November, 1940, Country Estate of Roger Morris, York, England
Lying on his back, legs bent and spread on the four-poster bed of newspaper mogul Roger Morris, Bryan Sinclair steeled himself to take the last, largest, of the graduated, tear-drop-shaped balls Morris was forcing into his ass. He'd had his eyes shut tight at the effort but opened them when the last ball, a good four inches across at the widest, wasn't going in.
Four inches wasn't that bad. As the afternoon wore on Morris was likely to get around to fisting Bryan's ass. And his knuckles were more than four inches across.
Morris, tall, grizzled, ugly as sin, had risen from the bed and stood there momentarily, facing the reclining professional escort. At nearly thirty-six, blond and still breathtakingly handsome and immaculately groomed—although, by request, unshaved now for three weeks—Bryan had been a favorite male prostitute of the newspaper empire giant's for fifteen years. Bryan was mainly based in New York, but he would come back to work on a demand from the London escort service—and at the client's added expense. He had specialties that weren't often in demand, but when they were, he was sought after. Morris himself had offered Bryan permanent employment three times over the years, but Bryan had not been willing to give up his other career. He was an on-the-scene journalist, and these were exciting times.
Roger Morris was just such a client that Bryan specialized in, as was evident now as he stood, naked, beside the bed. The man was monstrously hung, and one of the few sufferers of polyorchidism, He had three balls, two hanging low, seemingly the size of tennis balls at the bottom of a drooping ball sac, and a third, ping pong-ball sized one tucked up into his scrotum. One of Morris' fetishes that whores like Bryan had to satisfy was teasing out, distending, and sucking the third ball with his mouth. Bryan was an expert in this. The reward was that the testicle fired on its own and could do so between recoveries of the other two. Beyond that, Morris' uncut cock was a slab of meat over three-quarters of a foot and nearly three-inches wide in repose.
One of the ones who knew what the mogul was packing, Bryan always laughed when Morris was referred to in public as Mr. Iron Balls. They didn't know the half of it. The man had to wear carefully tailored baggy trousers to hide his "gifts." Luckily he had the money to pay the tailoring fee—and for the tailor's silence.
The upshot of the condition was that Morris produced prodigious amount of semen—often, almost constantly—and required frequent servicing by a man who could accommodate his requirements. Once a session started, Morris could fuck his partner into the grave. For that reason, more often than not Morris turned to professionals who were trained for endurance. Bryan was one of four he used regularly—Bryan less so now that the world had heated up and his reporting skills were in high demand. Morris had paid his way across the Atlantic, with little clear idea, as war unfolded in Europe, when Bryan could return to New York. But for now the focus was on Europe driving into war, and Bryan wanted to come here anyway.
The bombs were falling here in England, not in New York. Not yet, at least.
This was a hunting weekend Morris put together occasionally for men of prominence who wanted to exercise their fetishes away from the inquiring press, which was ironic, as Morris owned most of the inquiring press. He kept this activity—and those engaged in it—quite private though. To Morris and his well-placed male friends, leaders in government and society all of whom fed Morris off-the-record secrets in exchange for invitations to his hunting weekends, a hunting weekend at this estate involved the hunting of men.
Each of Morris' guests was invited either to bring his own partner or to select one from the portfolio of the exclusive London escort service that represented Bryan. Then, other than meals, and gathering after dinner, they were left to hunt as they pleased. Some were known to become so engrossed in the hunt that they missed meals.
Bryan knew that Morris would take his time enjoying Bryan's body for the entire afternoon. They were in for the long haul. Morris had made no bones about wanting to go for a record of ejaculations this afternoon. He had recently turned sixty and he quite evidently was beginning to worry how much longer he would, literally, be able to keep it up. He was almost obsessed with the need to exercise it to hang on to the ability to harden.
That was the issue now, as he stood by the bed. He had gone flaccid. And this after only four ejaculations. For most men his age this would be natural. He had already fucked Bryan twice, jacked off once, and been sucked off once. But this wouldn't do for Morris. He was reverting to toys to help him keep it up. Thus the titillation of feeding the graduated glass balls into Bryan's ass to bring on the next hard on. It hadn't worked, though. The largest dildo they made at the time, a Big Mike was laying beside Bryan's leg ready for use, but Morris opted to retreat across the room and pick up what was then a new invention, a suction erection tube.
The two men maintained eye contact, as Morris worked his cock up. He'd had to order a special one to fit him.
"Come here," Bryan said. "I can do that."
