was beginning to feel it. Slight moans came with each blow. He threw his head back, then jolted it forward to glare at her. Frank was still defiant, but beginning to soften.
The whipping stopped and Mrs. Johnson barked an order to turn the screws on him just a bit more.
"Jack, strip him."
__________
August 28
I removed everything from him, starting with the shoes and ending with his boxers, which I violently yanked to the floor with great pleasure. His penis was swollen to about one-half its potential and I was tempted to bring it to full force with my oral expertise. Instead, I stayed with the game, backed off to admire our chained prisoner and waited for the woman in charge to direct the proceedings.
Silently, she circled behind him and laid the flogger to his ass. This time it was a bit more forceful, or so it seemed to me. Her arm reared back and flayed his butt cheeks with a definitive smack, causing Frank to let out deafening groans, uh's and ow's.
I never expected that such a scenario would stimulate me, especially since the victim was a man I admired and considered my friend. But seeing that his punishment had triggered an erection on him as hard as I had ever seen it made me realize that this beating was a major turn-on for him. Knowing this, combined with the sight of him flexing his muscular body, nearly caused me to jack myself right then and there.
I was quickly distracted, however, by Laura's harsh voice berating her husband. "All right. You like to get you dick sucked. Well, that's fine, darling. I understand your problem."
She stopped the flogging and stood in front of him, then spoke to me with menacing sweetness. "Jack, do your thing. Work on that throbbing cock of his, but when I stop, you stop."
I knelt before my temple, opened my mouth and engulfed his beautiful penis, while Laura put the flogger to his chest.
"Yes, my darling," she tormented him. "You can receive Jack's services... when I say you can. But there is a price to pay."
She moved behind him and resumed punishing his back and buttocks. "From this day forward, when you feel the warmth of Jack's mouth, the scraping of his tongue, you will also feel the wrath of my flogger to go with it. No longer will you feel one without the other."
This was hot. I could feel Frank's dick surging with power each time the leather strips snapped against his skin. Glancing up, I absorbed the sight of his masculine chest and belly, as it flexed and contorted in reaction to her blows, but just as my pace intensified and I prepared to drain him, Laura shouted, "That's enough!" and the beating stopped. I obediently abandoned Frank's primed cock and gleefully watched it rise and fall in mid-air, wondering what happened to my finishing touch.
"No," he pleaded with her. "Don't stop now. Let him finish me."
"Oh, you poor thing. I'm so sorry. You know I cannot allow you to finish. Not until you have asked me properly."
Before the pitiful man could respond, she resumed her whipping on him and I resumed my sucking on him, until again she stopped and I released his tortured cock. Frank howled once more, begging for release. His tone, however, was not one of politeness, and so the pattern was established. This man would be broken. The only question was how long did he want his agonizing denial to continue. I hoped it wouldn't be anytime soon.
__________
August 29
Frank did not disappoint me. His stamina was amazing, as he repeatedly withstood his wife’s punishing flogger and my teasing tongue. Oh, he begged, but not in a manner suitable to a man who had been humbled. His pleadings were of the “Oh, god, don’t stop now. Finish me, damn you.” ilk, never once expressing remorse or hinting of surrender. He remained defiant, which is just how I’d hoped he would be, and with each round of punishment-followed-by-denial, Frank was brought closer to the edge. Several times I sensed his nuts start to contract, forcing me to release his cock before his wife had finished whipping him.
I also was pushed to the brink. I was forced to take great care that I didn’t touch my own penis, because any friction whatsoever would have triggered my own explosion. Sensing that she had pushed both of her men about as far as they could go, Laura dropped her flogger and stood in front our prisoner. He was breathing hard and had worked up a pretty good sweat. She placed her fingers onto his sternum, removed some of that sweat and tasted it, then scooped another sample and gave her fingers for me to lick. Knelt just behind her left leg, I sucked her digits dry, savoring the taste of this man.
“Did you see that, Frank?” She mocked him. “Jack knows how to please a woman. He knows how to perform the tasks I ask of him. He respects me, but you continue to defy me.”
She picked up the flogger and used it to tease him, dangling and brushing the strands along the length of his pulsating cock. Moving the flogger beneath his scrotum, she tormented him with brush strokes to his swollen nuts. “Are you still horny, Frank?”
“You... can see that I am.”
“There it is again. I ask a simple yes or no question and you respond with sarcasm. That’s fine. Men who are loyal to me get their reward. Men who defy me must suffer.” She brought the strands down on top of his hard dick, striking with medium force, which caused a pained yelp from her victim. “That’s you, Frank.” She struck him again for emphasis. “You can just hang there and watch Jack get his reward. I have needs too, you know.”
She turned and violently grabbed my arm, pulled me to the floor near Frank’s feet and forced me to lie on my back. Within seconds, for the first time since my initial, high school-aged experimentation of the confused, my rock hard, fully primed, queer cock was inside a female vagina.
__________
August 30
Laura Johnson sat on me, riding up and down my pole. The shock of it, the sudden realization that I was somewhere I did not want to be, caused my dick to lose its strength. But then, I was distracted by Frank, as he howled in protest. “Damn you to hell. Get off of him, you two-timing whore.”
Oh, my god. The view was magnificent. My head was directly in front of his left foot and I took in the glorious male form above me; his bulbous testicles, filled with semen, ready to explode; his powerful cock, fully erect with pre-cum dribbling from its slit; his upper body, torturously suspended, muscular belly flattened and mighty chest expanded; and the determined face of defiance, hatefully staring down at his conniving wife.
“That’s right, Frank.” Laura taunted him. “He’s my boy toy now. Bet you didn’t know that Jack is more man than you’ll ever be.”
Jesus Christ, I was confused. For so many years, I’d convinced myself that pussy was not my thing, but Frank’s performance above me prevented my thoughts from dwelling on it. He strained against his suspension, slightly lifting his body upwards. He thrust his chest forward, sucked his belly inward. His hard penis bounced in mid-air, sending a droplet of ooze down to land on my chest. I scooped it with my finger and tasted its sweetness. His head dropped forward and the eyes had switched their focus to me. His teeth were exposed in a grimace, but the lips hinted at a grin. His muscles flexed for me. His voice groaned for me. His masculinity inspired me. And the warm, tight, frictional massaging of his wife’s vagina masturbated me.
Frank thrust his leg forward and placed his toes onto my mouth. I reached with both hands, clasped onto his ankle and slobbered all over the sole of his foot. My tongue raced in between his toes, while my hands ruthlessly rubbed his shin and calf, absorbing the feel of his manly hairs.
Laura grabbed his other foot and started to lick and kiss. I continued to work on his left foot, while unknowingly reaching with my left hand to clasp onto Laura’s breast. She called out my name. I called out Frank’s name. Laura shrieked with delight. I groaned with ecstasy, and Frank displayed his gloriously tortured physique for both of us to enjoy.
Keeping my spent penis inside her, Laura cast her husband’s foot aside and leaned down to kiss my chest. I continued to kiss Frank’s foot and he said the words. “Federal dollars.”
“Ok, honey,” Laura answered. “Are you ready to come down?”
“No, but I’m ready to get off.”
“That’s you, Jack. Go for it.”
I was there in a second and Frank fired his load in about fifteen, suspended by his wrists, flexing and contorting every muscle in his beautiful body.
They insisted I spend the night. It was a Friday and Jasper was out of town on vacation, so with no need to do one of his recordings, I stayed. They also insisted I join them for an evening swim. In the Johnson back yard, surrounded by a wooden privacy fence ten feet in height was a rectangular pool perfect for a hot August evening. Here, naked, we swam, and we talked, and we dined on food and drink prepared by the wife. I was given many details about their lives together. Their history, their relationship, public and private, all was explained to me with words and the affections of human touch.
_____
August 31
It was a relief to hit that refreshingly cool water. All three of us had raised our body temperatures quite a bit during our heated session, especially Frank. What amazed me was that I didn’t see any marks on him. After each of us swam a few laps, we congregated in the center of the pool where we could stand with the water level mid-chest. Tits were exposed. Glistening tits are always a pleasure for the eyes, whether male or female.
