alt-J - Left Hand Free (Official Video) 1

Volcanic Eruption Video-Captured at Precise Moment

and be sure to wait for the shock wave that follows.

from GrindTV. com

Labor Day Snippet

Relative to Labor Day, this text is taken from Jardonn's e-book, The Thomas Coleman Full Nelson.

Lord knows Thomas had put up with plenty of misery himself. One thing's for sure, the year of 1990 was chock full of momentous events for him -- getting Janice pregnant, getting 2nd place at state, getting his dick briefly sucked by his best friend, graduating high school, getting married and preparing for fatherhood. It's a matter of opinion as to whether what happened on Labor Day of that year was good fortune for Thomas or bad. Most say bad, but I beg to differ.

Despite the fact this particular Labor Day coincided with the official demise of Commonwealth Steel, the traditional laborer's parade took place on Gravois Avenue same as always, followed by the bring-your-own-eats picnic in May Brook Park. My family went to the parade, but not the picnic. With such a dark cloud on everyone’s mind, Dad saw no reason to celebrate like we always had before. He knew, and I'm sure everybody knew, that the closing of the steel mill would signal a slow unraveling of our neighborhood and all for which it stood. I had my own reasons for not doing the picnic. For the first time ever the Colemans and the Hightowers would not be together. Thomas and his family would be pretending to enjoy the company of their new in-laws, the Conaghers, but none of our family members could stand being around any of the Conaghers, and since dad couldn't stomach the idea of pretending to be jolly with the unemployed in May Brook Park, we Hightowers had our own picnic of sorts -- in my neighborhood, on the patio of my rented house.

It should come as no surprise that plenty of beer always showed up at the May Brook Park shindig, and it was never unusual for fisticuffs to break out as the day progressed into night and drunken braggarts renewed old rivalries.

Just stupid shit, but the stupidest of all had to be the drunken Jack Conagher on his brand new motorcycle. Like I said, there were eight Conagher offspring at the time, Jack being the oldest at twenty-two years old, followed by Richard (Dickie), James (Jimmy), Janice, and two more of each gender who don't matter.

Jack, who apparently could barely stand, decided to demonstrate for each of his siblings one by one from oldest to youngest the power of his motorcycle. This involved flying down Gravois Avenue at double the speed limit without helmet or any other protective gear, using the corner at 46th Street for his turnaround before his return trip to the park. Yes, six-month-pregnant Janice took her ride, and yes, Jack chose that time to jump the curb at 46th and throw both Conaghers off the bike. So much for the first Conagher grandson/nephew, which is what it would have been had it survived. Fortunately or not, Janice got scratched and scraped but not broken.

And, so much for Thomas's only good and truthful reason for marrying her.

Being an honorable man, Thomas stayed married to her, but whatever tidbit of interest they had in one another died on that sidewalk. This became painfully clear to Janice when Thomas informed her he wanted no more children.

"One tragedy's enough for me," he tells her. "You should've shown more regard for yourself, for me and our child. From now on, whatever sex we have will be protected sex."

Since she and her ilk don't believe in protected sex, she and Thomas had no more sex. Think Janice was insulted? Just imagine how her family took it when she told them. From that day forward Thomas Coleman was Enemy Number One in the eyes of all Conaghers. She and her clan would suck him dry -- not his dick, but his money, his patience, and his mental well-being.

______

More about the ebook is at my site, Jardonn's Erotic Tales .

Reinsertion of Jack's Insertions II

Taken from site Jardonn's Erotic Tales

September 1-15

Sept. 5

Now, you'll have to forgive me, but I intend to dwell on this pool activity. You see, even though I had sucked Frank off many times and had put my hands on him many times, never once had I worshiped his belly with my mouth.

Several things came together for me, and if you can picture it I'm sure you'll understand. Like I said, Frank was holding onto the diving board. His body was hanging arms over head, with the water line just below his crotch. The distant light from their house illuminated his still-wet skin, caused his still-wet fur to glisten, and every muscle he had was dramatized by his suspension from the diving board.

His belly felt like heaven... a bit cushiony on the outer layer, solid as a rock beneath. I’m sure you’ve figured out that Frank is considerably older than I, but believe me, this man is in perfect health.

I lingered on that belly of his, burying my face into it, kissing and licking it, while clutching my hands onto his butt cheeks to keep myself above water. And even though mine was floating, adding my weight to his stretched and tightened those muscles even more. I lost myself in this man’s body, while his hard dick was forced down into the water by the pressing of my chest.

Although I knew his wife had taken a position behind him, I paid little attention to what she was doing, pretty much figuring she was working on his back the same way I was working on his belly.

Laura Johnson got my attention in a big way, however, when she snaked her arms inside of Frank’s thighs and clasped her hands onto my butt cheeks. Her arms forced Frank to spread his legs wide and brought Laura’s body closer to mine.

She took me again.

_____

Sept. 6

My hard dick was smothered by Mrs. Johnson’s clamping pussy, coming together underwater beneath Frank’s upside-down-V positioned legs. Hanging onto the diving board kept him halfway out of the water; hanging onto Frank kept me head and shoulders out of the water; and hanging onto me kept Laura head-up out of the water. That beautiful man was supporting the floated weight of three and this goaded me into finishing Frank.

I buried his massive man-meat to the back of my throat and all three of us grunted with exhilaration. My mouth locked him into its vise, crushing his surging cock between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Laura wrapped her legs behind my knee caps, locked her ankles together and humped me, while I began tongue-stroking her husband’s throbbing tool. Every now and then I’d interrupt my strokes to spear my throat with his mushroom. This is so I could stretch my tongue to the extreme and lick his balls at the same time. It’s a luxurious freedom, not needing to worry about drooling all over the place. The water took care of that.

Frank got moves from me I’d never tried before and Laura put moves on me I’d never felt before.

I don’t know how a man his age could have flooded my mouth the way he did, especially as the second coming of his evening. I do know why I contracted to spurt inside his wife the way I did. I can no longer deny it – being inside a female pussy is an ecstasy like no other. No asshole can match it. Only the expertise of a world-class cock sucker can begin to approach it. And with Frank’s glorious body contorting and flexing, not to mention his charged tool rocketing his man-seed down my throat, well put it all together and imagine what kind of orgasm I had – if you can.

Mr. & Mrs. Johnson were conspiring against me. I offered no resistance.

_____

Sept. 7

After we untangled, Frank dropped into the water to cool off, then we all exited the pool. The three of us towel dried, then sat down at the table where Laura had left our sandwiches and melted-iced tea. She brought us new ice cubes.

They asked if I wanted more and I did, so at Laura’s suggestion we moved inside to raid the fridge. I noticed that Laura had what looked like a photo album with her. It had been on the table outside, then the kitchen counter inside, but was shown to me in their bedroom, where the three of us sprawled naked on a king-sized mattress.

