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Subject: NEW STORY: "MagusMan" (2/2)/MrSpraycan
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Standard Disclaimer: Adults only. This item is of fictional nature. All
persons and places in it are imaginary; no resemblance to real or historic
characters is intended. No illicit behavior is endorsed or condoned. Art
and/or Entertainment is the idea.

	Copyright (c) is claimed 1997 by Baton Rouge Thoughtscapes and its
author, MrSpraycan, who chooses to be 'anon'. No commercial use is
warranted. For personal or entertainment purposes only. Do not retransmit
or store in public archives without this notice.

	Note: Continuation. This part features the traditional 'spanky' stuff!
	/aka MrSpraycan



THE MAGUSMAN TRANSACTION/2
by MrSpraycan


	Our rich "benefactor" is not buying a pig in a poke. There's
quality control, safety, testing of our commitment first. The first is that
we're flown in individually at his expense to Phoenix and limoed to a
Scottsdale, AZ studio for auditions, and an approval process that'll
consist of several hours of naked filming, interrogation, tests of our
reactions to bondage, erotic stimulation of various sorts. To some this
would be an ordeal, to perverts like us, it's a great way to spend a day.
	 I won't bore you with details, because narcissism is not a
becoming trait. But I don't look bad for my age, I have a good-sized prick,
and I've learned to get off in a big way being seen naked. So I relish the
five or six hours being interviewed nude by a succession of pleasant young
ladies -- shrinkettes, teen pre-meds, young doctors, lawyer bunnies, on-
and off-camera. They want to know all about me, and I'm in a telling mood.
	Oh, what a great day out. The high spot is having my erect cock
measured, and being made to show myself to a panel of a half-dozen high
school girls, recruited at the local mall. They're content to stare at
first, but soon they want to see me play with my prick, bend over and show
my asshole, all the usual submission games. It fills me with nostalgia for
the femdom days, frankly. And these munchkins do seem rather turned on,
despite all the blushes and giggling fits. I volunteer to do some
pussylicking, but it's ruled out immediately. Not even foot worship. "No
contact," I'm told. Some rule that his lawyers have ordained, except for
medical professionals. You figure it out.
	The same cast of desirable young professional women -- plus a few
smirking, swaggering studs from a local gym -- give MaBelle her own workout
the very next day. Interrogation and inspection, with little regard for her
dignity. She's made to masturbate, and later turned over to the studs to
see how well she does at sucking cock, and how she enjoys being handled by
guys. It's no surprise to me to hear that she throws herself at them, begs
to be fucked. I mean, what loyalty does she owe me at this stage?
	Sure, I'm a little possessive about her, but I'm also keen that the
deal goes through. And her behaving like a total tramp is going to help
that process along, I'm sure. She gets a thorough gangbang, so thorough the
schedule is forgotten. She almost misses her flight home. There's a 90-mph
dash to get her to the airport, with her getting her final fucking crouched
naked in the back seat of the limo, because she won't let up. She's only
allowed to start dressing seconds before she gets to the terminal.  She
arrives at the gate with about two minutes to spare, her make-up a joke,
her hair bedraggled, blouse buttoned up all wrong, her short pleated skirt
on back-to-front. No stockings, no bra, no panties, absolutely soaked in
sweat, dribbles of cum and cuntjuice on her thighs, and smelling quite
disgusting. Luckily she's in first class, where one does not remark on such
things.
	She's total mush the next day in the E-mail. I call her when she
gets home, and she's in a frenzy about how good it was, how perfect this is
all going to be. As she tells me about her trip, I hear awed disbelief at
the things she's been made to do, and deep hunger for what's promised in
the future.  "This guy's obviously incredibly rich, just look at the way
he's going about this," she assures me. "And he really wants my ass. Yours
too, I think, baby . . ."
	"Seems that way, doesn't it? I'm beginning to believe it now," I
agree. "Let's hope it doesn't get out of control, though . . ."
	"Oh, no," she protests. I can hear the excitement in her voice.
She's diddling herself, I'm sure. Why not? I am. "Let's hope it does. I
don't want to be let down now . . ."
	"But he has to know when to stop . . ." I tell her.
	"Not with me baby," she gasps.

