My Vacation

My vacation trip to California didn't work out quite like I'd planned. Would you like to hear abut what went wrong? No? Well, I'm going to tell you anyway, so just sit back, grab a beer, and hang on to your cock, because here it comes.

Just about one month short of our twelfth wedding anniversary, my wife and I decided that we'd had our fill of one another, so we applied for dissolution of your marriage (No such thing as divorce here; it's a no-fault state). Since we weren't bitter about the breakup and we didn't have kids, it took just a short time before the whole thing was settled, and we were both single again.

I'd worked virtually my entire life from the time I was fifteen years old, and had never had a vacation. With my new-found freedom, and half the proceeds from selling our house and belongings, I decided that the time had come to see some of this wonderful country of ours. A trip to a local car dealer resulted in a brand-new, fire engine red pickup truck, with a fiberglass canopy to match. I loaded everything I possessed (which wasn't a whole Hell of a lot) in the back and hit the road. I'd never had so much money in my bank account before, and with my new credit card, figured I'd be able to live high on the hog for almost a year before needing to once again find a job.

I headed west, figuring to eventually end up at the Pacific Ocean somewhere in California, and maybe find some of those hot babes that seem to be everywhere on Baywatch. It took me about a month to finally arrive at the big water at Santa Cruz. It was now July, and hotter than Hell in that area, so I decided to head north, looking for a cooler climate.

I arrived in San Francisco in the early evening and decided to find a motel for the night, and after driving around off Highway 1 for awhile found one that looked seedy enough to not be beyond my budget. After I checked in, I went to my room and had a cold shower to get rid of some of the heat of the day. After that I checked out the TV schedule, but couldn't find anything worth watching.

It had been my practice to stop at an adult magazine store a couple of times a week to buy some jack-off literature, and I looked through the ones I still had with me. They'd been pretty-well used up by now, if you know what I mean, so I thought maybe it was time to buy another one.

I could see a business district a few blocks from my motel, and decided to just walk there rather than drive. The air had cooled off nicely with the breeze off the water, and it was a nice night to be out.

It turned out that the walk was quite a bit farther than I'd thought, because the streets were pretty screwed up, with dead ends, cul-de-sacs, overpasses, underpasses, etc. By the time I actually reached the shopping district, I wasn't sure that I'd ever be able to find my way back.

I walked around the area for awhile, enjoying the sights. It was pretty obvious that most of the stores had seen better days, and some of the people too. It looked just sleazy enough to have the sort of magazine store I was looking for, and sure enough, right around the next corner was a porno shop and dirty-movie arcade, with nude dancing and probably lots more that wasn't advertised out front.

I knew I'd hit the jackpot, and didn't hesitate to go inside. About one-half of the front room was used to display things called "marital aids", but I didn't remember anything like that from my marriage. Maybe that's why it went to pot. The other half had floor-to-ceiling magazine racks, and I'd never seen such a selection. Hell's bells, I didn't even know that it was possible for people to do half the stuff that was shown on the covers of those things.

I was browsing the different sections, trying to decide what to buy. The prices were pretty steep, and I knew I couldn't take one of everything the way I wanted, or my bank account would be empty pretty quick. Some of those magazines cost twice as much as the meals I'd been having.

My cock was hard as a rock by the time I'd looked at about 1/10 of the displays, and I'd started at the "vanilla" end. When I was about 3/4 of the way through with my tour, I came to a section labelled "Leather". I thought that was an odd subject for a sex magazine, but when I looked at the pictures on some of the things, I could see that their idea of leather was somewhat different from mine.

There were photos of both naked men and women with all sorts of things attached to various parts of their bodies. I saw pictures of people being stretched, clamped, whipped, and about anything else you can name. I was holding one particular magazine, and staring at a photo of a man suspended by his wrists while being whipped by two other men when something clicked in my brain, and I felt a burning sensation in my cock and balls that was stronger than anything I'd ever felt with my wife. Never in my life had I thought something like what I saw there could be sexually arousing, but it sure as Hell was.