Laura did most of the talking, as she gave an historical account of the coming together of Frank Johnson and Laura Honsinger. Frank was in college; Laura worked at a nearby, off-campus bar and grill. Love at first site? Not really. It wasn’t until Laura’s employer held a cook-out and swimming party -- a ten year anniversary of the bar get-together at his house, thrown for regular patrons and employees of the bar before Frank and Laura took notice of one another.

“It was her tits,” Frank said. “Bouncing so beautifully in her two-piece suit. Man, when she climbed out of the water I nearly shit my trunks.”

“It was his chest,” Laura said. “And the hair. Just a small patch on the sternum, then a thinly painted line right down the center of his stomach, through the navel and beyond.”

She showed me a picture. “This is him a few months later... on a camping trip. The first night we did it.”

He stood near a river bank, shirtless, and what got my attention was that he looked like I do right now, at least in the composition of the body and the fur covering.

“Damn, Frank. You looked just like...”

Frank was asleep. Poor guy, we’d sapped him of everything.

“We’re glad you’re here, Jack,” Laura said. Then, she closed the book. "Let’s call it a day.”

Pampered is a good word to describe my treatment, as I slept in the middle between them. Mystified is a good word to describe my reaction, when I awoke in total darkness to feel one mouth on my nuts and another one on my dick.

_____

Sept. 8

A marathon of body worship, that’s what I got. Never was sure if I fully woke up or not, but hell, I didn’t need to. They lathered me up good. All I had to do was lay there on my back, as they smothered my body with kisses and licks and finger rubs.

The word marathon is not to be taken lightly, because their praise continued non-stop until I thought my nuts would explode. I quit opening my eyes to distinguish which shadow was doing what. I no longer cared. I certainly didn’t care when my dick was finally, mercifully taken into a warm mouth to be sucked with slow, tantalizing, wet-tongued scrapings. Nor did I care when butt cheeks sat onto my chest and a hand lifted my head, directing my tongue to the open V of a heated, human crotch.

My concern only came when I realized that the crotch was comprised of neither balls nor dick. Laura was filling my mouth, which meant that Frank was sucking my cock, which meant that he was doing something he had never done to me before.

_____

Sept. 11

What could I do?

I was trapped. Sure, I could have jerked my head away to verbalize my protest, but not without disrupting what was happening to my cock. After all these months, Frank was finally pleasuring me with his mouth instead of his hand, and if eating his wife’s pussy was the price I had to pay for Frank’s services, then it was a small amount indeed.

I focused on what my dick was feeling, not what my tongue was tasting and nose was smelling. I lost myself in this momentous occasion – the most generous gift Frank could give to me – and without realizing it, my head no longer was in the clutches of Laura. I began to voluntarily service her, and unlike my previous, teen-aged experience, this woman tasted fresh, smelled clean and was willing to assist me in my exploration.

She guided her clitoris towards my tongue, exposed it with her fingers to make sure I knew what I was tasting and feeling. Once I was successfully locked onto her, Laura leaned forward, clasping her hands to the headboard. This gave me easier access to her sensitive sweet spot, while leaving her dangling breasts to hover above me. I had fully adjusted to the darkness. Her inflated balloons were cast in a shadow of blue. Without forethought, I reached up to touch them, to fondle them, to grasp them in my clutches while stimulating her nipples with a gentle rubbing of my thumbs.

This was an alternating ecstasy for me. The nerves in my groin sent strong messages to my brain, reminding me that Frank was becoming more comfortable with each slow, tantalizing stroke executed on my cock. Then, this message was usurped by my hands, thumbs, tongue and nose. They were reminding me that Laura was there, too. The delicate softness of her breasts; the stimulated firmness of her nipples; the vibrating heat of her clitoris; the pleasurable sweetness of her vagina, all combined to send a return message to my surging cock.

My alternating ecstasy became a mesmerizing, never-ending cycle, as shockwaves of pleasured messages charged from groin to brain to all extremities between and beyond. Only my finish could end this madness and the orgasm that did finish me put all arguments aside. My defenses were obliterated. My doubts were no more. My desire for man and woman were equal.

Damn them. They had tricked me... and I loved them for it.

_____

Sept. 12

Laura must have been pleased with all that had transpired so far. I know this because Frank and I awoke to the smell of coffee and the sounds of a cart rolling on the bedroom floor. Breakfast in bed is what we got – enough food to feed a Roman legion. I asked Frank if this was the norm.

“Are you kidding? She cooks all week, but when the weekend gets here she’s a slacker. I have to do everything.”

“Careful,” Laura said. “It’s too early for you to start upsetting me.”

Their bedside table clock said 11:42. “You call this early?” I asked.

“It is when you go to sleep around 5 am.”

“Wow, is that when I passed out on you?”

“Jack, darling, as soon as Frank drained your nuts you were out like a light."

“Uh, did I get you off first?”

“No, but he took care of me. His mouth was very, very busy.”

“And effective,” I added.

The key word for Saturday? Pool... as in swimming and table. They had a beautiful nine-footer in the basement. Daytime swimming was with trunks, mine being a pair of Frank’s drawn up from loose to acceptable with the string.

I got a few more details – about their two kids, now grown, one at college, the other married with an expecting wife.

“Hey, your first grandchild. Does it make you feel old, Frank?”

“Hell, no. It’s good to know my sperm is so useful.”

“And tasty.”

We swam for awhile, sunbathed for awhile, then Frank and I headed downstairs to play pool, while Laura prepared dinner. As we dined, Laura said tonight’s entertainment would be a movie.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Which one?”

“Well, let’s see if you can guess. It starred Richard Burton and Victor Mature. It’s set in ancient Rome, around the time of Jesus’s crucifixion. Any ideas?”

“Uh, ‘King of Kings’.”

“Nope.”

“Ok, I give up.”

Frank joined in. “You look less than enthusiastic, Jack, but don’t worry. We will only be watching one scene.”

“And will I be Richard Burton or Victor Mature, whoever the hell he is?”

“Never you mind, Jack,” Laura teased. “You will be neither.”

This satisfied me. Ah, the drama, the intrigue, the boner under the table. Just hearing the word crucifixion mentioned with Frank sitting there shirtless was all I needed to hear. That, however, was not where we were headed. Not this night.

_____

Sept. 13

Still in our swimming gear, the three of us migrated to the basement to view “The Robe” on their high-definition big-screen. The movie clip was shown to me several times, first at regular speed, then at half-speed. The final viewing was Johnson-chosen clips from the clip itself shown at one frame per second.

I thought the scene quite kinky, considering the film was a major Hollywood production from the 1950's, but like most such scenes, I was left frustrated and wanting more. I was thinking, ‘If only they would have done this when he said that,’ or ‘If only they would have shown me that part from the side angle.’ In any case, on the 10-point turn-on meter, I’d give it an eight. On the 10-point erection meter, it gave me a 10.

Frank announced that he needed to cool off in the swimming pool and we followed him there. The sun had just set. He stripped and Laura stripped, so I stripped.

