If you want the full backstory, go back and read “Charlie Bucket Finds the Last Golden Ticket” which was posted on August 23, 2016. Otherwise, a short synopsis is provided below to give you some context. Six days after the original story was posted, Gene Wilder passed away. No, I’m not clairvoyant. But the choice of title for this story is clearly a conscious one in light of those circumstances. He will always be the ultimate embodiment of Willy Wonka. May he rest in peace. This is a very long story. If you have to go to work in the morning and you need to wack off in 5 minutes and go to sleep, save this one for another time. It covers an action-filled four-hour time span. One of the themes is holding out on your orgasm. So it’s worth reading this one in a single sitting. Part One is much shorter. If you haven’t read it yet, start there. Enjoy!
Part One – “Charlie Bucket Finds the Last Golden Ticket” – Synopsis
I, the narrator, am visiting the Washington DC area for a month on business from LA. I’m gay, divorced from my ex-husband, and a fan of great massage, which is how I met Ken. Ken gave me a great 90-minute massage in my hotel room in Washington DC, but his website alluded to a service listed as “The Works” which was described as a four-hour experience for existing clients only and cost $1,000. After seeing how great the $200 standard massage was, I begged Ken for an appointment for The Works, but was told it was only available once a week and was booked for months. One of Ken’s regular clients was scheduled for The Works two Saturdays from now and unexpectedly passed away leaving a rare opening, which Ken generously offered to me.
Part Two – “A World of Pure Imagination” – Full Text
It was late. I was tired. The client was being a total bitch. And I was just glad the day was over, and I was back at the hotel. I needed comfort food. So I ordered a cheeseburger from room service. When asked, “Do you want fries with that?” my response was “Hell yeah!” Fuck the diet. When I opened the mini-bar, I noticed the maids had quadrupled the stock of whiskey bottles. It scares me when a hotel starts to know you that well. I logged onto my personal computer and saw an email from Ken.
“Please log onto my booking site. On the services page, you will find an Easter Egg in the form of a very small dot in the lower right corner. Click on it. A log-in screen will pop up. The password for your session is “LABIZTRAV”. A survey will automatically load. Please fill it out within the next two days so that I can plan your time accordingly. There is also a release form for you to review. I will have a hardcopy of it ready for you when you arrive on Saturday. It will need to be wet-signed before we proceed. The $1,000 payment is due in advance through PayPal by Thursday or your reservation will be relinquished to an eager gentleman on the waiting list. You will also find directions to the place. It’s about an hour south of your hotel. Arrive at 3:45 so that we can deal with the paperwork and clear up any ambiguity on your survey. We will start precisely at 4:00 PM and will end at exactly 8:00 PM. Be thoroughly cleaned out and well hydrated. Some men make the mistake of not eating beforehand. Trust me, you need to eat. You are going to need the strength. Email me if you have any questions. Ken”
An email from Ken was by far the best thing that happened to me all day, even if it was in his overly-business, no-nonsense style. I logged in, clicked on the Easter Egg, filled in the password, and started to review the survey. Holy crap this is extensive. The scale was pretty clear:
1. Never, no-go, not happening
2. Not inclined, but it would not be the end of the world
3. Good either way
4. Inclined, this sounds good
5. Absolutely, this is a must
And the level of specificity was downright scary. “Watersports (in general)” was a topic. But it was followed up by “drinking from the hose,” “swallowing,” “pissing in your ass,” and “submersion.” I answered 3 to watersports, 2 to drinking from the hose and swallowing, 4 to pissing in your ass because I’ve never actually thought of that, but it sounds pretty good. And 1 to submersion. Not sure of what that is, and pretty sure I don’t want to know.
The topics went on and on: ball torture, ass play, sounding, docking, e-stim, electric shock, whipping, tickling, fisting, rosebud, wax dripping, double-penetration, dildos, skull fucking, tit play, bondage, sensory deportation, etc. Each with multiple subcategories that dove into very specific acts. I had to look some of them up to figure out exactly what Ken was talking about. As I filled out the form, my head was spinning. Here I was trying to relax, and this form was actually work. But it was certainly having a hardening effect on my cock.
I heard a knock at the door. Dinner had arrived. Realizing there was no way I could answer the door with such an obvious erection, I called out, “Hold on a sec.” I quickly threw on a tight pair of jeans and a long, untucked t-shirt to mask my condition. I continued to fill out the form as I devoured my cheeseburger and washed it down with whiskey. Content that my answers were liberal enough to avoid missing any opportunities that may never pass my way again and conservative enough that I wouldn’t end up in the hospital from rectal insertion of a telephone pole, I pressed the submit button sealing my fate for this coming Saturday. I went ahead and paid the $1,000 through PayPal and put the address in my phone so it would be ready for Google Maps on Saturday. The anticipation was quite tantalizing.
