A man grows tired of his partner's fascination with inflated body parts.......
“Change the bag!!!” A cry I have grown to detest. When he, well, we first starting doing weird and wonderful things with saline injections I will admit it was kind of fun in a freaky sort of way. If done on Saturday morning, all would be deflated, well, enough to put on a suit and go to work without causing comment. Some days we'd see who could take the most and, as our sacs got stretched over time, it was quite a lot. I maxed out at two liters-and that took me two days to be absorbed to some sort of normal but not him, oh no, two liters wasn't a ceiling, it was a floor from which to go every onward. And he did.
Some days I'd come in and there would be several bags with lines leading to his nuts, his dick, his tits....imagine either the Pillsbury Dough Boy or the Michelin Man in flesh tones. And, of course, when he was “filled to capacity” his ability to move about was almost nil. He couldn't get his legs together to walk or not easily and certainly not for any distance, he had Moobs that made the udder on a cow look like deflated condoms and his cock, if you could even recognize it as such, reminded me of a type of German White Sausage very popular in the state of Hesse. He would sit there, staring in a mirror, imagining if he could just get another tea spoon in...somewhere. Plus there was another down side to this; He got fired. As his manager explained to me when I picked up his final check, it wasn't his many absences occasioned by his inflation but the reaction of the customers when he came back still bursting out all over. (Once when his tits didn't seem to want to give up their filling, he had to buy a bra-or rather I had to go buy him one-we guessed at the size. Sadistically I found one in pastel pink covered all over with flowers and angels and cupids...he wasn't amused.)
He learned how to make saline water and though I wondered about the safety, nothing seemed to happen. And it got worse.
Even on days when he was, more or less, back to normal, the urge to splurge would over take him and he'd head for the bathroom where he kept all his supplies. And, this really was almost unforgivable, I woke to find I'd been tied, spread eagled on our bed and there were stanchions holding water dripping on three sides. Nor was I alone, He'd pulled up a big chair and had his own set of lines feeding him as well. He'd intentionally set mine to drip so slowly it took ten fucking hours before I'd reached the most I could safely take and then, just to remember the occasion, I was photographed from all angles but in each shot my testicles looked more like bowling balls ready to be picked up and slung down the lane. I moved out for a week after that.
Thanks to the internet all the various bits and pieces he needed, such as the tubing and the needles, could be got and he bought them in large quantities for a discount. I found he'd set up a faux corporation called “Aqua Specialties” complete with letter head and business cards. Armed with that, and some wholly spurious references from physicians who claimed to use his services, there wasn't much he couldn't get as it applied to medical supplies. As a birthday present to me I was presented with a case of surgical razors, so sharp I was almost afraid to shave with them although, once I got the hang of it, they did produce a remarkably close shave. He saved money by not bothering with clothes which, during most of the week, wouldn't have fit him; In a big and tall man's catalog I found a robe in a size something like 7XXLT which did cover him in moments of necessity, such as the superintendent needing to access the plumbing stack.
Did I mention that sex with this aquarium filled thing wasn't possible? Oh, sure, he could suck me off easily enough but mounting him was impossible. I didn't want his weight on my lap and trying to mount him in more conventional ways meant that instead of being supported on all fours, he was loosely attached to a surface by his hyper-inflated nuts and breasts and it was like trying to hang on to the top of a water filled balloon. He thought it terribly funny when, once again, we'd roll right or left and I'd fall off, sometimes to the floor.
Then there was catheterizing him. With all that water in him, it had to drain out somewhere and as his ever increasing balls held more, he was almost always pissing which meant..the catheter was a fixture of his-and my-life. I'm sure that somewhere there must have been someone to whom all this was wildly erotic but I wasn't that person. I tried to be loyal, put up with it with only a modest amount of grousing but..there's a difference between someone who's gained ten pounds and another person who'd taken on ten gallons. Or so it seemed. It all came to a head when he called me at work summoning me home as A. His catheter bag needed changing and his two liter saline bag was running low. Once I'd ignored this alert but found that letting the catheter bag burst and overflow created a whole new set of unwanted household problems.