“Frank, tell me something.” I inspected his body, especially the back and still saw no evidence of his flogging. “I’m surprised you’re not beat up. I don’t see a scratch on you.”
“It’s all for show. I don’t like intense pain. Everything we do is pure fantasy.”
“As for leaving scars,” Laura joined in, “suede leather can be used with a little more force than finished leather, without putting whelps on his skin. Believe me, Jack. We’ve experimented for years to find the right tools for what we like to do.”
“Well, how did it all get started?” I asked.
“Boredom,” Frank said. Things were getting stale in the bedroom, so we started experimenting with role reversals. Actually, I think I was the instigator. Anytime Laura would end up on top of me, I’d more or less assume a posture of surrender. I’d reach up and grab hold of the bed posts, then let her work me over.”
“It took me awhile to get into it,” Laura added. “At first, I’d just fuck him and let it go at that. But eventually, I put my husband on a sort of pedestal. I’d worship every inch of him with kisses, licking and finger massages. And it seemed the longer I made him wait, the more exciting it became for both of us. Then one day, Frank came home with two sets of handcuffs, you know, the standard metal kind.”
“And that’s what did it?” I asked.
“Not at first,” Frank answered, while wrapping an arm around his wife. “We did too much thinking and not enough feeling.”
“What do you mean?”
Laura jumped in, “That was my fault. I went on the internet and got the idea that Frank wanted me to dominate him in a cruel way. I bought a leather outfit, cuffed him to the bed and started talking to him like he was dog shit. I slapped his face, scratched him with my nails, even whipped him with a leather belt... lightly, of course, but it wasn’t working for either of us.”
“It was my fault, too. I didn’t know exactly what it was I wanted. Since I didn’t tell her, she assumed I wanted to be degraded... emasculated, I think they call it. But that wasn’t it at all.”
“So, what was it, Frank?”
“It was a movie that saved us,” Laura smiled.
“Yep. One with Steve Reeves. I think it’s called Romulus and Remus.” Frank pecked her cheek with a kiss.
“That’s the one,” Laura confirmed. “There’s a scene where he’s tied to an X cross that spins. Some sweaty man is whipping him as the cross is being rotated.”
“So that night, I’m cuffed to the bed posts, saying my usual, ‘Yes, Mistress, I will obey. Please don’t hurt me’ bullshit and without thinking, I changed my dialogue.”
“All of a sudden he starts to defy me, just like that chained muscle man, Steve Reeves. Frank started puffing up his chest, flexing his muscles and thrusting out his lower jaw. He was throwing me challenges, saying things like, ‘Do your worst. I’ll never talk. Torture me all you want.’ And guess what, Jack.”
“What?”
“Frank’s dick was as hard as can be. That did it for me too. Hell, I didn’t want him to be a pussy boy. I wanted him to be a super man.”
“We did that scene from the movie right then and there,” Frank said with another kiss.
“I got the belt and half-way whipped his chest and legs. We added our own dialogue to make it even more sexy and needless to say, we both had the best orgasms we’d had in years.”
“Yeah,” Frank laughed. “That bed was spinning out of control, at least in our little fantasy.”
I was impressed... and erect. “So, that’s what you meant by fantasy role play.”
“That’s right,” Frank answered. “We get ideas from movies, books, art, anything that features an heroic male figure, bound and tortured.”
“And we put our own spin on them as we go along.”
Frank grabbed my arm and I joined Laura next to him. Then, I received a Frank kiss to my cheek. “Jack, tonight’s session was just to get you involved. Kind of light weight by our standards. Not much of a plot.”
“Well, you guys. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, but why did you start your dialogue the other way?”
“You mean the... ‘please Madam, don’t hurt me’ part?”
“Yeah.”
“We wanted to ease you into it. I know you’re a web surfing monkey, so I figured that angle would be more familiar to you.”
“That is mostly what I’ve seen and heard. Honestly, I’m glad you changed into her adversary. Rather see you as a man than a cowering wimp.”
Frank kissed my forehead and I asked the obvious. “So, why do you want me involved?”
This time, I received a kiss from Laura. “To answer that, dearest Jack, we’ve got to go back to the beginning. You boys stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Frank and I passed the minutes with some man to man adoration instigated by me. I put my hands to his chest and belly, then guided him into the deep water. Once under the diving board, I told him to reach up and grab hold, so I could worship his body as it hung suspended halfway in the water.
“I missed this, Frank,” I said between kisses to his middle section... to his nuts... and peter. “It was the hardest part for me not to have access to all of you.”
“Don’t worry, Jack. You’ll always have access, it’s just a question of how long you’ll have to wait. That’s what makes it exciting.”
Laura returned with a tray. I could see glasses filled with drink, but was too busy with Frank to inspect any further. Whatever it was, she left the tray on a table and joined me in the water. Her presentation would be delayed for awhile, because Frank Johnson was about to fire his rockets again.
_____
And that, my dear friends, is the last of my August insertions.
I have been invited to their home again, this time for the Labor Day weekend. Jardonn has run off with Mike Carter to the Gulf Coast, supposedly to help build new houses for victims of hurricane Katrina. He hasn’t bothered to contact us, however, so we’re not sure exactly where they are. Jasper will be spending the weekend with John and Ginny Crosby, but says he wants to record sometime late Monday.
I’ll plan my next insertion for either Monday or Tuesday. |
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September Sept. 5
Now, you'll have to forgive me, but I intend to dwell on this pool activity. You see, even though I had sucked Frank off many times and had put my hands on him many times, never once had I worshiped his belly with my mouth.
Several things came together for me, and if you can picture it I'm sure you'll understand. Like I said, Frank was holding onto the diving board. His body was hanging arms over head, with the water line just below his crotch. The distant light from their house illuminated his still-wet skin, caused his still-wet fur to glisten, and every muscle he had was dramatized by his suspension from the diving board.
His belly felt like heaven... a bit cushiony on the outer layer, solid as a rock beneath. I’m sure you’ve figured out that Frank is considerably older than I, but believe me, this man is in perfect health.
I lingered on that belly of his, burying my face into it, kissing and licking it, while clutching my hands onto his butt cheeks to keep myself above water. And even though mine was floating, adding my weight to his stretched and tightened those muscles even more. I lost myself in this man’s body, while his hard dick was forced down into the water by the pressing of my chest.
Although I knew his wife had taken a position behind him, I paid little attention to what she was doing, pretty much figuring she was working on his back the same way I was working on his belly.
Laura Johnson got my attention in a big way, however, when she snaked her arms inside of Frank’s thighs and clasped her hands onto my butt cheeks. Her arms forced Frank to spread his legs wide and brought Laura’s body closer to mine.
She took me again.
_____
Sept. 6
My hard dick was smothered by Mrs. Johnson’s clamping pussy, coming together underwater beneath Frank’s upside-down-V positioned legs. Hanging onto the diving board kept him halfway out of the water; hanging onto Frank kept me head and shoulders out of the water; and hanging onto me kept Laura head-up out of the water. That beautiful man was supporting the floated weight of three and this goaded me into finishing Frank.
I buried his massive man-meat to the back of my throat and all three of us grunted with exhilaration. My mouth locked him into its vise, crushing his surging cock between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Laura wrapped her legs behind my knee caps, locked her ankles together and humped me, while I began tongue-stroking her husband’s throbbing tool. Every now and then I’d interrupt my strokes to spear my throat with his mushroom. This is so I could stretch my tongue to the extreme and lick his balls at the same time. It’s a luxurious freedom, not needing to worry about drooling all over the place. The water took care of that.
Frank got moves from me I’d never tried before and Laura put moves on me I’d never felt before.
I don’t know how a man his age could have flooded my mouth the way he did, especially as the second coming of his evening. I do know why I contracted to spurt inside his wife the way I did. I can no longer deny it – being inside a female pussy is an ecstasy like no other. No asshole can match it. Only the expertise of a world-class cock sucker can begin to approach it. And with Frank’s glorious body contorting and flexing, not to mention his charged tool rocketing his man-seed down my throat, well put it all together and imagine what kind of orgasm I had – if you can.
Mr. & Mrs. Johnson were conspiring against me. I offered no resistance.
