Yes, she did. One of the all-time classic dance grooves from the 1990's, What is Love, released in 1993, has been given a 2014 upgrade (in some record exec's mind, not mine)... here's the original in video form at YouTube: What is Love 1993
The song was made super popular a few years later when Jim Carrey, Chris Kattan, and Will Ferrell created this skit on Saturday Night Live (same characters minus Jim Carrey's were later in a thinly-plotted movie called "Night at the Roxbury").
Now we come to the new version... same melody, but without the synthesizers and female vocalized bass lines and counter-melodies to drive it, what's the point? This person performed the song on the Conan O'Brien Show, and at its end when the show was broadcast I could almost read Conan's lips asking her, "What made you choose this song?"
Kiesza - What is Love?
Friday, October 31, 2014
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Some life stories can truly lift your spirits, like this one about the third base coach for the Kansas City Royals. Comes from the site SportsOnEarth .com, and starts like this:
By Phil Rogers
KANSAS CITY -- In a house in the middle of Clintonville, a small town to the west of Green Bay, Wisc., it's not unusual for the telephone to ring at 1 or 2 in the morning during the summer and, this year anyway, the fall.
While middle-of-the-night calls can be alarming, that's not as true as when life has unhooked you... READ THE REST w/PHOTOS .
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Taken from site Jardonn's Erotic Tales
Have you noticed that, even though our role-play scenes always began with dialogue from another source, the storyline would usually be abandoned? The Johnsons and I were in the early stages of discovery, and what I had learned so far was that the sight of a helpless Frank allowed me to enjoy his wife.
On his face was a look of concern and of doubt, which is only natural when a husband knows his wife is fucking another man. As for his dick, it was an opposite reaction. Frank’s cock was fully charged each time he had witnessed our fornication, and whether he was excited by the sight of me getting my jollies, or of Laura getting hers, or the overall effect of him having no control over any of it, the bottom line was this: as long as Frank’s face said one thing, while his dick said another, I was stimulated to unbelievable heights, which made me feel like the man I needed to be in order to entertain myself and Laura.
With hands cuffed behind his back, Frank was led up the stairs and to the bathroom. I held his dick and we hand-massaged his chest, back and belly. We both planted kisses onto his face and lips, while Frank pissed into the toilet.
The under-the-mattress straps were set up, and after Laura unlocked his handcuffs, I guided Frank to lie down on one side of their bed. He was bound stretch rack style, with arms beyond his head and feet spread about two feet apart, strapped ankles resting at the edge of the mattress.
We left him there and went to the kitchen, returning to the bedroom with a dishpan filled with warm, clean water, two wash cloths, two towels and a bar of soap. I washed Frank’s feet, while Laura washed his dick and sticky-with-pre-cum belly. She saved his nuts for me to clean.
With the bedside table lamp as our only light, Laura and I laid beside Frank and made love. Orgasm count so far? Laura - 2; Jack - 2; Frank - 0.
Ah! The joys of a king size bed. Laura and I had plenty of room to roll on top of each other or lay side by side, fondling, kissing and licking one another’s naked bodies, while Frank lay bound and mildly stretched, flat on his back and with peter fully erect. He strained his neck to watch us, and with an equal dose of sympathy and malice, I provided a pillow for his head, so he could get a better view.
Neither of us touched him, but we both kept our eyes on him and each other. Our lustful wrestling eventually found me laying on my chest between Laura’s spread open legs, my mouth ravishing her pulsating pussy. In my sights were the lower half of her breasts, the full length of her belly. To my left was Frank, his expanded chest, his sloping-downward belly with that hard, syrup-dribbling cock again bouncing and dancing above it. With a brief respite from my munching on Laura’s clitoris, I said to her, “Tell your husband how you feel, Laura. Am I working for you?”
“Oh, god, Frank,” she moaned. “You have brought to me a most precious gift. Jack is what you were... 20 years ago. Watch him, honey. Lay there and suffer, while this beautiful young man pleases me the way you once did.”
Such a clever woman is that Laura Johnson. As she drove her point home with those taunting words, I drove my tongue home onto her engorged clitoris. I munched incessantly, while she teased verbally.
“Frank, darling, if you could only know what he does to me. Jack is an artist... oh, god, he’s an amazing artist.” Her body began to undulate. “Why have you done this to me, Frank?” The pitch of her voice steadily climbed. “I don’t know what to do.” She arched her back. “I’m falling in love with him.” Her breasts were thrust into the air. “But I’m married to you.” She began to orgasm, tormenting Frank with words interjected between shrieks. “I’m stuck with you... uh, oh... but I need him... ah, Jesus... oh, my god... Jack... uh... Jaaaaaaaaack!”
It was strange how Frank had become silent. He had not uttered one word since his torture beneath the frame in their basement. What he might be thinking mystified me, because although the look on his face showed a trace of fear – a seed of doubt as to whether or not his wife meant what she had said, at the same time his cock remained fully erect and dripping. Was he acting? Or did he think that Laura and I could truly love each other without loving him?
Whatever thoughts were buzzing in his head did not matter to me, as long as those thoughts stimulated him to maintain his erection. And so, Laura and I reversed positions. Now it was my turn to receive her oral praise, while Frank strained against his straps, pretending or wishing for real that he could join us.
Laura and I teamed up to verbally taunt our prisoner. Of course, Laura’s words were said in between the time she spent licking and sucking my dick. I chose to lay the same direction as Frank, on my back with hands tucked between the pillow and my head. His head was even with my chest and he was forced to strain his neck to see my eyes, but he did strain to look at me when I deflated him.
“Damn, Frank, your wife is good. Too bad you never put out much effort on my behalf. You might have learned the proper way to suck my cock, but it’s too late now.”
Laura spit me out and added, “Yes, Frank, look at this beautiful thing.” She held my dick vertical and erect so he could see it. “It’s custom made for sucking on. Just the right length and not too fat. Unlike your monstrosity. That damn thing nearly chokes me, not to mention bruising my insides.”
She went back to work as I took over. “I am one lucky fella. Your wife is hot. I’m kinda beginning to wonder what the hell you’re even doing here. I mean, really, what do we need you for?”
Laura chimed in, “He brings home the money, Jack. It’s the only reason I keep him around.”
“Yeah, I guess he is good at that. A good provider, plus he is a good man. Doesn’t argue with us. Just lays there and looks pretty. Come on, Frank. Wouldn’t you love to suck my dick? Or maybe you’d like to plow that behemoth cock of yours into your wife’s ass. Would that turn you on? Look at that freak show you call a penis, damn syrup oozing all over the place. Come on, don’t be a wuss. Try to break free.”
Frank performed for me, as did his wife. He sucked in his belly and raised his chest, tugging at the straps, flexing his arms and legs. Laura picked up the pace of her oral strokes, steadily squeezing my dick tighter and tighter between her tongue and the roof of her mouth.
“Man oh man, Frank. Your wife is un-fucking-believable. God damn, she’s good.”
He started to moan. He arched his back. He displayed himself for me. Frank is my beautiful, manly, tortured hero. It was beyond tempting to reach over and touch his powerful chest, or his hard belly, or his shadow-bearded face, but I did not. If I had, my hand would have disobeyed the wishes of my brain and headed straight for his glorious cock. Another person’s hand is no way for a man like Frank to get off. He deserves better, even if it means he has to wait until we’re damned good and ready to finish him.