The day had arrived. After a chicken Caesar salad down in the hotel restaurant, I came back upstairs and pushed what must have been half the Potomac River through by bowels. By the last round, everything was clear and the water was whooshing out my ass like a firehose. Before jumping in the shower for the last time, I trimmed my pubes and shaved my balls. I lubed up a dildo and sent it for a test run up my cleansed ass to make sure all the water had been evacuated. I was in tip-top shape for anything Ken had in mind. I called down for the car, threw on some clothes, and headed to Virginia.
Thanks to GPS, Ken’s place wasn’t hard to find, but it was way the hell off the beatin’ path. Deep in the woods wouldn’t even begin to describe it. As I pulled up, Ken stepped out onto the front porch to greet me. He was only wearing a pair of loose basketball shorts, and the outline of his build went straight to my cock. I wasn’t even out of the car and the juices were flowing. He welcomed me with a firm handshake and invited me inside. We sat at his breakfast room table and he pushed the release form over for me to sign.
Ken: “So we are clear on the safe words?”
Ken: “So we are clear on the hand signals in case you are gaged or have a dick down your throat?”
Ken: “This is DC, and some of my friends work up on the hill. Most of them are out, but even so, participating in kinky group sex is not generally thought of as a prudent political move. As such, you are going to be hooded most of the time you are here. Understood?”
Ken: “If for any reason you remove the hood, the day is over. There will be periodic breaks, and I will remove the hood during those times, but the guys will be outside. If at any time you want to stop, just say so, and you are free to go. Understood?”
Ken: “We are going to have four sessions, each followed by a break. The first will be a four-handed massage. The second will be all about your balls. The third will be all about your ass. And the last will be all about your dick. After that, you will be more than ready to go. Understood?”
Ken: “Anything you need to tell me or any questions you have of me?”
Ken: “Good, then let’s go.”
Ken lead me out the backdoor to what looked like a barn in the backyard. Once inside, I looked around and realized I did get the golden ticket, because this was certainly a world of pure imagination. It wasn’t quite the “Red Room” in Fifty Shades of Grey, but pretty awesome, and daunting nonetheless. Pulleys, ropes, buckets, water hoses, slings, and a wall full of whips, bondage equipment, and dildos. Stainless steel tables with casters had crisp white towels spread out on them with various forms of sexual equipment lined up in precise rows. The interior was nothing like the East Coast, rustic-barn style you saw from the outside. The floors were polished concrete that was so shiny, it looked wet. Periodic floor drains made it clear this place was designed to be hosed down after some really nasty sex. The discipline and order in which everything was arranged reminded me of a surgical suite. Everything screamed serious and hard-core. And then I saw a white board with the numbers one through five at the top. Underneath each number were strips of magnetic signs containing sex acts, and I realized they were arranged in accordance with my survey. Obviously Ken was a Boy Scout, because he was the embodiment of “BE PREPARED!”
Ken beamed with pride as he could see the combination of admiration and trepidation on my face. He told me it took years to finish it, but it was a great source of pleasure for him and occasionally some of his buddies as well. When I turned around to face him, he was already naked and holding the hood that was about to be placed over my head. I striped off my clothes and calmly knelt down in front of him with my hands behind my back ready for him to take full control over my sight and my ability to speak. I stared at the beauty of his dick taking it in as the last sight for at least a period of time. He slipped the hood over my head, and the world went black.
I was led over to a massage table and Ken instructed me to lay down. I could hear him walking away. Then a door opened, and Ken shouted, “Come on. We’re ready.” The other guy said, “Fuck yeah! What do we have here?” I was jolted out of my relaxed state of anticipation by a loud and painful SMACK of a hand across by bare ass. Ken said, “And if you think that ass looks good, just wait until you feel it. That is one sweet ass.” I was both proud and embarrassed to be so blatantly objectified. They started at the shoulders and both massaged me in what felt like perfect tandem. Their movements were as precise as concert pianists playing a one-piano-four-hands piece. Their hands were indistinguishable. The pressure was identical. It was obvious, they had done this together many times before. After my previous massage with Ken, I would have never thought of him as replaceable, but with the hood on, I couldn’t even tell which side of me he was on. The massage was unbelievably relaxing and mesmerizing in the technical precision of it.
I heard the door open again and the guys engaged in welcoming exchanges with a new addition to the mix. A short time later, I felt a hand palm the top of my head to stabilize it and could feel the doughnut pillow being removed from underneath my face. The vent at my mouth was zipped open and a massive cock was unceremoniously shoved in it. As two of them kneaded my ass and the other one pumped my throat, they carried on a conversation as if I wasn’t even present; like three chefs having a casual discussion as two rolled dough and the other unpacked the sausages. When I had my massage with Ken, there was this clear and active connection between us. He made you love him. And although what was happening to me now was physically blissful, it was clear from the get-go that on this day, my body was going to be used and abused for their pleasure. My role was obvious. I was their play toy.