I suspect the swim was merely to make us all smell clean like chlorine, because within five minutes both Johnson’s had exited the pool. Our garments were left right where we dropped them, as we toweled off and headed for their bedroom. This act would be played out on the king-size mattress using under-the-bed straps.

Oh, in case you haven’t seen this film I’ll give you a quick summary for our scene of interest. The Romans have the Victor Mature character roped to a horizontal table in a spread-eagle position. They are interrogating him to find out where the Richard Burton character is hiding. They whip his chest, then crush his middle section using a board laid across him. Apparently, underneath the board there are nails or spikes, because when they turn a wheel and the board presses down on him, he starts moaning and arching his back, while his feet raise off the table. The poor fellow is stripped to his loin covering, which in the 1950's meant that it was half-way up his abdomen, concealing his navel.

See what I mean when I said it was frustrating? Why didn’t they just strip the guy naked like the Romans probably would have done? So much for historical accuracy.

_____

Sept. 14

Our first stop was Laura’s closet full of goodies in the basement, and while she picked out instruments she thought she would need, I stood behind Frank, rubbing my hands up and down his chest and belly. Comforting him before torturing him seemed the thing to do.

Laura handed us her choices – two short whips made of tightly wound nylon rope, her trusty flogger and the strap system. She told us to go on up to the bedroom and that she would join us shortly.

Like the movie itself, our scene would begin with the man already bound to his torture table. Frank and I ran the strap system underneath the bed, bringing their four ends up to lay on the mattress at four corners. He laid one pillow in the middle, stretched out over it and extended his limbs in four directions, as I helped him thread his hands and feet through the loops. With Frank’s direction, I adjusted the straps until he was stretched taut like the letter X, then he had me tighten each one a bit more to his desired tension.

He told me that there was a dark brown towel in the bathroom and that I should wrap it around him to fashion a loin cloth, which was easy to do, because the length of his pillow ran from his deltoids to the middle of his back. This caused his buttocks to barely touch the mattress, while his chest and belly were elevated. ‘Twas a fine view from any angle.

Laura returned with two wooden poles, former mop handles perhaps, but without the mops. Both poles were rounded at one end, flat at the other, and she laid them near the pile on the floor where Frank and I had dropped her whips and flogger.

Laura stood beside me with one arm around my shoulder, her hand fingering my chest. “Those poles should do nicely for his belly torture, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do.”

We admired our victim for awhile and Frank kindly entertained us, straining against his straps, looking around as though seeking a way to escape, exaggerating his exhales to dramatize his stretched and flattened belly. It was exposed to the beginning of his pubic hair, thanks to my expertise in designing his only garment.

I was erect; Laura was moist. She said, “Well, darling, you have everything you need. Our safe word is still the same. Do you remember it?”

“Yes. Federal dollars.”

“Correct. Get to it.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Jack. I can’t be the Roman interrogator. I’m female. That would never be allowed. You are in charge. I’ll play this man’s wife, brought here to witness his torture.”

Oh me, oh my... life is good.

_____

Sept. 15

“Onto the floor with you, in that corner, wench!”

That was my command to the wife, who silently did as I told her. The Burton character’s name was Galleon, and with one of the rope whips in hand, I began the interrogation as scripted.

“All right, slave. Where is Tribune Galleon?” I brought the whip down across his chest. “Where is he hiding?” I struck him again, then again, taking aim at his nipples.

The slave tensed his body to receive my blows, straining his arms against the straps. His eyes were clamped shut and teeth clenched together, while deep-toned, guttural groans rumbled from his throat.

To shut him up, I clutched my hand to his throat. “You will talk, slave. Before I am finished, you will long for death, but it will not come so easily.”

I pinched his nipple with my finger and thumb, repeated the act on his other nipple, then resumed his lashing. Glancing to his wife, I was given a nod of approval that the severity of my blows was appropriate, so I continued to target both tits and interrogate. “Talk, damn you. Where is Tribune Galleon?”

My god, he was beautiful. The muscles in his arms, chest and belly were flexed to capacity and he twitched and jerked as though the whip were carving him to pieces. As for words, he said none.

I ordered to myself, “Give him the wheel.”

I dropped the whip to the floor and picked up both poles. Leaping onto the bed, I stood with my feet between his spread open thighs and drove the stakes into his belly midway between his navel and pelvic bone.

My glorious male victim arched his back, sucked in his abdominal cavity and tensed every muscle in it. He raised his head to peer over his expanded chest with lower jaw thrust forward, then violently threw his head back to the mattress, arching his back even more while making sounds as though he would puke. I leaned onto the poles. My weight brought them down deep into his muscle and his grunting became louder.

I know there was pain here. I could almost feel it myself, but the slave took it, relished it, until I removed the poles from his belly.

Returning to stand beside the mattress, I motioned to his wife. “Bring the woman.”

She ran to him, flung her naked tits across his mighty chest, pleading with him. “Oh, please tell them. Don’t make me watch this any longer. I can’t bear it.”

“Oh, you will bear it, woman,” I mocked. “Not only will you watch, you will also participate.”

I handed her the flogger.

“NO! I won’t do it.”

“You will, or I will beat you until you change your mind.”

I laid my whip to her buttocks. When she rolled off of our slave to escape, I laid it to her tits. She moved towards the corner and I circled the bed in pursuit, striking her as she cowered below me.

“Leave her alone, you bastard,” my slave finally spoke. “I’m the one you want. Torture me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will. But this wench will do her duty or she will be crucified. Is that what you want? I suggest you persuade her to assist me in your torture.”

“Do it. Do as he says. It is no use for both of us to suffer.”

With that settled, the wife went to work on his chest with her expert flogging technique and I again gave him the wheel, but this time while kneeling on the mattress beside him. It is the view I desired and my victim did not disappoint. Before I even began grinding the poles into him, he locked his eyes onto mine. He arched his back, despite the flogger coming down on him. He pulled on the straps, flexing his muscles in preparation for the impalement of his belly. Oh, yes, and his belly was flattened as low as he could make it go.

Our assault on him was lengthy. My questioning was ceaseless. And this man’s performance was magnificent. Not once did he speak. Instead, he glared at me with his lower jaw thrust out, mouth clenched, back arched, chest expanded, fingers and toes curling forward and backward. And the sounds he made... music to my ears. Masculine groans, grunts of near-regurgitation. I absorbed the sights and sounds of my hero standing up to his torture like the man he was... is.

When I finally removed the poles from his belly, the woman stopped flogging his chest and our victim collapsed. A sheen of sweat had broken out to highlight his male form. He continued to groan with each exhale of breath. From the side view: heaven. Powerful chest elevated; muscular belly flattened; both rapidly rising and falling in harmony, our bound prisoner overwhelmed his tormentors with his masculine beauty. We stood in awe, neither of us able to imagine a more glorious scene. There was only one thing that could intensify our excitement.

That towel had to go...