“Oh, Jesus H. Christ, Frank. I’m going to cum. I’m going to fill your wife’s belly with my load. You had your chance, but not now. There’s no fucking way you could match this. Come on, flex those big muscles of yours. That’s all you can do. That’s what you’re good for.”
I watched him struggle from a distance, remembering the feel of his masculine beauty beneath my hand, beneath my tongue and lips. I used my memory of the overwhelming domination he unleashes upon a cock sucker like me when his powerful penis is in my mouth, and I flooded Laura’s mouth.
Pretty good for a 40-something-year-old woman, huh? Three orgasms in one night? Laura and I were spent. We made preparations to use the bed for sleeping. She went to the bathroom off of their bedroom, while I went to the one near the guest bedroom that this guest never used, except for storage of my belongings. When I returned, Laura was flossing her husband’s teeth. Next, she brought a cup of mouthwash to his lips, let him slosh it around and spit it into the same cup.
“Sorry, darling, you’ll have to go without brushing tonight. Maybe in the morning. Now, if you need to pee, just tell one of us and we’ll bring you your bottle.”
I did not argue with Laura’s decision that Frank would be sleeping just as he was, stretched out on his back on the left side of the mattress, where below an empty plastic urine bottle lay on the floor.
We used no covers. Laura turned out the lamp and we spooned, she in front of me and our backsides turned towards Frank, who was several inches away. My dick felt comfortably warm nestled against her soft butt cheeks. My right arm was wrapped across her rib cage and tucked beneath her arm. My hand gently rested upon her breast. I kissed her neck and whispered a “good night,” then inhaled the scent of her hair and skin. Sleep came quickly to us.
Sometime in the dull glow of early morning I awoke and again whispered to her. “Laura, I need to taste Frank.”
There was no response. I tried to slip my arm from underneath hers and that’s when she awoke.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get my mouth on your husband.”
“Do you want to get him off now?”
“Hell no, just a little teasing for my benefit.”
“I’ll join you.”
Frank’s Saturday morning began with four lips and two tongues on his two nipples, at which time he spoke. “I need to piss.”
It had been nearly 10 hours since Frank had said anything and I was more than happy to watch him pee into the bottle. I did the dumping of his urine into the toilet, added my own to go with it, washed my hands and returned to join Laura. She was laying on the bed with his left nipple in her mouth. I stood beside him and did the same to his right tit. A long, drawn-out marathon of torment had begun, as Frank’s dick ballooned to full strength yet again.
Next insertion Oct. 23
Our first major assault on Frank’s tits was well underway. Both Laura and I kept our hands out of the action, using only our mouths, tongues and light touches of teeth. There was sucking; there was licking; there was kissing and there was no interruption.
The first responder was his cock (naturally), but that had already sprung to life as soon as he had relieved his bladder. Our isolated attack on his tits caused his dick to bounce and sway... and dribble pre-cum. Then, other things started happening.
Frank’s body began to undulate and deep-throated groans came with each exhale of his breath. His eyes were closed, as he arched his back, thrusting his tits deeper into our mouths. After a few seconds of this, he would relax for awhile before raising his chest again.
At this point, we had been working on him for about 15 minutes and my stomach was starting to growl, so I took my mouth from him and spoke to Laura. “Let’s plan on fixing breakfast at the top of the hour. I’m starving. And besides, his tits ought to be sore enough by then.”
The top of the hour was about 25 minutes away.
That 25 minutes saw some interesting changes in Frank. His undulations were replaced by contortions, as our mouths targeted his isolated nipples while leaving the rest of his body untouched. Frank’s involuntary responses made it appear as though he was electrified.
His legs would shake, toes curl, arms twitch. His scrotum would clinch and hold, muscling his cock to lift off of his belly and stand in mid-air, pointing to the left tit where Laura was working him over. After a few seconds of this uncontrolled twitching, Frank’s body would collapse and rest, but it could not last. Our non-stop assault would again cause him to convulse into a back-arching, chest-expanding, belly-tightening, torso-shaking pose of electrified ecstasy, accompanied by pitiful and breathy moans of suffering. Long, dramatically-pitched expressions of “Ah” and “Oh” were interjected with short, painful grunts of “Uh” and “Huh-huh”.
And about three minutes before our breakfast time, Frank finally begged for us to get him off. He had held out for such an heroically long time, but he could take no more. “Oh, god, I can’t take it,” he groaned. “Please... please... god, you’ve got to finish me.”
That satisfied me. I removed my mouth from his nipple and told Laura it was time to eat. We left the room and headed for the kitchen, leaving Frank to suffer unattended.
I helped Laura prepare everything she wanted us to eat, then we brought it into the bedroom and sat on the mattress where Frank could smell and see it all. We ate, while he watched. He seemed to have calmed down a bit. At least he had stopped pestering us about wanting to get off.
Laura mentioned that if I planned to swim, the pool would need its daily maintenance, which was Frank’s job. I figured he could either follow me around while handcuffed and tell me what to do, or he could do it himself while I made sure he didn’t touch his dick.
“Tell you what, Laura. After I get cleaned up I’m going to run a few errands. You can feed him and then when I get back we’ll go from there.”
I don’t know if they stayed in character while I was gone, but Frank was still stretched and strapped just as I had left him when I returned. Laura was in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast mess.
“Did he eat?”
“Ok. Is he a morning shitter?”
“Yes. He’s overdue”
“Do you want to take him to the bathroom, or should I?”
She stood with hands on hips and a smirk on her face, in essence telling me that since I was the one who insisted he be helpless, I was the one who should supervise his shitting.
I had no problem with this. The only question I had to ask myself was should I wipe his ass or should I not.
I released his wrists and told him to sit up. After handcuffing his wrists behind his back, I unstrapped his ankles and led him to the toilet, hoping he could go with me in the room. He could and did with no effort. I flushed, made him stand up and head directly for the shower. After stripping, I joined him and turned on the water.
With his back to the shower stream, Frank’s butt cheeks were spread open by me. Fortunately, his turd had been the cooperative kind, a clean break, so very little brown water went down the drain. I soaped his skin and of course his cock was hard as could be, but I maintained a professional attitude while lathering first him and then myself down.
I toweled myself first, then him.
“Laura,” I shouted. “Come in here.”
She did and together we took him to the sink, where she brushed his teeth and I put an electric razor to his beard. It was a lousy job, but good enough for him. With a splash of aftershave, Frank was ready to get dressed. We led him to the bedroom and sat him down on the bed, while Laura got him a pair of swim trunks and I presented the first item retrieved during my morning errand – a jock strap. Size? Small.
It was a perfect fit. His cock was bent and doubled backwards. Even then, the fabric only covered about two-thirds of his meat and the waist band was stretched to capacity. The base and pubes were beautifully exposed, while his dick was torturously tucked and confined. Laura put on his trunks, which had a mesh jock strap of its own, I put on my trunks, then Frank and I went to the pool, where I uncuffed him and ordered him to do his cleaning duties.
Everything was finished by high noon and the remaining daylight hours were mostly spent in or around the swimming pool. Frank seemed to enjoy his freedom of movement and I certainly was glad when he got in the water, because we had forgotten to put deodorant on his arm pits.