The two masseurs deftly finished up with the soles of my feet, and it was obviously getting to that point where it was time to turn over. The guy skull fucking me spoke up and said, “give me just a second.” He picked up the pace and started slamming his cock as far in as my throat would permit. Within a few seconds, my mouth was overflowing with warm cum. When he finally pulled out, I gasped for air and cum was running off my lip as my wide-open mouth took in as much oxygen as possible. Ken spoke up, “Good boy. That’s the first of many. Now roll over.” As I settled onto the table face up, two fingers were stuck into my mouth to pry it open. I felt a warm drizzle hit my tongue as the skull fucking guy said, “Good thing I was able to catch that. We wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” I had never been in the position of a sex slave, but it was clear that these men had high expectations for my performance. When he took his fingers out, I smacked my lips and let out murmur of appreciation.
The massage continued from the feet upwards. I could hear the door open again, and a fourth guy joined in. The skull fucking guy said, “perfect timing.” As the two masseurs worked their way up my legs, the other two guys were licking, sucking, and biting my tits. As the inner thigh work revved up to a symmetrical fever pitch and my nipples felt like they had been put through a meat grinder, my dick was on the verge of exploding. Unlike my massage with Ken before, nobody had even touched my dick or balls. And the aching pain of my unreleased orgasm was causing my body to spasm with the most frustrating form of pleasure I had ever experience. I have seen the porn videos from Men On Edge, but even with those, I would always fast forward so that I could get off. I never verged with the guys for the full hour of the video. This was my first time to ever be tortured in such a way. It always seemed in the videos to be worth it in the end, but for the moment, this was pure agony.
As the two masseurs moved up to my chest and shoulders, I felt this odd tickle on the underside of the tip of my dick. Blinded as I was, I couldn’t tell at first what it was. But it was being slowly moved up and down over the sensitive skin with the lightest of touch. They were giggling at the pathetic nature of my state. I finally figured out it was a feather. My breathing got shorter and it was apparent I was going to shoot a load without a single stroke to my cock. Suddenly, everything stopped. No feather. No massage. And WHAM! Ken slammed his open palm down on my chest and screamed, “Get ahold of yourself. You don’t cum until we say you do.” To hear Ken’s voice in such an abrupt manner was enough to shock me out of my orgasm. He had always had such a pleasant disposition, and this came out of nowhere. I got control of my breathing and the massage continued, but Ken said, “No more of that. He’s got three hours before he’s gonna bust this nut, and I don’t care how blue his balls get or how much he begs.”
The massage ended with the most incredible neck rub of my life. It is amazing how many nerve endings four hands can stimulate at the same time. I heard the others head out the door. Ken removed the mask, gave me a brief kiss on the lips, looked me in the eye and said:
Ken: “How was that?”
Me: “I don’t think I can recall my balls being so full and so ready to come.”
Ken: “We’ll get there. Don’t worry. Now, drink some water. Walk around a bit. Stretch. Relax. We’ll start all over again at five, and I’m going to need you in the sling this time. If you think your balls ache now, you have no idea.”
Understanding Ken’s propensity for precision, I got into the sling at exactly 4:59 and waited for him to mask me again. He left the mouth unzipped and then I felt a rubber ball shoved into my mouth shortly followed by a tightening caused by what was obviously a ball-gag being strapped on behind my head. I have never been gagged and this was a first for me.
Ken: “I didn’t mind hearing you during the massage, but you are going to scream for most of the next forty-five minutes, and that gets a little tiring for me and the guys. Do you remember your hand signals in case you need them?”
I nodded my head and took serious stock in the thought that maybe this was all a big mistake. Ken pulled my body down such that my ass was just hanging off the edge of the sling. He positioned my feet so that my legs were slightly bent, and secured my ankles in the leather cuffs. He followed suit with my arms pinning them to the chains behind my head. He grabbed by balls and tugged on them hard. While my scrotum was fully extended, he wrapped a leather stretcher around it firmly snapping it into place. I could hear noises that sounded like clips and stuff banging around. Suddenly, my balls were pulled straight up in the air, and I realized that the stretcher had been hooked up to some sort of weight system. Then I remembered seeing the pulleys on the rafters. Holy crap. I was in for it.
The other guys came in and shortly thereafter I heard the sound of water hitting metal. As they chuckled and laughed at my expense, the pressure on my balls was slowly creeping up, and it occurred to me that they were all pissing in a bucket that was tied to my balls. The more they pissed, the heavier the bucket got, and the more my already aching, cum-filled, blue balls were being stretched to their limit.
Ken: “I’ve been saving this for you all day.”
I felt a lubed dick head pressing up against my ass and suddenly my ass was rammed full of cock. But he didn’t fuck me. He just stuck it in and left it there, balls deep. And then it happened, I could feel the warmth of his piss as he started filling my ass. Ken let out a series of satisfying grunts as he relieved himself inside of me. I started to recall my survey responses from my drunken whiskey and cheeseburger night and remembered marking this off as a four. It’s one thing to have your ass filled up with cum, but this seemed like it was gallons of piss. I had douched my ass earlier in the day, but never with this much liquid. The eroticism of being filled with Ken’s dick and piss was almost pleasurable enough to forget the pain being inflicted on my balls.