_____

Eerily Beautiful Abandoned Places

A photo slideshow from Conde Nast Traveler

Reinsertion of Jack's Insertions I

Taken from site Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com

August 2006

First entry

August 21, 2006 -

As you probably know, assuming you have listened to Uncle Jasper and me in our "Suckin' Spit & Talkin' Shit' episodes, I was seduced by one Frank Johnson. At least that's how I remember it. He might feel as though he was coerced by both Jasper and me to soften his conservative attitude towards us and our broadcast, but whatever, the end result is that Mr. Johnson and Jasper and myself have an ongoing understanding.

 

All that has happened since the day Frank chose me over Jasper is worthy of its own telling, and in the next few days I will be making entries to this log until we are up to date. Then, I will add to it when something of note happens between us.

 

Yes, I did get his telephone number. No, Jasper never did get his lecherous hands on it. The following day, and every weekday for the next several, Frank and I would use our one-hour lunch breaks to meet at my apartment, where he would receive my stress-relieving BJ. In return, I would receive his manual, strong-but-caring strokes to drain my testicles.

 

Now, one might think that this would be enough satisfaction for any queer man/married man arrangement, and even though for me it was, for Frank it was not.

 

He never asked about anal intercourse, which is good because it did not interest me, but rather, he guided me in another direction. He introduced me to his wife. Together, they have introduced me to a world I never before dared to consider, and, much like Navy John was to the young Jasper, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are rapidly becoming my mentors. My insertions will take you there with me.

 

__________

 

August 22

Frank and I had carried on for nearly three months before he threw me the curve - he asked me to come for dinner - to his home - with his wife.

 

"Uh, geez, Frank," I stumbled. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Sure. There's nothing to worry about. Our relationship is solid. In fact, I've already told her about you."

This did not necessarily please me. "Shit, man, don't you think you should have let me know you planned to tell her? And by the way, what did you tell her?"

"Nothing about this. I told her you came in to apply for a broadcast license and that we started talking about football. She thinks you and I are in the same fantasy league. That's all."

I let it go at that. I figured I knew enough about football to hold this charade together, and besides, Frank and I are fanatics of the NFL and discuss it often. What the hell. If something was said; if one of us slipped up, it could only hurt Frank and the missis. As for me, that would be the end of Frank and I'd have some good memories to take with me, assuming I got out of their house intact before his outraged, heartbroken wife extracted my blood. It has never been my desire to be a home wrecker. I can only assume a man looking for blowjobs knows how to handle his own marital situation.

All went well, but imagine my surprise when, during our after-dinner coffee and slices of cheesecake, Laura Johnson said to me, "So, Jack, Frank tells me you are quite skilled at sucking his dick."

 

__________

 

August 23

Mercifully, they only allowed my irregular heartbeat to continue for a few seconds, then Laura and Frank Johnson burst into laughter.

"Let me congratulate you, Jack," Laura said. "That cock of his is hard to handle and I'm not very good at it - not with my mouth, anyway."

Frank joined in. "Besides, she doesn't enjoy sucking on it and I quit asking her."

"I told him to go find somebody who knew what they were doing," Laura said.

"Yep. And I struck gold when I found you, Jack."

"Well, damn, Laura," I was finally allowed to speak. "Frank said your relationship was solid. He wasn't kidding."

They both joined me on the couch, forcing me into the middle between them, and Frank said, "Laura has many talents and we share all secrets. One of them is downstairs. Want to see it?"

"Sure, Frank. You've got me all excited. See?"

"Come on," Laura said.

They escorted me to the basement. It was a full, finished space with a roomy, 10-foot ceiling, carpeting, furniture, the works. Standing against one wall was a wooden frame, black in color. The height was at least nine feet. Two horizontal boards crossed the top, leather straps dangling from one, chains dangling from the other. On one side, two sets of wooden stocks ran from the front to the back of the frame, while on the other side, two boards connected front to back, corner to corner, forming the letter "X".

"Come on, Jack," Frank said. "It's got rollers underneath. Help me move it."

We brought the frame to an open area in the center of the room.

 

__________

 

August 26

While I undressed, Laura taunted her husband. "Why do you constantly disappoint me? You know what my flogger can do. You know how it can shred your skin."

As she spoke, she also toyed with him, draping the suede leather strands across his shoulder, then slowly dragging them down his chest. She circled him, stalked him, threatening to strike, but only teasing with brush strokes down his back or chest. Frank remained erect on his knees, arms hanging limp with mouth silent.

"You must enjoy the pain," she continued. "Otherwise, why would you disobey me? Huh? Why, Frank? Answer my question."

He looked up at her, not with eyes of remorse as I expected, but with a look of hatred. "Because I like it, that's why. He's a professional. You are pathetic. I did it, and I'll do it again. Nothing will change my mind."

 

She let the flogger fly, striking him with medium force across his chest, stomach, arms, back and shoulders. He never made a move or a sound, just remained upright with arms at his sides while staring at the ceiling. After about a dozen blows, she turned to me.

"Jack," she hesitated for a few seconds and scrutinized my body, smiling at me with a rather lustful gaze. "Go to my cabinet. On the left wall are two padded cuffs. Bring them to me."

 

As I followed her orders, she berated her husband with a new round of flogging. "All right, mister. Sure, you can take my blows, and you will. But we will see how tough you are when your skin is stretched; when I bring those nerve endings to the surface. You will regret your obstinance, and it won't be from the pain alone. No, no, no, I have other ways of cutting you down to size."

 

Again, Frank took his beating like a man, silent, motionless. I found the cuffs. They were padded inside, black leather outside, with a metal O-shaped ring attached to each. I brought them to her and she told me to clamp them onto his wrists, while she continued flaying away on his back. After figuring out how to release the latch, I opened one, knelt in front of him and took his hand. First, I secured the cuff, then I clamped it shut and repeated the process for his other wrist. When I was finished, I stood and Laura stopped the beating.

 

Laura circled in front of her husband. "If you move, I'll give it to you with all my strength. This was just a warm-up."

She took me by the arm, led me towards the frame. "Jack, see those two chains?"

"Yes." They dangled a few inches beneath a horizontal board at the top. Attached to the final link of each were metal hooks.

"Those O-rings go on the hooks. He won't fight you. Get him up there."

I grabbed Frank's arm and he voluntarily stood, then cooperatively walked with me to the frame. I lifted the arm and connected the O-ring of his cuff to the suspended hook. To repeat the process with his other arm, I had to pull his body upwards with it. When hooked, Frank was suspended from the top of the frame, arms spread about three and a half feet apart and tips of his shoes barely touching the floor.

 

Seeing this man suspended, shirtless, helpless, did something to me. Even though I had seen him shirtless many times before, suddenly the beauty of his chest and belly was magnified. And when Laura resumed flogging his back, my penis, which had been erect since Frank and Laura had first surrounded me on their couch, began to discharge its syrup. I guess you could say I was getting into the right frame of mind for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson's little playroom.

