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 database would bring up a name, then into the HR 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.