Ken: “I’m going to pull out slowly, and I want you to clinch that ass down hard. Don’t let a drop spill out.”
It’s one thing to make it from the shower to the toilet with a douche bag of water in your ass and not lose any, but this challenge was going to test the limits of my sphincter muscles. Ken pulled out very slowly and quickly removed himself from the firing line of failure. I did the best I could, but with the whimpers emerging from the ball gag, it was clear I wasn’t going to last long. My ass exploded and Ken’s urine went everywhere. Ken said, “OK. Bring out the hose.” Suddenly, I could feel the spray of cold water all over my ass. The hose was turned to the floor to clean up the mess, and the convenience of the floor drains was becoming all too obvious.
Ken: “Hey, while you have that hose out, go ahead and fill that bucket up to the top why don’t you?”
My balls were in agony as the weight of the bucket got so heavy I was being lifted up out of the sling by my scrotum. I was screaming my lungs out, but between the ball gag and the sound of the water spray, it was useless. Ken tugged at the cable, and I shook my head back and forth trying to signal that I was getting to the edge without calling it off with the hand signal.
Ken: “What’s that? A bigger bucket? Really?....No?....OK.”
He tipped the bucket over instantly relieving the tension on my ball sack. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much gratitude for mercy in my entire life. I was hyperventilating from the pain. One of the guys removed the leather ball stretcher providing me further relief and rolled my nuts around in his hand gently playing with them providing a major contrast to my previous situation. I could hear something rolling across the floor and then laughter. One of the guys spoke up in a queeny voice, “Oh no Mr. Ken! No the velvet vice-grips!” If the point of that statement was to incite fear in my heart, it certainly worked.
My balls were gently placed on what felt like a velvet-covered surface and sure enough a few seconds later, another velvet-like surface could be felt on the top side.
Ken: “OK closest guess to how many quarter turns he can stand without going over gets to call the shots after dinner this evening. Who wants to be in charge?”
The first guy hems and haws a bit but finally says, “15.” The next guy says, “Oh fuck that. He’s tougher than that. I say 25.” I recognize Ken’s voice and he says, “I’ve seen him in action before. He likes his balls smashed, but he’s been through a lot already. I’ll say 30.” The last guy says, “Well since we are upping the ante and we are playing Price-Is-Right rules, I’ll say 31.”
I had been resisting using the hand signal all day. I guess because I wanted to be tough. But the way this was set up, they were going to play until I signaled or my nuts exploded and I was a eunuch for the rest of my life. I like my balls, and I’d prefer to keep them. So the tough-guy routine was going to end at some point during this exercise. If I made it to 26, Ken won. But if I could hold out until 31, I could drive home knowing Ken was going to be taking orders like a little bitch after dinner, and that thought had a certain appeal to it. Of course if I crapped out by 25, it had the same result. But somehow having him in the win and then taking it from him seemed more satisfying.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5.”
Ken stopped and let me get used to the device.
“6, 7, 8, 9, 10.”
By this point, the grip was well within the range of what I had experienced in my massage with Ken when he was using his thumbs to put pressure on my balls. But the even distribution of the pressure made it somehow a bit more bearable.
“11, 12, 13, 14, 15.”
Ken: “One more turn and you’re out of the race. I think he’s up for it. I’m looking for a hand signal. Any hand signal? No? Well, let’s move on.”
By this time the pain was really starting to register, but it wasn’t excruciating. Had it not been for everything that preceded this, I would probably be in fine shape.
“16, 17, 18, 19, 20.”
They couldn’t see it, but I was crying just a little bit under the mask. I took in deep breaths to try to normalize the pain.
“21, 22, 23, 24, 25.”
Ken had slowed down the pace of the turns elongating the torture. I think he was gaming the system to orchestrate his own win. If I wasn’t going to make it all the way to 31, now was the time to get out and give this sadistic bastard a taste of his own medicine. One of the other guys said, “He needs a distraction. According to the board, hot wax is a three. I say let’s light him up. He’ll be in so much pain he won’t give his balls a second thought.” I could only assume this enthusiastic cheerleader was the one with the most to gain if I made it through. I figured he must be Mr. 31. I knew the window for stopping was about to pass, and my hand never made the signal. I was locked and loaded. The distinct smell of burning matches filled the air.
The first drops hit my left nipple which was already sore from the meat-grinder exercise during the massage. Ball gag, or not, I screamed so loud I thought my head was going to explode inside the mask. He was certainly right. This WAS a distraction. They say Ritalin is a stimulant that ends up calming you down. But I’m not sure that theory of additional simulation was going to work in this situation.