We enjoyed basking in the sun, cooling off in the water and basking some more. Having Frank and Laura apply layers of protective lotion to my skin wasn’t too bad either.
It was daylight, so everything was recreational with genitals covered, damn it. We did, however, when in the water, get our hands onto Frank’s crotch, just to see if his scrunched up cock was still trying to maintain a state of erection. It was. The poor thing had been denied orgasm for so long that I don’t think any thoughts he conjured up could make his dick calm down, no matter how disgusting.
Laura and I made sure we frequently embraced and kissed like lovers, while ignoring Frank as though he wasn’t there. It is indescribable how horny this made me. It’s also unexplainable, but like I said, Frank is born to suffer. And whether it’s physical or mental, his reactions drive me and Laura nuts... insane with LUST, I tells ya.
Oh, yeah, Laura and I pissed in the toilet. We let Frank go whenever the hell he wanted to. Neither one of us could be bothered to go through the hassle of escorting him to the bathroom.
Dinner found us feeding Frank by hand, because after coming inside from the pool it was necessary to cuff his wrists behind his back. This way he would not be tempted to take liberties with his hard pecker, which was now free of his swim trunks but not of his little jock strap. You should have seen the way his tucked backwards cock forced his nuts to expand when he sat down at his kitchen table chair. I suspect the pressure applied on those gonads brought a bit of nausea to his stomach, but not enough to prevent him from devouring every fork full of food we directed his way. Sometimes Laura and I would get caught up in the enjoyment of the food on our own plates and forget (or pretend to forget) to offer him a bite from his, but with an occasional nudging on our legs by one of his feet, we’d stuff his mouth to keep him occupied.
Isn’t it amazing how obedient Frank had become? He never pestered us with protests or pathetic begging. He simply accepted whatever we forced upon him, never complaining verbally or struggling physically. Such a good man he was to us – and the eye candy... my, my!
Laura and I decided to watch a movie after dinner. But what to do with Frank? We crucified him... sort of. The wooden X built onto the side of that frame in their basement turned out to be the perfect babysitter. We strapped his wrists to the upper portion, but left his feet free, and the height allowed his feet to touch the floor. It was my idea to put a rubber mat under them. It was one I had seen in their garage... the kind made for removing mud from shoes, with hard rubber spikes about two inches in height. Frank could let the weight of his body rest on his feet and feel those spikes, or he could strain his arms and lift himself up if he needed a break from that discomfort... at least until his muscles gave out and he was forced to lower himself again.
He was a very handsome man in this pose, especially with the jock strap concealing two-thirds of his constantly throbbing penis in a tempting sort of way. When he was standing, Frank’s cock would point straight down between his legs, stretching that fabric as far as it could go. And with his pubes exposed, Laura and I did some grooming.
“Look, darling,” I pointed out to her. “That one there is turning white at the end. It doesn’t belong.” And with that, I plucked it.
“You know, Jack,” Laura joined in. “That one there doesn’t have the nice curls to it like the others. He doesn’t need that one either.” Yoink... another pube was removed.
After all of Frank’s unruly pubic hairs – about a dozen – were plucked from him and only the handsome ones remained, we headed for the couch to watch our movie. He could see it, too, from behind us and to our right, but Laura and I had a difficult time getting in to whatever it was... hmm... I think it was the 40 Year Old Virgin. It doesn’t matter, because after about 30 minutes, Laura and I started fondling and kissing each other right there on the plush leather couch. By the time that film was over, we were on the floor in front of Frank’s feet, intensifying our mutual admiration so he could watch us instead of the blue aftermath on their big screen.
We’d just make our own movie... called the 40 Year Old He-man With a Raging Hard-on.
Next insertion Oct. 30
“Frank, I am so glad you allow me to partake of your wife – not that you have a choice.”
We were directly in front of his feet, Laura on her back with me laying beside her, resting on my elbow. My right hand was massaging her belly and breasts... and occasionally gliding over her vagina.
“Hey,” I told him. “Lift up your feet so we can see.”
He did, and underneath was one row after another of perforations, tiny holes made from the rubber mat.
“Look at that, Laura. I bet that would feel good rubbing on you.”
She agreed, so I told Frank to lift his legs higher, a feat which his strong belly muscles had no trouble performing. As he did, I helped Laura shift her body onto the mat and throw her arms beyond her head.
“Go ahead, Frank. Show your wife how much you love her, even though you can’t have her.”
He got his right foot onto her breasts, slowly rubbing the perforated sole back and forth across her nipples. He did the same thing with his left foot on her belly.
“Be gentle... not too much pressure.”
Of course, this forced him to use those belly muscles in order to keep his legs elevated and feet working on his wife. As for me, I inserted my fingers to her vagina and found the hot spot, which allowed me to stimulate her while watching him.
That beautiful son of a bitch. You know what a strong man’s belly looks like when he’s doing leg lifts? Well, Frank was holding his leg-lift steady and those muscles were burning... gloriously expanded. There was a deep ridge from the pit of his stomach straight down to the belly button and beyond, disappearing beneath his well-groomed pubic hair. And that navel... holy shit... what was normally an innie was now a quasi-outie, as his abdominals forced the knot to pooch outward until revealed. On either side of that ridge were thick ripples of powerful meat - rolls of the stuff, handsomely painted with dark belly hair.
I couldn’t take it. I had to touch that beautiful thing. Three of my right-hand fingers were inside Laura’s pussy and when I removed them they were slick with juice. I sprang to my feet and stood to Frank’s right. My flattened left hand secured the small of his back, while my clawed right hand dug into his belly, encircling his navel.
“Your wife is about to blow, Frank. But you’ve got to keep working on her.” I dug my fingers in deeper. “Think you can hold out? I’ve smeared her pussy juice on your belly. That ought to give you strength. After all, she deserves your best.” I ground my fingertips into his solid wall of belly muscle with all my strength. “How about it, big man? Can you make it?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he gasped. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“That’s a good boy.” I removed my belly claw, formed a fist and gave him a half-assed punch directed at his navel. Then, I leaned down and buried my face into his flexed muscles, tickled the knot of his belly button with my tongue.
He did make it. I returned to lay beside Laura and resumed fingering her clitoris, while Frank burned those belly muscles to foot-massage her breasts, stomach and belly. Her shrieks and howls of orgasm were satisfying for all of us, and I made Frank maintain his leg-lifting foot massage until she had completed her come-down.
I helped Laura roll away from underneath his feet and enjoyed seeing tiny, rubber-mat-made holes aligned up and down her back. As for Frank, I told him to keep his belly muscles flexed, as I took his right leg and directed it towards the lower beam of the X cross, where a leather strap was waiting. It took all my strength to defeat his resistance, but my left hand pressing his knee cap and right hand pulling his ankle did the trick. Once his leg was aligned with the board, I brought the open-ended strap tightly across his ankle, threaded it through the slit in the board and clamped it with the lever built into the side of the board.
Frank's construction was flawlessly effective and easy to use. I admired his handiwork, as I repeated the process on his left leg. Only then did I say...
“Ok, Frank. We’re done with your feet.”