I continued to stare at that photo and get hotter and hotter. All of a sudden, I realized that a fellow was standing right beside me, looking at my magazine. I was about as embarrassed as I'd ever been in my whole life, and closed the magazine and put it back in the display rack.

He smiled at me and said, "That's a pretty hot issue, this month. It's the best in quite awhile. The only trouble is that those things cost an arm and a leg."

I tried to hide my embarrassment by saying something about how it was a shame they were so high-priced, and that I'd have to find something else. I turned to walk away when he said, "Say, I have a whole grocery sack of back issues of that mag. Would you like to have it so I don't have to pay the garbage man to haul it off?"

He seemed a nice enough fellow, and of course I was just a country hick who was trying to pretend he knew the score. I replied, "Well, yeah. That'd be okay with me. I'm always interested in saving a little money." He laughed at my little joke, and suggested that when I was ready to leave, I could follow him home and pick up the stuff.

I told him that I was staying in a motel a few blocks away, and hadn't driven to the store, so he suggested that I could just hop in with him. We'd get the magazines at his house, and then he'd drop me off at my motel. I was a little nervous about just driving off with a stranger, but he seemed like a nice guy, so I said that'd be okay. As we were leaving the store, he said his name was Jeffrey, but everybody called him Jeff. I introduced myself as Andrew, and asked that he call me Andy.

We walked outside and around the corner to his car. It was one of those little foreign convertibles, and having the top down was a good way to see the sights as well as enjoy the cool air. He drove me around town for about an hour, showing me all the sights, and in the process I was thoroughly lost. I remember thinking that it was a damn good thing he was going to take me back to the motel, because I'd sure as Hell never find it on my own.

Jeff's house was outside of town a short ways, and was about 200' from the nearest neighbor. There wasn't much of a view from there, so I couldn't orient myself as to just where we were relative to where we'd started.

We went inside to get the magazines, and he suggested that I have a seat on the couch while he got the sack. When he came back, he was carrying two opened bottles of beer, and I couldn't refuse, so took one from him and as he seated himself across from me, we talked as we sipped the brews. He suggested that I look through the sack to see if I liked what was in there, and I pulled out a couple of the magazines. They were the same title as the one I'd been looking at in the store, and the photos on the cover were along the same lines, in that they showed naked men being punished in various ways.

As I was looking at the cover of the first one, Jeff moved to the divan beside me and suggested that I look at a certain page. When I turned to that one, I saw a drawing of a naked man. He seemed to be tied to four metal rings that were fastened to a wall, with the upper two being at ceiling height and about 6' apart, and the lower two being directly below, but at floor level. His wrists were tied to the top rings and his ankles to the ones at the bottom, holding him in a widespread position.

As I looked at the drawing, I could see that there were some sort of things attached to his nipples, and that weights had been suspended from them, stretching his tits toward the floor. There was something wrapped around his sac, right above the balls, and a really big weight had been attached to that. His nuts looked like they were stretched about half way to his knees.

What really caught my eye, though, was his cock. It was hard as a rock, and was at least a foot long. I thought that was maybe stretching things a bit, since my own 7" dick was the biggest I'd ever seen. I guess it was just artistic license.

When I finally looked up from the magazine, Jeff asked, "Would you like to see the real thing?" I didn't have any idea what he meant, and said so. For an answer, he opened a drawer in the coffee table in front of us and took out a large manila envelope. He reached inside it and took out a photograph and handed it to me.

I couldn't believe my eyes for a few seconds. This time, instead of just a drawing, there was a real live naked man tied to the wall. The same things were hanging from his nipples and balls, and his dick was standing straight out from his crotch. It wasn't nearly as big as the one in the drawing, but it was just as hard. About the only difference between the drawing and the photograph was that the real man had something over his head that looked like a black sack. It had cutouts for his eyes, and another one for his nose. His mouth was covered by the thing.

By that time, my hands were sweating and my cock was about as hard as it'd ever been. I don't ever recall being turned on by looking at a naked man before, but I sure was this time. My throat was so dry that I couldn't speak, and I reached for my beer bottle and drained it. As soon as it was empty, Jeff took it from me and went to the kitchen for another. All the time he was gone, I stared at the photo and tried to imagine how it would feel to have that done to me.