_____
Sept. 7
After we untangled, Frank dropped into the water to cool off, then we all exited the pool. The three of us towel dried, then sat down at the table where Laura had left our sandwiches and melted-iced tea. She brought us new ice cubes.
They asked if I wanted more and I did, so at Laura’s suggestion we moved inside to raid the fridge. I noticed that Laura had what looked like a photo album with her. It had been on the table outside, then the kitchen counter inside, but was shown to me in their bedroom, where the three of us sprawled naked on a king-sized mattress.
Laura did most of the talking, as she gave an historical account of the coming together of Frank Johnson and Laura Honsinger. Frank was in college; Laura worked at a nearby, off-campus bar and grill. Love at first site? Not really. It wasn’t until Laura’s employer held a cook-out and swimming party -- a ten year anniversary of the bar get-together at his house, thrown for regular patrons and employees of the bar before Frank and Laura took notice of one another.
“It was her tits,” Frank said. “Bouncing so beautifully in her two-piece suit. Man, when she climbed out of the water I nearly shit my trunks.”
“It was his chest,” Laura said. “And the hair. Just a small patch on the sternum, then a thinly painted line right down the center of his stomach, through the navel and beyond.”
She showed me a picture. “This is him a few months later... on a camping trip. The first night we did it.”
He stood near a river bank, shirtless, and what got my attention was that he looked like I do right now, at least in the composition of the body and the fur covering.
“Damn, Frank. You looked just like...”
Frank was asleep. Poor guy, we’d sapped him of everything.
“We’re glad you’re here, Jack,” Laura said. Then, she closed the book. "Let’s call it a day.”
Pampered is a good word to describe my treatment, as I slept in the middle between them. Mystified is a good word to describe my reaction, when I awoke in total darkness to feel one mouth on my nuts and another one on my dick.
_____
Sept. 8
A marathon of body worship, that’s what I got. Never was sure if I fully woke up or not, but hell, I didn’t need to. They lathered me up good. All I had to do was lay there on my back, as they smothered my body with kisses and licks and finger rubs.
The word marathon is not to be taken lightly, because their praise continued non-stop until I thought my nuts would explode. I quit opening my eyes to distinguish which shadow was doing what. I no longer cared. I certainly didn’t care when my dick was finally, mercifully taken into a warm mouth to be sucked with slow, tantalizing, wet-tongued scrapings. Nor did I care when butt cheeks sat onto my chest and a hand lifted my head, directing my tongue to the open V of a heated, human crotch.
My concern only came when I realized that the crotch was comprised of neither balls nor dick. Laura was filling my mouth, which meant that Frank was sucking my cock, which meant that he was doing something he had never done to me before.
_____
Sept. 11
What could I do?
I was trapped. Sure, I could have jerked my head away to verbalize my protest, but not without disrupting what was happening to my cock. After all these months, Frank was finally pleasuring me with his mouth instead of his hand, and if eating his wife’s pussy was the price I had to pay for Frank’s services, then it was a small amount indeed.
I focused on what my dick was feeling, not what my tongue was tasting and nose was smelling. I lost myself in this momentous occasion – the most generous gift Frank could give to me – and without realizing it, my head no longer was in the clutches of Laura. I began to voluntarily service her, and unlike my previous, teen-aged experience, this woman tasted fresh, smelled clean and was willing to assist me in my exploration.
She guided her clitoris towards my tongue, exposed it with her fingers to make sure I knew what I was tasting and feeling. Once I was successfully locked onto her, Laura leaned forward, clasping her hands to the headboard. This gave me easier access to her sensitive sweet spot, while leaving her dangling breasts to hover above me. I had fully adjusted to the darkness. Her inflated balloons were cast in a shadow of blue. Without forethought, I reached up to touch them, to fondle them, to grasp them in my clutches while stimulating her nipples with a gentle rubbing of my thumbs.
This was an alternating ecstasy for me. The nerves in my groin sent strong messages to my brain, reminding me that Frank was becoming more comfortable with each slow, tantalizing stroke executed on my cock. Then, this message was usurped by my hands, thumbs, tongue and nose. They were reminding me that Laura was there, too. The delicate softness of her breasts; the stimulated firmness of her nipples; the vibrating heat of her clitoris; the pleasurable sweetness of her vagina, all combined to send a return message to my surging cock.
My alternating ecstasy became a mesmerizing, never-ending cycle, as shockwaves of pleasured messages charged from groin to brain to all extremities between and beyond. Only my finish could end this madness and the orgasm that did finish me put all arguments aside. My defenses were obliterated. My doubts were no more. My desire for man and woman were equal.
Damn them. They had tricked me... and I loved them for it.
_____
Sept. 12
Laura must have been pleased with all that had transpired so far. I know this because Frank and I awoke to the smell of coffee and the sounds of a cart rolling on the bedroom floor. Breakfast in bed is what we got – enough food to feed a Roman legion. I asked Frank if this was the norm.
“Are you kidding? She cooks all week, but when the weekend gets here she’s a slacker. I have to do everything.”
“Careful,” Laura said. “It’s too early for you to start upsetting me.”
Their bedside table clock said 11:42. “You call this early?” I asked.
“It is when you go to sleep around 5 am.”
“Wow, is that when I passed out on you?”
“Jack, darling, as soon as Frank drained your nuts you were out like a light."
“Uh, did I get you off first?”
“No, but he took care of me. His mouth was very, very busy.”
“And effective,” I added.
The key word for Saturday? Pool... as in swimming and table. They had a beautiful nine-footer in the basement. Daytime swimming was with trunks, mine being a pair of Frank’s drawn up from loose to acceptable with the string.
I got a few more details – about their two kids, now grown, one at college, the other married with an expecting wife.
“Hey, your first grandchild. Does it make you feel old, Frank?”
“Hell, no. It’s good to know my sperm is so useful.”
“And tasty.”
We swam for awhile, sunbathed for awhile, then Frank and I headed downstairs to play pool, while Laura prepared dinner. As we dined, Laura said tonight’s entertainment would be a movie.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Which one?”
“Well, let’s see if you can guess. It starred Richard Burton and Victor Mature. It’s set in ancient Rome, around the time of Jesus’s crucifixion. Any ideas?”
“Uh, ‘King of Kings’.”
“Nope.”
“Ok, I give up.”
Frank joined in. “You look less than enthusiastic, Jack, but don’t worry. We will only be watching one scene.”
“And will I be Richard Burton or Victor Mature, whoever the hell he is?”
“Never you mind, Jack,” Laura teased. “You will be neither.”
This satisfied me. Ah, the drama, the intrigue, the boner under the table. Just hearing the word crucifixion mentioned with Frank sitting there shirtless was all I needed to hear. That, however, was not where we were headed. Not this night.
_____
Sept. 13
Still in our swimming gear, the three of us migrated to the basement to view “The Robe” on their high-definition big-screen. The movie clip was shown to me several times, first at regular speed, then at half-speed. The final viewing was Johnson-chosen clips from the clip itself shown at one frame per second.
I thought the scene quite kinky, considering the film was a major Hollywood production from the 1950's, but like most such scenes, I was left frustrated and wanting more. I was thinking, ‘If only they would have done this when he said that,’ or ‘If only they would have shown me that part from the side angle.’ In any case, on the 10-point turn-on meter, I’d give it an eight. On the 10-point erection meter, it gave me a 10.
Frank announced that he needed to cool off in the swimming pool and we followed him there. The sun had just set. He stripped and Laura stripped, so I stripped.
I suspect the swim was merely to make us all smell clean like chlorine, because within five minutes both Johnson’s had exited the pool. Our garments were left right where we dropped them, as we toweled off and headed for their bedroom. This act would be played out on the king-size mattress using under-the-bed straps.
Oh, in case you haven’t seen this film I’ll give you a quick summary for our scene of interest. The Romans have the Victor Mature character roped to a horizontal table in a spread-eagle position. They are interrogating him to find out where the Richard Burton character is hiding. They whip his chest, then crush his middle section using a board laid across him. Apparently, underneath the board there are nails or spikes, because when they turn a wheel and the board presses down on him, he starts moaning and arching his back, while his feet raise off the table. The poor fellow is stripped to his loin covering, which in the 1950's meant that it was half-way up his abdomen, concealing his navel.
