There were other men I met up with from time to time. I had a listing in the Ball Club magazine, BCQ, and one day I found a letter in my Post Office box, asking me to call. We spoke for quite a while before he asked where I was in Manhattan, and as it happened our hotel was literally just a couple of blocks from his apartment. We were getting on pretty well so he invited me over. His apartment was very elegant, reeked of money well spent. As I settled on the large couch, virtually lying on it actually, he moved in close to me with two glasses of wine. Things were looking good, and things got even better when he reached for my zip, dragged it down and pulled out the contents. Then, as he fondled my balls he asked the question I dread. "So...tell me...what's the closest call you've had? You know...I mean in flying...engine failures...things like that?"
'Oh NO! Not THAT!' I thought. I tried to brush the subject off. (I've only ever had two engines fail. The first one no one noticed except the aircraft started to lose speed. Well there was a pay claim in the works, that was the cause of some discussion so it's understandable really. The second one was an outboard engine so there was a bit of a swing which the auto-pilot corrected almost immediately. But the swing did catch our attention, and sure enough number 4 engine had shut down, no drama, no excitement.) I kept down-playing the perils of aviation, he kept coming back with "Well I read that..." I could see that even though he had my balls in his hands it was going to be very difficult to get back to sex. The walls were covered in huge photographs of men and women in various degrees of undress, some in the nude, black and white and in colour. I already knew from our conversation that he was a fashion photographer, inspiration struck, I asked what it was like for a gay photographer to work with naked men.
"Oh David you would not believe... I work with the most beautiful men in the universe. Their bodies are gorgeous...but their minds! They're the dumbest, vainest..." He shook his head as words failed him. "They can hold a pose forever, but they can't hold an intelligent thought for a moment!" And with that he went into his "Worst photo session" stories. A couple of glasses later I eased my way out of the apartment. I am probably remembered as his "Worst ever meeting with an airline pilot." I mean what's the point of spending an evening with a pilot who hasn't crashed...not even once!
Another man I met up with, Clayton, was an interior decorator. I'd seen his ad in the Ball Club listing and wrote to him. He described himself as "willing to switch between bottom and top." I wrote to him, explained that I visited the city frequently, told him I was a bottom, but wouldn't mind switching if he wanted to and asked if he'd be interested in meeting. He was interested, replied with his phone number, and asked me to call. So a few weeks later I called. It's strange, but when he answered I found myself suddenly nervous. However, after a few minutes chatting I relaxed and accepted his invitation to come down to his apartment in Manhattan, way down where 7th Avenue becomes Varyck Street. He told me to take a cab or a bus downtown because there was no suitable subway station near his street. I took a bus, but not to save money, I wanted time to get over the nervousness of going into a stranger's apartment. However, as the bus made its way slowly down 7th Avenue stopping at least once in most blocks, and at stop lights, rather than relaxed I became more uptight. I didn't chicken out, but in truth that's a measure of how much of a fool I was.
After leaving the bus I followed his directions and found myself outside his building. And I do mean his building. I suppose the best thing to do is to tell you about the place at this stage. It had been a warehouse, he'd bought it, all five floors. The elevator was the original freight elevator, huge, maybe 10 by 14 feet, a true freight elevator, no fancy trim just painted iron. It was outside the back of the building, didn't come down to street level because it was designed for shifting loads directly on to flatbed trucks. There was a short flight of steps up to a narrow ledge in front of the open elevator door. There were five buttons, and five key holes, the buttons didn't control the elevator, just rang door bells in the apartments. The door wasn't like a regular elevator door either, two steel plates, one of which dropped down from overhead, and the other came up from beneath floor level. Clayton had bought the building, 5,000 square feet on each floor, for $100,000 in the late 70's when the city economy had been in a very bad way. Everyone had advised him against buying, but now that things were looking up he was very well pleased with his investment. He'd camped on the top floor, literally camped, a sleeping bag, portable stove and chemical toilet. As money allowed he'd divided the first floor into two apartments, finished and decorated them and had just sold each unit for twice what he'd paid for the building. Once he'd sold the first units he was well placed financially and had done up his own apartment, the whole top floor, and was going to start work on dividing and selling the other floors. So, to get back to the story...