When Jeff returned, he said that I should look at the next magazine, especially page 48. I took another slug of beer, and looked through the sack for the one he'd suggested. It was next in the stack there, and I turned to the page.

There were two drawings on the page, and I was sure they were supposed to represent the same man as before. The first drawing showed him again tied to the rings, but this time he was facing the wall. I could see the weight hanging from his balls, and they seemed to be stretched even farther than before. There was another naked man standing beside him, also with a hard-on, and he was whipping the victim's back, ass, and legs with some sort of whip that had lots of leather strips fastened to a handle. There were stripes all over the man's backside from the thongs.

The second drawing showed the man again tied to the rings, but this time facing away from the wall. The weights were still on his nipples and balls, and his dick was still monstrously hard. The other man was whipping his chest, legs, and crotch. Again his body was covered with stripes. When I looked at the red lines on his cock, I thought my own cock was going to explode in my pants.

My throat was so tight now that it was all I could do to breathe. Again Jeff reached in the envelope and brought out two photos. The first one duplicated everything in the first drawing, except that again the real man was wearing the covering over his face, and the second did the same. I was now almost completely overcome with lust, and wanted nothing more than to take out my dick and pump it. I took another drink of my beer, and realized that the second bottle was now empty too.

When I looked up again, there was a fresh bottle of beer on the table in front of me. As I drank from it, Jeff pulled another magazine from the sack and opened it to a page that had another drawing on it. He handed it to me, and I was again suspended in time as I looked at the drawing.

This one showed another naked man, and this time he was tied face up over what looked to be half of a very large barrel. His abdomen was at the top of the curved surface, making his hard-on seem even larger. His wrists and ankles were tied to the corners of the curved table, holding him in a spreadeagle position.

There were two other men in the drawing. The first had tied a cord around the man's balls and was pulling on it as hard as he could. He had even propped one foot against the tabletop to allow him to stretch the sac until it seemed to be almost a foot away from the victim's body. The second man was leaned over the prisoner's crotch, and was holding the erect penis in his left hand. His right hand was inserting a long needle in the man's cock head. I could see there were already half a dozen needles in place, and all of them had been pushed completely through the thing and were approximately centered in it.

My ear's were ringing, and my breathing was ragged. I was sure that my cock was going to start spurting at any second, even without my touching it. I realized that Jeff was trying to get my attention, and realized that he was telling me to, "Take this photo in your hand. Look at it and imagine yourself tied down like that, and all those nice things being done to your cock and balls."

I had trouble focusing on what he was saying, but remember my hand reaching out and taking the picture from him. It showed the same thing as the drawing, but again with real men. I remember looking at it for a long time, thinking of how wonderful it would feel to have my balls stretched like that, and to have all those needles pushed through the head of my cock.

I heard a strange voice asking, "Is he ready yet?" I tried to make my head turn toward the voice, but somehow couldn't get it to obey my orders. Then I heard Jeff say, "Andy, I want you to turn your head and look at my friend. His name is Griff, and he's going to help me with you tonight."

My head seemed to turn all of its own accord, and I looked at the other man sitting there beside me on the couch. I didn't know how long he'd been in the room with us, and don't even remember feeling the couch adjust as he sat down. I tried to speak, but my tongue wouldn't obey my brain. I remember thinking how all the colors in the room were somehow much brighter than before.

Griff's voice then said to me, "Andy, I want you to remove your shoes and socks. Do it now." Once again, I tried to tell my body to stand and walk out the door, but instead, I saw my hands reach down and untie my shoes, then pull them off. My socks were removed next by my hands, all contrary to the orders my brain was issuing.

Jeff's voice came again, saying, "Andy, stand up and unfasten your jeans. Take them off. Then unbutton your shirt and take it off." My body stood, and I sent order after order to my legs to walk to the door, but they seemed to be frozen in place. Soon my jeans joined the shoes and socks on the floor, followed by my shirt. My cock was still as hard as ever, and I was embarrassed to show my aroused state by displaying the tented condition of my undershorts.