See what I mean when I said it was frustrating? Why didn’t they just strip the guy naked like the Romans probably would have done? So much for historical accuracy.
_____
Sept. 14
Our first stop was Laura’s closet full of goodies in the basement, and while she picked out instruments she thought she would need, I stood behind Frank, rubbing my hands up and down his chest and belly. Comforting him before torturing him seemed the thing to do.
Laura handed us her choices – two short whips made of tightly wound nylon rope, her trusty flogger and the strap system. She told us to go on up to the bedroom and that she would join us shortly.
Like the movie itself, our scene would begin with the man already bound to his torture table. Frank and I ran the strap system underneath the bed, bringing their four ends up to lay on the mattress at four corners. He laid one pillow in the middle, stretched out over it and extended his limbs in four directions, as I helped him thread his hands and feet through the loops. With Frank’s direction, I adjusted the straps until he was stretched taut like the letter X, then he had me tighten each one a bit more to his desired tension.
He told me that there was a dark brown towel in the bathroom and that I should wrap it around him to fashion a loin cloth, which was easy to do, because the length of his pillow ran from his deltoids to the middle of his back. This caused his buttocks to barely touch the mattress, while his chest and belly were elevated. ‘Twas a fine view from any angle.
Laura returned with two wooden poles, former mop handles perhaps, but without the mops. Both poles were rounded at one end, flat at the other, and she laid them near the pile on the floor where Frank and I had dropped her whips and flogger.
Laura stood beside me with one arm around my shoulder, her hand fingering my chest. “Those poles should do nicely for his belly torture, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.”
We admired our victim for awhile and Frank kindly entertained us, straining against his straps, looking around as though seeking a way to escape, exaggerating his exhales to dramatize his stretched and flattened belly. It was exposed to the beginning of his pubic hair, thanks to my expertise in designing his only garment.
I was erect; Laura was moist. She said, “Well, darling, you have everything you need. Our safe word is still the same. Do you remember it?”
“Yes. Federal dollars.”
“Correct. Get to it.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Jack. I can’t be the Roman interrogator. I’m female. That would never be allowed. You are in charge. I’ll play this man’s wife, brought here to witness his torture.”
Oh me, oh my... life is good.
_____
Sept. 15
“Onto the floor with you, in that corner, wench!”
That was my command to the wife, who silently did as I told her. The Burton character’s name was Galleon, and with one of the rope whips in hand, I began the interrogation as scripted.
“All right, slave. Where is Tribune Galleon?” I brought the whip down across his chest. “Where is he hiding?” I struck him again, then again, taking aim at his nipples.
The slave tensed his body to receive my blows, straining his arms against the straps. His eyes were clamped shut and teeth clenched together, while deep-toned, guttural groans rumbled from his throat.
To shut him up, I clutched my hand to his throat. “You will talk, slave. Before I am finished, you will long for death, but it will not come so easily.”
I pinched his nipple with my finger and thumb, repeated the act on his other nipple, then resumed his lashing. Glancing to his wife, I was given a nod of approval that the severity of my blows was appropriate, so I continued to target both tits and interrogate. “Talk, damn you. Where is Tribune Galleon?”
My god, he was beautiful. The muscles in his arms, chest and belly were flexed to capacity and he twitched and jerked as though the whip were carving him to pieces. As for words, he said none.
I ordered to myself, “Give him the wheel.”
I dropped the whip to the floor and picked up both poles. Leaping onto the bed, I stood with my feet between his spread open thighs and drove the stakes into his belly midway between his navel and pelvic bone.
My glorious male victim arched his back, sucked in his abdominal cavity and tensed every muscle in it. He raised his head to peer over his expanded chest with lower jaw thrust forward, then violently threw his head back to the mattress, arching his back even more while making sounds as though he would puke. I leaned onto the poles. My weight brought them down deep into his muscle and his grunting became louder.
I know there was pain here. I could almost feel it myself, but the slave took it, relished it, until I removed the poles from his belly.
Returning to stand beside the mattress, I motioned to his wife. “Bring the woman.”
She ran to him, flung her naked tits across his mighty chest, pleading with him. “Oh, please tell them. Don’t make me watch this any longer. I can’t bear it.”
“Oh, you will bear it, woman,” I mocked. “Not only will you watch, you will also participate.”
I handed her the flogger.
“NO! I won’t do it.”
“You will, or I will beat you until you change your mind.”
I laid my whip to her buttocks. When she rolled off of our slave to escape, I laid it to her tits. She moved towards the corner and I circled the bed in pursuit, striking her as she cowered below me.
“Leave her alone, you bastard,” my slave finally spoke. “I’m the one you want. Torture me.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will. But this wench will do her duty or she will be crucified. Is that what you want? I suggest you persuade her to assist me in your torture.”
“Do it. Do as he says. It is no use for both of us to suffer.”
With that settled, the wife went to work on his chest with her expert flogging technique and I again gave him the wheel, but this time while kneeling on the mattress beside him. It is the view I desired and my victim did not disappoint. Before I even began grinding the poles into him, he locked his eyes onto mine. He arched his back, despite the flogger coming down on him. He pulled on the straps, flexing his muscles in preparation for the impalement of his belly. Oh, yes, and his belly was flattened as low as he could make it go.
Our assault on him was lengthy. My questioning was ceaseless. And this man’s performance was magnificent. Not once did he speak. Instead, he glared at me with his lower jaw thrust out, mouth clenched, back arched, chest expanded, fingers and toes curling forward and backward. And the sounds he made... music to my ears. Masculine groans, grunts of near-regurgitation. I absorbed the sights and sounds of my hero standing up to his torture like the man he was... is.
When I finally removed the poles from his belly, the woman stopped flogging his chest and our victim collapsed. A sheen of sweat had broken out to highlight his male form. He continued to groan with each exhale of breath. From the side view: heaven. Powerful chest elevated; muscular belly flattened; both rapidly rising and falling in harmony, our bound prisoner overwhelmed his tormentors with his masculine beauty. We stood in awe, neither of us able to imagine a more glorious scene. There was only one thing that could intensify our excitement.
That towel had to go...
_____
Sept. 18
Of course, the unleashing of Frank’s penis could not go without a verbal introduction, and I provided it.
“Well, slave, your strength is impressive. This I cannot deny, but there are other ways of persuading you to loosen your tongue.”
And with that, I ripped away his loin cloth, allowing his fully-charged penis to flip onto his belly. He strained his arms against the straps, raised his head to confirm his nakedness, then glared at me while protesting with a manly, “Ugh”.
His incredible, masculine physique struggled against its bondage. His mighty cock rose into the air, triggered by involuntary clinches of his scrotum. It remained suspended for a few seconds, then fell onto his belly, bounced and again lifted itself. My slave’s phallus was begging to be tortured and I kindly granted its request.
“You, woman... look at his powerful tool. Look at his bulging testicles. How many times have you serviced them? How many times have you lovingly taken this man’s penis into your bosom? Into your mouth? Well, it is no longer yours. It is mine, and I order you to flog him. I command you to assault his manly organs.
“NO!” she begged. “I will never do it. I surrender to you. Do with me as you please, but I beg of you, don’t force me to destroy his beautiful phallus.”
“You must. Do it now, or prepare for your crucifixion. What will it be?”
“Crucify me, then. I don’t care. I will no longer participate in your torture of him.”
Again, she was coerced by my tormented slave. “Do as he says, my love. Nothing he does to us will make me talk.”
He struck a pose of manly defiance, expanding his chest, sucking in his belly and spewing his wrath at me. “Go ahead, you bastard. Torture me all you want. I will never tell you.”
“Do it, wench.”
And she did. The flogger came down with the proper fury of an expert, across the top of his engorged shaft, upon the sensitive head of his oozing mushroom, onto the flesh of his swollen testicles, and our victim performed magnificently. Each lashing brought deep-throated “Argh’s and Ungh’s; each carving caused his body to tense, muscles to flex, and head to turn from one side to another; each blow triggered his toes to curl and fists to clench; and each sound, each reaction caused my penis to surge, syrup to dribble and balls to ache.