By this time, it felt like at least three candles were dripping on me. The wax would cool almost instantly, but the initial sting was nearly unbearable, especially when it was searing you in a random, rapid-fire pattern. I was on the verge of calling it quits. I thought I could hold out, but Ken wasn’t moving forward. He stalled. The bastard. He wanted to win. And he was holding my body hostage to do it. And then it hit. The wax fell right on the tip of my dick. My body flinched but I couldn’t go anywhere without ripping my balls off. I was locked down with an industrial vice grip. The following drops made their way down my shaft. I was screaming so loud, I could barely hear the count to 30, but my balls certainly felt it. Ken stalled again, watching as the fate of his evening tittered on the ability of my balls to make one last turn. The candles were burning at full force by this point and the wax was flowing onto my body in streams rather than drips.
The group let out a small cheer knowing I had deprived the host of the ability to run his own sex party later that evening. I was so proud of myself, I forgot that I needed to signal.
FUCK! I signaled immediately, and suddenly the plates loosened. The room cleared out and Ken removed the hood. He unbuckled the cuffs around my feet and hands. I was too weak to get up. Ken went over to the corner and started running the hot water in the open shower.
Ken: “Here, let me help you.”
He helped me out of the sling and propped me up so I could walk to the shower. My legs were weak from being propped up like that for so long. The endurance of the pain had certainly taken its toll. He sat me on a bench under the warm spray and started rubbing the softening wax off of me with a loofah. His big hands, and gentle caress were in such high contrast to the pain and suffering he had just inflicted on me. I felt a touch of Stockholm Syndrome.
Ken: “You made the guys really happy with that performance of yours. Nobody has ever made it that far. You couldn’t see their faces, but they were in awe of you. The wax was an unexpected improvisation to get you through. They were really pulling for you. I was too, except at the very end. And now thanks to you, my friends are going to tear my ass to shreds later this evening. I hope you are proud of yourself!”
Me: “If I could only be a fly on the wall to see that.”
Ken: “So, have you regained your strength enough that we can proceed to the next round? It’s 5:55. Can you be ready in 5 minutes? If your ass has the stamina of your balls, no telling what the next hour will be like. We are back in the sling, OK?”
Me: “I’ll be fine. You better go break up the little cabal going on outside. They are plotting against you.”
I managed to stand up without falling down. I washed the remaining wax off of my chest and dick. I reached down to check on the boys. They were there, but numb to the touch. As I was finishing off a glass of water, Ken came back inside and started wiping down the sling which was covered in piss, water, sweat, and wax.
Ken: “All clean. Hop up.”
I got back up in the sling and Ken put me in the hood and fastened me in for yet another ride. I had a feeling my ass as going to regret this decision. But interestingly enough, no ball gag…yet. The others came in
Ken: “Alright boys. How about we play some pool.”
The idea was obviously a familiar one to them and elicited significant verbal approval from the crowd. Before long I felt this blunt pressure up against my asshole. I was told, “Relax. Deep breath in. Now exhale.” And the pressure would become greater. This happened several times, but without anything really happening. I couldn’t see what was going one and just assumed they were putting a huge dildo up my butt and simply started a size or two too big. Then I heard, “One more time. Come on. Deep breath.” And this time, PLOP! Suddenly the idea of playing pool made perfect sense. A billiard ball had just been shoved in my ass. The ball was rapidly followed by a huge dick that plunged into my ass with little to no cause for restraint. I could feel the dick shoving the pool ball deep in my rectum. The guy fucked me hard for a few strokes and pulled out.
The next guy followed suit with another ball which went in without near as much coaxing and was followed by yet another gigantic dick that fucked me deeply pushing the original ball even further into my guts. By the third ball, the guy’s dick slipped by his ball as he fucked me, proving that there was a limit to how far back there these could really go. Ken stepped up with the fourth ball, and it was a struggle, but he finally got it in. When he shoved his dick in my ass, it was like being double penetrated with a dick and dildo made up of four pool balls.
Ken: “OK. So here’s the object. I want you to push these out of your ass, one at a time. And push them as hard as you can. We are going to see how far you can throw them.”
I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. I was never really into sports, and to think that Butt-Meister-Shot-Put would end up being my track and field event struck me as truly funny. I pushed as hard as I could, but the first one didn’t feel like it went very far.
Ken: “OK. That’s a zero. When it pretty much just falls straight down, that’s a zero. Come on. Try again.”
I pushed as hard as I could, but it didn’t seem to feel much different from my blind perspective.
Ken: “Well, maybe that’s a one.”
I pushed again, but this time while doing a visual exercise of seeing the ball sailing through the air. I clinched my gut and pushed as hard as I could, only to hear a thud.”
Ken: “Disappointing. Maybe anal shot put isn’t your sport. Come on. You can do it.”
The other guys were clapping and cheering and egging me on. This was the first one inserted and it had been lodged way up in there. I strained as I pushed. It was like it was stuck. Then, all of a sudden, whosh! I could feel the acceleration as the ball moved through my chute at an unexpected velocity. Then I heard it. Bonk. Bonk. Roll. And the guys let out a scream.