I climbed up the steps to the elevator, pressed the fifth button. A moment later the huge thing shuddered into life and rose majestically up to the fifth floor. When the elevator stopped another similar door opened at the other end and there in front of me was the whole apartment. The floor wasn't entirely open space, there were concrete pillars spaced out at intervals throughout the apartment, nevertheless the sight of the huge space was impressive. So was Clayton who was waiting to greet me wearing nothing but an all-over tan. He was about my age, and at first sight reminded me strongly of Yul Bryner as the King of Siam. His head wasn't actually shaven, but he had about the shortest crew-cut I've seen, the marines included. But on the rest of his beautifully tanned body there wasn't a sign of a hair. His cock was of average length, relaxed and soft; his naked balls were bigger than mine, and hung low in a very long sack. Since there had been talk of switching roles I wondered what they'd be like to play with, to torture even? He was medium height, a swimmer's build, his skin had a sheen to it as though it had been oiled. He invited me in, led me across the huge open space and as he moved his muscles seemed to ripple under his skin. He had built no internal walls except around one corner where he had his bedroom and bathroom. Other than that the only division was by décor and the support pillars. A carpeted area with lounge furniture, another area was his dining room, and an office over to one side. Straight ahead he'd built a bar, the real thing, mirrors on the wall, all manner of bottles on shelves, which is where he took me and asked what I'd like to drink. As he poured he told me to strip and get comfortable. The bar stools weren't the small, round ones that you usually find in bars, more like small seats on tall legs, with backs and arms. Having poured the drinks he sat laid back, relaxed, legs wide apart in one of the seats as I stripped. I always like it when guys, and women too, aren't shy, or artificially coy. After all if you're going to have sex with someone what's the point in hiding behind crossed legs? When I joined him I too lay back in the seat, but I didn't manage to look quite so relaxed, as always my cock was waving about like an antenna whereas his was laying nicely across his beautiful balls. We sat facing each other chatting, this is when he told me about the building and how he'd come to buy it. I began to fear that we were getting too far from the real purpose of the visit, even my cock was beginning to soften. I noticed an enlarged photograph taped on the wall behind the bar of a swimming pool in the back of a house with eight naked guys, some lounging on chaises, others sitting at the edge of the water.
"Is that where you get your tan?" I asked.
"Yes, my partner and I own the house, it's in Miami. We also do interior decorating down there, I spend as much time in Florida as I do in the city. But I can keep my tan topped up right here." That interested me, I'd often wondered why I'd never heard of a safe place to sunbathe in the nude in the city.
"Where do you go?" I asked.
"Right up there..." he said pointing to a narrow staircase. "Want to take a look?" Of course I did. We took our glasses and he led the way. Following him I was fascinated by the way his tight buns rippled and his balls swung from thigh to thigh as he climbed the stairs, hardly more than a ladder. Yes, I decided, I would like to work on those balls, maybe suck on them, real hard. He lifted a hatch cover and we stepped out on to the roof. I was amazed at how bright it was out there, then I saw why. The World Trade Center soaring into the night sky about half a mile to the south, the floodlights reflecting off its shining metal facades lit up this part of town almost as bright as daylight. (That dates this story doesn't it?) Suddenly I felt very naked. It was a beautiful night, and although we were only five floors up the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings were visible to the north. He had made a roof garden up there, covered the roof with Astroturf, there were plants in tubs, loungers and umbrellas. There were many other buildings around us, almost all taller than Clayton's, many of the windows still lit.
"Doesn't it worry you being overlooked like this when you're sunbathing?" It was a stupid question, obviously it didn't bother him.
"Hell no, this is New York. Who cares? You want to come up here sometime? Give me a call, any time you're in town." I'd heard that so many times I was beginning to believe it.
'What would it be like to lie out here in the sun, surrounded by all those windows? To have Clayton play with my balls? To be tortured even? In broad daylight? Tied to a cross maybe...a horizontal cross so that I'd be visible from all the windows on all sides!' My mind was racing ahead, impure fantasy. Eventually Clayton suggested we go back into the apartment. In one way I was sorry, I'd have loved it if we'd at least done something up there in the open, but I did want to get started so I followed him down the stairs.
