When the time is ripe, with anticipation, Harvey and I noisily clomp down the stairs, pause a few moments before the closed door, and open it slowly. I keep the hinges rusty and not lubricated so that when it opens, it creaks with a spooky noise like an Old Dark House horror movie from the early Thirties. When I snap on the light, flooding the dark basement with blinding light, I see the underwear clad Ignatius Harding jump with a start and turn his head as far as he can. You can almost smell the fear in the playroom.
Dramatically the two of us approach the padded table where our guest is strapped down. I notice that in the heat of the room and the anxiety fueling the situation, Ignatius is covered in a thin film of sweat. Not enough to soak his undershirt or briefs, but just enough to see it glisten in the overhead surgical light fixture’s bright beam.
He struggles forcefully and uselessly. He asks us what is going on here? I take a towel and pat the sweat from his beaded brow. I run my fingers through his ruffled short brown hair gently and slowly in an effort to calm him down. I speak in soothing tones.
“You must have tripped on the stairs because you fell down and passe out cold. We put you on the table until you revived. We tied you down so that you wouldn’t fall off.
“I am glad that you are recovered and apparently no damage was done when you fell.”
He looks at me with a doubting face and says: “I don’t believe a word of your explanation. I clearly remember you chloroforming me until I blacked out.”
I reply: “Whatever, believe what you want to believe.
“I am sorry that right now you cannot appreciate how glad I am to have you in my house,” I continue.
“I am afraid all this,” as I open my arms to embrace the whole room, “is necessary so that we can settle something that has been standing between us all these years.”
Ignatius gives me a puzzled look and furrows his brow. Again he has a struggling spell but just as quickly lays still again. His ears have more to listen to before we begin the evening’s activities.
“You probably don’t know what I am referring to. So lets take a stroll down Memory Lane, shall we? Remember back in college how I used to give you long relaxing back rubs? You would never let me do more than your back.
“Whenever I suggested that you should turn over so I could do the front, you always refused. You never even removed your top but pulled it up around your neck. You seemed anxious and nervous that I might do something to you that you thought offensive or something. You never let me touch your hairy chest, let alone see you up close and naked. All this is going to be rectified tonight.”
I pull his tight white T-shirt up to his head and his tight-whities down to the top of his butt cheeks. This is Washington, D.C. all over again only this time Ignatius is firmly strapped in place.
I coat his bare back with Oil of Wintergreen that generates a warm and tingling sensation. Just wearing a jock strap, I give Harding a long stimulating massage. He relaxes somewhat and almost appears to be enjoying it. I work over his bare legs and even his bare feet.
After a while I decide it is time to get him off the table and standing up. The ropes are untied and we help him to the floor. He probably thinks that this was it.
Quickly we rush him over to the wooden pole on the other side of the basement and just as quickly have him secured to the post. He sure looks delicious in bondage, just like in my fantasies for all these years.
I start by slowly ripping open his white undershirt.
Although I like the torn shirt image, it has to come off. I rip it off and fling it to the floor, much to his alarm.
Both Harvey and I rub our hands over the firm hairy flesh of Ignatius’ fur covered muscular chest and heaving belly. The treasure trail is thick and luxurious, while the lighter coat of fur on either side of the line is even softer and slightly tickles the palm of my hand.
“Remember back in Lafayette how they held you down and gave you a stinging Pink Belly?” I ask him. “Well what do you say we relive that experience now?” Our guest grunts and shakes his head from side to side in negation. “I thought you would act like that.”
“Harvey, the key to a successful Pink Belly is not the force of the slap, but the rhythm and speed of the blows. If you spit on your hands and get them nice and wet, it also enhances the sting and heightens the pinkness. If we do it right, I am sure Mr. Harding will enjoy it even more.”
In anticipation of what is to come, I notice that Ignatius has tightened his stomach muscles.
Menacingly I hover my open palm over his bare belly. I fake a blow and delight in seeing him flinch in anticipation. Again I spit in my open hand and raise my flat palm over the firm bare flesh.
I strike with a stinging slap with my right hand and immediately follow with my left. Not too hard and not too soft. The sound of each slap is like a clap of thunder. Mr. Harding reacts on cue with a loud grunt. I start up a nice rhythm with both hands like I am beating bongo drums. The color rises beneath the furry coating on his belly. Harvey too gets a crack at administering the Pink Belly and he does quite well.
When the color reaches the peek of its redness, we stop.
We rub the bruised bare flesh to soothe and relax our guest again. I can even see several red palm prints on his smooth sides. His stomach muscles relax under our touch.
Also for old times sake I give our guest a couple of Killer Kowalski Abdominal Claws, digging my fingers deep into the taut belly above and below the hair shadowed sunken navel.
More musical grunts arise from our guest at each and every clutching grab of his belly flesh. Harvey too joins in the fun with his clawing hands.
Without warning I pull his Jockey shorts down to his knees. Ignatius looks magnificent in his total nudity.
Harvey and I move in for a closer look.
I never saw Ignatius Harding’s cock and balls up close. I take his balls in my hand and feel the heft. He tries to recoil, but he is securely strapped. “Harvey feel how heavy his testicles are, he must be a regular cum factory. It may take a few rounds to drain these goose eggs.”
While Harvey is feeling the weight of Harding’s ball sack, I delicately lift the flaccid penis in my left hand and examine the circumcision scar, squeezing the shaft all the way up to the meaty knob. I rub a wet finger over the circumference of the helmet-headed flange and pleasantly note the groan that comes from the naked hairy man.
Still holding the slightly swelling cock, with my right index finger I rub up and down the frenium: that tender spot where the two lobes of his corona meet and join the column of the shaft. Ignatius wiggles his hips ever slightly. This man has a very responsive dick and so shall be more so when put it through its paces.
He makes my cock throb. His sloping pecs are tipped by two succulent and rubbery teats now slightly poking up perkily in the air from the pinching of our fingers. He smells slightly of Old Spice deodorant. As we continue to stroke his hairy naked body, his cock stirs and rises up towards his deep navel, the large testicles roll around in his nut sack.
Ignatius asks what we were going to do to him. I don’t answer immediately. I just give him a playful wink of an eye. His eyes open wide and for the first time I see a look of fear on his handsome face. Harvey and I continue our stroking up and down that wonderful naked body. His cock gets longer, thicker and harder.
I speak to him: “You know Iggy, I haven’t forgotten all the times you laid your body down in front of me, letting me give you back rubs but not allowing me to go any further. You’ve got a lot of wasted nights to make up for. Maybe I can reach closure by draining your balls. What do you say?” I sound so casual but my heart is pounding.
To Be Continued…………………….Next page