Morris pulled the tube off. The cock was in half erection. Even at half, it was monstrous. He drew close to the bed, and Bryan, turning onto his side, facing Morris, moved his arm around the older man's slim hips, cupped a butt cheek, and drew Morris' crotch to him. One after the other Bryan took the two distended balls in his mouth, sucked them, and gave the balls a hummer. Morris was harder, and Bryan, with effort, took the cock in his mouth while he still could. He rimmed Morris' asshole with a finger, as the older man groaned, and worked it into the passage, searching for, and finding, the prostate. Morris' cock filled out more and, gagging, Bryan was forced to pull his mouth back to the tip of the cock, with his lips pushing the foreskin off the bulbous knob, which he sucked hard, flicking his tongue on the leaking piss slit. In seventeen years of prostitution, Bryan had learned all of the tricks.
Morris grabbed Bryan's head, running his hands through the still-luxurious blond curls, and moaned deeply, as Bryan's mouth left the cock and started working under the balls, tonguing up into the scrotum to tease out the third ball. When he had gotten it to drop, he sucked it into his mouth, rolled it around, and started to hum.
With a grunt, Morris shot off on Bryan's face. Bryan let loose of the third ball, and Morris leaned down, kissed him passionate on the lips, and licked his own cum off Bryan's face and up into his hairline.
"Five," he grunted.
Satisfied for the moment then, he knelt on the bed, and, as Bryan huffed and puffed, worked the last of the graduated balls into Bryan's passage. He grasped Bryan's hard cock with the other hand and stroked it. As he slowly pulled the balls out and then reinserted them, Bryan shuddered, moaned, provided a whispered commentary on the effect of the attention, and, when he was about to explode, requested permission to come. Laughing, Morris slapped Bryan's dick, erasing the urge to shot, at least for now, and slowly pulled the balls out.
He entered Bryan's ass with four fingers and teased him into thinking fisting time had arrived. Bryan groaned deeply and began to pant hard, but Morris laughed and pulled the fingers out.
Bryan was well aware that they had all afternoon for this and that Morris was a master at the sexual tease and torture. He played Bryan's ass for a while with the oversized dildo, marveling at Bryan's ability to bottom it and to move his pelvis on the hard, glass cock as Morris held it steady. Morris was masturbating himself and Bryan could see that he would be ready for release soon himself. And then, quickly pulling the dildo out, Morris wanted to bury his cock. He scrambled between Bryan's spread legs, pushed his knees under the younger man's buttocks, and penetrated Bryan with one long slide. Bryan brought his torso up and the two hugged each other, chest plastered to chest, arms encircling backs, mouth sucking on mouth, as they rocked back and forth, moving Morris's cock deep inside Bryan's passage, the expert bottom Bryan setting the muscles of his passage to undulate over the invading, throbbing staff, enticing the two men to ejaculate in a flood of cum nearly simultaneously.
"Six," Morris muttered. "So far so good. Plenty of time."
The third ball came into play. Morris was so aroused by the coupling that he pressed Bryan's torso back, the younger man's shoulder blades touching the bed, Bryan's fingers working Morris' nipples, as, instead of going flaccid, Morris remained hard, began to pump again, and brought up the reserve of his third ball to cream Bryan deep again.
"Seven."
They lay there for several minutes panting and recovering. Then, at Morris' signal they took a break, went for a piss and a towel off, and Morris called for beer. The two stood at the window overlooking the rolling countryside of Morris' estate. Morris laughed to see one of his guests, an admiral, running down the guest he'd brought, one of his own stable hands, and, in spite of the January cold, trapping the young man in a gazebo and, after frenziedly readjusting clothing, bending him over a chair and fucking him. Finished, the guest rose, adjusted his clothing and departed, only to be replaced by another guest, who had been standing by and watching. He turned the stable hand onto his back on the chair, grabbed the young man's legs and raised them, and commenced fucking him hard.
"Isn't even Harold's guest," Morris said, with a laugh. "Wonder who's fucking the young man I rented for him. Timothy's his name, I think. Reminds me of you when you were younger," Morris said, turning to Bryan.
"Does that mean you are tiring of me, that I'm becoming too old for you?" Bryan asked.
"Not a bit of it. You're at the top of your game. I'd have to train a young man to give me what I want—take what I want to give him. No one can tease out that third ball like you can. No one can take my fist like you do."
"But you would enjoy doing that, wouldn't you? Training a young man. There's a cruel streak in you, Roger. You enjoyed training me to your needs. You enjoyed the pain it gave me."
"And you enjoyed the pain more than any of the rest of the training. You loved being broken and used to the limit." Morris could see that he'd hit a bulls eye with that remark, so he continued, "But it's a moot question. I can enjoy you and train a young man as well."