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs the phone rang. I was pleased to see that he didn't rush to answer it, but after a few seconds the answering machine clicked in. The message was about an accident that had just happened, a massive paint spill on a newly laid carpet. At this point Clayton apologized profusely and said he'd have to take the call. As he later explained his company had a contract to finish and furnish the interiors of one of the many high-rise office buildings that were then sprouting up on 3rd Avenue in Mid-town. In order to generate an income as quickly as possible the lowest floors were finished first and were leased and occupied while the upper floors were still being worked on. They were working all hours to get the project completed as soon as possible. The guy on the phone was more than a little agitated, I could hear every word even though Clayton had the phone to his ear. A workman had taken a load of paint in a wheelbarrow up in the construction elevator, the ones you see tacked on to the outside of new buildings. For some unknown reason the elevator had stopped at the wrong floor, the workman hadn't noticed and had walked out into an almost completed floor where he had tripped on a carpet that was being laid. The barrow had toppled, and inevitably some of the paint cans had burst open. The carpet was custom made in Italy, the floor was due to be handed over within a few days. (I decided that Clayton would have made a good pilot, he listened to the tale of woe without any visible emotion. Contrary to the myths instant reactions are dangerous in flying. Many situations have been changed from "difficult" to "disastrous" by pilots reacting without fully appreciating the problem they were faced with. In training it is stressed over and over again, first do nothing!) After listening to the whole tale of woe he told the caller to fax the carpet maker in Italy, order what was needed and arrange to have it air-freighted out to New York. He also said he'd call the makers when they opened at 3am New York time and see what he could do to expedite the shipment. By the time Clayton hung up I assumed that the evening was over, he'd simply have too much on his mind to get into a scene with any enthusiasm. I was dead wrong.
"So how about we have some fun?" he asked. He went up in my estimation, way up! "You want to be top or bottom?" Thinking of those low hanging balls I said I'd never been a top but that I didn't mind trying. "Tell you what...we'll have a competition, winner is the top, loser is the slave for the night. How does that sound?" It sounded interesting, I asked what he had in mind. "A tug-of-war." The surprise must have shown in my face. "We take a rope, you tie one end around your scrotum, I tie the other end around mine. We get down on the floor between two pillars, and when we're set we pull. Whoever reaches the pillar first is the winner. That okay?"
I wasn't unhappy with that idea, I'd swung weights from my balls, they'd been toughened up, I reckoned I'd be able to put up a fair struggle. He sounded very confident, but who could tell, maybe he was in for a surprise? Clayton produced the rope, soft, plaited cotton.
"There you are," he said, "tie it any way you want. Whatever feels best for you." I must confess I wasn't sure how best to tie the rope. I decided that several turns around the neck would tend to spread the strain, but should the knot be at the back or front? In the end I decided that it probably made no difference so I wound the rope around about four turns and knotted in front. When I pulled on the rope I realized that I hadn't wound it tight enough, almost unwound and slipped off so I had to re-do it. By the time I was done Clayton was already finished and waiting.
"Let's move over here," he said pointing to a carpeted area with pillars at each side. "Now you decide when we're in the right position, an equal distance from the pillars. Whatever you say I'll accept." He definitely sounded confident, I hoped I was going to be able to surprise him. We moved a bit one way and another until I'd agreed that we were equally distanced from the pillars. At this stage the rope was taught between our lightly stretched sacs. "Okay, take the strain." We moved a bit and the rope tightened up. "Whenever you're ready...It's your call," he said. I got the feeling he'd done this many times before.
I took a deep breath and said, "Pull!" My plan, if I had one, was to grab the initiative, to launch myself forwards and break his balls real quick. As I said "pull" I lunged forward, but I didn't move forward, not an inch. A shaft of pain in my balls made me gasp and before I could get my breath I was back pedaling, or rather back crawling, as fast as I could go. Now when you crawl forwards you can make fairly smooth movements, but when you go in reverse the motion is distinctly jerky. And when you're being dragged by your testicles each and every jerk produces a massive jolt of pain. I doubt that the whole thing lasted more than four or five seconds, but man, my balls ached.