Again, Griff gave me an order. "Andy, take off your undershorts." My hands went to my hips, and pushed down on the waistband of my shorts, and I stepped out of them. As I looked down at my cock, I could see it swaying in front of me, and I remember thinking that it had never looked so engorged and stiff.

I was then instructed to sit down again, and I did so. Jeff then said, "Now you're probably wondering what's going on, so I'll tell you. The photos you've seen were taken down in the basement here. Griff and I make our money by selling them to people who want more 'live action' than they can get in the porno mags. When we see a drawing in a mag that we like, we bring a man here and duplicate it for real. The pictures we take sell like mad, and it keeps us in good shape in terms of money."

"You've probably guessed why you're here, and you're right. We're going to take you to the basement in a few minutes and do some things to you that the perverts ought to really like. We'll probably make enough off your session to buy both of us new cars. Now, would you like to see the drawing we're going to use?"

He didn't wait for my answer, which I doubt I'd have been able to make anyway. Instead, he reached in the sack again and pulled out another magazine. He opened it to one of the back pages, then held it out to me and said, "Look at that. Doesn't that look like it'll be fun?"

My eyes were looking at the drawing in front of me, but my brain couldn't interpret the image. Finally I realized that what I was seeing was a naked man hanging from a post. His wrists had been handcuffed together behind the post, and then the handcuffs had been raised above his head and placed over a hook in the back of the post.

His feet had been drawn behind the post, and his ankles cuffed together. As with his wrists, his ankles had been raised and secured over another hook that was about two feet below the upper one. The awkward position forced his knees so wide apart that I thought he would surely split apart.

As in the first drawing I'd seen, some sort of clamp had been fastened to his nipples, and then used to suspend weights. A strap had been placed around his sac, above his balls, and there was a cement block suspended from it. His nuts were stretched several inches from his body by the weight, and seemed about to burst from the sac.

As I looked at his stiffly erect cock, I saw that several needles had been pushed completely through the shaft, stopping only when they were centered in it. I then looked at the other man who was standing in front of the victim. As my eyes brought the image to my sleepwalking brain, I saw that he was holding a knife in one hand, and the head of the man's cock in the other. There were several more needles in that piece, positioned in the same manner as those in the shaft.

It took several seconds for me to realize that the head of the man's cock was no longer attached to the shaft. I realized then what the knife had been used for. Jeff's voice again penetrated my brain, and he said, "Now stand up and follow us. Bring that magazine so we can be sure to not miss any parts when we're working on you." He then stood and walked down the hallway. I was screaming at my body to walk to the door and get out of there, but all it would do was follow him like a puppy dog.

He opened a door at the end of the hallway, then descended a stairway to the basement, again with me following along behind. At the foot of the stairs, a second door was opened, and Jeff entered. Griff was right behind me and waited until I had entered, then walked through also, closing the door behind him.

I tried to make my head turn so that I could look for a way to escape the room, but it seemed to be frozen in place. All I could do was blindly follow Jeff as he walked across the floor. Finally he stopped in front of a table and told me to place the magazine on it, then look at all the fun toys they had for me.

I saw that the table had been pushed up against a wooden post that had been put there to support the floor above. There were two large metal hooks mounted high up the post, about two feet apart. There were two things I didn't recognize laying on the tabletop. The first things looked like a pair of screw-on earrings, and the second like a black cloth, only it seemed to be made of thin rubber. The parts I did know were a large cement block, two short lengths of cord, about a dozen needles at least 4" long, two things like monstrous fishing sinkers, two pairs of handcuffs, and a knife.

While Jeff was supervising my inspection of the equipment that would be used on my, Griff was setting up his cameras and recording equipment. One of the videocameras was mounted on a tripod, and Griff held the other in his hand so he could move around to capture all the action. There was a microphone hanging from the ceiling over Jeff's head, just high enough to not be seen in the pictures.

Jeff turned to Griff and asked if the cameras were ready, and I heard him say, "Anothe couple of minutes. Go ahead and get him hooded up, and I'll be ready by then." Jeff then picked up the black thing and shook it out. He told me to squat down a little bit, and then he slipped the thing over my head. As he pulled in into place, two cutouts were over my eyes and another over my nose. The hood was very tight-fitting and went all the way past my chin. I would have been unable to speak even if my brain could somehow have made my mouth obey.