Something had to be done and fairly soon. I was seriously concerned that as expandable as his skin seemed to be, there had to be an outside edge; Someday there would be too much internal pressure and it would blow. Also it just couldn't be healthy. Having done it with him way back when, I had some idea as to the feeling and, more to the point, what it felt like going down. His flesh was so stretched that when empty his scrotum looked more like a bizarre wadded up doily with the red blood veins and arteries making the pattern. His breasts, also when empty, hung down giving one the impression that some sausage maker got to him and ran out of filling. Wrinkled and just flopping about, they were nearly as alluring as Tuberculosis. And his dick....wasn't even recognizable as something belonging to a human. Or an animal. It resembled nothing so much as a discarded child's balloon that had been used to make a Dachsund.
Before he killed himself or drowned me, something needed to be done and I was the one who had to do it. Having made that decision, the next questions was..what to do? I could, of course, have gone in, tied him up, disposed of all the equipment and kept him under restraint until the impulse to inflate passed. The problem there was that I wasn't sure how long that my be and if changing his bags was bothersome enough, trying to keep him tied up, fed, watered, cleaned for an extended period was a nightmare. To quote a lyric from a Broadway show, I had to “think of a plan that looked fair, seemed fair, sounded fair but wasn't fair”. Okay, so it meant risking a relationship...well...given the past year or so, what was I risking? But I pressed on, gathered up the things I thought I would need and then made a huge sacrifice; I approached him about a period of time that I didn't have to work and, just for old times sake, maybe I would consider.....inflating myself. Just for old times sake. We could make a several day procedure of it...I'd even let him select what parts of me to be pumped up and...I'd do the same for him.
He was ecstatic. I couldn't have done anything that would make him happier, he would have kissed me but that involved standing which, just then, was “difficult”. The one stipulation I made was that we had to start equally, he would have to go for five days, until completely drained so we started as what we were, partners. I could see this was a wrench but he could tell I was serious, the glass wasn't to be half full, it was to be empty.
Having made this deal, I dreaded it. Saving someone you care about-not only from death but the way the tabloids would find out and have a field day-and knowing that it's necessary to deprive them of something they enjoyed. I disagree with Mae West and her philosophy very infrequently but this time, I did. When she said, “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful” this wasn't what she had in mind.
Starting on Monday I watched (really, it was kind of fascinating in a gruesome sort of way) the man that I loved reappear from the apparition he'd become. Even with the dangling bit of flesh that had once been round and firm and fully packed (sorry, I'm addicted to old fashioned advertising...) he retained his personality and, I think, as the days drifted from Wednesday to Thursday...I think even he found some pleasure in being able to move about the house, go out without people stopping to stare, just retreat to a normalcy he'd lost. But the old war horse was really only just waiting for his next battle which was a competition with me, tubes, saline, needles....all the things he loved. At least I think he loved me.
Saturday morning found him up at three ready to go. Go back to sleep was his competitor's wish and so he was forced to fondle bags, wind and unwind hose, think about the best place for insertion, made sure he had lots of film not to mention the camera tripod with an automatic trip so he could photograph us as we headed for the horizons. When I finally did wake up, I almost gagged at what lay ahead. For this very special occasion he'd made a sort of saline fetishists man cave in the living room, towels, heat lamps, pillows, remote controls...and a sign to go on the door explaining we were unavailable to answer it.
All that was left was for him to indulge another of his favorite turn on's, shaving me. Top to bottom. Just defurring my crotch took him two hours but he was determined that every pore show when the fun (?) began. Finally I was as fully nude-he left my eyebrows-as was possible save for the moment after birth and it was time!!
Almost lovingly he helped me down, made sure I was comfortable, checked to see if the lines were adequate until I told him to cut the fuck out and get down himself. Above each of us was a two liter bag, the tubing and needle depending from it. For convenience, the pressure wheel that controlled the flow was just a foot from the needle and,for this special time, had been calibrated so we'd flow at equal speeds. As per our agreement, each one started the lines in the other, a flow point in each testicle-normally one per sac is adequate but this was his request-and, finally, we each dialed the other up to a “2” which was a slow to medium flow.
