Night Alone with the Executioner
Chapter 1.
Lately, I've been plagued by thoughts of sadomasochism. At twenty years old, I felt I had experienced everything except this. At the beginning of my sexual life, the very phrase itself remained beyond the pale. But then something shifted in my consciousness, and I became obsessed with it.
I tried everything to satisfy my desires: I shoved a Coke bottle up my ass, inserted a thick knitting needle into my urethra, tied up my balls, and looked for partners with big cocks. But all these activities only satisfied me for a moment, and then the fantastic desires would seize me again. And only the fear of the unknown sadist kept me from seeking adventures for my head and other body parts.
Finally, my patience ran out, and I went online in search of someone who could help me with my fantasies. There were many offers. But I either didn't like the faces of those offering their services, or the age wasn't right. In short, I was picky. But suddenly, on one of the dating site pages, I found an ad from a young man that interested me. Age – thirty, handsome, cock length – twenty centimeters. "A fantastic night in the style of sadomasochism." Signed "The Executioner," and then an email address.
I immediately wrote him a message saying I'd like to spend a night with him and attached a nude photo of myself. For faster communication, I gave him my Skype nickname. All evening I was on pins and needles until I got a reply from him. He came online on Skype, asked how old I was, and asked me to show myself on video. I turned on the webcam, and since I was only in my underwear, I easily showed myself naked. He also turned on his camera, but I could only see his abdominal muscles and a decent bulge in his swim trunks. He also asked about my desires, and I replied that it should be interesting, but without severe pain, blood, bruises, or scratches.
"Okay," he said. "How about Friday evening for the whole night and Saturday?" I answered positively. "Then wait for me at Victory Park at seven in the evening. Just one condition: follow all my orders. Bring a liter bottle of good vodka. That's my entire fee. Red Mazda." And he disconnected.
At the appointed time, I stood at the park entrance with a bag in my hand, smoking one cigarette after another. It was late autumn and quite chilly. It was getting dark. Finally, a red car pulled up, but I couldn't make out the make. The door swung open, I got in, and said hello.
"Turn your head to the right." The tone was commanding. He put a blindfold over my eyes, and the car started moving. "Turn off your phone." I took my phone out of my pocket and turned it off by feel.
"Why all this secrecy? I hope we're not going to commit a crime?" I asked.
"Be quiet. Now talk as little as possible. I don't like unnecessary words."
Apparently, to make me lose my sense of direction, he probably drove around the city. And then we left and sped down some highway.
Finally, we stopped. "Sit," he told me, and he got out of the car. Through the noise of the running engine, I heard a creaking sound. Probably opening a gate. He got back behind the wheel, we drove a few meters, and he got out again. Then, after the gate was closed, we drove no more than a hundred meters. Turning off the engine, he said, "Get out."
I got out of the car and heard the characteristic sound of the alarm being set. He took me by the hand and led me, warning me that there were steps ahead. Finally, we entered the house, he turned on the light, and allowed me to remove the blindfold.
"Wait here for now," the stranger went somewhere. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I looked around.
I was in the hallway of some house. Taking off my jacket and scarf, I hung them on the coat rack and, continuing to wait for my stranger, I sat down on a chair. The house was warm and cozy.
He appeared about fifteen minutes later. He had a black leather half-mask on his face, his torso was crisscrossed with black leather belts, and he had leather bracelets on his wrists. Instead of underwear, he wore leather jockstraps with a flap fastened with snaps in front. On his feet were short leather boots. On his hands were racing-style leather fingerless gloves. Like some kind of apparition. In his hands, he held a cat-o'-nine-tails.
"Undress completely here," he ordered. I asked what to call him, and he replied, "Boss." When I was down to just my briefs, he told me to take those off too, and even my socks. "The house is warm, even the floors are heated."
He led me down the hallway. We passed several doors and stopped at one.
"I hope you're clean?" I confirmed I had washed before the meeting. "Good. But the intestines need to be flushed."
We entered the bathroom. He went to the faucet and connected a one-and-a-half-meter thin hose with a nozzle at the end. The Boss ordered me to get into the bathtub, bend over, and spread my buttocks. After examining my anus, he inserted the hose nozzle into it and began filling me with warm water.