Jeff then put a shorter version of my hood over his own face. It covered no more than his eyes and half his nose, leaving him free to issue orders to me. As soon as his mask was in place, Griff said, "Okay. Ready. We're rolling."

Jeff then looked at me and said, "You have been charged with twelve counts of child molestation. A jury of your peers has tried, convicted, and sentenced you. It's time for you to be punished for your crimes. Get up on the table and place your back against the post." I fought with all my willpower to prevent my body from following his order, but to no avail. The traitorous thing climbed up on the tabletop, then knelt in front of the post.

He then ordered me to place my hands and feet behind the post, and again my body moved to obey. When I was in place to his satisfaction, he picked up the handcuffs and fastened one pair around my wrists and another around my ankles. I could feel my hands being raised behind my back, and soon experienced pain in my shoulders from the unnatural stretching. I could feel him release my arms, but I was unable to lower them to ease the stretching.

I then felt him take ahold of my feet, and begin lifting them up the post. This seemed to cause him quite a bit of difficulty, and took almost a full minute before I heard him grunt and release my feet. As with my hands, my feet remained in the upraised position, and I found it difficult to keep my legs from spreading.

Jeff then walked around in front of me and placed his hands on the table, gripping the front edge of it. He began sliding it away from the post, and when he had moved it about two feet, my knees slipped off the top. Immediately my knees spread wide and I could feel an unimaginable stretching in my crotch. I didn't understand why my body didn't split right then, and thought that I'd surely pass out from the pain.

As I looked down at my cock, I saw it standing monstrously erect, jutting from my crotch like a flagpole. The damn thing was still flopping and jerking, as if to tell all the world that it was having fun.

Jeff then picked up one of the earring things and held it up for me to see more closely. It had a small wire ring that seemed to be attached somehow to a threaded rod. There was a knob on the other end of the rod. Hanging from the main body of the thing was a much larger wire ring.

He then began to massage one of my nipples, and when it erected, to pinch and pull it. When he was finally satisfied with the amount of distension, he slipped the small wire ring over the nipple and began turning the knob. I could see the ring began to grow smaller, and then understood the purpose of the thing. He kept turning the knob until it bit into the flesh behind my nipple, anchoring it securely in place.

He repeated this process on my other nipple, and then picked up one of the lead weights. He said, "Now this may hurt a little bit. I'm sorry to have to do it to you, but the sentence must be carried out." He then attached the weight to the larger ring of one of the nipple clamps, lifted it as high as possible, and dropped it.

The pain was tremendous as the weight reached the bottom limit of its fall. The wire ring around my nipple dug in even more, and I was sure that it was being torn from my body. I tried to cry out, but my mouth wouldn't obey. My eyes were so filled with tears that it was difficult to see.

Jeff waited until I had recovered a little bit, and then attached another lead weight to the other nipple clamp. Again he raised it as high as possible before releasing it. I was prepared for the shock of the pain this time, but that didn't make it any more bearable.

As soon as he saw that I again able to see him, Jeff doubled up his fists and brought them sharply upwards into my balls. The explosion of pain was truly horrible, and it spread rapidly throughout my entire body. I was sure I would soon pass out from the agonizing throbbing, but that release was not allowed my. I began to realize that the beer I had been drinking contained some sort of drug, and that it not only made me unable to disobey their orders, it somehow prevented my body from going into shock.

As I regained my ability to breathe, Jeff gripped my sac and began pulling it downward. When it was finally loose enough to satisfy him, he picked up one of the cords and looped it several times above my throbbing balls, finally tying it tightly in place.

He picked up the cement block and set it on end beneath the dangling end of the cord, then knelt in front of me. It took him several attempts to hold the block off the floor, while threading the cord through it and then making a knot. I was sure that he would then raise it as high as possible and drop it, as he'd done with the nipple weights.

Instead, he merely lowered it slowly until the cord tightened and my testicles supported the full weight. The feeling of having my balls torn from my body was overpowering. I could feel the skin stretching and the sperm cords being pulled from my abdomen. I knew that if he had lifted the cement block and then dropped it, my nuts would be laying on the floor right now.