How could the intensity of the scene I had created be elevated? Was it possible? Shouldn’t I just ravage his body with my face and lips right then and there, while she whipped him into an orgasmic frenzy? Hell no. There was no way I could let him get off that easily.
_____
Sept. 19
I grabbed both his nipples and pinched them, twisted them. “Now slave, will you talk?”
“Ungh... no... never.”
“Shall I torture you until nothing is left? Talk, now, before it is too late.”
“Aghhhh... never... damn you to hell.”
“Very well... give him the wheel.”
I released his tits and grabbed a pole, grinding it into the pit of his stomach while the flogger heated up his cock and balls.
My questions were continuously answered with defiance. I drove the stake in deeper and he took it, grunting and groaning, but still spewing phrases of denial. Oh, god, I wanted to finish him, but then again, I didn’t. I did not want this to end – not yet. I removed the pole from his stomach and commanded the woman to, “Stop!” And I accompanied my order with a slight backhand across her face. She reacted much more violently than the degree of my assault called for, and flung herself backwards to lie on the floor.
My slave shouted, “Damn you! Leave her be. She has done everything you’ve asked of her.”
He was desperately struggling to break free of his bondage, aching to get at me.
“Ah, ha,” I sneered. “Perhaps I have been torturing the wrong slave. This woman is important to you. Is that it? We shall see just how important.”
_____
Sept. 20
I circled the bed to check on Laura, who was laying on the floor pretending to be nearly unconscious.
“Federal Dollars,” I whispered. “Are you ok?”
“Sure. Are you about ready to finish him?”
“Do you want me to finish him?”
“You’re in charge... and you’re doing a wonderful job. Keep him waiting as long as you want.”
“Frank’s doing a pretty good job, too, Laura. I need something from your closet. Is it unlocked?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I went to the basement, leaving Frank to recover and leaving both of them to wonder what I had in mind for finishing this scene. I returned with a length of rope in one hand and a leather belt in another. God only knows why she had this belt, but it probably was part of some dominatrix outfit.
It looked like something one of those heavy metal rockers would wear on stage, Gene Simmons from Kiss, for example. It was black leather, about five inches wide, and imbedded all the way around with silver-colored metal pyramids. Each was about two by two inches, and the point of the pyramid extended about two inches from the belt surface.
“Stand up, wench,” I commanded to the woman. Once she did, I wrapped the belt around her belly – not her hips, snapping it uncomfortably snug.
“How does that feel, my love?” I queried, mocking her husband.
“I... I can hardly breath.”
“Don’t worry. I will alleviate the pressure.”
I took her wrist and brought her to the side of the bed, so her husband could see both of us.
“Now, slave, since you love this woman so much, I will bring you both together. You can share your love in mutual agony.”
He struggled against his straps. “What do you want from her?”
“Everything. Bind her to the rack!”
_____
Sept. 21
I bound her wrists together, then made her sit on the side of the bed. Climbing up, I grabbed the man’s semi-erect penis and moved it off of his belly to point towards his foot, then, standing behind his wife, I lifted her arms overhead and raised her body. I stepped over my male prisoner, draped his wife’s body atop his belly, continuing to the other side of the mattress with her arms still in my grasp. Stepping down to the floor, I stretched her arms, then tucked the extra length of rope under the mattress.
Now, both man and woman were my captives – man beneath, still stretched atop his pillow like a letter X; woman crossing him, her arms stretched close together beyond her head, the small of her back intersecting with her husband’s belly. Together, their bodies formed a letter t and the woman’s back was arched in reverse, thereby forcing her belly to flatten.
“There, woman, I told you I would alleviate the pressure from that belt. I merely transferred the pressure to your arm pits.”
And what about the belt? Well, at least two of those pyramids were pressing down into the belly of my male victim, who was kindly groaning from the piercing, pointed apex of each, while his wife kindly kept her ankles on the mattress, legs spread wide. She also moaned from her stretched and bent-backwards bondage, even though she, unlike her husband, could easily escape at any time.
I knelt next to her upper torso between his legs. With my mouth I ravaged her breasts. With my left hand I fondled her husband’s cock, until he once again was rigid. Then, I left the bed to stand near his face.
“Why do I call you slave? Because you have nothing, except for this woman. It is what you believe, but you see, she does not belong to you. She, like you, belongs to me. And until you talk, you both must suffer. One last time, where is Tribune Galleon?”
All I got from him was a glare of hate, a flexing of his muscles and a manly display of defiance, which could not have made me happier. I flogged them both – he, across his mighty chest; she, across her voluptuous breasts.
The sounds they made were ecstasy to my ears. Feminine shrieks, masculine groans, shouts of anger and pain, all were a symphony of suffering that thrilled me no end.
What had they done to me? Was I becoming a sadist? And if so, why was nobody complaining?
_____
Sept. 22
Although no serious plotting had been done on my part, through trial and error I had created a scene of intoxicating beauty. Both man and woman were displayed before me in a most glorious form of vulnerability, and as the flogger came down upon his chest and hers, their flexing and defensive postures electrified me with lust. Now, the time had come for me to greedily satiate my raging desires.
I cast aside the flogger and climbed onto the mattress. “Now, watch slave, as I take your woman away from you for good.”
I laid atop her. I speared her vagina with my neglected-far-too-long penis. I impaled her husband’s belly by adding my weight to hers, driving the spikes of her belt deeper into him. The heel of my left hand pressed onto his pectoral, my fingers squeezing tightly to that muscle. The curled grip of my right hand clutched his penis, squeezing its long, swollen shaft. My belly was also impaled by the pyramids on her belt, because her belt-adorned belly and my bare-skinned belly were the only parts touching one another – except for my penis meshed with her pussy.
“Both of you, husband and wife, man and woman are mine,” I berated them. “Your fate is in my hands. Your release comes when I choose.”
The groans and grunts coming from this man and woman were matched by my own, for you see, I was further stimulated by my own, self-induced pain. I had chosen to finish this woman by impaling myself upon her belt. I could have supported my weight above her with my hands, but I chose instead to masturbate my man and clutch onto his chest, while stirring my woman with my hardened cock. My chest was elevated; hers sloped downward. My legs were close together; hers were spread wide. I was the third person, the apex of this human pyramid and the pyramids of her belt further agonized me, as the apex of each scraped the skin of my middle section with each grinding penetration -- penetration propelled by my knees alone.
I duplicated Frank’s torment for myself. I equaled his agony upon myself, which heightened my admiration for him, my longing for him, my unbridled lust for this powerful, glorious, tortured man.
The orgasms were merciful. I do not remember theirs – when or how they came – I only recall my own. I only cherish the frantic, testosterone-overdosed, manly-beast-in-heat ecstatic explosion that finished us all – completed in a scene of incredible intensity, dramatized with human sweat, belly impalement, pussy impalement, masculine dominance, masculine helplessness, feminine surrender and orgasmic joy.
Screw Hollywood. What do they know? The Johnson’s and I had acted out a script like no other. My torture victim never did talk. Hell, I was too busy to keep asking. Frank only spoke with his magnificent cock, and I do remember the gobs of his seed on my hand. Not all of it was captured, but whatever stuck to me was transferred to his wife’s stretched titties, and I forced Frank to lay there and watch as I licked her titties clean.
Enjoy the weekend, everybody.
_____
Sept. 25
Exhaustion doesn’t begin to describe the state I was in and I know the Johnson’s, being 20 years my senior, had to feel the same or worse. We wasted little time in discarding the gear we had used, doing our bathroom duties and collapsing into sleep. Nothing was said about what had just happened. Three brains were dead.
Laura is the one who woke me up by dabbing my belly with peroxide-soaked cotton balls. I hadn’t even noticed the scratches I had made on myself, having broken the skin in several places, but now that I knew they were there, her nursing made it all better.
This wild weekend was essentially over. Frank and I got breakfast in bed again, which arrived at about two in the afternoon. Then the three of us lounged around until hands and lips started going astray. Apparently, there was still more to do in completing my acceptance into this union, because what followed was a series of two-against-one marathons of body worship and a succession of three orgasms.
That did me in for good, so I told them I had to get home. I hate to admit it, but those two old farts had worn me out, even though I was excited to imagine what our future hook-ups might bring.
