Drop and Give Me 50

Chapter 16: What the Fuck Was That?

Brent: Oh shit!

Me: What?

Brent: Grumpy took a shit on the island countertop in the kitchen.

Me: I was warned she would bring out the welcome wagon for me. No surprise.

I cleaned it up, checked her litter box, fed her, and tried to pet her. A move that was clearly of no interest to her. She was a dark cloud in an otherwise sunny day. But she did offer a bit of comic relief to balance out the serious shifts that were happening for Brent and me. It was like a tunnel of self-realization. We liked the trip, but we weren’t really sure where we were going. The uncertainty was overwhelmed by the teenage horniness. But each of us was mature enough to see that this was more than just getting off. Something was happening for each of us. And although less certain, maybe between us as well.

Brent: I’m going to light a candle and see if we can rid the kitchen of the odor.

Me: That works. Hey. I’m hungry. Wanna order a pizza?

Brent: Sure. We’re already raiding the bar. I’m not sure we should raid the frig as well.

I pulled out my laptop, and it occurred to me that I had not been online all day. I was focused on Brent, swimming, watching porn, drinking, and having sex. I ordered the pizza and didn’t even bother checking any of my accounts. I didn’t need to. Except for pizza, everything I wanted was right here in front of me. Brent thumbed through the cocktail book, selected another one, and put his new-found bartender skills to work. By the time the pizza got delivered, we were pretty buzzed. I was just sober enough to remember to put some clothes on before answering the door.

We scarfed the pizza down in record time. Our bodies needed something to absorb the alcohol. Satiated and buzzed, we migrated back to the bedroom for scene two of “10”.

Darren: Your turn.

Dr. Grant: Yes, sir.

Darren: On all fours. Here. Scoot up to the edge of the bed. Now, spread your knees apart and lower your ass.

Darren pulled up a chair to the edge of the bed, sat down, and started licking Dr. Grant’s ass like he had pulled up to a table for dinner. He spread Dr. Grant’s checks apart exposing the pink hole surrounded by tuffs of blond butt fur. Darren focused on the hole but licked and gnawed all over Dr. Grant’s ass. This wasn’t the timid ass licking we saw in the porn from last week. Darren was slurping, spitting, and munching away. He was mission-focused on eating that ass.

Me: Will you let me try that on you?

Brent: Sure. Why not. Just go easy on the biting bit. That looks like it could leave a mark.

Me: I probably won’t be that aggressive. I just want to try it.

Brent crouched down in front of me straddling my outstretched legs. He arched his back so his ass was exposed to me and to help preserve my view of the screen. I looked at Brent’s ass and pondered what a beautiful site it was. Then, I leaned forward and started gently licking his hole.

Brent: Damn, that really feels good. I had no idea.

I watched the screen for clues of what to do next, but eventually, I just got lost in the act. Brent was egging me on, and I felt inspired to lick, suck, slurp, and spit more aggressively. I pulled his cheeks apart, rolled the end of my tongue, and plunged it into his hole as far as I could. He was clamped down pretty tight, and I didn’t get very far, but the attempt was certainly turning him on. I quickly found out I had a taste for this. Like sucking dick, it just turned me on that I was getting Brent off.

Darren: Pick a number.

Dr. Grant: Ten.

Darren: How very sentimental. Now, count ‘um out.

Darren pushed the chair away, picked up a leather paddle, reared back like a tennis player with a killer forearm shot, and beat the hell out of Dr. Grant’s ass. The red outline of the paddle was practically glowing.

Dr. Grant: One, sir.

Darren did it again, but this time, it was three in rapid succession, each in a slightly different location widening the area of whelping redness across Dr. Grant’s ass.

Dr. Grant: Two! Three! Four! Sir.

Darren: Did I tell you to move? No, I didn’t. Here. We’re going to start again. Now, stay still this time.

Clearly, it was role play. But it was like hate in his voice. Almost an undertone of terror. Brent and I froze and watched with a sad curiosity as to how anyone who loved someone else that much would ever treat them this way. Darren pulled his muscular arm high in the air and slammed that ass with every ounce of fury in his body. The impacts were like sonic booms coming through the surround sound system. Instead of just obediently counting, Dr. Grant was screaming:

Dr. Grant: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Sir.

Darren: That’s better. A little enthusiasm in your voice. Some appreciation for what I’m doing here.

Darren spit on his ass and rubbed the flesh until it glistened with his saliva. I didn’t realize the point initially, but as round two got going, I could hear the difference in hitting a dry ass and the obvious sting of hitting a wet one.

Dr. Grant: Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten. Thank you, sir.

Darren reached for a spray bottle and began misting Dr. Grant’s ass. He immediately shoved his head in a pillow and let out a muffled scream of sheer agony.

Darren: Yeah, a little alcohol will help that not get infected. Stings a little. You might want to see a doctor about that though. Flip over.

Dr. Grant slowly turned over gently placing his sore ass on the bed. Darren pulled out a leather strap and snapped it in place right above Dr. Grant’s balls. With the cinch of the strap, his scrotum was tightly wrapped around the fury orbs mashing them together and pulling them away from the base of his dick.