I looked down and saw that my penis was pointing straight down, as if in sympathy with its long-time friends, and wanting to observe what was being done to them. It was no longer jerking around as before, but was still as hard as ever.

Jeff then spoke again to me, saying, "You were convicted of molesting twelve children. Your sentence specifies that your genitals are to be pierced with one needle for each child. I will now carry out that part of the sentence." He then picked up the first needle and held it. He grabbed my penis and lifted it to a straight-out position, then placed the point of the needle against the side of my cock head.

As he began pushing the point into my flesh, I felt a burning and stinging sensation that soon turned to flashes of pain shooting up the shaft and into my abdomen. By the time the point was about halfway through the head, I was gasping for breath and trying to move my body away from the invader. Through my tears, I saw the flesh on the opposite side of the head dimple outwards, and then the needle point broke throught. There was a single drop of blood as the point emerged, then no more as the needle filled the hole. He continued to push it until it was centered in the head of my cock.

I didn't know how I would be able to survive having twelve needles pushed through my penis and balls, if just one had caused me such agonizing pain. Surely my brain would overload and let me pass out. I knew that unconsciousness was my only hope to escape what was to come.

Jeff picked up the second needle, still holding my cock in place. He placed this one underneath the head and began pushing upward. Again there came the horrible stinging, burning sensation, followed by the flash of pain through my stomach. Once again, as I watched, I saw the flesh on top of the head dimple upward, and the point broke through accompanied by a single drop of blood.

"Only ten more to go", he said. "I hope you're remembering how fun it was to stick this thing in those little kids. I may just double the number of needles to make sure you feel them."

The next six needles were pushed completely through the shaft of my cock, causing fresh agonies of pain to wrack my body with each one. It was all I could do to keep breathing, and my vision was blurred with all the tears in my eyes.

Finally he pronounced that my cock was full, and he was going to now punish my balls for their part in my crime. He knelt in front of me and reached for one of the four remaining needles on the table. I braced myself for what I expected to be pain even greater than what I'd felt in my cock.

I could see that he was holding the needle with the point toward my balls, but couldn't see them because my downward-pointing penis was in the way. I felt a slight pressure against my sac, but not the burning, stinging sensation that the needles in my cock had give me. I then realized that my nuts were almost completely numb from the constricting cord that was tied around them, and that was the only thing that was saving me from receiving even more agonizing pain.

He reached for the remaining needles one at a time, and must have pushed them through my imprisoned balls, with two in each. I couldn't feel the needles, and I couldn't see them, and I thanked my lucky stars for that.

Finally he stood and said that my cock and balls were so small that there wasn't any room for any more needles. Then he said, "We're almost through now. Just one more little part of your sentence remains to be carried out." I remembered the drawing that he was using as his guide, and knew that what was to come would be more difficult for me to bear than anything he'd yet done.

He picked up the remaining cord and again knelt in front of me. It was looped several times around the shaft of my cock, just behind the head, before being drawn tight and tied off. He then reached up to the tabletop and picked up the knife.

As he placed the cutting edge of the knife behind the head of my cock, he said to me, "Now before this last part of your sentence is carried out, do you have anything to say?The jury specified that if you would apologize for your crimes, and beg to be freed, that I was to let you go at this point. Speak now or forever hold your peace."

I used every bit of my physical and mental reserves to force my mouth to utter the words I desperately needed to say. At that point, I would have confessed to anything in order to make him stop. Even with everything I could do, all that came from my throat was a low moan.

"Since the prisoner chooses to not confess his crimes, I have no choice but to complete the sentence. So be it."

He pinched the tip of my cock and lifted it until it was pointing straight out, then looked directly at my face. I was staring at the knife blade resting against my penis, trying to force words out of my mouth. Slowly, he drew the blade across the flesh, and a stream of blood shot from the wound. Still gripping the tip of the head, he again repeated the sawing motion, and I saw the flesh part. He was now holding the severed head in one hand, and the knife in the other, just as in the drawing.