The first hour was as I remembered, sort of spooky, like watching a hot air balloon laid out on the ground being filled. Your balls don't inflate evenly and so there'd be a raise there and a rounding there...and then two lumps would join and make one large lump. Ever the thoughtful one, he'd made sure the bags were initially warmed so that it felt almost good as the fluid flowed into you, if there is such a thing, sort of like having a comfortable enema in your balls.
By the second hour both of us were substantially filled and I could begin to feel some slight sense of my sac expanding, not painful but palpable and very visible. And then a lamp in the bedroom fell off and, we could tell, went through a glass topped table. I looked at him as I reached for the dial to stop the flow and also for some alcohol and a spot patch to cover the extraction point. All either of us could do was shrug and hope the damage wasn't too serious and, in my mind, that I didn't shred my feet surveying the wreckage. Which I knew I wouldn't as I had a pair of shoes just off the living room. My only concern had been that the gadget I'd bought to cause the accident wouldn't work and well....
Just for the look of things, I opened the door, said a string of my favorite curses, stomped into the kitchen, back to the bedroom, opened a closet....the sound of the vacuum cleaner...and I peeked around to see that, as usual, he'd dosed off which was what I'd planned on. It was now or never and my answer was “now”. Each line had, for safety sake, a piggy pack insertion point for the main line in the event something when drastically wrong and medicine had to be suddenly injected to jump start the heart. That the line went into the testicles and would have no effect was neither here nor there; It existed and now would be put to good use.
“Aqua Specialties” had been busy ordering medical supplies and sending them to their purchasing agent, me, instead of the President, him. I carefully loaded a syringe with just enough relaxing agent to keep him drowsing while I reset the stage. Versed is a marvelous drug for that purpose and it worked just as all the literature said it would.
His time in Waterworld was over and my time to get things back to normal was about to begin. He'd thoughtfully prepared an area that I could use for my own purposes and all that was needed was some rearranging of the props and some new additions. First to go were his tubes, carefully wiping the holes with alcohol and then putting bandages over each one. I carefully found a vein in his elbow, reattached the drip line and turned it down to almost nothing; What I wanted access to was the piggy back junction. Gave him another bump of happy medicine and got on with my plans for the day.
Spreader bar, ropes, hand cuffs, muzzle gag, chains, padlocks, when he woke up, and he would wake up, I planned on that, he'd find himself “attached” but not to his bags. He'd also find me sitting there, fully clad-really that hour or so did give me a nice bulge in my shorts-smiling, beside a cloth covered pan. Getting him “done up” took somewhat longer than I'd thought but...I was a novice at this and was getting my “how to” information from a book thoughtfully acquired, through “Aqua Specialties” from Amazon.com. And very helpful it was. Sort of a primer on how to tie some one up for fun and sex.
After an hour I felt he was “ready” and so sat down waiting for him to wander back to consciousness about forty minutes later. He blinked, looked around, found the gag in his mouth, couldn't help but notice all the restraints and, of course, the lack of liquid flowing into him. He didn't panic right then but when he looked closely at me...he began to suspect all was not well, at least all was not well for him.
I smiled my best boyish smile which, at my age, was hard to do. “Welcome back, have a nice nap? Noooo...don't bother to answer 'cuz I know the answer. You must have questions, if I were in your, uhm, situation I would. This might be a moment of bondage...except that we've never played at that. This might be a joke, except that's a lot of trouble for a joke. No, partner, this isn't any of those, this is a lesson for you to learn, a rather harsh one but...you need it. I want you to think of all these past months and years when I've catered to your fascination with your thing. I've indulged, paid for it, assisted you with it but...always hoping that eventually you'd get bored and give it up.”
He looked at me in a way that suggested he didn't like where this was going. I looked back and continued my commentary on discomfort.
“I got tired of sleeping with a water bed instead of on one, fucking you is damn near impossible and I like fucking you, or I did if I can remember back that far and getting sucked off while your tits graze my knee caps is no treat, I don't care if you swallow a gallon of cum, it doesn't give me what I want, what I expect. So I cheated, if you can call it that. You've got your gallons and gallons of fun and I've got a man who is more than happy to service me and, in return, get some servicing himself. Quid pro quo. And fuck you and what you think about it, if you'd been available for playing horsey, none of this would have happened. Also since you seem to enjoy being a slave to your water, then I guess you'll enjoy being a slave in general. And here's the first part....”