 

"How does it feel now? Still think you're tough?" She intensified the strength of her blows, circling to strike his back, rib cage, chest and belly. As for Frank, he was beginning to feel it. Slight moans came with each blow. He threw his head back, then jolted it forward to glare at her. Frank was still defiant, but beginning to soften.

 

The whipping stopped and Mrs. Johnson barked an order to turn the screws on him just a bit more.

 

"Jack, strip him."

 

__________

 

August 28

I removed everything from him, starting with the shoes and ending with his boxers, which I violently yanked to the floor with great pleasure. His penis was swollen to about one-half its potential and I was tempted to bring it to full force with my oral expertise. Instead, I stayed with the game, backed off to admire our chained prisoner and waited for the woman in charge to direct the proceedings.

 

Silently, she circled behind him and laid the flogger to his ass. This time it was a bit more forceful, or so it seemed to me. Her arm reared back and flayed his butt cheeks with a definitive smack, causing Frank to let out deafening groans, uh's and ow's.

I never expected that such a scenario would stimulate me, especially since the victim was a man I admired and considered my friend. But seeing that his punishment had triggered an erection on him as hard as I had ever seen it made me realize that this beating was a major turn-on for him. Knowing this, combined with the sight of him flexing his muscular body, nearly caused me to jack myself right then and there.

 

I was quickly distracted, however, by Laura's harsh voice berating her husband. "All right. You like to get you dick sucked. Well, that's fine, darling. I understand your problem."

She stopped the flogging and stood in front of him, then spoke to me with menacing sweetness. "Jack, do your thing. Work on that throbbing cock of his, but when I stop, you stop."

I knelt before my temple, opened my mouth and engulfed his beautiful penis, while Laura put the flogger to his chest.

"Yes, my darling," she tormented him. "You can receive Jack's services... when I say you can. But there is a price to pay."

She moved behind him and resumed punishing his back and buttocks. "From this day forward, when you feel the warmth of Jack's mouth, the scraping of his tongue, you will also feel the wrath of my flogger to go with it. No longer will you feel one without the other."

 

This was hot. I could feel Frank's dick surging with power each time the leather strips snapped against his skin. Glancing up, I absorbed the sight of his masculine chest and belly, as it flexed and contorted in reaction to her blows, but just as my pace intensified and I prepared to drain him, Laura shouted, "That's enough!" and the beating stopped. I obediently abandoned Frank's primed cock and gleefully watched it rise and fall in mid-air, wondering what happened to my finishing touch.

 

"No," he pleaded with her. "Don't stop now. Let him finish me."

"Oh, you poor thing. I'm so sorry. You know I cannot allow you to finish. Not until you have asked me properly."

Before the pitiful man could respond, she resumed her whipping on him and I resumed my sucking on him, until again she stopped and I released his tortured cock.

 

Frank howled once more, begging for release. His tone, however, was not one of politeness, and so the pattern was established. This man would be broken. The only question was how long did he want his agonizing denial to continue. I hoped it wouldn't be anytime soon.

 

__________

 

August 29

Frank did not disappoint me. His stamina was amazing, as he repeatedly withstood his wife’s punishing flogger and my teasing tongue. Oh, he begged, but not in a manner suitable to a man who had been humbled. His pleadings were of the “Oh, god, don’t stop now. Finish me, damn you.” ilk, never once expressing remorse or hinting of surrender. He remained defiant, which is just how I’d hoped he would be, and with each round of punishment-followed-by-denial, Frank was brought closer to the edge. Several times I sensed his nuts start to contract, forcing me to release his cock before his wife had finished whipping him.

 

I also was pushed to the brink. I was forced to take great care that I didn’t touch my own penis, because any friction whatsoever would have triggered my own explosion. Sensing that she had pushed both of her men about as far as they could go, Laura dropped her flogger and stood in front our prisoner. He was breathing hard and had worked up a pretty good sweat. She placed her fingers onto his sternum, removed some of that sweat and tasted it, then scooped another sample and gave her fingers for me to lick. Knelt just behind her left leg, I sucked her digits dry, savoring the taste of this man.

 

“Did you see that, Frank?” She mocked him. “Jack knows how to please a woman. He knows how to perform the tasks I ask of him. He respects me, but you continue to defy me.”

 

She picked up the flogger and used it to tease him, dangling and brushing the strands along the length of his pulsating cock. Moving the flogger beneath his scrotum, she tormented him with brush strokes to his swollen nuts. “Are you still horny, Frank?”

 

“You... can see that I am.”

 

“There it is again. I ask a simple yes or no question and you respond with sarcasm. That’s fine. Men who are loyal to me get their reward. Men who defy me must suffer.” She brought the strands down on top of his hard dick, striking with medium force, which caused a pained yelp from her victim. “That’s you, Frank.” She struck him again for emphasis. “You can just hang there and watch Jack get his reward. I have needs too, you know.”

 

She turned and violently grabbed my arm, pulled me to the floor near Frank’s feet and forced me to lie on my back. Within seconds, for the first time since my initial, high school-aged experimentation of the confused, my rock hard, fully primed, queer cock was inside a female vagina.

__________

 

August 30

Laura Johnson sat on me, riding up and down my pole. The shock of it, the sudden realization that I was somewhere I did not want to be, caused my dick to lose its strength. But then, I was distracted by Frank, as he howled in protest. “Damn you to hell. Get off of him, you two-timing whore.”

 

Oh, my god. The view was magnificent. My head was directly in front of his left foot and I took in the glorious male form above me; his bulbous testicles, filled with semen, ready to explode; his powerful cock, fully erect with pre-cum dribbling from its slit; his upper body, torturously suspended, muscular belly flattened and mighty chest expanded; and the determined face of defiance, hatefully staring down at his conniving wife.

 

“That’s right, Frank.” Laura taunted him. “He’s my boy toy now. Bet you didn’t know that Jack is more man than you’ll ever be.”

 

Jesus Christ, I was confused. For so many years, I’d convinced myself that pussy was not my thing, but Frank’s performance above me prevented my thoughts from dwelling on it. He strained against his suspension, slightly lifting his body upwards. He thrust his chest forward, sucked his belly inward. His hard penis bounced in mid-air, sending a droplet of ooze down to land on my chest. I scooped it with my finger and tasted its sweetness. His head dropped forward and the eyes had switched their focus to me. His teeth were exposed in a grimace, but the lips hinted at a grin. His muscles flexed for me. His voice groaned for me. His masculinity inspired me. And the warm, tight, frictional massaging of his wife’s vagina masturbated me.

 

Frank thrust his leg forward and placed his toes onto my mouth. I reached with both hands, clasped onto his ankle and slobbered all over the sole of his foot. My tongue raced in between his toes, while my hands ruthlessly rubbed his shin and calf, absorbing the feel of his manly hairs.

 

Laura grabbed his other foot and started to lick and kiss. I continued to work on his left foot, while unknowingly reaching with my left hand to clasp onto Laura’s breast. She called out my name. I called out Frank’s name. Laura shrieked with delight. I groaned with ecstasy, and Frank displayed his gloriously tortured physique for both of us to enjoy.