"I guess you weren't ready..." said Clayton.
"No...No I'm just not in your league," I said. How could I say I wasn't ready, I'd given the signal? "No, you won, I'll be your slave."
"Maybe you didn't get the rope tied right...Tell you what, we'll make it best of three. You'll do better this time, you'll see." I hoped he wasn't going to throw the next contest just to make me feel better, but I did agree to best of three.
I did re-tie the rope. This time I wound it three times around and then twice more on top of the first layer, then tied the knot at the back. When I pulled on the rope it seemed to be more comfortable. When I took up position on all fours my balls were below the rope and in front of the knot. Clayton hadn't even massaged his nuts, that told me something. When I was ready we positioned ourselves again. This time I decided that instead of trying to drag Clayton I'd take the strain, hold the line and not give way to his initial lunge. Once more Clayton told me to make the call. I called. I held him for maybe as long as two seconds, then I was in full retreat once again desperately trying to save my balls from being torn right off.
"Oh man," I said when I got my breath back, 'there's no way I can compete with you. I submit, I'm your slave, do what you want."
"What I want is to wrestle. Looks like we're pretty well matched. Catch-as-catch-can, no holds barred. Are you up to that?"
"Sir, if that's what you want Sir, that's what we'll do." I liked the sound of "no holds barred." We were evenly matched in size, but I hadn't wrestled anyone since I was in junior school, besides, I was pretty sure he'd done this many times too, so I had no expectations of doing any better than I had done in the tug-of-war.
"And we'll use oil. You oil me and I'll oil you. Makes it much more fun!" Spreading oil on his body, especially his low hanging balls, now that really did appeal to me.
Clayton found the oil, he spread it all over my body, I did the same for him, although I did spend the longest time on his sac and its contents. The "ring" was the same patch of carpet that we'd used for the tug-of-war. As soon as we took position facing each other I could see that he was a wrestler, he looked at ease, confident. I tried to copy his stance, but simply felt self-conscious, so much for being evenly matched! We locked arms and then the struggle began. I thought that the oil would give him an advantage, that with his superior skill he'd be able to get a grip me, but I wouldn't be able to hold on to him. However, as I very soon found out, it wasn't the oil that prevented me from getting a good hold, he was just too damned fast. If anything the oil worked to my advantage since it almost impossible for either of us to get a hold for more than a few seconds which rather cancelled out his obvious wrestling skills. I'd like to claim that I put up a pretty good fight, but in truth he was doing all the attacking, I was doing all the blocking and back pedaling again. Of course there was only one way either of us was going to get a submission, and it wasn't going to be a body press, it had to be the testicles again. By pure chance and against all odds I managed to get a hold on his first. I got my fore finger and thumb wrapped around the neck, had them in a real good grip, then dug my other finger nails into the back of his nuts. I squeezed hard expecting a submission. He didn't submit, took all the pressure I could apply then wrenched his nuts clean out of my grasp! Once he did that I knew I was going to lose, even luck wasn't going to be enough. From that point on it was only a matter of how long I could keep my balls out of his grasp, and how much pain I'd be able to take before submitting. I must admit it was good to wrestle with such a smooth, firm body, I hope he enjoyed it as much as I did.
The end result was exactly as I had suspected. He got me pinned, face down on the floor. He was on my back, I could feel his balls between my shoulder blades. Using his left knee he managed to get one arm trapped behind my back while his left hand twisted my other arm up behind my shoulder blade. I tried to roll, couldn't do it, couldn't get the leverage. I felt his chin on my butt, his hand reached between my thighs. I struggled like crazy, but he managed to drag my balls up from between my legs and then got them into his mouth. When I felt his teeth on them I stopped struggling. I didn't mind him inflicting pain, but didn't want to be injured, I just held still so that he could have them and hurt them.
"I submit... I submit Sir!" I gasped as he bit on them, then sucked on them really hard. It was a glorious pain that filled my mind and my guts too. When at last he let me up my testicles were aching beautifully.
