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The Black Ball (M/f, MMMM/f, hum,
nc, b&d)
Copyright Albert Vines 2003. All rights reserved.
This
story may be copied or posted, without changes or
omissions, for non-commercial purposes only.
Please keep
the author tag attached along with this notice, and let
me know where you've sent it or if you like it:
albert.vines@yahoo.com
Warning - This story contains explicit and graphic
depictions of sexual activity, including
the humiliation
and mistreatment of women. If this kind of thing doesn't
appeal to you then please read no further. If you do
read
further, bear in mind that this is a
work of fiction and
any similarity with people living or dead is entirely
coincidental. The author does not condone the
behaviours
depicted here, it is a fiction, a
fantasy.
Prologue
--------
The entrance foyer was quiet. The modern steel and
glass
office building was largely deserted, most of the
staff
having left 2 - 3 hours ago. The surrounding streets
were
still busy, with people moving to and fro, between work
and home, or work and one of the many bars, still packed
with young, ambitious types loath to leave the security
of their working environment. In the security control
area behind the reception desk, the coordinator checked
the security monitor again. Then he checked the VCR to
make certain that it was recording all this. He wanted to
make sure that he was getting it all on tape. Later, when
he'd finished his shift, he'd be able to review it at his
leisure. But for now, he adjusted the
bulge in his
crotch, moving his stiffening member to a more
comfortable position and kept his eyes on
the front door,
on the lookout for any unwanted interruptions. He'd have
to make sure no-one else found out about this. The woman
on screen was one of the legal execs on the tenth floor,
a young high-flyer. He'd recognised
her immediately she'd
entered the conference room, ahead of
the four guys. The
CCTV image was coming from one of the tenth floor
conference rooms, not usually monitored,
but today he'd
been flicking from feed to feed, bored and in need of
something to do. And then he'd stumbled on
this. This is
definitely his lucky day.
He tried to remember her name, but he couldn't. He wasn't
usually on the day shift, he was on
nights, usually two
till ten, like tonight. Quiet afternoons followed by a
mass exodus around five-thirty, followed by the evening
patrols to make sure desks were cleared,
laptops put away
and all lights off. The morning shift knew all the names,
from the occasional spot checks and the bag searches. No
matter, he could find out, a quick scan of the pass-
photos on the security database would bring up a name, then
into
the Emergency Contact module to get contact and address details.
His eyes kept getting drawn back to the monitor and the
action up on the tenth floor. He'd been around and
seen
an awful lot of freaky stuff in his career in the armed
services. But never anything quite like this. From the
moment she'd walked into the room, head down,
holding
that black ball-gag in her left hand, he'd felt a
tremendous sexual thrill, pure excitement,
he was
actually going to witness a bondage sex
scene.
The four guys that followed her into the conference room
were also vaguely familiar. He'd expected someone to get
undressed, but no-one had. He'd watched
things unfold
slowly, as she'd crawled around the floor, kissing
feet,
then she'd put the gag in her mouth and buckled it up. It
was obvious she was taking part reluctantly, but no-one
was using any force. Joe started to get impatient. What
the fuck was going on?
Next thing he knew, she'd raised her skirt onto her back.
She was still on hands and knees, but now her skirt was
clear of her backside Joe could see that her ass was
bare. Shit, not only that, she was also gonna let the
main guy give her a beating. He took up a little metal
rod, and extended it like a car aerial. A few taps on her
ass and then wallop, he laid into her with ten or twelve
strokes before she scooted forward with
her hands on her
rear, getting as far out of range as possible.
After that there'd been some talking, god knows what this
guy said, but she'd bent over and touched her toes for
three more. When he'd finished the final three she'd been
made to sit in a chair and drink piss, before the guys
shot their loads over her. Jesus H Christ! How did they
get her to do all this?
When the guy tilted the chair backwards the monitor gave
a near-perfect view of her front, from the valley
between
her breasts, down across a stomach so flat it was almost
concave, to her knees, parting either
side of the seat
cushion. Wow! Joe was so wrapped up in
the view that he
didn't notice at first what happened next. The four
guys
came over her face and clothes, then left her there,
splattered in cum. When she finally left
the conference
room, Joe stopped the recording and ejected the cassette.
He knew, and she didn't, that he now had some power over
her. His imagination took off; the dark thoughts running
through his mind were about to change
her life yet
further.
Chapter 1
---------
The black ball is hard, it's heavy and it gleams between
my teeth. It's made of steel and covered in a thick
latex
layer, which I have to polish and care for in between its
uses. There's a steel tube through the centre to take the
thick rubber strap that buckles at the nape of my neck.
At ninety degrees to this there's a second steel tube,
that projects backwards and forwards, keeping my airway
clear. It's with this tube that they're now going to
force-feed me.
I'm on an office chair, my back straight and my fore-arms
along the plastic arms of the chair, but I'm no longer
bound. They've no further need of bondage, though you can
bet they'll use it again soon. My hands are clenched
around the arm rests. My ass burns from the beating.