From under the cloth a produced a tattooing gun and some ink. “ You remember Buzz, the guy that did some ink for me? Also propositioned me? Well, I went back and took him up on his offer. And he gave me a lesson in tattooing and I'm going to show you what I learned.”
I plugged the gun into the wall and moved to beside him. When I turned it on he went a bit pale, he always hated my tattoos and here was the instrument of applying them in his face. I took a good strip of strong surgical tape, pulled his lip down and secured it to just above his chin. “Know how thoroughbreds, dogs and slaves are marked? On the inner lip?” I dipped the needle in some black ink and, as I'd been taught, started laying in the figures I wanted. “Don't move, don't squirm or I'll have to tie your head down.” It didn't take very long, I'll I'd put in was a random number and “Owned Property”. It was kind of sloppy, what with the drool interfering with the ink but...it was there and clearly legible. “I asked Buzz if he'd drop by in a few days and start on a good sized piece on you, we talked about a body suit, you know, like the Yakuza in Japan, but he can't find a design he likes. But we're working on it.”
That was that. I put away all my “art” supplies and moved on to the next element of his conversion; His hair removal. He liked me completely bald and I was willing to share the experience. Only not all at once. I spent a good two hours tweezering his head until a pattern started to form. Though I didn't need it, I held up a mirror for his approval. Oddly, before he started inflating, he'd been quite vain about his appearance and, as with many men, his hair was a major part of his glory. Mentally I'd decided to leave him with a Mohawk, a nice wide one with a point at either end. Maybe dyed fuschia.
Tears were running down his cheeks and sadistically, I kissed them and licked them up.
“But there's one thing that keep a slave home, that every good slave should have, and that's the knowledge that his only use is to his master and to whatever purpose he may put him.” I reached under the cloth again and withdrew two scalpels and a pair of surgical scissors packed in sterile casing just as they'd come to “Aqua Specialties”.
“Yep, I'm going to nut you, cut you, castrate you, whack 'em off, whatever expression you like but your time as a complete man is running backwards, faster than your drip saline.....”
He was crying. Taking one of his carefully supplied surgical razors I dry shaved his whole genital area which must have hurt like a sonofabitch and, of course, there were nicks here and there. Took a while to do but when I'd finished I took a towel dipped in alcohol and covered the area I'd just peeled. Must have caused real pain, the gurgling noise through the gag could have been a scream. Only thing left to do was cover the large areas with antiseptic wash, snap on the latex gloves, get out my “tools”, and decide where to make my first incision. I wondered if he'd pass out? I wondered if I'd get hit with a spray of saline that would knock me over? However, I'd timed it so that he didn't get a full load and it had been several hours since the influx had stopped.
I suppose I should have said something but...why? I found the line I wanted-just as in the text book sent to me courtesy “Aqua Specialties”-and made a gentle push. I was in! The slightly stretched skin made the cut easier than going through warm butter and, apart from some slopping of saline, there was almost no blood. From then on it was just text book, I maneuvered each testes into a position to be pushed through the incision, carefully drawing out a significant amount of cord, and when I had them both, held them up for his inspection-if he could see through the tears, some of which might have been pain but I hoped not. “Okay, here's the end of the road, your days of fucking for real are over, it's gonna take a week or two for you to lose the urge, and longer for your dick to shrivel but you're just one, well, make it two cuts away.” I paused and, laying his nuts on a plate, cords still leading to manhood, removed the scissors. No point in any more talk, just picked them up one at a time and cut the cord which shriveled back through the slit.
“There now, that wasn't so bad, was I? I'll just suture you up, try and get a straight line, and you'll be all finished. At least with that part.” His eyes got wider.
“You'll never really be happy until you can have your nut sac filled and I'm willing to do that. Also your tits but your dick...well, that's going to be a special occasion. I promised Buzz he could do a full cock tattoo on you, I think there's a contest in some magazine, and he has a great design...but I'll let him tell you.”
Thanks to “Aqua Specialties”, I brought in quite a lot of silicone gel and prepared to permanently giving him balls every man would be proud of. Or, should I say, balls every slave owner would be proud to have his slave show off.
And, finally, never again would I have to “Change the bag....”