"Now boy, I want you against that pillar," he said pointing to the one that I hadn't been able to reach in the tug-of-war. He positioned me with my back to the pillar then used the same rope to tie my wrists at the back of the pillar and my ankles as far around the sides as they could reach. Now I felt a twinge of anxiety, I remembered how deserted the streets had been as I came in, and that the only other people who might be in the massive building were four floors below us, four thick, concrete floors. My stomach tightened up quite a few notches. From somewhere behind the pillar I heard a fairly loud whooshing noise that I could not place. Then he appeared with a long, corrugated tube in his hand. I recognized it, it was exactly like the tube on a shop-vac that I have at home. I guessed he had a central vacuum system installed, but had no idea as to how much suction those things produce. The end of the tube, the first couple of inches, was two inches in diameter and smooth, the rest was somewhat larger and as I said corrugated. When he brought the tube up to my balls I must have flinched.
"It's alright boy, they won't come off, all I'm going to do is teach you to pull with your balls. Next time I expect more resistance when we have a tug-of-war."
My stomach muscles contracted involuntarily as the nozzle reached for my nuts. I shut my eyes. Just before the tube touched my scrotum it was whipped into the maw, from zero to full stretch in a split second. The pain wasn't too bad though, a good strong pull, but not too painful to take. For a while he held the tube so that my balls were just inside the narrower end section, then he thrust it forward so that they were pulled deeper into the tube, into the wider, corrugated section. I don't know if you've ever had this done to you, I would have expected the suction, and therefore the pain, to lessen, but man it doesn't work that way! In the smooth section of the tube my balls filled the opening, there was plenty of suction, plenty of pull, but as the testicles were dragged into the wider section of tube they began to flutter furiously in all directions battering the testes wildly from side to side and top to bottom. And when I say battering I really do mean it, like being hit with a hammer fifty times a second from all directions! I let out a yell and he pulled the tube back a bit. Now with my balls really tenderized even the smooth section of tube kept the deep pain flowing. Clayton was looking at me closely, straight in the eyes. I guessed he was waiting for a signal, that was kind of reassuring. I took a deep breath and nodded my head. He thrust the tube forward and my testicles were plunged back into the maelstrom. I held out as long as I could but inevitably the pain overwhelmed me, my head dropped, I hung against the ropes and Clayton pulled the tube away. The relief was fantastic, the balls still ached deeply, but in a minute or so my breathing eased.
"Had enough boy?" Clayton asked, but he was still holding the hissing tube just inches from my balls, I could tell that he wanted more.
"No Sir," I said. I saw the look in his eyes, he was pleased, and with that he thrust the tube forward and I was in heaven/hell again. And I do mean heaven, the look of pleasure in his face made the pain really good. When it came to pulling and wrestling I hadn't given him enough of a challenge, hadn't satisfied him, now I was pleasing him, I could see it because his cock was stiffening rapidly. Watching that cock rise up so quickly took my mind right off what was happening to my balls. I took the beating on and off for the longest time, he was wet with pre-cum before he pulled the tube away again.
"Come," he said, "let's go to the bedroom." The bedroom as I said was the only part of the apartment that was walled off. It was a large room in one corner, but since the bathroom was in the same space it wasn't a straight rectangular room. Unlike most bedrooms I've been in the bed wasn't against one wall, nor perpendicular to a wall, it was in an alcove, not very much wider than the bed, formed between one of the outer walls and the bathroom. At first glance it looked as though there were two wooden panels jutting out from the sides of the alcove over the bed at an angle. They looked a bit like a tent, but they didn't meet at the top, there was a gap a couple of feet wide above the bed. Clayton obviously saw my surprise. "Go on, get in..." he said.
The bed was just a mattress on a box spring, no footboard or headboard. As I climbed on I saw that there was a mirror on the wall at the head of the bed. 'Interesting!' I thought as I lay down. It was quite dark in there until Clayton turned a dimmer switch and a strip of light along the lower edge of each panel lit up the space. Now I saw that the panels were mirrors, and I have to say that the effect was fantastic! I was enormously impressed and told him so. Clayton told me that he'd started by having mirrors mounted on the walls, but that the effect had not been very satisfactory. Firstly one had to raise one's head to see the reflections, and then there were altogether too many reflections of reflections disappearing into the distance. These hinged panels on the other hand produced images that were overhead, and the lights which ran the whole length of the bed cast no shadows so everything was on view. I lay completely relaxed as he tied me to the corners of the bed, just fascinated, watching the beautiful reflection of Clayton's body. I had completely forgotten my earlier fears of being so alone with this stranger.