With a mighty groan, he exhaled and relaxed all muscles. Frank rapidly sucked in and blew out air to send fresh oxygen to those muscles and the sight of this was even more exciting than when he was doing his leg-lift. That’s because Frank Johnson was fully suspended, crucified on the very cross he himself had built.
This is the final insertion for October. Next entry will be Wednesday, Nov. 1
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
George Harrison's son, Dhani, joins members of Conan's band and a few other friends to perform one of his father's songs from the album, All Things Must Pass. The performance took place on the Conan O'Brien Show one week ago, and is faithful to the studio recording done forty-five years ago.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Taken from site Jardonn's Erotic Tales, 2006
Let's call this episode our Indian Summer encounter, even though it was Labor Day weekend. I got there about 6 pm Friday and they fed me, then announced that their first grandchild was a boy. I saw pictures and heard about the delivery, etc., and I don't mean to brush it off as though it's not important, it's just that the subject does not make me horny. There is nothing cute about a red-skinned, squinty-eyed, alien-looking creature, unless you're related to it, which I was not.
Of course, after three weeks of denial from the Johnsons I was plenty horny that night and was relieved when we finally got around to watching some movie clips.
Our scene was to be cowboys and Indians. I was the Indians, Frank the cowboy and Laura, well, you will know soon enough. Actually, it was Indians versus white settlers and Frank had foolishly set up his homestead near hostiles. For this, he was brought to our village and, shall we say, cock tortured?
Before we got to the cock part, however, I wanted to try something I'd never tried before.
My village was in the Johnson basement near the frame, which Frank had kindly reassembled so we could punish him on it. I used the lower set of wooden stocks – put his feet in there and made him lay down. His torso was underneath the horizontal beams where we had suspended him in our first session. I considered leaving his arms free, but decided Frank stretched is much more stimulating, so we got ropes out of the closet and tied his wrists. His arms were pulled towards the feet of the X frame, where we tied the other ends of rope. He laid flat with arms stretched like a V, while his feet were in the wooden stocks, five inches off the floor and about two feet apart.
Frank wears a size 10 shoe. I know, because once when he was at my place I looked inside one of them. Smelled it, too.
Now, for fantasy purposes, I am the Indians, ok? I know full well that they are properly called Native Americans and that the sordid history of the “Christian” eradication of them on this continent is written by the white man, and so what we did to them was ok, but what they did to us was brutal savagery. Exaggerations of the awful treatment perpetrated upon white captives furthered the justification for wiping each tribe from the face of the earth. What we did and said in the Johnson basement was strictly so Frank, Laura and I could get off. As whites, we know damn good and well that there is plenty of blood on the hands of our ancestors. This is not a history lesson, so if you’re going to get all bent out of shape over Indians torturing people, go find some politically-correct web site and jack off there.
The beauty of this is that Indians didn’t torture people for information. They did it for sport and to send a message that it was unwise to invade their territory, so I didn’t have to say much – just do.
What I did was work on those handsome feet of his... with feathers... the quill kind, which Laura had used on him herself before I came along.
There is an elegant symmetry to Frank’s feet, especially when viewing the bottoms of his soles. His are the kind with a slight curve to the arch and plenty of meat from the topside of the foot to the bottom. The second toes are just a fraction of an inch longer than the greats, and small tufts of hair dot the tops of each toe, plus the bridge of each arch. The soles are thick and sturdy, and therefore, quite capable of absorbing punishment.
The gist of my story had already been told to Frank and Laura. Like I said, they were homesteaders and my tribe had burned their house and taken them prisoner. I ordered my men to “bring the white woman” and force her to torture her husbands feet, while I watched from above.
Mrs. white bread did a masterful job on him with her two feathers, running them along the soles of his immobilized feet and toes... in between his toes. He is a bit ticklish there, but not to any great degree. For us, however, he groaned and curled his toes forward in an attempt to defend himself.
The Indian Chief was not satisfied with fake suffering, so he concocted a more effective use for these feathers. He knelt next to the woman, yanked one feather from her hand and pushed her aside.
The Chief reversed grip on the feather. He assaulted the white man’s right foot with the sharp-tipped end of the quill. He scratched the thick skin of his sole, jabbed its sharp point into it and the white man’s groans became real. Then, the Indian poked the tiny dagger into the sensitive skin between his prisoner’s toes. The white man desperately tried to wiggle his foot side to side in defense, but the red man clutched onto it with his free hand.
Using his feather, the Indian pointed to the white man’s left foot. “You, woman, do.”
And she did do. We enjoyed drawing tiny white lines upon the soles of Frank’s feet. I even made a little smiley face between his heel and the ball of his foot. As for Frank, he was making a concerted effort to wiggle his feet away from us, and because he couldn’t, he was also making manly grunts and groans come from his throat. No feigned torture this. Frank truly was having some problems dealing with this teasing, tormenting form of punishment.
His cock was somewhat interested, I’d say about 50 percent, but we were not yet concerned with that. Laura and I sat with our legs crossed Indian style and created our artistic designs upon the helpless white man’s manly feet.
The time did come, of course, to erase our lines and start all over. What did we use for our erasers? Wetness.
I tossed the feather aside and laid on my belly, resting on my elbows, then ordered white woman to do the same.
My tongue greedily licked his feet clean of their lines of torture, while my nose inhaled the air between his toes. Frank is a proper man. He wears quality clothing and goes to great lengths in maintaining his body, inside and out. He only eats foods that help him maintain his health, which is why his semen tastes alive and invigorating. He respects himself and his wife and strives to be his best for her. Now, I am included in this equation. Frank is a proper man for both of us.
So, you can see why I chose Frank’s feet for my first-ever sampling of such body parts. It was a sound choice. They were pleasantly aromatic and fresh, smooth-skinned, but sturdy... and 100 percent masculine. Frank’s feet stimulated me more than I could have imagined. As my licking and kissing and nibbling continued from one minute to another, I became drugged. I fell into a mesmerized stupor, not planning what I might do next or why. My tongue was not my own, nor were my lips, nor were my teeth.
I bent back his toes with my hand, put my teeth onto the ball of his foot. My mouth was wide open. I closed it, lightly scraping my teeth along the thick surface of his skin. I planted my tongue onto the heel and saturated it before moving onto the arch, where I did the same along the entire length of it.
Moving closer to the target, I continued with my tongue work, maneuvering onto the top side of his foot. I licked the hairs on the bridge. I licked and kissed the hairs atop each toe. His nails were perfect, trimmed and filed by the owner himself. I clamped the hairs on his great toe into my lips, tugged them towards Frank, forcing him to bend all five toes back. Then, my fingernails dug into the ball of his foot and I viciously ran them towards his heel, scraping the entire length of his arched foot. He immediately curled his toes forward in defense, leaving two of those great toe hairs in my lips, plucked from him by his own reaction to my attack.
This was my ecstasy. Frank’s feet satisfied all expectations. And I use the plural here, because when I glanced at Laura, she also was lost in a fantasy world, heaping her own brand of incredible praise on her husband’s left foot.
Our actions did not go unnoticed. An inspection of Frank’s penis showed that he was more than satisfied with all that was happening to him.
I grabbed my female assistant by her hair, forcibly leading the hapless woman to the center of her husband’s body. With a violent, downward yank of her locks, I coerced her to sit and cross her legs beside the prisoner’s left hip.