After flushing my insides three times, the Boss made sure that clean water was coming out of me, and that satisfied him. Washing his hands, we left the bathroom and came, as it turned out, to the kitchen. Here he took my vodka from the bag and, pouring himself a full glass and me half a glass, ordered me to drink and drank himself. I asked permission to smoke. The Boss allowed it but said the next cigarette would only be as a reward.
We went up to the second floor. He unlocked one of the doors, and we entered a rather large hall. I felt like I had ended up in a torture chamber from the time of Ivan the Terrible. Ropes and chains hung from the ceiling; in the corner stood some kind of couch with straps. Against another wall – a huge wooden cross with leather straps attached at the ends for hands and feet. Nearby, on four legs, stood a contraption like a sports "vaulting horse."
Against another wall, a glass cabinet with a set of some nickel-plated instruments and huge dildos and phallus imitations. Next to it, a real gynecological chair. There were also some other exercise machines. The Boss went to some control panel and began pressing the corresponding buttons. Organ music began to play, and the ceiling flared up with red light in various shades. The walls of the room from ceiling to floor were draped with dark blue curtains.
"Well then. Let's begin, shall we." He led me to the cabinet, stood me with my back to it, opened the doors, and began searching for something. He put a spiked collar on me with the spikes facing outward, then with special clamps connected by a chain, he clamped my nipples, and attached the chain to the collar with a carabiner. Next, he took a nickel-plated ring, like a clamp, and put it on the base of my cock along with my balls and began tightening the screw until the ring tightly gripped my package. With another ring, he encircled my scrotum and also screwed it tight so that I thought the skin on my scrotum would burst. It was a bit painful but pleasant.
The Boss led me to the wooden cross and secured my hands and feet with straps. Moreover, my legs were secured on special spreaders, which apparently were attached to the horizontal beam. He blindfolded me and put a gag in my mouth – a plastic ball with elastic straps going around the back of my head.
I heard the clanking of chains and realized I was being lifted up. My feet left the floor, and I felt myself crucified and hanging on the cross. A terrible sensation!
The Boss opened my foreskin and inserted a small clamp under the base of the glans and tightened the screw. Then he hung some weight on the ring that was squeezing my balls, so it felt like they would tear off to hell. He also hung a weight on the ring that was squeezing the glans.
"Hang like that for now. And don't worry: your genitals won't tear off. They can withstand worse."
I heard the door slam. So, he left the torture chamber.
He was gone for about thirty minutes. My neck was already getting stiff because the spikes on the collar wouldn't let me tilt it – the spikes would immediately dig into my skin. And my chest felt constricted. All those crucified on a cross usually died from suffocation.
The clanking of chains reached my ears, and I began to descend. My feet touched the floor, and I felt relief. He took me off the cross and led me to another device. Unfastening my collar and detaching the chain going to my nipples from it, he ordered me to bend my head, and my neck fell into some kind of notch. He placed my hands himself into smaller notches. He placed a similar board with notches on top and secured it. It turned out I was in a pillory. To make it comfortable for me to stand in that position, I had to take a step back and spread my legs wide.
The weights attached to my genitals continued to pull them down. The Boss took the gag out of my mouth and said I could moan a little. And he began to work over my buttocks with his whip. It didn't seem painful; the tails of the whip were made of some soft material, but after a while my ass began to burn, and now each blow was felt more painfully. And I really did start to moan. I can't even say how long this torture lasted. It seemed very long to me, so long that I even stopped feeling the whip blows.
Finally, he freed me from the pillory, removed the blindfold, and laid me on the couch. I looked at my balls and was horrified – they were already blue. The head of my cock was crimson. He said it was nothing terrible, that the whole program was scientifically based and there would be no harm from it. The Boss removed the weights and loosened the ring squeezing my scrotum. The relief was blissful.
"You're a good boy. You withstood the first test. Let's go to the kitchen, and you can smoke."
Passing by the bathroom, the Boss asked if I wanted to urinate. I really had wanted to take a leak for a long time. We went in together, and he watched as a stream of urine shot out from the canal, constricted by the ring. He watched as I washed my cock and my hands. We left the bathroom and went to the kitchen. Moreover, the Boss walked ahead, and his open ass flashed before my eyes.
He poured vodka again, less for me, more for himself, and we drank without a snack. I smoked with great pleasure, sitting on a chair, although I couldn't feel my ass; it was still burning. The Boss also smoked, although it seemed to me he wasn't doing it for real, just blowing smoke.
