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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.