I brought the two feathers and sat beside the white man’s right hip. One feather was given to her and we both proceeded to tantalize our captive’s genitals… his bulging nuts… his throbbing penis. We tormented that poor man, running the feathers along the length of his shaft, and his balls, and his scrotum.
Next, we coaxed his mighty cock to dance for us. A stroke of the feather across the triangle near his slit caused it to rise up off of his belly, at which time another feather attacked the mushroom. As Frank’s cock stood in midair, two feathers assaulted him upon the entire head of his cock. Every inch was covered, top, bottom, left and right, while the manly tool defied gravity, dancing up, down, and side to side.
60 seconds? 120 seconds? Maybe it was longer, but whatever length of time it was, Frank’s dick got no rest, nor did his scrotum. It remained clinched from our stimulating feather attack upon the head of his cock, directing its ecstatic, mid-air war dance to continue uninterrupted.
Oh, yes, it was a war dance. Frank’s beautiful man-meat was ready to do battle, as was Frank. He was struggling to break free of his bondage, arms straining at the ropes, torso writhing, back arching, chest expanding, belly flattening. Frank was in that ‘look at me’ frame of mind, displaying his masculinity, tempting us to find out what his cock could do for its grand finale.
I suppose I was tempted. Looking at him, listening to his heavy breath and watching his phallic ballet tempted me to intensify the torture of his cock. If Frank thought I was planning to let him shoot anytime soon, he was sadly mistaken.
I handed Laura my feather, then encircled the base of Frank’s pecker with the thumb and first two fingers of my right hand. With my cock ring firmly secured, I placed my open left hand onto the middle of his shaft (the top side nearest his belly) and lifted his cock until it stood vertical. It was folded where my right hand ring held the base, still in its position of pointing towards his belly. Frank’s hard dick was bent nearly 90 degrees with its bulging, turning purple head pointed towards the ceiling.
Looking at Laura, I smiled and she knew what to do. She attacked his mushroom with both feathers. Her tormenting strokes encompassed all of it – the slit, the corona, even underneath the rim that defined its shape, and as she continued her feathered assault on its head, I hand-manipulated the shaft and base, wrenching it into multiple directions and angles.
My left hand fingers wrapped around the middle of his shaft, leaving the head and one inch of cock length exposed. With my right hand cock ring holding firm, I held the base vertical and then bent the middle shaft to make his mushroom point in whatever direction I desired. Towards his nuts, towards his belly, to the left or to the right, Frank’s stiffie was forced to bend at 90 degree angles with a stationary grip on its base and movable grip on the shaft.
Laura’s feather assault never stopped, while I maintained my cock ring, using my left handed clamp to bend his penis. My movements were lethargic, like a slug, torturously slow. Laura’s movements were frantic, like a nest of hornets, maddeningly fast. And for Frank, there was no escape, only suffering. Frank suffered from the agonizing, multi-directional bending of his stiff pole, coupled with the two-pronged, feathered teasing of his isolated mushroom.
Frank was born to suffer. The drama of his powerful physique is magnified when he is in bondage. His futile attempts to break those restraints only further increase the excitement he creates for us. In this session, tormenting first his feet, and then his cock, plus watching and listening to his reactions, convinced me to push him further. It was my intention to test the limits of his endurance and I make no apologies for it. It is Frank’s fault. With his own actions he demands to be punished and I have accepted his invitation.
Next insertion Monday, Oct. 9
There comes a time when a man’s constant groaning starts to annoy, and for me that time had come. I suppose I could have stuffed something into his mouth to muffle the sounds, but I thought it might be more entertaining for all of us if his wife were to do that.
I removed both of my hands from Frank’s cock, yanked the feathers from Laura’s grip and laid them on the floor. Using her hair for a leash, I forced her to stand, and then dragged her towards her husband’s head. With a tug of her hair, I forced her down to smother his face with her pussy. She straddled his head with her knees while turned towards the length of his body. Her taint was on his nose. She placed both hands on his chest for leverage and Frank consumed her gooey, vaginal drippings, as he inhaled the sweet gap between her pussy and her asshole. As for me, I nestled chest-down between his thighs and consumed his bulbous, cum-filled nuts.
Success! Frank’s moans now were muffled, garbled with gurgling sounds that were intermixed with gagging sounds, but still undeniably masculine sounds. Laura made sure the heels of her hands were strategically placed onto Frank’s nipples, so that while his bondage kept them stretched lengthwise, her hand pressure stretched them sideways.
Laura had her territory and I had mine. Hers was from Frank’s face to the end of his rib cage. Mine was from the end of his rib cage to his nuts. They were eaten, one at a time. My lips caressed them, my tongue massaged them, and my teeth taunted them. Before me, sprawled directly in front of my eyes, this man's powerful cock bounced and swayed, wondering why it had been abandoned.
I’m quite sure Frank knew that more punishment would be unleashed upon his manly meat, his glorious tube. I am also sure he was hoping the next assault would trigger the impending explosion for which I had prepared him, but if he did, he was way off the mark.
Frank’s phallic war dance intensified, while I plotted against him with his nuts in my lips and feathers at the ready.
Fine by me, Frank Johnson... go ahead, slurp on your wife's pussy... sniff her aromatic taint... I'll just lay here between your legs and munch on your balls. I'll watch your handsome white cock do its war dance, but there will be a price to pay for those gyrations.
My feathers were brought into the action – not the soft, tickling parts, but the lethal, pointed parts. I jabbed them into the meat of Frank's thick shaft. His prick was pricked for but brief seconds, as I used the daggers like the paintbrush of a pointillist. Dot, dot, dot, dab, dab, dab, my sharp tips tormented the fat, fleshy width of his cock's lower shaft, while my tongue relentlessly licked and scraped his ever-tightening balls.
His dancing became frantic, as each sharp poke of my quills caused his majestic penis to perform an out of control, acrobatic display. With my ceaseless ball munching and Laura's face-sitting as its catalyst, Frank's bouncing pole contributed to its own torment. All I had to do was hold my daggers a fraction of an inch above his cock and wait for it to meet them in mid-air. Little by little, I directed them along the length of his shaft. Minutes passed. His contractions caused him to continuously torture himself, until my pointy pin pricks neared the rim of his corona, targeting the super-sensitive skin below the slit of his piss hole.
Contact of the needles here made Frank's body twitch and contort. Grunts of very real discomfort came from his wife's pussy. These grunts actually came from Frank, but were muffled by her pussy. She smothered him. She drowned him and I enjoyed listening to him gurgle his sounds of agony – the agony of a cock relentlessly tortured, the pain of a cock mercilessly on the edge of eruption, the tragedy of a man's penis denied its finish.
Nothing seemed to satisfy my lust to punish him. I refused to end it, because I knew his pain was minimal, while his pleasure was phenomenal. I released his nuts from my mouth and knelt beside him, hovering over his belly. There, the torture of his cock continued with an increased accuracy. My daggers were aimed on either side of his penis. As it majestically rose to pierce the air, my pin prick attacked from one side, which caused his dick to jolt in the opposite direction, where it was greeted by another sharp prick.