Ken: “Holy shit! That was at least a 5. OK, so the trick for you is one ball at a time and shove it way up in there. Let’s see if we can beat that score.”
I felt a ball get inserted in my ass followed by a prodigious dick pushing it further in. I heard a chuckle from the crowd, which is never a good sign for what is about to happen next. I felt a dildo being inserted in my ass. I remembered the visual of Ken’s dildo collection hanging on the wall and some of them were daunting. This one kept sliding in as if it were a never-ending handkerchief coming out of a magician’s sleeve. I could feel the ball way up in my ass. The dildo was removed, and I strained to give the ball the rocket propulsion it needed. The running start further up inside my ass allowed more time for acceleration, and I could feel the speed upon exit. In no time flat, the room was full of raucous cheer.
Ken: “Fuck yeah! That was at least a 7. You’re getting good at this. But I think the dildo slipped past the ball. I think we need to have a way to make sure we are getting the ball as far back there as possible. I’m looking at the board, and fisting is a 3. Good enough for me. Who’s got the smallest hands for that tight ass?”
I could hear deliberation and comparison followed by the selected fister getting greased up. I had been fisted before, but never in a situation where my level of control and orchestration was so limited. These guys were not the epitome of gentle. I felt the ball being inserted in my ass, but instead of being followed by a dick, I could feel fingers penetrating my ass. I guessed it was only three at first, and as a warm up, he finger-fucked my ass pretty good. But after loosening me up a bit, I could feel the stretch of the middle of his hand. It didn’t seem like it was going to budge. He started twisting to find just the right angle of approach. As he pushed, the sling would angle back with the pressure, and he would let off. The oscillation of the sling got quite a bit of momentum with him pushing me back and forth. And then on a downward slope, he locked his elbow into his hip making his fist an immovable object. As the sling swung towards the fist, my ass just swallowed it whole in one fell swoop. Beyond the violation of his entire fist, his fingers collided with the ball forcing it way up into my ass. I let out a scream that could probably be heard for miles. Blinded as I was, I imagined my ass being split in two and blood squirting everywhere, but the only reaction of those who could see was one of great cheer and accomplishment. He held his fist absolutely still giving me a chance to recover my bearings. As my mind was able to start piecing together what was happening, I could feel his hand stretching up my ass to capture the ball with the tips of his fingers. Having been fisted before, I knew your sense of scale was completely off kilter. When you were just to the wrist you would swear they had their entire arm up your ass. With his fingers fully extended and gripping the ball, he started pushing deeper inside of me. The pressure on my prostate was so intense it was causing involuntary emissions of pre-cum from my throbbing cock. He kept applying the pressure, slow and steady millimeters at a time, his arm sank deeper into my hole. It was more of a wicked intensity than it was a pain. When the slow crawl finally stopped, he let go of the ball and jabbed his fingers one more time to push it as far up in me as he could. His forearm made a slow retreat and as his fist hit the edge of my sphincter, he twisted his hand in a single motion and quickly vacated my ass.
The guys let out a small cheer, which I can only assume meant there wasn’t any blood, shit, or dislodged organs on the floor. They started to cheer their new shot put champ, and I squeezed as hard as I could. Seemingly nothing was happening. Nothing was moving. Maybe the ball had gone too far and was stuck. They couldn’t see the strain on my face under the mask, but without warning, the ball dislodged, and shot out my ass with unparalleled force. And then…Bonk. Bonk. Bonk. Roll. Crash. Three bounces and enough velocity that it rolled into the side of the barn.
Ken: “Holy shit. It’s a new record. 8.5!”
Like a new toy at Christmas, every kid wanted a turn to play, and three other fists and balls were shoved up my ass, each in more rapid succession than the previous. By the time Ken took the last turn, the guys were chanting, “Elbow! Elbow! Elbow!” I started to wonder when an undigested crouton from lunch was going to glue itself to one of those balls. By the time Ken removed his fist, my neatly trimmed pubes were soaking wet with pre-cum and my dick was aching. On those erectile dysfunction commercials, they say, “Seek emergency help for an erection lasting more than four hours.” Well I was rapidly starting to understand their point.
Knowing this was probably my last round in the anal shot put world series, I wanted to set a new record for Ken as a way to make up for forcing his loss in the last round. I let out a primal scream and contracted every muscle in my body. My lubricated chute pushed the pool ball faster than any time before, and sure enough…
Ken: “Ten. It’s a fucking ten!”
I could hear the guys high fiving and congratulating themselves on a job well done, as if they had anything to do with it. As they vacated the room, Ken removed my mask and gave me a look of sheer amazement.
Ken: “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. We don’t play that game often, but when we do, we never have an ass perform like that. You are just fucking amazing. A total champ.”
Me: “I feel blissfully violated.”
As I dismounted the sling, I checked the floor for random body parts that may have fallen out during the competition. There was a puddle of slightly pink lube, but nothing else.