I'm
gonna do whatever I have to
do to keep these animals
satisfied, to preserve my reputation. I
have to retain
some shred of dignity so that I can live outside this
world of humiliation and indignity. To think that I used
to be so proud to be at work here! You see, I've been
caught, hand in the cookie jar, fingers in the till,
cooking the books, fiddling the old
expenses.
I sit here now, shoulders back and upright, properly
dressed in a smart black skirt, white
blouse, no panty-
hose but good shoes, three years out of law school and
with a promising future in a solid city firm, waiting for
my next mouthful of piss. The steel tube leading from
the
front of my ball gag to the back of my tongue carries a
second tube, clear plastic, connected to a plastic
sack
hanging two feet above my head, hooked
onto a flip-chart
stand. My four former colleagues have just filled this
plastic sack with steaming piss and one
of them has his
fingers on the clamp that holds back the
flow. He'll soon
release it, I know he will, and the piss
will stream down
the tube and into my mouth. Unless I swallow quickly
it'll overflow, around the black ball and down my chin,
to soak my blouse and skirt. This is what they want to
happen, they want my humiliation, my abject misery.
It's just a little bit ironic
that two of them had to
turn away and face the wall before they could relax
enough to piss and make their contribution to my
enforced
feed.
The clamp's released and I let out a quick
breath through
my nose, the better to be able to swallow their piss. It
streams into my mouth and I gulp it
down, as fast as it
flows into my mouth I take it down my throat, until I
have to take a breath again and the flow's too much. It
fills my mouth and seeps around the black ball, running
down my chin and neck into the hollow between my breasts.
It soaks into my bra and blouse, which turns a semi-
transparent yellow and clings to my breasts.
Laughter fills the room, an executive conference room on
the tenth floor, wood panelled
and nicely carpeted. It
occurs to me that I have to stay dressed to stop the
carpet from getting ruined. My hands clamp hold of
the
chair's arms, harder than before. I've
been warned before
about changing my position, no matter how much my ass
hurts. Last time I couldn't stay put, I was made to crawl
through a pool of overflowed piss in the
ground floor
toilets.
I gulp and gulp till the flow stops. I've taken over two
pints of warm, fresh piss down my gullet. My stomach's
distended and I can feel a rising tide of
vomit which
I'll have to keep down. I wonder what happens next.
No need to wonder, they're going for a repeat performance
of last time. The four of them close in. The ringleader,
I nicknamed him Herman the German, stands behind me. He
leans closer to my ear and adjusts the backrest of the
chair so that I'm leaning right back, almost flat. "Relax
and enjoy yourself".
It reminds me of the dentist's
chair, without the footrest. My knees slide apart as my
feet seek the security of the floor. My breasts have
settled to the sides of my chest,
pulling the wet
material of my blouse taut. The buttons
strain in the
button-holes. My nipples are clearly visible
and stiffen
as I look down my body, realising
what I must look like.
I want to close my eyes in shame, but I know from
previous experience that this wouldn't be
a good thing to
do right now.
As if they're synchronised somehow they unzip
their flies
and pull out their erections, four cocks coming into
view, each one quite different but each one engorged and
ready to cum. They masturbate together for what must be
only a few seconds before Herman's cum shoots across my
cheek and mouth. I can feel the tears forming along my
eyelids, the shame. Two more cocks shoot
over me, one
across my neck, the other over the bridge of my
nose.
Their cum oozes down my face and neck, collecting in the
hollow of my throat and seeping into my hair on
either
side of my face. The fourth of my tormentors has been
wanking more slowly, watching
me intently to savour my
humiliation. I glare at him now, my eyes
accusative, full
of hatred. He smiles and his hand speeds up. His cock
suddenly ejaculates across my face, the
flow much more
than any of the others, maybe more than all three put
together. It's in my nose, across my lips
and even in my
hair. He continues to stroke his cock as his orgasm
subsides, soon the eye of his cock starts
to dribble out
the remainder of his cum and he leans forwards at the
hips to smear it across my blouse, against the side of my
breast. I'm a wet, sticky mess and I wait,
motionless for
my next instruction.
Nothing comes. They zip up, turn away and walk to the
door. Herman half turns as he nears the doorway.
"Clean
yourself up, you slut."
They laugh and leave. I slowly ease myself upright. My
thighs close together and I feel the dampness in my
knickers. My cunt
is sopping and they never even knew.
God knows what they'd do if they did know.
All they do know is that I didn't come looking for this,
I tell myself I don't want it, what they're doing to me,
but I still can't stop myself from being turned on by it.
I slip to my knees to hide behind the table and the cum
slips down my breastbone into the material of my bra.
They're right, I'm a slut. Even
while I want this
treatment to stop, I get more turned on by
it than any
sexual experience I've ever had before in my life.
When
they come back next time, I'll do it all again. I'll do
more and more, whatever they ask. I feel so ashamed, yet
more turned on than I've ever been before. Later tonight
I'll cum, using the image of what's just happened to me,
playing through my mind like a
porn-store video.