And then, I launched into a free-form of brush strokes, jabbing him anywhere and everywhere from the head to the base. This time, his nuts were not to be spared. My torturous pokes assaulted every inch of their tight, sensitive skin. I also included his belly, as my frantic dabbing and dotting impaled his solid muscle, even going so far as to attack the darkness inside his belly button.
Oh, god, I loved watching him writhe... hearing him moan... and slurp, both for air and for pussy juice. His feet were frenetic, toes curling forward and arching backward. His back also arched. His belly flattened. His cock relentlessly bounced up and down, swayed side to side, as every needle-sharp jab of my quills coerced rapid-fire clenching in Frank's scrotum.
There was no planning on my part, only action and reaction, based on his reaction. I dropped one feather, clutched his cock shaft into my fingers and held it vertical. I squeezed it, crushed it, forcing all blood into his mammoth mushroom. I painted it with my pin pricks. I jabbed and released quickly, relishing the brief second of white dot at the point of impact, before the color of red returned. I placed the pointed tip onto the triangle of his cock just below the slit, and I held it there. I impaled the skin, slowly increasing pressure, driving it in deeper and deeper.
Frank spit out his wife's dripping vagina and howled with ecstatic agony. I waited for his safe word, but it did not come. He took his punishment, until I removed the dagger and released my clutching fingers. Frank's cock bounced onto his belly, and then rose again, at which time I slapped it. With my flattened fingers, I repeatedly slapped the top side of his shaft and mushroom, slamming his dick down onto his belly again and again. I bounced his cock between my hand and his belly like it was a pinball, mercilessly trapped between two bumpers.
It was enough – not because I was ready to grant him mercy, but because I needed to get off. I grabbed the woman's hair and forced her to uncover his face, and then we both stood above him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest and belly and cock. Born to suffer. That is Frank Johnson. I cannot imagine anything more stimulating than to see his powerful, yet helpless body laying there, stretched spread eagle, gasping for air and flexing with readiness.
These two had sent me on a power trip and I planned to take full advantage... of both of them.
I glared down at Frank, but then something drew my eyes upwards. It was one of the horizontal boards – the one from which we had suspended Frank on our first night together. I looked at the chains dangling from the board, and then back to Frank. Could it work? The angle seemed correct, but what about the height?
There was only one way to find out. I went to the closet and retrieved those two wrist cuffs. Tonight, they would be for Laura and I clamped them onto her. Standing on Frank’s chest and belly, I lifted her up, hooking first her left arm, then her right. Her toes dangled just to the left of Frank’s rib cage. I grabbed her hips and pulled her towards me. Yes! It could be done, but first I would need to get my peter worked up again.
That was no problem. Frank’s dick was still hard. A little taunting of him was all I needed, and I broke my long silence. “The white woman is mine.” I knelt beside his chest, taking both of his nipples between my fingers and thumb. I pinched them. I twisted them. “You bring her to my lands. I take her from you. She is yours no more forever.”
He said nothing, but his cock said plenty. Frank looked at me, and then gazed up to his suspended wife, her pitiful tits stretched, her heaving belly flattened, her wet pussy available. Frank’s penis renewed its bouncing dance, his belly hairs slick with the pre-cum of his long-neglected and tortured cock.
I was ready. Placing one foot onto Frank’s chest and the other on his stomach, I clutched onto his wife’s hips and brought her towards me. Her body swung freely. My hard dick invaded her dripping pussy, and both of my prisoners groaned with ecstatic agony, as I locked eyes with my male victim. “Mmm,” I grinned with cruelty. “White woman feels good to red man.”
Naturally, Laura and I both were near orgasm long before our sex tools came together, and the fact that she came only seconds before I did was no surprise. The aftermath is what surprised me, because I did not know the man inside me. Rather than releasing Laura from her suspension so that we both could finish Frank, I walked away from the entire scene, leaving them in bondage, helplessly wondering what I planned to do next.
I needed to urinate and that’s what I did, without saying a word to either of them. There was a hunger pain in my stomach, so I climbed the stairs to invade their refrigerator. Returning to the basement with a plated sandwich, I calmly sat on the sofa and turned on their television to watch the evening news.
Once my belly was satiated, I returned to the frame, stepped again onto Frank’s chest with my left foot and his belly with my right, but this time his cock was underneath that foot. I crushed his pecker into his belly with my weight and listened to him groan. I stared at Laura. She seemed a bit uneasy, as though she wasn’t sure that choosing me to direct our play had been a wise decision. Hell, I wasn’t certain myself, but her fears and mine were soon to be alleviated.
It’s hard to explain, but the thought of Laura’s discomfort did not please me. More than this, it did nothing to fire up my peter. I needed her to desire me, not to accept my penis because she was forced to do so.
Perhaps my reasons were selfish. Perhaps she would have preferred I take her again by force, but I could not. I released her. I positioned her to stand to the right of her husband, and then I stepped down to join her.
We embraced. Her heels were near his rib cage, as I stood in front of her, grasping her naked body with a hug. We kissed. I forced her breasts to nuzzle against my chest, and then I bent my knees, so that I could get my mouth onto those breasts.
Our fondling transformed into the second insertion of my peter to her pussy, as our lips locked together and tongues explored one another. And all the while, just below us, Frank watched, helpless to do anything else. As for his cock, its war dance was renewed, and with a slight shifting of my hips, I crushed his dick beneath my right foot, while slowly stirring the innards of his wife.
Laura and I became partners. Frank became spectator. For the second time, his wife and I pleased ourselves while he suffered below.
In Laura’s closet was a pair of handcuffs, and while she sat near her husband, recovering from our recent, double explosions, I took those handcuffs from her closet and brought them with me back to the frame. Frank’s wrists were untied, but we left his feet in the stocks. We helped him to sit up, and then brought both of his arms behind his back. The handcuffs were locked onto his wrists. Together, Laura and I opened the stocks to free Frank’s feet.
I said to her, “Come on. Let’s take him to the bathroom so he can piss. Then, we’re going to bed.”
Next insertion Oct. 17
Monday, September 15, 2014
Taken from site Jardonn's Erotic Tales .
Of course, the unleashing of Frank’s penis could not go without a verbal introduction, and I provided it.
“Well, slave, your strength is impressive. This I cannot deny, but there are other ways of persuading you to loosen your tongue.”
And with that, I ripped away his loin cloth, allowing his fully-charged penis to flip onto his belly. He strained his arms against the straps, raised his head to confirm his nakedness, then glared at me while protesting with a manly, “Ugh”.
His incredible, masculine physique struggled against its bondage. His mighty cock rose into the air, triggered by involuntary clinches of his scrotum. It remained suspended for a few seconds, then fell onto his belly, bounced and again lifted itself. My slave’s phallus was begging to be tortured and I kindly granted its request.
“You, woman... look at his powerful tool. Look at his bulging testicles. How many times have you serviced them? How many times have you lovingly taken this man’s penis into your bosom? Into your mouth? Well, it is no longer yours. It is mine, and I order you to flog him. I command you to assault his manly organs.
“NO!” she begged. “I will never do it. I surrender to you. Do with me as you please, but I beg of you, don’t force me to destroy his beautiful phallus.”
“You must. Do it now, or prepare for your crucifixion. What will it be?”
“Crucify me, then. I don’t care. I will no longer participate in your torture of him.”