I don't know whether or not I passed out at that point, but I have no memories until I realized that I was lying on floor in front of the post. I could tell that the equipment that had been used to torture me had been removed, except for the cord tied tightly around the shaft of my cock.

The pins had been removed from my genitals, and my crotch and thighs were covered with the blood that had drained from the holes. Curiously, the worst pain of all was in my shoulders, as a result of the strained position they were forced to hold for so long.

Griff had moved his camera equipment out of the way, and now used a garden hose to wash off the blood. The combination of the cold water spraying on my body, and the cold of the bare concrete floor, made me start to shiver violently. By the time he pronounced me as clean enough and ordered me to stand, I felt like I'd been in a freezer for hours.

Jeff handed me a large towel and ordered me to dry myself. My body struggled to follow his orders, and finally he decided to just do the job himself. As he dried me, I was looking down at my mutilated penis, and could see that the cord was still in place, probably to prevent any further bleeding. I was surprised to see that the needle holes weren't bleeding.

Finally I was ordered to follow Jeff up the stairs, and then to get dressed. Both the men had to help me with this, as my arms, and indeed my whole body was nothing but a mass of aches and pains, and it wouldn't function in anything resembling a normal manner.

When I was finally fully clothed, the men talked to one another for a couple of minutes. About all I remember of their conversation was Griff saying that he'd stay there and get the film processed in their darkroom. Jeff was to get me in Griff's van and drive me to "the usual place". When I heard that, I wondered if I were going to be killed, but given the agonizing pain I was feeling, was beyond caring.

Jeff ordered me to go outside, and once there he opened the door in a dark-colored van and told me to get inside and lie down on the floor. As soon as I did that, ordered me to not move and then threw a blanket over me. I heard the door close, and then another one opened and he got in and started the engine.

As we drove away from the scene of my torturing, the rocking and swaying of the vehicle, coupled with my extreme exhaustion caused me to fall asleep. My next memory is of Jeff shaking me and telling me to get out. When I did, I could see that we were in a dimly-lit parking lot, and that it was still nighttime.

Jeff pointed to a door that was about 100' away from the van, and told me to walk to it and ring the bell there. I was still under the influence of the drug he'd given me, and my body simply followed his orders. As I approached the door, I saw a sign above it that read "Emergency Room", and realized that he'd brought me to a hospital.

After I rang the bell, a nurse opened it. I don't remember what I said, if anything, but guess she could see that I needed help in a bad way. The next 24 hours were nothing but a jumble of spotty memories. There were bright lights, people talking to me in reassuring voices, people standing around me who seemed to be playing with my cock and balls, and lots of shots and IV tubes.

I guess I should thank Jeff and Griff for leaving my wallet in my jeans pocket. It had my Blue Cross card in it, and that meant that I was given good medical care instead of being just another ward patient. I was in the hospital for only four days, and was told that the stay would have been even shorter except for my state of extreme exhaustion caused by the emotional trauma of witnessing what was being done to me.

A police detective came to interview me while I was in the hospital. Judging by his questions, I'm sure that he thought I was just another queer who had been a willing participant in his own mutilation. He said they'd do "everything possible to find my assailants", but didn't hold out much hope they'd have any success, since I couldn't give them much information to work with.

I remained in San Francisco for about a month, on an outpatient basis. The end of my cock healed rapidly, mainly because it didn't become infected. I remember the first hard-on I got. I was afraid the damn thing would just open up the scar and all my blood would run out, but it didn't. In fact, the small amount of pain I felt in the thing seemed to add to my excitement, and I ejaculated my month-old cum with about as much force as ever. The only difference was that my dick was now about 1 1/2" shorter than before.

When I finally returned to my hometown, I found another job and pretty much settled down. I'm dating a nice girl now, and we've had sex a few times, and my equipment worked just fine. I told her right off that I'd had an accident "down there", and when she found out what I meant, seemed to be okay with it. To tell the truth, she's more than okay with it, she actually seems to be pretty intrigued by the fact that my cock is a "headless horseman", as she calls it. My ex-wife never would give me oral sex, but my girlfriend can't seem to get enough of sucking me off. Strange how things work out, isn't it?