 

Keeping my spent penis inside her, Laura cast her husband’s foot aside and leaned down to kiss my chest. I continued to kiss Frank’s foot and he said the words. “Federal dollars.”

 

“Ok, honey,” Laura answered. “Are you ready to come down?”

 

“No, but I’m ready to get off.”

 

“That’s you, Jack. Go for it.”

 

I was there in a second and Frank fired his load in about fifteen, suspended by his wrists, flexing and contorting every muscle in his beautiful body.

 

They insisted I spend the night. It was a Friday and Jasper was out of town on vacation, so with no need to do one of his recordings, I stayed. They also insisted I join them for an evening swim. In the Johnson back yard, surrounded by a wooden privacy fence ten feet in height was a rectangular pool perfect for a hot August evening. Here, naked, we swam, and we talked, and we dined on food and drink prepared by the wife. I was given many details about their lives together. Their history, their relationship, public and private, all was explained to me with words and the affections of human touch.

 

 

_____

 

August 31

It was a relief to hit that refreshingly cool water. All three of us had raised our body temperatures quite a bit during our heated session, especially Frank. What amazed me was that I didn’t see any marks on him. After each of us swam a few laps, we congregated in the center of the pool where we could stand with the water level mid-chest. Tits were exposed. Glistening tits are always a pleasure for the eyes, whether male or female.

 

“Frank, tell me something.” I inspected his body, especially the back and still saw no evidence of his flogging. “I’m surprised you’re not beat up. I don’t see a scratch on you.”

 

“It’s all for show. I don’t like intense pain. Everything we do is pure fantasy.”

 

“As for leaving scars,” Laura joined in, “suede leather can be used with a little more force than finished leather, without putting whelps on his skin. Believe me, Jack. We’ve experimented for years to find the right tools for what we like to do.”

 

“Well, how did it all get started?” I asked.

 

“Boredom,” Frank said. Things were getting stale in the bedroom, so we started experimenting with role reversals. Actually, I think I was the instigator. Anytime Laura would end up on top of me, I’d more or less assume a posture of surrender. I’d reach up and grab hold of the bed posts, then let her work me over.”

 

“It took me awhile to get into it,” Laura added. “At first, I’d just fuck him and let it go at that. But eventually, I put my husband on a sort of pedestal. I’d worship every inch of him with kisses, licking and finger massages. And it seemed the longer I made him wait, the more exciting it became for both of us. Then one day, Frank came home with two sets of handcuffs, you know, the standard metal kind.”

 

“And that’s what did it?” I asked.

 

“Not at first,” Frank answered, while wrapping an arm around his wife. “We did too much thinking and not enough feeling.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Laura jumped in, “That was my fault. I went on the internet and got the idea that Frank wanted me to dominate him in a cruel way. I bought a leather outfit, cuffed him to the bed and started talking to him like he was dog shit. I slapped his face, scratched him with my nails, even whipped him with a leather belt... lightly, of course, but it wasn’t working for either of us.”

 

“It was my fault, too. I didn’t know exactly what it was I wanted. Since I didn’t tell her, she assumed I wanted to be degraded... emasculated, I think they call it. But that wasn’t it at all.”

 

“So, what was it, Frank?”

 

“It was a movie that saved us,” Laura smiled.

 

“Yep. One with Steve Reeves. I think it’s called Romulus and Remus.” Frank pecked her cheek with a kiss.

 

“That’s the one,” Laura confirmed. “There’s a scene where he’s tied to an X cross that spins. Some sweaty man is whipping him as the cross is being rotated.”

 

“So that night, I’m cuffed to the bed posts, saying my usual, ‘Yes, Mistress, I will obey. Please don’t hurt me’ bullshit and without thinking, I changed my dialogue.”

 

“All of a sudden he starts to defy me, just like that chained muscle man, Steve Reeves. Frank started puffing up his chest, flexing his muscles and thrusting out his lower jaw. He was throwing me challenges, saying things like, ‘Do your worst. I’ll never talk. Torture me all you want.’ And guess what, Jack.”

 

“What?”

 

“Frank’s dick was as hard as can be. That did it for me too. Hell, I didn’t want him to be a pussy boy. I wanted him to be a super man.”

 

“We did that scene from the movie right then and there,” Frank said with another kiss.

 

“I got the belt and half-way whipped his chest and legs. We added our own dialogue to make it even more sexy and needless to say, we both had the best orgasms we’d had in years.”

 

“Yeah,” Frank laughed. “That bed was spinning out of control, at least in our little fantasy.”

 

I was impressed... and erect. “So, that’s what you meant by fantasy role play.”

 

“That’s right,” Frank answered. “We get ideas from movies, books, art, anything that features an heroic male figure, bound and tortured.”

 

“And we put our own spin on them as we go along.”

 

Frank grabbed my arm and I joined Laura next to him. Then, I received a Frank kiss to my cheek. “Jack, tonight’s session was just to get you involved. Kind of light weight by our standards. Not much of a plot.”

 

“Well, you guys. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, but why did you start your dialogue the other way?”

 

“You mean the... ‘please Madam, don’t hurt me’ part?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We wanted to ease you into it. I know you’re a web surfing monkey, so I figured that angle would be more familiar to you.”

 

“That is mostly what I’ve seen and heard. Honestly, I’m glad you changed into her adversary. Rather see you as a man than a cowering wimp.”

 

Frank kissed my forehead and I asked the obvious. “So, why do you want me involved?”

 

This time, I received a kiss from Laura. “To answer that, dearest Jack, we’ve got to go back to the beginning. You boys stay here. I’ll be right back.”

 

Frank and I passed the minutes with some man to man adoration instigated by me. I put my hands to his chest and belly, then guided him into the deep water. Once under the diving board, I told him to reach up and grab hold, so I could worship his body as it hung suspended halfway in the water.

 

“I missed this, Frank,” I said between kisses to his middle section... to his nuts... and peter. “It was the hardest part for me not to have access to all of you.”

 

“Don’t worry, Jack. You’ll always have access, it’s just a question of how long you’ll have to wait. That’s what makes it exciting.”

 

Laura returned with a tray. I could see glasses filled with drink, but was too busy with Frank to inspect any further. Whatever it was, she left the tray on a table and joined me in the water. Her presentation would be delayed for awhile, because Frank Johnson was about to fire his rockets again.

 

_____

 

And that, my dear friends, is the last of my August insertions.

 

I have been invited to their home again, this time for the Labor Day weekend. Jardonn has run off with Mike Carter to the Gulf Coast, supposedly to help build new houses for victims of hurricane Katrina. He hasn’t bothered to contact us, however, so we’re not sure exactly where they are. Jasper will be spending the weekend with John and Ginny Crosby, but says he wants to record sometime late Monday.

 

I’ll plan my next insertion for either Monday or Tuesday.

Ripples

The inevitability of aging, and a melody that pesters you to death.