Me: “I just want to warn you. I am on a hair trigger. It is not going to take much to send me over the edge.”
Ken: “You’ve got an hour left, we’ll see about that. Show starts at 7:00. Be ready. This is the final act.”
Ken went outside to join the others, and I did my best to walk off the butt-hurt of a lifetime. I turned on the shower to rinse the lube off my ass. The feeling in my balls was starting to come back, but as I washed my ass, I was shocked by the enormity of the dilation I had suffered. It wasn’t an ass-hole anymore; it was an ass-cavern. Ken came back inside and started spraying down the floor while I downed a glass of water. It was 6:58 and the other guys walked in through the door wearing hoods with eyeholes.
Ken: “For your dedication to the cause, we decided to spare you the hood for this last round.”
Even without seeing their faces, these guys were gorgeous. One brick shithouse after another. I couldn’t help but stare at their muscular forearms and gawk at the fact that they had so recently been up my ass. I never knew Washington politicos could so closely resemble gay porn stars. I secretly wondered how many of them were self-hating, closet-case Republicans, but the size of their cocks managed to distract me from any partisan musings. I was led over to medical exam table with stirrups and instructed to have a seat. The shortest one of the bunch sat on a rolling stool in front of the stirrups. He had milky white skin that made me guess he never spent any time in the sun and his torso was covered in a perfect mat of thick brown chest hair. His dick was unabashedly hard. He lifted my legs up into the stirrups and adjusted them to just the right height. The other guys gathered around to watch his handiwork.
Next to him was one of those stainless steel tables with the instruments laid out so neatly on it. Maybe the hood was a good thing, because seeing what was one this table scared the shit out of me. He picked up what looked like an enormous glass butt plug with metal strips on either side of it. He slathered it with lube and unceremoniously shoved it up my ass with no more care than placing a piece of paper in a file folder. But it was no secret to anyone present that you could drive a Mack truck up my ass at the moment, and I would barely notice. And then the scary part happened. He inserted one red and one black wire into the base of the butt plug. He grabbed a box with some knobs on it, looked me straight in the eye, and even though I couldn’t see beneath the mask, I knew he had the most maniacal grin on his face. The other guys were like, “Do it.” “Light him up.”
A slight tickle emanated from my ass, and I could just barely register the sensation of the electricity being pumped into me. He held my gaze and started turning the knob very slowly, and the crescendo of shock steadily increased. I let go of his stare and my head fell back against the angled exam table. I didn’t scream, but I moaned like something between a trapped animal and a cat in heat. After a few minutes, my ass started to have involuntary contractions. The sensation resonated through my body and my dick was spewing pre-cum from a well that I would have thought would be completely dry by now.
He put on surgical gloves which peeked my anxiety. With his gloved fingers he picked up a sound that looked way too aggressive. I shook my head and he set it down and picked up another one that still looked too big, but was far more reasonable than his initial selection. I opted not to protest, and he carefully coated its entire length with a special lube I had never seen before. He held my dick steady and slowly teased my piss-slit with it. After he got a couple of inches down, he released the sound and let gravity take over. The rod slowly disappeared into my dick and when it hit my already swollen prostate, I thought I was going to cum buckets right then and there. He twisted it around a bit to give my prostate a jolt. Very slowly, he lifted it up and let it slide back down. He did this several times, but it became apparent, that was going to lead to something Ken had mandated would be put off until the very end of my day.
He unplugged one of the electrical wires from the butt plug and the simulation in my ass stopped. He pulled out a different wire with a clamp at the end and plugged it into the box. His fingers opened the spring-loaded clamp and he moved his hand toward the sound. When he let go, a jolt of electricity shocked the inside of my dick and connected right through my groin and out through my ass. It was like fucking and being fucked at the same time. Every sensory nerve in my pelvic region was on fire. And just as I started to settle into it, that fucker started cranking up the voltage. He laughed as he saw the look on my face, but never once thought to stop. It wasn’t a heat or a shock, but more like a still tremor terrorizing my body in the most sensual way.
The other guys were obviously turned on by my pain because they were jacking their cocks in appreciation of the show I was putting on. The mad scientist at the controls was only too proud of himself for his sadistic display. As the spasms increased in amplitude with the voltage, it became apparent that I was about to shoot my wad.
Ken: “Let’s wrap this up. He’s cooked…literally.”
The electricity stopped, the sound and the butt plug were removed, and my throbbing cock and dilated asshole left there in the most intense and yet unsatisfied state I had ever experienced.
Ken: “Who’s ready to breed a nice ass?”
Cheers went up from the room. Ken took me over to a long platform. A metal grab bar was suspended by a chain from one of the rafters over the middle of the platform. I was told to straddle the platform and grab the bar. As soon as I did, two of the guys laid down on the platform with their heads at opposite ends. One put his legs over the other and they scooted together until their massive erections were touching. Ken knelt down on the floor right under me and used his fingers to press their dicks up against each other. Then he looked up at me.