He put my balls through a very vigorous work-out. Clayton, like me, was a ball man. He didn't touch my tits, hardly touched my cock, but when it came to inflicting pain in the testicles he was good. He used a paddle quite a lot, and a small whip too, directly on the scrotum and its contents, but mostly he used his hands, I like that very much, and of course there were the reflections! Oh it looked do good to see my balls being twisted, pulled, slapped and crushed. The finale was especially good too and I suppose only someone who was as much a bottom as a top would have done this. He released my legs which were attached to the corners of the bed and used the ropes to retie them, close together, one binding at my ankles, another just above my knees. He then spread a lot of oil on my body, all over but especially around my scrotum. Next he knelt astride my body, his balls close to mine and used a long, leather thong to tie our balls together, all four in a bunch! Real tight! He lay forward on top of me, our balls wedged tightly between our thighs, our cocks rubbing against each other on our stomachs. It felt so good. Then he started to make fucking motions, thrusting his hips backwards and forwards, wrenching our balls back and forth. It was painful, but the beautiful thing was that I knew that his balls were being wrenched just as strongly as mine. From time to time he'd half turn his body and fuck from side to side. This was even more painful because our balls were trapped between our thighs. I very soon found that it made the pain even better if I tightened up the muscles in my thighs, that put a lot more pressure on the testicles, and again we were both taking the same treatment, feeling the same sensations. Twice he turned all the way round, his head to my feet. When he did this it really felt like my balls were being twisted right off, but of course his balls were suffering the same torture so I didn't object. Again this was made all the more enjoyable by watching the reflections of our naked bodies, especially his tight, tanned buns! Eventually he turned back so that we were lying the same way and began to fuck even more strongly. It wasn't just torture, it was extremely sensuous too and within a minute or so my cum was adding to the lubrication of the oil. He must have noticed, but if anything he fucked harder. Normally once I've shot my load I really need a break, going on and on becomes just too painful and I have to stop. This was one of the few times that I didn't mind being taken further. Maybe it was because he was using his balls to jerk mine, or the fact that I could feel his cock sliding in my semen on my stomach, or the reflection of our bodies above us. I don't know, but he for sure made me come again just as he was ejaculating. When he came it was spectacular, he roared like a bull, really loud, but as I said the nearest human being was at least four concrete floors below so nobody would have heard a thing.
I accepted his invitation to sunbathe on his roof, went back a couple of times. However, one thing I had to avoid was going home with an all-over tan. You see I always wore very small, bikini type bathing shorts, and I always had a tan because there were plenty of places that I had layovers where there really wasn't much to do except lie around by hotel pools. But although my tan was almost all over, I did have two distinct white triangles, butt and crotch. My wife often joked about my little white butt, so if I went home without white patches it would have been as obvious as the balls on a dog. So I bought a bottle of factor 45 sun cream and carefully applied this strong protection to the white triangles whilst using factor 8 on the rest of my body. On my second visit to Clayton's apartment I brought him one of my Nutcrackers, the Plexiglas hammer with a glass fiber shaft. He was fascinated. Clayton was working from the apartment that day but he told me I was welcome to go up on the roof to sunbathe. I stripped off except for my underpants, very small bikini style, because walking out into the bright sunshine amongst all those buildings was more than I could do. Clayton shed everything and came up with me bollock naked. I sat on the edge of a chaise, slipped my underwear down discreetly, then lay face down on the lounger. We chatted a while then his phone rang and he left me alone. Alone except for the hundreds of faces I imagined were staring down at me. I knew I had to turn over, if only to prevent my back from burning, but the longer I lay with my cock safely hidden sticking straight down through the straps of the chaise the harder it was to turn over. I had made a point of not looking at the surrounding buildings, tried to blot them from my consciousness. But that didn't work, in fact as time went by I became more and more conscious of the buildings even though I never looked up and around. Eventually Clayton looked appeared in the hatch to ask if I wanted a beer.