Darren: Now reach down and hold ‘um up for me. Keep them high. No moving. No covering. Now pick a number.

Dr. Grant: Ten.

Darren: Nah. I’m bored of that one. How about twenty?

Dr. Grant: Yes sir.

Darren pulled what looked like a hard rubber ball on a stick out of the box. Dr. Grant gripped the leather strap and held it firmly such that his balls were straight up in the air. I noticed that his dick was hard as a rock. This didn’t look like fun to me, but damn, it was doing something for him. Darren didn’t rear back like he had with the paddle, but he wielded the ball on the stick like a carpenter pounding nails into hardwood. He struck Dr. Grant’s balls head on smashing them mercilessly. Dr. Grant was counting them out, his voice cracked with pain. He never took his eyes off Darren. He never once shook his head. Unlike the first scene, he wasn’t tied down. His hands were free to resist but he never did. Rather one of them was offering up his balls in a complicity of pain.

Once his balls were sufficiently tenderized, Darren reached into the box for another device. This looked like two clear plastic plates held apart by nuts and bolts at each of the corners. Darren removed the leather strap from Dr. Grant’s balls. Darren gently placed Dr. Grant’s balls between the two plates.

Darren: Ready?

Dr. Grant interlaced his fingers behind his head, offered up a slight smile, nodded, and then closed his eyes.

Darren: Call out the numbers when we get to seven.

Darren reached down and started twisting the wingnuts on the top of the plate. Until this time, I had not yet fully comprehended the purpose of this device. But as it became apparent, my own balls ached in sympathy for Dr. Grant. As the plates converged, the trapped testicles took on a strange appearance, like pounded chicken breasts. Dr. Grant was clearly loving this. Slowly, methodically, and one corner at a time, Darren was quarter turning the wingnuts. After several minutes, Dr. Grant calmly uttered, “Seven”. Darren looked down at his handiwork and seemed pleased that it had gone this far before they reached the threshold of seven. The tightening continued. Round, by round, the plates got closer and closer. Finally, Dr. Grant uttered, “eight”.

At this point, Darren stopped. He straddled Dr. Grant and gently kissed him on the lips. They made out with a slow and deliberate passion. A passion fueled by the intensity of the pain coursing through Dr. Grant’s body. Darren teased the head of Dr. Grant’s dick with the hairs of his ass. Dr. Grant’s dick was throbbing and bouncing. Strings of pre-cum oozed from his slit connecting to his abs like a stalactite in a cave.

Darren returned to his original position and started the whole tightening process again. By this point, I could only assume a certain degree of numbness had set in. But clearly, Dr. Grant was ready for more. Eventually, he whispered, “nine.” Instead of a kiss, Darren went into distraction mode. A bucket of clothespins was removed from the box, and Darren started pinching the taunt flesh of Dr. Grant’s dick gathering just enough skin to attach a clothespin. This was followed by the same on the other side. Alternating sides, Darren moved all the way down the long shaft inflicting pain point after pain point distracting from the nine-level destruction on Dr. Grant’s balls. When he got to the base, he took a clothes pin and clamped it on the flare of Dr. Grant’s mushroom head. He did this until there wasn’t enough exposed flesh to add another. Dr. Grant was breathing normally and not saying a word. It was an extraordinary display of mentally blocking out the pain. It was like some sort of Jedi mind trick he was playing on himself. Clearly, this hurt. But every ounce of his being was concentrated on not showing it.

Darren went back to the device and started the slow turning process again. A tear ran down Dr. Grant’s face but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. Darren knew Dr. Grant was close. The only thing holding him back was the inevitable pain of the finale.

Dr. Grant: (in a whimper) Ten.

The moment the word escaped his ravaged body, Dr. Grant erupted in a huge cum geyser. The stream was thick, white, solid, and fast. We rewound it several times to count. All in all, there were 14 squirts. One thing was for sure. If I wanted to have powerful ejaculations, I was certainly learning from the master. When the fireworks ended, Darren immediately pulled all the clothes pins off. Not by carefully opening each one, but rather by pulling them in rapid-fire succession creating a series of excruciatingly painful pinches. He unscrewed the plates and freed Dr. Grant’s balls. He pulled Dr. Grant up off the bed, squeezed him in a hug and they fell to the floor. Dr. Grant sobbed in pain and Darren comforted him until his breathing returned to normal.

Dr. Grant: I love you so much. I love you so much.

Darren: I know. I know. I love you too.

Brent: What the fuck was that?

Me: I have no idea.

Brent: Is that even sex?

Me: Well, you gotta admit, the ending was pretty spectacular.

Brent: Yeah. . . .but. . . .

Me: I guess some people process pain in a very erotic manner.

Brent: Well, count me out on that one. Not on the list.

Me: I don’t smoke. But if I did, I think this would be the time for a cigarette.

Brent: No shit. How bout a drink instead. I think you need to pick up where you left off with my ass before the doctor got the shit beat out of him.

Me: Yeah, that was a bit distracting.