Again, she was coerced by my tormented slave. “Do as he says, my love. Nothing he does to us will make me talk.”
He struck a pose of manly defiance, expanding his chest, sucking in his belly and spewing his wrath at me. “Go ahead, you bastard. Torture me all you want. I will never tell you.”
“Do it, wench.”
And she did. The flogger came down with the proper fury of an expert, across the top of his engorged shaft, upon the sensitive head of his oozing mushroom, onto the flesh of his swollen testicles, and our victim performed magnificently. Each lashing brought deep-throated “Argh’s and Ungh’s; each carving caused his body to tense, muscles to flex, and head to turn from one side to another; each blow triggered his toes to curl and fists to clench; and each sound, each reaction caused my penis to surge, syrup to dribble and balls to ache.
How could the intensity of the scene I had created be elevated? Was it possible? Shouldn’t I just ravage his body with my face and lips right then and there, while she whipped him into an orgasmic frenzy? Hell no. There was no way I could let him get off that easily.
I grabbed both his nipples and pinched them, twisted them. “Now slave, will you talk?”
“Ungh... no... never.”
“Shall I torture you until nothing is left? Talk, now, before it is too late.”
“Aghhhh... never... damn you to hell.”
“Very well... give him the wheel.”
I released his tits and grabbed a pole, grinding it into the pit of his stomach while the flogger heated up his cock and balls.
My questions were continuously answered with defiance. I drove the stake in deeper and he took it, grunting and groaning, but still spewing phrases of denial. Oh, god, I wanted to finish him, but then again, I didn’t. I did not want this to end – not yet. I removed the pole from his stomach and commanded the woman to, “Stop!” And I accompanied my order with a slight backhand across her face. She reacted much more violently than the degree of my assault called for, and flung herself backwards to lie on the floor.
My slave shouted, “Damn you! Leave her be. She has done everything you’ve asked of her.”
He was desperately struggling to break free of his bondage, aching to get at me.
“Ah, ha,” I sneered. “Perhaps I have been torturing the wrong slave. This woman is important to you. Is that it? We shall see just how important.”
I circled the bed to check on Laura, who was laying on the floor pretending to be nearly unconscious.
“Federal Dollars,” I whispered. “Are you ok?”
“Sure. Are you about ready to finish him?”
“Do you want me to finish him?”
“You’re in charge... and you’re doing a wonderful job. Keep him waiting as long as you want.”
“Frank’s doing a pretty good job, too, Laura. I need something from your closet. Is it unlocked?”
“I’ll be right back.”
I went to the basement, leaving Frank to recover and leaving both of them to wonder what I had in mind for finishing this scene. I returned with a length of rope in one hand and a leather belt in another. God only knows why she had this belt, but it probably was part of some dominatrix outfit.
It looked like something one of those heavy metal rockers would wear on stage, Gene Simmons from Kiss, for example. It was black leather, about five inches wide, and imbedded all the way around with silver-colored metal pyramids. Each was about two by two inches, and the point of the pyramid extended about two inches from the belt surface.
“Stand up, wench,” I commanded to the woman. Once she did, I wrapped the belt around her belly – not her hips, snapping it uncomfortably snug.
“How does that feel, my love?” I queried, mocking her husband.
“I... I can hardly breath.”
“Don’t worry. I will alleviate the pressure.”
I took her wrist and brought her to the side of the bed, so her husband could see both of us.
“Now, slave, since you love this woman so much, I will bring you both together. You can share your love in mutual agony.”
He struggled against his straps. “What do you want from her?”
“Everything. Bind her to the rack!”
I bound her wrists together, then made her sit on the side of the bed. Climbing up, I grabbed the man’s semi-erect penis and moved it off of his belly to point towards his foot, then, standing behind his wife, I lifted her arms overhead and raised her body. I stepped over my male prisoner, draped his wife’s body atop his belly, continuing to the other side of the mattress with her arms still in my grasp. Stepping down to the floor, I stretched her arms, then tucked the extra length of rope under the mattress.
Now, both man and woman were my captives – man beneath, still stretched atop his pillow like a letter X; woman crossing him, her arms stretched close together beyond her head, the small of her back intersecting with her husband’s belly. Together, their bodies formed a letter t and the woman’s back was arched in reverse, thereby forcing her belly to flatten.
“There, woman, I told you I would alleviate the pressure from that belt. I merely transferred the pressure to your arm pits.”
And what about the belt? Well, at least two of those pyramids were pressing down into the belly of my male victim, who was kindly groaning from the piercing, pointed apex of each, while his wife kindly kept her ankles on the mattress, legs spread wide. She also moaned from her stretched and bent-backwards bondage, even though she, unlike her husband, could easily escape at any time.
I knelt next to her upper torso between his legs. With my mouth I ravaged her breasts. With my left hand I fondled her husband’s cock, until he once again was rigid. Then, I left the bed to stand near his face.
“Why do I call you slave? Because you have nothing, except for this woman. It is what you believe, but you see, she does not belong to you. She, like you, belongs to me. And until you talk, you both must suffer. One last time, where is Tribune Galleon?”
All I got from him was a glare of hate, a flexing of his muscles and a manly display of defiance, which could not have made me happier. I flogged them both – he, across his mighty chest; she, across her voluptuous breasts.
The sounds they made were ecstasy to my ears. Feminine shrieks, masculine groans, shouts of anger and pain, all were a symphony of suffering that thrilled me no end.
What had they done to me? Was I becoming a sadist? And if so, why was nobody complaining?
Although no serious plotting had been done on my part, through trial and error I had created a scene of intoxicating beauty. Both man and woman were displayed before me in a most glorious form of vulnerability, and as the flogger came down upon his chest and hers, their flexing and defensive postures electrified me with lust. Now, the time had come for me to greedily satiate my raging desires.
I cast aside the flogger and climbed onto the mattress. “Now, watch slave, as I take your woman away from you for good.”
I laid atop her. I speared her vagina with my neglected-far-too-long penis. I impaled her husband’s belly by adding my weight to hers, driving the spikes of her belt deeper into him. The heel of my left hand pressed onto his pectoral, my fingers squeezing tightly to that muscle. The curled grip of my right hand clutched his penis, squeezing its long, swollen shaft. My belly was also impaled by the pyramids on her belt, because her belt-adorned belly and my bare-skinned belly were the only parts touching one another – except for my penis meshed with her pussy.
“Both of you, husband and wife, man and woman are mine,” I berated them. “Your fate is in my hands. Your release comes when I choose.”
The groans and grunts coming from this man and woman were matched by my own, for you see, I was further stimulated by my own, self-induced pain. I had chosen to finish this woman by impaling myself upon her belt. I could have supported my weight above her with my hands, but I chose instead to masturbate my man and clutch onto his chest, while stirring my woman with my hardened cock. My chest was elevated; hers sloped downward. My legs were close together; hers were spread wide. I was the third person, the apex of this human pyramid and the pyramids of her belt further agonized me, as the apex of each scraped the skin of my middle section with each grinding penetration -- penetration propelled by my knees alone.
I duplicated Frank’s torment for myself. I equaled his agony upon myself, which heightened my admiration for him, my longing for him, my unbridled lust for this powerful, glorious, tortured man.