"Hey," he said, "you'd better turn over, your back is looking quite red."
"Oh yeah... I will," I pretended that I'd almost fallen asleep, but I did have to turn over. If only I'd been soft like Clayton it wouldn't have been so bad. If my cock would stop pumping up and down with every thudding heart beat that would have made it less conspicuous. But it didn't go down, didn't stop nodding; eventually I did look around. There were dozens of windows, but I didn't see any faces. And when I occasionally did see a figure moving in one of the buildings I realized that if he'd had his cock sticking out it wouldn't have been very noticeable. In fact even a monster penis seen from 50 yards isn't a very impressive organ, and I certainly didn't have a monster. That thought helped a little. I pulled the back of the chaise up then twisted myself into the sitting position. I didn't feel so totally exposed, at least the people behind me couldn't see anything, unfortunately the nearest building was right in front of me. After a minute or two Clayton went back down to the apartment and I was left alone, alone except for all those eyes that I could feel studying me. Over the next little while I heard no police sirens and little by little began to relax, which is to say that I became less anxious, my cock didn't subside. Half an hour later my balls began to ache, they needed relief, I'm sure I don't need to explain that. After an hour the sun was getting lower, I decided to go down and see if Clayton was in the mood to play. He snapped a briefcase shut as I came down the stairs.
"That's as much as I can do for today," he said. I hoped he'd add something about sex, but he didn't. "How about we go get something to eat?" he asked. It was still early and I'd rather have had his balls to chew on, but I went along with the suggestion. We dressed and went out to Chinatown, not too far from his apartment.
Whilst we were eating he worked my balls under the table, I guess he knew they must be aching and was making sure that they were plump and full of juice. By the time we got back to his place I really needed to have them beaten. I was more than ready to be the bottom, but once again Clayton insisted that we have a tug-of-balls to see who'd be the master. Needless to say I did no better than the first time, even he didn't suggest we make it best of three. He wanted to wrestle again, and since he was the top I didn't object even though I knew what the outcome was going to be since I hadn't had any chance to brush up my skills. But after the wrenching in the tug-of-balls the ache had subsided and in fact I did rather better than I'd expected. Twice I got a good hold of his nuts, but both times he was able to break free, not by using his hands to loosen my grip, just pulled them free, ripped them out from between my fingers. I had to admire that! But as I say I did do much better than the first time. I kept him off my balls for at least twenty minutes, but then I made a mistake when I lunged at him and missed, the next instant I was on my back, my testicles at his mercy. When we went through to his bedroom I was spread-eagled again. Clayton had the Nutcracker in his hand, I knew it was going to be painful. He was fascinated by the flexibility of the shaft, and the solid impact that the blunt end could deliver. But what he liked most of all was the pointed end, over and over again he cracked it into my soft, yielding testicles until I was way through the pain barrier. We finished the session with our balls tied as before, wonderfully painful.
On my third visit to Clayton's apartment when he let me in he told me he'd have to go out for some time and said I should make myself at home whilst he was away. This time I stripped completely in the apartment, applied the two strengths of suntan lotion then went up the stairs naked. I tried desperately to keep calm as I walked cross the vast open space to the chairs, literally had to force myself to walk slowly, to stand up straight and let it all be seen. I sat on the edge of the chaise, swung my legs up and lay down flat on my back. As I lay back I closed my eyes. It took a while but I did eventually manage to slow my breathing, and my cock too subsided, not completely, but it did soften enough to lay down on my stomach. It was almost dark when Clayton returned. I expected a re-run of the second visit, a meal then games, but when he came up to the roof he was very subdued, very distant. I assumed that he was bored with the games we played and didn't know how to tell me that he wasn't interested so I took the initiative.
"Listen," I said, "if you're not in the mood I'll head back to the hotel. We can do it some other time..."
"I'm sorry," he said, "I had bad news today...real bad. My partner died today in Florida...of AIDS." What we'd done together flashed through my mind. I thought that it was safe, but it was still a shock. He must have seen the look in my face. "We were only business partners, never lovers, didn't ever have sex with him," he reassured me. "It's been coming for a long time, but it was a shock, the end came so suddenly. There's so much to be settled, so much paperwork."