Genesis - Ripples - fr A Trick of the Tail - on YouTube

Supersonic Nazi Rocket Concept Designed to Bomb Any City Within One Hour

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Always, but now no different than before.

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This sampling of ten photos is a feast for the eyes.

National Geographic Traveler

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Randy California's frantic fingers fire up the fretboard for Life Has Just Begun.

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Piano Concerto for the Left Hand

A long-time item on my bucket list has been to see somebody perform this Maurice Ravel piece, commissioned by a concert pianist who lost his right arm in World War I. Thanks to YouTube, I can at least mark the item with an asterisk, but I still intend to experience a live performance in a concert hall.

As for this video, I appreciate the drama of the pianist's cuticles bleeding as she works her way through it. That aside, and as always, it's all about the music, man.

Maurice Ravel's Piano Concerto for the Left Hand

Spirit 3

Geez... I forgot I was doing this. Where did four months go?

Prelude - Nothing to Hide on YouTube

Random Spirit II

My roving finger picked Street Worm, and the guitar man's fingers' arpeggio runs are at the very least ass-kicking. At YouTube from Spirit's 1970 album, The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus.

Spirit is All Good

Those who have heard this album would probably refuse to say this is the best song of the bunch, and I didn't knowingly choose it for posting... just closed my eyes and dropped my finger on the back cover. The result:

Nature's Way -- Spirit -- The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus  -- 1970


found at YouTube

6 True Stories from History Creepier than any Horror Movie

Compiled and described by CRACKED MAGAZINE. Com

Paw Wolfywits Chapter 5

v.

Dumbfounded, it took me a few seconds to respond. "So, Wolfy, now you can talk?"

He chuckled, as I again sat on his belly. "I can talk. Got my human tongue back, and uh, did you notice my hands and feet?"

Sure enough. Human. Not only that, he could have easily slipped their reduced size out of the chains binding him.

"When did all this happen?"

His belly jiggled beneath my butt. "Oh, about the time you knelt down to suck me off."

"Why didn't you say something then?"

"Didn't want to spoil your fun. Or mine, and besides, I've been trying to tell you since last night."

I leaned forward, put my hands on his chest. "Tell me what?"

"Paw."

"Oh, that. Well, okay then, is your hand broke?"

"No. The only way I could communicate was for you to take my paw so I could guide your hand with pen on paper, but you never caught on."

"Well, shit, Wolfy, who would?"

"I know, but it was worth a try."

"I'm all right with how things worked out." Leaning closer, I pecked his sternum with a kiss. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time."

I raised off him, stood and moved toward his feet for a closer view. "So, now that you're human, you can tell me two things for starters."

"Shoot."

"What's your name?"

"Simon Farnsworth."

"Hmm. Somehow I figured on Paul. Get it? Paw? Paul?"

"Sure. What's question two?"

"If I unchain you, are you going to attack me for doing all the things I did?"

"Well, I'm sure I could release myself," he noted. "But I'll let you do it." With me unwinding the chain on his ankle, he answered my question. "I am no threat, now that everything I needed to happen has happened."

"What does that mean?"

"Thanks to you, I can be all human until next time."

He finagled his hands through the wrist chain while I, still hopelessly confused, finished releasing his other ankle. Taking his hand, I helped him sit up on the bench.

"Whew," he folded his hands across his chest and bent forward. "My spine's a little stiff."

"I can imagine. Want a back rub?"

"Sure." Straddling the bench, he laid chest down, his hands under his cheek for a pillow, his knees on the floor.

My fingers worked the muscles on either side of his spine, relaxing him a bit before I asked him, "Okay, Simon Farnsworth, time for you to do some explaining."

"Hmm... where to begin." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, first of all, do you recognize my name?"

"No."

"I work at Bartlett's, same as you. I'm in the research lab."

"Oh, that's downtown. Sales office is out here in the burbs."

"Right."

Each of my thumbs pressed either side of his spine and I drew lines from his neck down. "So, what's that got to do with you being a werewolf?"

"I'm not a werewolf. Not in the way you think."

"Sure fooled me. So, what the hell are you?"

"An ongoing experiment. You know that diabetes drug we make, Lycanthol?"

"Yes. One of my doctors told me today it might cause pancreatic cancer."

“Which one? Carson?”

“How did you know?”

“He's one of our scouts. On the lookout for prospective subjects to join the program. He probably was surprised to see you, since you shouldn't have been out and about today.”

My fingers grabbed the back of Simon's neck and squeezed. “Hate to tell you this, but I'm more confused now than I was before you started.”

“Okay, sorry. Let's back up. This is all about the pancreas. Think back to last night. Remember when you first hit me on the noggin with your bat?"

"Yes."

"Didn't hurt me much. Just made me temporarily groggy. It was your next blow, the one to my stomach that changed the game."

"How?"

"Heavy doses of Lycanthol, or I should say, an altered version of Lycanthol, turn me into a dog like creature. Causes the pancreas to secrete an enzyme which transforms humans to canines. Only two things can change me back. The antidote we've developed, or blows to my gut. Specifically, the pit of my stomach and general vicinity. The pancreas is directly behind the stomach, so anything that creates movement of the stomach against the pancreas causes the latter to secrete its normal enzymes. Turns the dog back to human."

He paused a bit. Caught his breath, giving me a chance to ask questions, but his wild-ass story at that point had me speechless.

"Anyway," he continued, "your first blow to my gut started the process. Those that followed made it irreversible. Even though my physical changes wouldn't come until much later, you had already reduced my animal strength down to about seventy percent. Too bad you didn't beat me a few more times. Then, by morning, I would have been full human instead of the freak you found. My feet, paws, and worst of all, my tongue were still canine."

Again he waited, and this time I asked, "So, the belly beating I just gave you finished the process?"

"Right."

"Got it. Now, asshole, tell me this." My tone of voice made it known I was none too pleased. "Why the hell did you attack me?"

"Sorry about that, but Bartlett's wants you in the program."

"What program? Turning me into a wolfman? Why didn't they just ask me?"

"Are you kidding?"

A moment's consideration of my illogical question was enough. "No, I get it. I needed a demonstration so I wouldn't think they'd gone nuts. But why go to all this trouble? Why not just bring me into the lab and show me the program there?"

"Because once you're selected, it's not up for debate. No democracy here.”

“Oh, yeah? I think I will have a say, once I get the full story. Once I know why I'm selected and for what.”

“Because you fit the requirements. You are single. Unattached. You work for Bartlett's, so we will have little problem altering your place in the world. Like it or not, you are not allowed to say no. My job was to scare you shitless and take you by force."

My fingers clutched into his trapeziums. Part massage, part attack with my fingernails participating. "Tough luck, Farnsworth. I fucked up your plans."

"Actually, your malfunctioning garage door opener did it. Made you get out of your car."

"So you had to make a move?"

"Right."

"Okay," my fingers clawed his traps while my thumbs deep-rubbed his deltoids. "How was it supposed to go down?"