Ken: “Lower yourself down. I’m going to help guide them in your ass. And then, I want you to fuck yourself with them until they cum up your ass. If you need me to raise or lower the bar, just let me know. Got it?”
Me: “Yes, sir!”
I had suffered greatly today. My throat had been pummeled, my dick had been teased for hours on end, my balls had been pulled and mercilessly smashed, my ass had been violated beyond anything I had ever suffered before, and my dick had been fried with electricity all the way down to my ass. Treating my ass to two enormous dicks was a reward worthy of my suffering. Despite all the previous dilation, it was still a challenge to get two big dicks up my ass. They both had a slight upward curve, so once they were inside me, they naturally diverged spreading my ass apart. Once I was all the way down, the suspended bar and the height of the platform made it super easy to perfectly guide myself up on down. The two guys were pretty evenly matched as far as dick length went, so it was easy to get a full stroke on their cocks without one of them falling out. Every time I had been double penetrated before, I was sandwiched between two bodies and although this was more disconnected, it was certainly easier. Plus, it was the first time all day I had been in charge of what was going on.
I rode those cocks like a champ, and boy did they feel good up my ass. The constant pounding of my prostate kept my dick hard as a rock. And the view down to this guy’s chiseled pecs was the perfect scenic backdrop to this grand finale of what had been a transformative day. The guy behind me start signaling that he was getting close and if the breathing pattern and arched back of the one I was watching was any indication, he wasn’t far behind. I couldn’t tell which one it was, but I could feel my ass getting bathed in hot cum. I keep pumping both of those hard cocks and the guy in front of me started grunting from under his mask, and I could feel the second load mixing with the first. I sat all the way down on their dicks and just enjoyed the feeling of two hard throbbing cocks bathing in their own juices inside my ass. As I slowly stood up, semen dribbled out my ass showering their cocks in cum.
Ken and Mr. Electro quickly switched places with them putting Ken in the position within my eyesight. I lowered down on their cocks with my cum-soaked ass and went to town. I’ve never had four cocks in my ass in such rapid succession. Come to think about it, I’ve never had four cocks in my ass in one sexual episode ever. This was truly the fuck of a lifetime, and I was lapping up every moment of it. Mr. Electro didn’t last long and shot his wad fairly quickly.
Ken: “I’m not there yet. Switch places with him.”
I pulled off, and Mr. Electro and I switched places. Unlike me, he had not had his ass dilated for hours and shoving both Ken’s dick and mine in his ass was quite the challenge. But once we were firmly ensconced, he jumped those dicks like a fucking gymnast. Feeling Ken’s dick rub up against mine was driving me insane. I had been holding off on an orgasm for nearly four hours and my dick had been hard from the first site of Ken on the porch. I could feel the cum brewing in my balls. The other two guys had been out of my line of sight since we switched, but suddenly they were hovering above us. One stood next to me, and the other next to Ken, and they started flogging the shit out of Mr. Electro.
“Work those cocks, you little pussy boy.”
“Clinch that ass.”
“Fuck the cum outta them.”
The stir in the air from the swing of the whips and the sounds of them hitting his flesh mingled with his moans of pain. Every time they flailed his body, his ass cinched down harder on our cocks. I was right on the verge.
Ken: “Hold out. Make it last. He’s Mr. 31. He made you hold out. Return the favor.”
Suddenly the whip was turned on me, and I felt the sting of leather across my chest.
“There. That ought to distract your orgasm for a while. Don’t make me get the wax out again.”
And here we were in yet another contest of endurance to hold out. My god, these were the most pathologically competitive guys on the planet. But the distraction did divert my attention. The whipping of Mr. Electro reached a fever pitch and his ass was begging us to come so that the flogging would stop.
Ken: “Go for it.”
And like a pool ball whooshing out my ass for a record scoring anal shot put, my dick let loose the most convulsive and relieving stream of cum I have ever shot. I could feel Ken’s dick thumping up against mine as we both shot simultaneous jet streams of cum up Mr. Electro’s ass. The fireworks went on for what seemed like a minute, but couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds. Even as my balls were drained, my orgasm seemed to stream through my body like a shock wave. As Mr. Electro pulled off, one of the floggers bent over and started sucking the cum off my dick sending me into another round of spasms. Ken grabbed my hands and pulled me up into a seated position and just shoved his tongue down my throat. The Stockholm Syndrome was real. I loved this man with every fiber of my being and every ounce of pain was traded in for the emotional high of that moment.
The other guys had left the two of us alone, and Ken grabbed my hand and led me to the shower. Wordlessly, he soaped my body with the precision only a massage therapist could. But it wasn’t just about getting me clean, the act for a form of worship for every square inch of my body. As we stood under the warm water, we rinsed away the suds and the pain, and all I was left with was joy. Joy that I had met this man. Joy that I had had this experience. Joy that it was a memory lodged in my brain for the remainder of my life.