"Well we haven't taken any risks have we?" I was reassuring myself too.
"No, what we've been doing is safe," he agreed. "In a way that's ironical, he kept warning me that I'd end up regretting what I do. That I'd let the wrong guy tie me up one day and end up dead."
"Well listen," I said, "I'll head off, you've got too much on your mind to relax and enjoy yourself."
"No, don't go." I was surprised at how earnest he was. "I really need it tonight. Use the nutcracker. Will you do it?" I thought of those testicles, I'd longed to get at them, and now he was asking me to take them, hurt them. And I could see why he needed to have his balls beaten, why they had to be totally drained to enable him to get some sleep.
"You want to eat first?" I asked.
"No...wrestle first...then tie me to the bed. Make it last...and make it hurt... Pointed end...okay? Please!"
I wasn't about to object, I'd wanted to get at his testicles since the first moment I saw them. I did better than I'd expected in the wrestling. I really enjoyed myself, maybe because I knew, win or loose, I was going to top him. I don't think that he wasn't trying, although he must have been distracted to a degree, however, I did manage to get my hands on his balls several times. Each time he managed to break my grip, not with his hands either! Eventually he got me pinned down, got my balls. I tried to do what he had done several times, pull them free, but in seconds I was in more pain than I could take and I had to submit.
When we went through to the bedroom I made sure that he was stretched out taught on the bed. As well as securing his wrists and ankles I strapped my belt around his waist and tied a rope all the way around under the bed and back to the belt. By the time I pulled everything tight he was pretty secure. Clayton's balls weren't the biggest I've ever handled, but they were drop-dead gorgeous. Completely hairless, not a trace of hair, loose hanging in a long sac. I can still remember how I used to gag on a man's cock when I took my first tentative steps into gay sex, well Clayton's balls were the only ones that ever tested my gag reflex! I could have sucked on those beautiful testicles all evening, but he needed pain to take his mind off his problems. Before using the Nutcracker I used my hands, and my mouth. As I've already made plain he was able to take an incredible amount of punishment so I was very rough. I soon had him writhing, then groaning quietly, then gasping and finally shaking his head furiously from side to side pleading for a break. I didn't stop, at least not until his voice was strangled as he pleaded. I gave him a break of several minutes, stroked him, gently massaged his balls, kissed them, then picked up the Nutcracker. I did what Paul did to me, started very, very gently, tap, tap, tap. As I increased the weight of the hits, very slowly, he reacted exactly the way I had done; held them up high, then tried to twist to spread the pain, but it was easy to keep hitting the same spot over and over and over again. With the pointed end of the Nutcracker the pain increased quickly, I could see it in his face, but I kept going until his head was thrashing from side to side and he was gasping again. Then, just as Paul had done, I gave him a break, some more massaging, more sucking, then tap, tap, tap on the other testicle. When Paul had done this to me he'd taken me through it twice on each testicle, must have lasted about 20 or 30 minutes. But I'd been a relative novice, Clayton was very experienced, I beat on his balls for nearly two hours. Worked on the sides, the front and the back of each one several times. Towards the end even the massaging had him gasping, and he'd let out a really loud groan when he felt the next tap, tap, tap. In the end I told him it was time to come, told him that I was going to really hit them. To his credit he didn't object, just tilted his hips up a bit and shut his eyes. I did lay it on, it was just fascinating to see the testicles popping from left to right as the hammer punched into the soft meat. When he shot his load it was impressive too. I let him lay there for a while until he got his breath back. The look on his face showed that he'd relaxed mentally too. Eventually he noticed my cock, very stiff, very wet with pre-cum.
"Looks like we need to switch," he said. I agreed. He tied me to the bed just the way I'd tied him. My balls were aching before he touched them and he too used the pointed end of the Nutcracker. He didn't take me through any long drawn out routine, just went into a good hard beating.. Fantastically painful, didn't take long to get my juice spaying all over my body.
With his partner gone he couldn't take on work in two cities. He commuted until the building he was working on in Manhattan was done, but our nights in the city never overlapped. Then he moved down to Florida, I never met up with Clayton after that night.
If you happen to read this Clayton I want you to know that your balls are still the most beautiful I've ever seen!