The orgasms were merciful. I do not remember theirs – when or how they came – I only recall my own. I only cherish the frantic, testosterone-overdosed, manly-beast-in-heat ecstatic explosion that finished us all – completed in a scene of incredible intensity, dramatized with human sweat, belly impalement, pussy impalement, masculine dominance, masculine helplessness, feminine surrender and orgasmic joy.
Screw Hollywood. What do they know? The Johnson’s and I had acted out a script like no other. My torture victim never did talk. Hell, I was too busy to keep asking. Frank only spoke with his magnificent cock, and I do remember the gobs of his seed on my hand. Not all of it was captured, but whatever stuck to me was transferred to his wife’s stretched titties, and I forced Frank to lay there and watch as I licked her titties clean.
Enjoy the weekend, everybody.
Exhaustion doesn’t begin to describe the state I was in and I know the Johnson’s, being 20 years my senior, had to feel the same or worse. We wasted little time in discarding the gear we had used, doing our bathroom duties and collapsing into sleep. Nothing was said about what had just happened. Three brains were dead.
Laura is the one who woke me up by dabbing my belly with peroxide-soaked cotton balls. I hadn’t even noticed the scratches I had made on myself, having broken the skin in several places, but now that I knew they were there, her nursing made it all better.
This wild weekend was essentially over. Frank and I got breakfast in bed again, which arrived at about two in the afternoon. Then the three of us lounged around until hands and lips started going astray. Apparently, there was still more to do in completing my acceptance into this union, because what followed was a series of two-against-one marathons of body worship and a succession of three orgasms.
That did me in for good, so I told them I had to get home. I hate to admit it, but those two old farts had worn me out, even though I was excited to imagine what our future hook-ups might bring.
The Johnson’s had the equipment. We all three were of a like mind as to the mode of bondage and domination we enjoyed, so everything was in place and I knew my weekends would be reserved for them... or so I thought.
What I did not expect was to be cut off for three weeks. Frank did call me on Monday as usual, and to my surprise, we resumed our normal routine of lunch-time blow jobs – at least for that one day.
It was at this time he told me that their daughter would be in town mid-week and over the weekend. After that both he and Laura would begin their vacation. They planned to visit their son, whose wife would be due to squirt out their first grandchild.
“What will you do with the frame in your basement?” I asked, in reference to the elaborate device where we had suspended him in our first session.
“Oh, it breaks down easily. I’ll store it in the garage with the other junk.”
“So, what about the rest of this week, Frank?”
“Today will be it. Tomorrow I’ll be doing an orientation for new agents and Wednesday my daughter will be here.”
I tried not to let it show that I was disappointedly pissed off, and with a few moments of reflection, I came to the conclusion that abstinence from the Johnson’s would only make our next meeting more enjoyable. As for now, Frank was here and I planned to make the most of it.
I told him to strip. I told him to sprawl out on the bed, to shut his eyes and to shut his mouth. I knew what time he had to leave and I knew how long it would take me to get him off, so I dry kissed every inch of his topside and fondled him with my hands. I sucked on his cock like I’d never done before, nearly gagging myself by ramming his ram rod to the back of my throat and licking his balls with my tongue. My fingers replaced my tongue to pinch and twist his testicle skin, while my mouth viciously stroked and crushed his thick, sturdy tool.
He was drained good and I swallowed it all, refusing to drink or eat anything for the remainder of the day, so I could cherish the taste of his seed as long as possible. Does that gross you out? Tough shit. Frank is a very healthy man. His discharge tastes good and now it also reminds me of his wife, Laura. When I taste Frank, I can feel Laura’s warm vagina crushing my pecker.
(Next insertion will be Sept. 28)
Frank called me Sunday night, the last one in August, wanting to know if he could see me the following day. Our Monday-lunch-hour-encounter came exactly three weeks since the previous and Frank made the decision that I was to get off first.
“I think I’ll do a better job on you if I’m still horny,” he explained.
This meant that he would no longer be satisfied with using his hand to take care of me, but his mouth. Unfortunately, and unexpectedly, Frank’s oral experience was not efficient enough to bring me orgasm. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine, because fantasies of him were no longer sufficient to do the trick. He was there with me. I needed to touch him – to see him and to taste him.
Laying on my back, I raised up to watch the top of his head frantically stroking up and down, side to side, as he knelt between my legs. He clearly was tiring of his desperate, useless attempts to finish me. I rose to a sitting position, reached down to clutch his flaccid pecker. With a gentle tug of his tail, I coaxed him to pivot towards me. I forced him to reverse position, until he was on all fours with his cock above my mouth. My fingers clamped into his butt cheeks and I coerced him to lower his hips, until his lifeless worm was within range of my lips.
My hard dick was still in his mouth and his was in mine. Its swelling was instantaneous, power increasing until Frank was fully erect. His lesson in the art of the man-to-man sixty-nine was about to begin.
I know Frank loves to fuck and I know he’s damn good at it. I’ve seen him do it. It was during our last round of orgasms in their bedroom on Sunday afternoon, when he pleasurably consumed his wife with that manly battering ram of his. It was a display of tradition, done with simplicity – man on top, smothering his female beneath. I was there beside them, on my knees, slipping my hand between them to fondle Laura’s breasts, laying my lips onto Frank’s back to feel his powerful, undulating muscles. I watched him stroke her to submission, masterfully pivoting his hips to penetrate her from every possible angle.
I marveled at his artistry, absorbed the sounds coming from their groins and their mouths, and I took mental notes.
Frank quickly understood my desire. All it took was my hands on his hips to pull him down a few inches, then push him back up. From there, Frank took charge and I had what I wanted: my dick in his mostly stationary mouth, his dick fucking the back of my skull. He was directly above me for my eyes to observe... his bulging nuts, dangling and swinging in unison with his thrusting and retracting hips; his hairy ass crack, narrowing and widening as the scrotum clinched in conjunction with the stimulation of his cock; the back sides of his muscular thighs, efficiently lifting and lowering his mighty fuck tool to receive that stimulation.
My hands were free to roam. They slid underneath him, along the length of his belly and his chest. I squeezed his flexing pectorals, massaged his firm nipples with my fingertips. I rubbed his hard stomach, his tightened belly, then encompassed his mighty bull nuts in my hand, following them up and down, as he increased the pace of his strokes.
For him, my mouth became a warm, tight, pussy hole. My tongue wrapped around the top half of his cock, the roof of my mouth took the other half and I crushed him in between. It was a battle of wills – my crunching vise doing everything in its power to prevent him from fucking me; Frank doing his best to bull his way through, savoring my wet friction, overpowering my attempts to crush his thick meat down to nothingness.
The contest was a draw, and Frank’s brain convinced him to coordinate his mouth strokes on my dick with his dick strokes on my mouth.
Humans learn quickly when their admiration for one another transcends the physical – when the desire to please your partner outweighs the desire to please yourself. This is when orgasms are magnified tenfold, and this is what Frank and I achieved that afternoon. The art of the sixty-nine was easily mastered.
By mutual agreement, nothing more would happen between us until the weekend. Upcoming was Labor Day, which meant a three-day weekend and I was invited to their home for the second time.
For us, August was coming to an end. For my insertions, September has come to an end. Join me on Monday, October 2, as I continue to tell the saga of Jack, Frank and Laura.