A nice summer afternoon, just right for a long sun bath on the padded bench that goes around the terrace. The twenty foot high windows on the house glinted as the sun first rose and then left them dark as they slowly passed over the apex of the house. Still an hour or two of sun. I clenched by ass, slowly, and then let my tanned, well formed almost bubbled but more biscuity cheeks return to their usual roundness.

In side I could hear his drool as he tried to control the spastic actions of his fingers as they tried to clutch my ass through the glass.

Breath in deeply I could feel my sleek body, gently folding into abs that looked sculpted from marble but still could be soft, silken, only a little resistant. I crossed my hands, turned my head away from the windows and put it on my hands. Just for a little bit of concentrated exercise, such as the ones on Finnair in First class, I curled my toes and forced my calf muscles to expand and then relax, expand, relax, expand and this time give in to relaxation so completely that my toes seemed to droop.

I suppose the window was steaming over as, doubtless, he'd got up from his chair, his book he never meant to read to look and see what might be going on outside.On the padded bench, in the sun.

Suddenly, I put my hands under me, did what is called a plange, only on the ground, where I elevated my whole body and whirled it about, stood up and faced away from the window. My body relaxed like the Statue of David, hands relaxed, not even a stone to throw and in the now canted light, the long fine line of buff coloured hair that went from the back of my head down and into my ass. If I turned, there was something like it on my chest that led down to my carefully styled hair in my crotch.Chest, abdomen, carefully waxed so that only the one long line of hair was evident, spreading out as it grew closer to the top of my cock. The hair there neatly fanned out to top of my calves. Nuts shaved to better show his initials tattooed on them.

Nasty crash. I hope he's not barefoot, if that was something glass, and I think it was, getting blood out of oddly porous marble can be a bitch. And why marble? He said he wanted to see my tanned skin against white marble and so bought a white marble bath tub. The salesman told him it wasn't a good idea but...the idea of me, in clear water, a snake of white emanating from my cock, the tan skin, the white marble....until he tried it. Before I did. He should have listened, for all that marble looks lovely, it never, ever, gets warm. You can dump all the hot water you've got in it and two seconds of sitting on it and, your butt is stone cold. (sorry, but I meant that one) To give him what he wanted I did get in the clear water, leaning back so all my tan skin showed and then using one of my greatest talents, I started to orgasm. First a trickle as my sword swung through the water and then more and finally the fully, shiny white fluid issues our while I moan quietly and close my eyes. He fell over the toilet and I had to call EMS and then explain it-fortunately I'd put on some clothes although trying to get him little more than covered with his arm stuck behind the toilet tank was impossible. Eventually the toilet was disassembled and he was carted off to the ER where a nice young Orthopaedic Intern put his the cracked wrist in a immobilizer and a lot of Ace bandage, told him not to use it for at least four weeks-wrist cracks are notoriously difficult to knit correctly and, of course, it was his right, dominant hand. He recovered but I thought we were going to have to put a catheter in his balls to keep them from exploding. After all, I can't be with him 24/7 and he was accustomed to draining himself quite often. After some searching I found a sort of male milking machine which didn't require the use of his right hand, it didn't require the use of any hand at all.

I lay back down on the padding, this time face up, and, it's just something I do, poked my cock well away from the sun. The appearance of my well tanned skin and very white cock can be arresting. And then there are my balls.What can I say about them? It became an awfully expensive operation after he insisted on the film crew. Not to mention the chartered jet to Thailand and, of course, my participation. What I knew that he did now was that even castrated, it was easy enough to inject myself with testosterone and I'd be as rigid and as much a man as I had been. But how he loved being in the operating room in Phuket. I was on the table, my legs spread and, for his benefit, tied to the walls. Same with my arms. Blindfolded. I couldn't see what was coming but part of his delight, and I must say what he said came out very well was great on the video was a man telling another man that soon, very soon, he would not be a man, but a eunuch, a nothing and he would own my balls.

Actually there were two surgeries, the first, during which my testicles were removed, and that drove him almost (I almost said nuts) wild with delight (he took the metal dish in which they were and practically did some sort of tribal dance with them) all the while Dr. Soong was putting in my news balls, about twice the size of what he'd removed. They were, and I say it myself, a bit too big but, why not? As I aged, I could go back and have something more appropriate. That said, it was fun watching people look, I wasn't a gargoyle but..clearly I was at the head of my class when it came to the size department. Also, this caused my cock to push out more which put it in bas relief in anything but the most loose fitting pants. On the flight home, I had to ask the purser for an extra lap strap which I used to tie his hands, then put them under a blanket, to keep them out of my lap.After all, I was post surgery and his kind of aggressive bothering could have broken a stitch or caused me pain. He would have enough time later to enjoy them Although when he my whole "package" cast in bronze, like baby shoes, I was a bit disgusted.

The sun had finally reached the bench and so I picked up my Speedo, my T, my flops and headed for the interior, the iron lung as I sometimes called it. He was in love with air conditioning and he had enough to keep the Metropolitan Opera cool in high summer. Walking in, my nipples became immediately hard, pointed. Through my T it was easy to see them and I didn't even have my barbells in.

That had been a bone of contention. After all, I was just a guest who dropped in, not someone who lived there so when the discussion of piercing came up, it was my say as to what would and would not happen. And one of the things that would not happen was that he wasn't going to do it himself. What I wanted and agreed to were large barbells,-installed bt asurgeon to get really big bars at first, no streyching, no rings, that, after a year of healing I could put in and out or attach the chain that stretched from one to the other. Again, after it was done, I wondered if he was going to foam over, have a seizure before I could get him home. Then there was his Christmas present from me. I'd slipped off and had my cock pierced and, somehow, kept it from him until Christmas Eve when I appeared by his bed, nude, with a chain from my cock to the chain between my tits and, where they met, a large, black and gold spider that had a cock.

Some times when I think of what I've done, what I may do, what he may ask me to do, it's something to think about. But as with every situation, there's another side and in this case it's the side where his penis, the size of an axe handle hangs not to mention his nut in their veiny case that extrude semen through the sides. Jesus can that man fuck.

Spreadeagled on the ground, on the bed, on the floor, and ravished by him....after his tongue, which seems to have the same properties as that of a tiger or lion, has rasped my ass making me so ready to get fucked that I strain against my chains, scream for his organ, pant like an animal in heat when he points it at my mouth and my tongue rushes out, trying to slide into his slit to find cum or piss and then, as the lowers himself, I get his whole cock, little by little, until it slides into my throat and still...I'm not happy. I want to be fucked and sucked by him at the same time. He plays me like a virtuoso of sex. He knows my body, made, created, shaped for him. He can keep me groaning for hours, edged, my God, the man has edged me through two NFL games, back to back and when my sweat has finally cost me three or four pounds in body weight, he starts at my forehead and sucks up my moisture, licks each hair under my arm and on down to my impossibly pained cock, so ready, my balls are beating on the under side of my bladder...and then with his enormous skill he slowly unclasps his tongue around my prod and lets the accumulated semen flow. He drinks it, swallows it, almost demands more, even though, castrated, it's clear, how wonderful is the release but that's just the overture.

One chain at a time he releases me so that I can be turned, upended, that glorious ass I've prepared for him is there. He's in me, I struggle to make my ass muscles hold him, never release him but, in time, he does and for a day I lay there unable to move. I will give him anything I have to get the fucking I just got and will get again.

We're happy, I know I'll be replaced but I'll have my memories....and all those videos which, I just feel, may have some cash value.




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