The Johnson’s had the equipment. We all three were of a like mind as to the mode of bondage and domination we enjoyed, so everything was in place and I knew my weekends would be reserved for them... or so I thought.
_____
Sept. 26
What I did not expect was to be cut off for three weeks. Frank did call me on Monday as usual, and to my surprise, we resumed our normal routine of lunch-time blow jobs – at least for that one day.
It was at this time he told me that their daughter would be in town mid-week and over the weekend. After that both he and Laura would begin their vacation. They planned to visit their son, whose wife would be due to squirt out their first grandchild.
“What will you do with the frame in your basement?” I asked, in reference to the elaborate device where we had suspended him in our first session.
“Oh, it breaks down easily. I’ll store it in the garage with the other junk.”
“So, what about the rest of this week, Frank?”
“Today will be it. Tomorrow I’ll be doing an orientation for new agents and Wednesday my daughter will be here.”
I tried not to let it show that I was disappointedly pissed off, and with a few moments of reflection, I came to the conclusion that abstinence from the Johnson’s would only make our next meeting more enjoyable. As for now, Frank was here and I planned to make the most of it.
I told him to strip. I told him to sprawl out on the bed, to shut his eyes and to shut his mouth. I knew what time he had to leave and I knew how long it would take me to get him off, so I dry kissed every inch of his topside and fondled him with my hands. I sucked on his cock like I’d never done before, nearly gagging myself by ramming his ram rod to the back of my throat and licking his balls with my tongue. My fingers replaced my tongue to pinch and twist his testicle skin, while my mouth viciously stroked and crushed his thick, sturdy tool.
He was drained good and I swallowed it all, refusing to drink or eat anything for the remainder of the day, so I could cherish the taste of his seed as long as possible. Does that gross you out? Tough shit. Frank is a very healthy man. His discharge tastes good and now it also reminds me of his wife, Laura. When I taste Frank, I can feel Laura’s warm vagina crushing my pecker.
(Next insertion will be Sept. 28)
_____
Sept. 28
Frank called me Sunday night, the last one in August, wanting to know if he could see me the following day. Our Monday-lunch-hour-encounter came exactly three weeks since the previous and Frank made the decision that I was to get off first.
“I think I’ll do a better job on you if I’m still horny,” he explained.
This meant that he would no longer be satisfied with using his hand to take care of me, but his mouth. Unfortunately, and unexpectedly, Frank’s oral experience was not efficient enough to bring me orgasm. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine, because fantasies of him were no longer sufficient to do the trick. He was there with me. I needed to touch him – to see him and to taste him.
Laying on my back, I raised up to watch the top of his head frantically stroking up and down, side to side, as he knelt between my legs. He clearly was tiring of his desperate, useless attempts to finish me. I rose to a sitting position, reached down to clutch his flaccid pecker. With a gentle tug of his tail, I coaxed him to pivot towards me. I forced him to reverse position, until he was on all fours with his cock above my mouth. My fingers clamped into his butt cheeks and I coerced him to lower his hips, until his lifeless worm was within range of my lips.
My hard dick was still in his mouth and his was in mine. Its swelling was instantaneous, power increasing until Frank was fully erect. His lesson in the art of the man-to-man sixty-nine was about to begin.
_____
Sept. 29
I know Frank loves to fuck and I know he’s damn good at it. I’ve seen him do it. It was during our last round of orgasms in their bedroom on Sunday afternoon, when he pleasurably consumed his wife with that manly battering ram of his. It was a display of tradition, done with simplicity – man on top, smothering his female beneath. I was there beside them, on my knees, slipping my hand between them to fondle Laura’s breasts, laying my lips onto Frank’s back to feel his powerful, undulating muscles. I watched him stroke her to submission, masterfully pivoting his hips to penetrate her from every possible angle.
I marveled at his artistry, absorbed the sounds coming from their groins and their mouths, and I took mental notes.
Frank quickly understood my desire. All it took was my hands on his hips to pull him down a few inches, then push him back up. From there, Frank took charge and I had what I wanted: my dick in his mostly stationary mouth, his dick fucking the back of my skull. He was directly above me for my eyes to observe... his bulging nuts, dangling and swinging in unison with his thrusting and retracting hips; his hairy ass crack, narrowing and widening as the scrotum clinched in conjunction with the stimulation of his cock; the back sides of his muscular thighs, efficiently lifting and lowering his mighty fuck tool to receive that stimulation.
My hands were free to roam. They slid underneath him, along the length of his belly and his chest. I squeezed his flexing pectorals, massaged his firm nipples with my fingertips. I rubbed his hard stomach, his tightened belly, then encompassed his mighty bull nuts in my hand, following them up and down, as he increased the pace of his strokes.
For him, my mouth became a warm, tight, pussy hole. My tongue wrapped around the top half of his cock, the roof of my mouth took the other half and I crushed him in between. It was a battle of wills – my crunching vise doing everything in its power to prevent him from fucking me; Frank doing his best to bull his way through, savoring my wet friction, overpowering my attempts to crush his thick meat down to nothingness.
The contest was a draw, and Frank’s brain convinced him to coordinate his mouth strokes on my dick with his dick strokes on my mouth.
Humans learn quickly when their admiration for one another transcends the physical – when the desire to please your partner outweighs the desire to please yourself. This is when orgasms are magnified tenfold, and this is what Frank and I achieved that afternoon. The art of the sixty-nine was easily mastered.
By mutual agreement, nothing more would happen between us until the weekend. Upcoming was Labor Day, which meant a three-day weekend and I was invited to their home for the second time.
For us, August was coming to an end. For my insertions, September has come to an end. Join me on Monday, October 2, as I continue to tell the saga of Jack, Frank and Laura. |
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October Oct. 2
Let's call this episode our Indian Summer encounter, even though it was Labor Day weekend. I got there about 6 pm Friday and they fed me, then announced that their first grandchild was a boy. I saw pictures and heard about the delivery, etc., and I don't mean to brush it off as though it's not important, it's just that the subject does not make me horny. There is nothing cute about a red-skinned, squinty-eyed, alien-looking creature, unless you're related to it, which I was not.
Of course, after three weeks of denial from the Johnsons I was plenty horny that night and was relieved when we finally got around to watching some movie clips.
Our scene was to be cowboys and Indians. I was the Indians, Frank the cowboy and Laura, well, you will know soon enough. Actually, it was Indians versus white settlers and Frank had foolishly set up his homestead near hostiles. For this, he was brought to our village and, shall we say, cock tortured?
Ok, let's. Before we got to the cock part, however, I wanted to try something I'd never tried before.
_____
Oct. 3
My village was in the Johnson basement near the frame, which Frank had kindly reassembled so we could punish him on it. I used the lower set of wooden stocks – put his feet in there and made him lay down. His torso was underneath the horizontal beams where we had suspended him in our first session. I considered leaving his arms free, but decided Frank stretched is much more stimulating, so we got ropes out of the closet and tied his wrists. His arms were pulled towards the feet of the X frame, where we tied the other ends of rope. He laid flat with arms stretched like a V, while his feet were in the wooden stocks, five inches off the floor and about two feet apart.
Frank wears a size 10 shoe. I know, because once when he was at my place I looked inside one of them. Smelled it, too.
Now, for fantasy purposes, I am the Indians, ok? I know full well that they are properly called Native Americans and that the sordid history of the “Christian” eradication of them on this continent is written by the white man, and so what we did to them was ok, but what they did to us was brutal savagery. Exaggerations of the awful treatment perpetrated upon white captives furthered the justification for wiping each tribe from the face of the earth. What we did and said in the Johnson basement was strictly so Frank, Laura and I could get off. As whites, we know damn good and well that there is plenty of blood on the hands of our ancestors. This is not a history lesson, so if you’re going to get all bent out of shape over Indians torturing people, go find some politically-correct web site and jack off there.
The beauty of this is that Indians didn’t torture people for information. They did it for sport and to send a message that it was unwise to invade their territory, so I didn’t have to say much – just do.
What I did was work on those handsome feet of his... with feathers... the quill kind, which Laura had used on him herself before I came along.