"I was to wait until you drove into your garage. Sneak in and attack you as the door closed and you exited your car. My saliva would have begun your transformation. A bite to the neck does the trick. As it is now, my claws infected you about ten percent."

"Gee. Lucky me. Does this mean I'm stronger than you?"

"Nope. I can subdue you anytime I choose."

"So, you could have broken free from the chains whenever you wanted?"

"Yep."

I removed my hands from him, my puzzlement keeping my temper tempered. "Then why go through all you've gone through? Do you like being tied up and tortured? One of your kinks?"

"Not really, but it was plan B. Once my fangs were gone, there was no way for me to fully inject you. And truthfully, those blows to my belly last night did indeed render me useless."

"So all I've got to do is punch you in the gut and you turn into a puppy?"

"No, by useless, I mean my transformation had begun and I couldn't control my actions. Could have easily killed you had I fought back, so my play was to surrender and wait for everything to calm down inside me."

"What if I had killed you?"

"You can't."

"Really?" My finger poked the middle of his back. "What if I were to plunge a knife into you? Right here, and puncture your pancreas?"

"Wouldn't matter. The serum makes it regenerate. Instantly."

"What about your other organs? Or your limbs, eyes? Anything?"

"Same result."

"Bullets?"

"Harmless."

"Land mines? A grenade up your ass?"

"Well, every immortal does have his limits, I suppose, but for our purpose, I am indestructible. You will be too. Got a problem with that?"

"Yes, I do," I raised off the bench, stood over him and let him have it. "This is mad-scientist bullshit. Are you gonna tell me this pancreas thing has been tested? Are you gonna let me stab you a hundred times so I can believe what you're saying? How about if I put a silver bullet through your heart? Or better yet, take a pistol and blow your friggin' brains out. Are you gonna survive that, too? Don't make me laugh, because this ain't funny."

"You're right," he sat up, stared me down with a look that could kill. "It is deadly serious, so take my advice, can the comments and let me do the talking."

"Okay, Simon smart-ass," I sarcastically sneered. "Run your mouth. I'm all ears."

Full details of the program could not be told until I was fully indoctrinated. So he said. He suggested we clean up the mess in my basement, clean up our bodies and fix ourselves something to eat. While doing these chores, (the mutual shower by no means a chore, as we fondled and explored one another's erogenous zones en-route to extracting semen appetizers before dinner. My anger be damned, I could not resist him. Gulp!) he explained everything he could about the high-security, U.S. government-sponsored program at Bartlett's.

In a nutshell, the goal wasn't to produce werewolves, but dogs with human intelligence, breeds of which I cannot reveal. As pet/service/guard dogs we would be placed within terror cells. Given to known hostiles within the U.S. and the world over. Spying on enemies of the U.S. and its allies. Gathering information. Thwarting attacks. Enough said.

The obvious need for secrecy allows me to cop out on the remaining story and quicken its end, which is fine by me because now that I'm like Simon I find it difficult to type. Even though my fingers are currently human, they want to claw at things and I'm always striking extra keys. Editing and proof-correcting this thing is a bitch. Enough said on that as well.

Meanwhile, back to the time of my story, Simon and I spent the weekend together in my home, and then Monday morning he rode with me to the downtown lab for my first injection. By needle. No fangs.

After our Friday night dinner, we made vanilla love atop my bed's mattress. We played and we slept and played and slept, and a time did come when I considered reaching for my butcher knife and stabbing him. You know, just to prove to myself this shit was for real, but I couldn't do it. What if I'd have actually killed him? Spoiling my bliss would have tempted me to stab myself. With lustful abandon, he sucked me and I sucked him. He poked my ass and I poked his. We marathoned until sunrise in every way that has been written about in a thousand stories, whether they be romantic, erotic, or flat-out pornographic.

Most of Saturday and Sunday was about Simon showing off. He hung naked from my chin-up bar like he was crucified. Allowed me to worship him, my hands and my mouth rubbing and kissing and licking every inch of him from his fingers to his toes. Without question, his human hands and human feet were every bit as handsome (in my idealized perfection of manliness) as the rest of him.

For hours he miraculously hung there, his hands voluntarily gripping the bar. Like the super-stud he was (is) he took my punishments, as we played out scenarios of where we were headed. Ramifications of what might happen if our espionage mission were to go awry. If we were somehow captured as humans and interrogated as such.

"So, Mr. Farnsworth, now that you have discovered our plan to blow up the White House," I enlighten him with an undefined, foreign-accented English, "you will give us names of your contacts and precisely what you have told them."

He is silent. His answer given by flexing his arms, puffing up his chest and sucking in his belly.

"Cat got your tongue?" I scoff. "Well, allow me to loosen it for you."

He is magnificent. He is glorious. He is tough as nails when I wail upon him with my leather belt. His back side from shoulder blades to calves. His front side from pectorals to shins. His cock even takes a couple of whacks and he says nothing. Doesn't even whimper. He answers with silent defiance. His muscular, fur-enhanced manliness says it all. His flexing and posturing invites me to give him the worst. Evil acts delved from the depths of my uncivilized mind.

My fists to his belly do nothing to soften him. My knuckles nearly crack upon his abdominal brick wall. My crucified hero. Nothing can break him. His natural strength coupled with experimental drug has turned him into a super-manly, super-beastly, god-like creature, given to me for my personal satisfaction.

I exploit my opportunity to its finality. Retrieve clothespins from my nearby laundry supplies. Clamp his arm pits, his pectorals, nipples, nuts, thighs and calves and between each toe. My tongue flicks his piss slit. His cock stirs ever so slightly. My lips surround his corona. His cock fills with blood. I voraciously suck on him. Scrape away layers of his peter-flesh with my hot-wet vise. My tongue wraps him. The roof of my mouth crushes him, and this time, he forces me to suck his dick long and hard and seemingly for eternity. His final act of defiance. He makes me earn his come. My reward is a muscle-flexing, endless flow of sweet-tasting semen. A man's dose. An animal's dose. Enough friggin' jizz to impregnate an entire pack of ravenous she-wolves. And then, looking down upon me as I remove his pecker from my mouth, he finally speaks.

"Your turn."

Guess I never realized how much I could take. We reversed roles. I hung from my bar while he interrogated me. My small dose of dog juice, transferred to me when he scratched me, got me through. I absorbed the pain. Relished it. Maintained an erection throughout the entire process of every punishing kink he perpetrated upon me, and I was in love. With myself. With him. With the unholy wad of come he sucked out of me.

Yes, a mechanical malfunction changed my life forever. For the good. So next time some sort of breakdown screws up your agenda, take it all in stride. Wonder if perhaps the aggravation won't lead you down a better road than the one you wanted to take... perhaps to some place and someone you never want to leave.

I never have. From then until now, our employer has kindly kept us together. Human, animal, on-mission or off, my mentor and I are a forever team. The dynamic, indestructible duo.

Paw Wolfywits, Simon Farnsworth, whatever. Woof.

End

Copyright 2013 to Jardonn Smith

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