He began asking me about my life but demanded I answer in monosyllables. How long have I been taking it in the ass? – Since eighteen. – What do I like about same-sex sex? – Everything. – Who do I live with? – Alone now. – How often do I shave my pubic area and scrotum? – Once a week. – What's the biggest cock I've taken inside me? – Twenty-two centimeters. – Do I drink urine? – Tried it. – Do I accept golden showers? – Yes. – The other questions, if there were any, I simply don't remember anymore.
Having stopped wielding the whip, the Boss detached the ring that was clamping my genitals, and a sigh of relief escaped me. But the chain going from my glans to the floor continued to hang, and my penis under the weight split my scrotum in half. He took one of my testicles with his fingers and began pushing it up under my pubic bone, then the second one ended up there in the same way, and I felt them pressing against the pubic bone from the inside. But, honestly, it was pleasant.
Then he put the collar back on me, detached the chain with the weight from my penis, and instead attached another, shorter one, the other end of which he attached to the collar. Now the chain was pulling my cock, and I had to arch somehow to make it easier for it. The Boss pulled the anal plug out of me, and I even felt a draft passing through my rear hole.
He asked about my well-being, and I replied that everything was fine so far, but I couldn't feel my nipples anymore. Then he detached the clamps, and again I felt relief. But I rejoiced too soon. The Boss rummaged in the cabinet and brought some rubber suction cups. He placed one on my nipple, released the air, and it stuck to me like a leech. He did the same with the second nipple. I felt them swelling.
Then the Boss inserted some plastic tube, no thicker than a syringe tip, into my anus, and air began to be pumped into me. At first, it was pleasant, but after about five minutes I thought I would burst like a balloon and even cried out. Then he pulled the tube out of me, and I heard the air rushing out of my hole. At that moment, he immediately inserted the anal plug, and the remaining air now distended my abdomen. I got the impression that I needed to go to the toilet, but I knew that thanks to the intestinal cleansing, there was nothing there.
He loosened the chains attached to my legs, and I was left hanging by my arms alone, which wasn't very pleasant. After a few minutes, the Boss lowered me so that I was touching the floor with my fingertips. He removed the chains from my legs and detached the chain from my glans. Pulling my testicles out from under my pubic bone, he tied my genitals again with a leather strap and tightly fastened the strap, which had a carabiner on it. He attached the carabiner to one of the chains and began pulling the chain so tight that I thought my whole package would tear off now. Standing was very uncomfortable: the only point of support was my fingertips. He left me in that position and left.
But he wasn't gone for long.
"Want to hang by your genitals?" he asked. "Don't worry, they'll hold. It's been tested many times."
"And if not?" I asked fearfully.
"Don't be afraid, I'll back you up." He loosened the chains, and I stood on the floor with my whole feet. And again the Boss attached chains to my legs, and I found myself horizontally suspended for the second time. Now he tightened the chain attached to my genitals and loosened the chains on my arms and legs.
And indeed, I was hanging only by my genitals. The Boss completely loosened the chains on my arms and legs, and all my sixty kilograms were held by my cock and scrotum, though with a bias towards my head. But it didn't last long. But the Boss managed to photograph me – a flash went off a couple of times. He tightened the chains holding my arms and legs again and loosened the chain going to my genitals. Pulling the anal plug out of me, he inserted two rather large balls connected to each other. And, lowering me to the floor, freed me from all chains and straps. I examined my package; everything seemed to be in place.
"Will it even stand after this?" I asked.
"It will, don't piss yourself. I've lifted more than one here, and heavier than you. Good boy. Not a coward. Now you can tell your friends, if you want, of course, that you hung by your own genitals. I'll send you the photos by email. You've earned another cigarette."
I asked him to tuck my testicles back inside again, that I liked it. The Boss deftly handled it but advised not to leave them there for too long. And he showed me how to tuck them so they wouldn't fall back into the scrotum. Examining myself, I saw that there was practically no scrotum; its skin had smoothed out, and now I only had my penis hanging. The Boss took several photos where I posed without a scrotum.
Going to the kitchen, I felt inside me that the balls were constantly moving, but they didn't hinder walking. After drinking vodka again and smoking, I asked the Boss about these balls. He explained that they had a shifted center of gravity and therefore were constantly in motion, and promised to insert a longer string. I spread my legs and touched my anus; a plastic loop was sticking out of it.
"Don't you want to sleep