There is an elegant symmetry to Frank’s feet, especially when viewing the bottoms of his soles. His are the kind with a slight curve to the arch and plenty of meat from the topside of the foot to the bottom. The second toes are just a fraction of an inch longer than the greats, and small tufts of hair dot the tops of each toe, plus the bridge of each arch. The soles are thick and sturdy, and therefore, quite capable of absorbing punishment.
The gist of my story had already been told to Frank and Laura. Like I said, they were homesteaders and my tribe had burned their house and taken them prisoner. I ordered my men to “bring the white woman” and force her to torture her husbands feet, while I watched from above.
Mrs. white bread did a masterful job on him with her two feathers, running them along the soles of his immobilized feet and toes... in between his toes. He is a bit ticklish there, but not to any great degree. For us, however, he groaned and curled his toes forward in an attempt to defend himself.
The Indian Chief was not satisfied with fake suffering, so he concocted a more effective use for these feathers. He knelt next to the woman, yanked one feather from her hand and pushed her aside.
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Oct. 4
The Chief reversed grip on the feather. He assaulted the white man’s right foot with the sharp-tipped end of the quill. He scratched the thick skin of his sole, jabbed its sharp point into it and the white man’s groans became real. Then, the Indian poked the tiny dagger into the sensitive skin between his prisoner’s toes. The white man desperately tried to wiggle his foot side to side in defense, but the red man clutched onto it with his free hand.
Using his feather, the Indian pointed to the white man’s left foot. “You, woman, do.”
And she did do. We enjoyed drawing tiny white lines upon the soles of Frank’s feet. I even made a little smiley face between his heel and the ball of his foot. As for Frank, he was making a concerted effort to wiggle his feet away from us, and because he couldn’t, he was also making manly grunts and groans come from his throat. No feigned torture this. Frank truly was having some problems dealing with this teasing, tormenting form of punishment.
His cock was somewhat interested, I’d say about 50 percent, but we were not yet concerned with that. Laura and I sat with our legs crossed Indian style and created our artistic designs upon the helpless white man’s manly feet.
The time did come, of course, to erase our lines and start all over. What did we use for our erasers? Wetness.
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Oct. 5
I tossed the feather aside and laid on my belly, resting on my elbows, then ordered white woman to do the same.
My tongue greedily licked his feet clean of their lines of torture, while my nose inhaled the air between his toes. Frank is a proper man. He wears quality clothing and goes to great lengths in maintaining his body, inside and out. He only eats foods that help him maintain his health, which is why his semen tastes alive and invigorating. He respects himself and his wife and strives to be his best for her. Now, I am included in this equation. Frank is a proper man for both of us.
So, you can see why I chose Frank’s feet for my first-ever sampling of such body parts. It was a sound choice. They were pleasantly aromatic and fresh, smooth-skinned, but sturdy... and 100 percent masculine. Frank’s feet stimulated me more than I could have imagined. As my licking and kissing and nibbling continued from one minute to another, I became drugged. I fell into a mesmerized stupor, not planning what I might do next or why. My tongue was not my own, nor were my lips, nor were my teeth.
I bent back his toes with my hand, put my teeth onto the ball of his foot. My mouth was wide open. I closed it, lightly scraping my teeth along the thick surface of his skin. I planted my tongue onto the heel and saturated it before moving onto the arch, where I did the same along the entire length of it.
Moving closer to the target, I continued with my tongue work, maneuvering onto the top side of his foot. I licked the hairs on the bridge. I licked and kissed the hairs atop each toe. His nails were perfect, trimmed and filed by the owner himself. I clamped the hairs on his great toe into my lips, tugged them towards Frank, forcing him to bend all five toes back. Then, my fingernails dug into the ball of his foot and I viciously ran them towards his heel, scraping the entire length of his arched foot. He immediately curled his toes forward in defense, leaving two of those great toe hairs in my lips, plucked from him by his own reaction to my attack.
This was my ecstasy. Frank’s feet satisfied all expectations. And I use the plural here, because when I glanced at Laura, she also was lost in a fantasy world, heaping her own brand of incredible praise on her husband’s left foot.
Our actions did not go unnoticed. An inspection of Frank’s penis showed that he was more than satisfied with all that was happening to him.
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Oct. 6
I grabbed my female assistant by her hair, forcibly leading the hapless woman to the center of her husband’s body. With a violent, downward yank of her locks, I coerced her to sit and cross her legs beside the prisoner’s left hip.
I brought the two feathers and sat beside the white man’s right hip. One feather was given to her and we both proceeded to tantalize our captive’s genitals… his bulging nuts… his throbbing penis. We tormented that poor man, running the feathers along the length of his shaft, and his balls, and his scrotum.
Next, we coaxed his mighty cock to dance for us. A stroke of the feather across the triangle near his slit caused it to rise up off of his belly, at which time another feather attacked the mushroom. As Frank’s cock stood in midair, two feathers assaulted him upon the entire head of his cock. Every inch was covered, top, bottom, left and right, while the manly tool defied gravity, dancing up, down, and side to side.
60 seconds? 120 seconds? Maybe it was longer, but whatever length of time it was, Frank’s dick got no rest, nor did his scrotum. It remained clinched from our stimulating feather attack upon the head of his cock, directing its ecstatic, mid-air war dance to continue uninterrupted.
Oh, yes, it was a war dance. Frank’s beautiful man-meat was ready to do battle, as was Frank. He was struggling to break free of his bondage, arms straining at the ropes, torso writhing, back arching, chest expanding, belly flattening. Frank was in that ‘look at me’ frame of mind, displaying his masculinity, tempting us to find out what his cock could do for its grand finale.
I suppose I was tempted. Looking at him, listening to his heavy breath and watching his phallic ballet tempted me to intensify the torture of his cock. If Frank thought I was planning to let him shoot anytime soon, he was sadly mistaken.
I handed Laura my feather, then encircled the base of Frank’s pecker with the thumb and first two fingers of my right hand. With my cock ring firmly secured, I placed my open left hand onto the middle of his shaft (the top side nearest his belly) and lifted his cock until it stood vertical. It was folded where my right hand ring held the base, still in its position of pointing towards his belly. Frank’s hard dick was bent nearly 90 degrees with its bulging, turning purple head pointed towards the ceiling.
Looking at Laura, I smiled and she knew what to do. She attacked his mushroom with both feathers. Her tormenting strokes encompassed all of it – the slit, the corona, even underneath the rim that defined its shape, and as she continued her feathered assault on its head, I hand-manipulated the shaft and base, wrenching it into multiple directions and angles.
My left hand fingers wrapped around the middle of his shaft, leaving the head and one inch of cock length exposed. With my right hand cock ring holding firm, I held the base vertical and then bent the middle shaft to make his mushroom point in whatever direction I desired. Towards his nuts, towards his belly, to the left or to the right, Frank’s stiffie was forced to bend at 90 degree angles with a stationary grip on its base and movable grip on the shaft.
Laura’s feather assault never stopped, while I maintained my cock ring, using my left handed clamp to bend his penis. My movements were lethargic, like a slug, torturously slow. Laura’s movements were frantic, like a nest of hornets, maddeningly fast. And for Frank, there was no escape, only suffering. Frank suffered from the agonizing, multi-directional bending of his stiff pole, coupled with the two-pronged, feathered teasing of his isolated mushroom.
Frank was born to suffer. The drama of his powerful physique is magnified when he is in bondage. His futile attempts to break those restraints only further increase the excitement he creates for us. In this session, tormenting first his feet, and then his cock, plus watching and listening to his reactions, convinced me to push him further. It was my intention to test the limits of his endurance and I make no apologies for it. It is Frank’s fault. With his own actions he demands to be punished and I have accepted his invitation.
Next insertion Monday, Oct. 9
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Oct. 9
There comes a time when a man’s constant groaning starts to annoy, and for me that time had come. I suppose I could have stuffed something into his mouth to muffle the sounds, but I thought it might be more entertaining for all of us if his wife were to do that.
I removed both of my hands from Frank’s cock, yanked the feathers from Laura’s grip and laid them on the floor. Using her hair for a leash, I forced her to stand, and then dragged her towards her husband’s head. With a tug of her hair, I forced her down to smother his face with her pussy. She straddled his head with her knees while turned towards the length of his body. Her taint was on his nose. She placed both hands on his chest for leverage and Frank consumed her gooey, vaginal drippings, as he inhaled the sweet gap between her pussy and her asshole. As for me, I nestled chest-down between his thighs and consumed his bulbous, cum-filled nuts.
Success! Frank’s moans now were muffled, garbled with gurgling sounds that were intermixed with gagging sounds, but still undeniably masculine sounds. Laura made sure the heels of her hands were strategically placed onto Frank’s nipples, so that while his bondage kept them stretched lengthwise, her hand pressure stretched them sideways.
Laura had her territory and I had mine. Hers was from Frank’s face to the end of his rib cage. Mine was from the end of his rib cage to his nuts. They were eaten, one at a time. My lips caressed them, my tongue massaged them, and my teeth taunted them. Before me, sprawled directly in front of my eyes, this man's powerful cock bounced and swayed, wondering why it had been abandoned.
I’m quite sure Frank knew that more punishment would be unleashed upon his manly meat, his glorious tube. I am also sure he was hoping the next assault would trigger the impending explosion for which I had prepared him, but if he did, he was way off the mark.
Frank’s phallic war dance intensified, while I plotted against him with his nuts in my lips and feathers at the ready.
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Oct. 10
Fine by me, Frank Johnson... go ahead, slurp on your wife's pussy... sniff her aromatic taint... I'll just lay here between your legs and munch on your balls. I'll watch your handsome white cock do its war dance, but there will be a price to pay for those gyrations.
My feathers were brought into the action – not the soft, tickling parts, but the lethal, pointed parts. I jabbed them into the meat of Frank's thick shaft. His prick was pricked for but brief seconds, as I used the daggers like the paintbrush of a pointillist. Dot, dot, dot, dab, dab, dab, my sharp tips tormented the fat, fleshy width of his cock's lower shaft, while my tongue relentlessly licked and scraped his ever-tightening balls.
His dancing became frantic, as each sharp poke of my quills caused his majestic penis to perform an out of control, acrobatic display. With my ceaseless ball munching and Laura's face-sitting as its catalyst, Frank's bouncing pole contributed to its own torment. All I had to do was hold my daggers a fraction of an inch above his cock and wait for it to meet them in mid-air. Little by little, I directed them along the length of his shaft. Minutes passed. His contractions caused him to continuously torture himself, until my pointy pin pricks neared the rim of his corona, targeting the super-sensitive skin below the slit of his piss hole.
Contact of the needles here made Frank's body twitch and contort. Grunts of very real discomfort came from his wife's pussy. These grunts actually came from Frank, but were muffled by her pussy. She smothered him. She drowned him and I enjoyed listening to him gurgle his sounds of agony – the agony of a cock relentlessly tortured, the pain of a cock mercilessly on the edge of eruption, the tragedy of a man's penis denied its finish.
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Oct. 11
Nothing seemed to satisfy my lust to punish him. I refused to end it, because I knew his pain was minimal, while his pleasure was phenomenal. I released his nuts from my mouth and knelt beside him, hovering over his belly. There, the torture of his cock continued with an increased accuracy. My daggers were aimed on either side of his penis. As it majestically rose to pierce the air, my pin prick attacked from one side, which caused his dick to jolt in the opposite direction, where it was greeted by another sharp prick.
And then, I launched into a free-form of brush strokes, jabbing him anywhere and everywhere from the head to the base. This time, his nuts were not to be spared. My torturous pokes assaulted every inch of their tight, sensitive skin. I also included his belly, as my frantic dabbing and dotting impaled his solid muscle, even going so far as to attack the darkness inside his belly button.
Oh, god, I loved watching him writhe... hearing him moan... and slurp, both for air and for pussy juice. His feet were frenetic, toes curling forward and arching backward. His back also arched. His belly flattened. His cock relentlessly bounced up and down, swayed side to side, as every needle-sharp jab of my quills coerced rapid-fire clenching in Frank's scrotum.
There was no planning on my part, only action and reaction, based on his reaction. I dropped one feather, clutched his cock shaft into my fingers and held it vertical. I squeezed it, crushed it, forcing all blood into his mammoth mushroom. I painted it with my pin pricks. I jabbed and released quickly, relishing the brief second of white dot at the point of impact, before the color of red returned. I placed the pointed tip onto the triangle of his cock just below the slit, and I held it there. I impaled the skin, slowly increasing pressure, driving it in deeper and deeper.
Frank spit out his wife's dripping vagina and howled with ecstatic agony. I waited for his safe word, but it did not come. He took his punishment, until I removed the dagger and released my clutching fingers. Frank's cock bounced onto his belly, and then rose again, at which time I slapped it. With my flattened fingers, I repeatedly slapped the top side of his shaft and mushroom, slamming his dick down onto his belly again and again. I bounced his cock between my hand and his belly like it was a pinball, mercilessly trapped between two bumpers.
It was enough – not because I was ready to grant him mercy, but because I needed to get off. I grabbed the woman's hair and forced her to uncover his face, and then we both stood above him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest and belly and cock. Born to suffer. That is Frank Johnson. I cannot imagine anything more stimulating than to see his powerful, yet helpless body laying there, stretched spread eagle, gasping for air and flexing with readiness.
These two had sent me on a power trip and I planned to take full advantage... of both of them.
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Oct. 12
I glared down at Frank, but then something drew my eyes upwards. It was one of the horizontal boards – the one from which we had suspended Frank on our first night together. I looked at the chains dangling from the board, and then back to Frank. Could it work? The angle seemed correct, but what about the height?
There was only one way to find out. I went to the closet and retrieved those two wrist cuffs. Tonight, they would be for Laura and I clamped them onto her. Standing on Frank’s chest and belly, I lifted her up, hooking first her left arm, then her right. Her toes dangled just to the left of Frank’s rib cage. I grabbed her hips and pulled her towards me. Yes! It could be done, but first I would need to get my peter worked up again.
That was no problem. Frank’s dick was still hard. A little taunting of him was all I needed, and I broke my long silence. “The white woman is mine.” I knelt beside his chest, taking both of his nipples between my fingers and thumb. I pinched them. I twisted them. “You bring her to my lands. I take her from you. She is yours no more forever.”
He said nothing, but his cock said plenty. Frank looked at me, and then gazed up to his suspended wife, her pitiful tits stretched, her heaving belly flattened, her wet pussy available. Frank’s penis renewed its bouncing dance, his belly hairs slick with the pre-cum of his long-neglected and tortured cock.
I was ready. Placing one foot onto Frank’s chest and the other on his stomach, I clutched onto his wife’s hips and brought her towards me. Her body swung freely. My hard dick invaded her dripping pussy, and both of my prisoners groaned with ecstatic agony, as I locked eyes with my male victim. “Mmm,” I grinned with cruelty. “White woman feels good to red man.”
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Oct. 13
Naturally, Laura and I both were near orgasm long before our sex tools came together, and the fact that she came only seconds before I did was no surprise. The aftermath is what surprised me, because I did not know the man inside me. Rather than releasing Laura from her suspension so that we both could finish Frank, I walked away from the entire scene, leaving them in bondage, helplessly wondering what I planned to do next.
I needed to urinate and that’s what I did, without saying a word to either of them. There was a hunger pain in my stomach, so I climbed the stairs to invade their refrigerator. Returning to the basement with a plated sandwich, I calmly sat on the sofa and turned on their television to watch the evening news.
Once my belly was satiated, I returned to the frame, stepped again onto Frank’s chest with my left foot and his belly with my right, but this time his cock was underneath that foot. I crushed his pecker into his belly with my weight and listened to him groan. I stared at Laura. She seemed a bit uneasy, as though she wasn’t sure that choosing me to direct our play had been a wise decision. Hell, I wasn’t certain myself, but her fears and mine were soon to be alleviated.
It’s hard to explain, but the thought of Laura’s discomfort did not please me. More than this, it did nothing to fire up my peter. I needed her to desire me, not to accept my penis because she was forced to do so.
Perhaps my reasons were selfish. Perhaps she would have preferred I take her again by force, but I could not. I released her. I positioned her to stand to the right of her husband, and then I stepped down to join her.
We embraced. Her heels were near his rib cage, as I stood in fron |