	A few days later, more tickets in the mail. We're going to the big
city. Invited to an NYC clinic for physical tests. More medical in nature,
seeking to determine if we are both 'clean,' but also to test our endurance
with a long run on a treadmill, some other cardio tests. There'll be a lot
of gynecological probing and prodding for her. Since we're both at the
clinic at the same time, a treat has been arranged. I'll see her, and
she'll see me, but we still won't meet. In my case, I'm running naked on
the treadmill, being observed by two or three nonchalant nurses, when the
phone rings. One answers, listens impassively, then looks up and says:
"She's here, your babe. Behind one of these mirrors. Stop for a minute."
I'm asked to take my prick in hand and rub it, until it's at full salute.
I'm shining with sweat, panting a little, my hair matted. Looking from
mirror to mirror, hoping for a clue. I plead: "MaBelle, baby. Are you
there? Look. This is for you. I want to fuck you so much."
	Later that day, I get my own back, in a way. Still naked, I'm shown
into a little curtained booth, which is hung around the back of a huge
one-way mirror. I'm told in a whisper that I'll be allowed to watch her get
examined of a gynecologist's table.  She's led in, nude. My heart is
pounding. I get to watch her for a minute or so before she's ordered to
climb up. She's quite pretty. A cute snub nose, full, pouting lips. She
greets a waiting nurse with a shy smile, a toss of her shoulder-length
curly hair. A bit plainer than I'd thought, but she's been truthful. She's
in her mid thirties, with small firm breasts, a large backside and wide
hips. The girl-next-door type, as they say. Of course, that's next door to
the nut house, in her case. Naturally blonde, I can verify. She has long
slim legs, accentuating her good shape. Her uniformly milky pale skin is
just crying out for punishment, for marking. I feel the overpowering urge
to lash her, and know she will thank me, and beg for more when I do. We're
made for each other, two of a perfect pair.
	She positions herself on the table, her feet towards me. She's
being told to spread her legs, put her feet in the stirrups. A nurse is in
the way for a second, then I get the grand view. My eyes are fixed on her
inflamed, gooey genitals. She has an enlarged clitoris, almost purple in
color, and for the first time I notice that her nipples are darker than
you'd expect from her otherwise pale complexion. All those daily hours of
masturbation weren't wasted if this is the result. Her vulva is invitingly
open, her pubic hair is a matted mess.
	The petite red-headed nurse at my side says: "Not bad, hmm? She's
been rubbing her gash all day, the filthy bitch. Can you believe it? You
should have seen the way she yanked at her twat while you were playing with
your cock this morning. I think she was very pleasantly surprised at how
big and self-confident you seemed. Well, you know what most of these
Internet relationships are like: ratbags, skanks and wankers, deserving of
each other. So, what do you think? She's not a bad piece of ass, is she?
Considering the circumstances. Fuckable, I'd say. Do you need to jerk off?
I don't mind. Here, let me turn this extractor fan on, so you can smell her
cunt. . . ."
	It's very faint at first, but the fishy, funky odor gets stronger
as MaBelle's vagina is dilated with a speculum,  and two or three doctors
crowd into the room. They work from clipboards. She is asked a lot of
intimate questions about her sexual preferences and experiences. Even I'm
surprised at some of her slutty confessions, and I thought I knew her
better than almost anyone on earth. Exhibitionism, lesbian sex, mixed
couples, orgies, she's done it all at some stage or another. What she
yearns for, has never gotten in the way she wants, is pain, she confides.
Lovers always back off, males just as much as females. Especially when they
hear how extreme her demands will be. It brings out the protective urge in
people, even those inclined to spank and cane with a vengeance. But pleas
for common sense just make her mad and send her off on another hunt. Well,
in me she's gotten lucky. Lucky to have found a relatively mean guy, with
few inhibitions, who might go through with what she needs.
	I'm watching, listening to her confessions, rubbing slowly, trying
to make it last. The cute nurse is behind me, looking over my shoulder at
MaBelle. Her well-filled cotton blouse is pressed against my back, her
fingers are tugging on my nipples in encouragement. I murmur: "Oh, I've got
to have her . . ."
	"And you will. But listen to what she's saying. Will you be mean to
her? It's what she says she wants . . ." the nurse whispers in my ear.
	"Yes, I'll do everything she's asked for . . ."
	"You're not squeamish? You won't wimp out?"
	"No."
	"If you do it they way she wants, there'll be blood . . .you know
that? She really wants to be hurt . . ."
	"I know . . . and I want to do it . . ."
	"Oh, wow. Look! See how big her cunt is . . .?"
	"I know, oh, yes, yes . . ."
	"You could get your whole hand in there . . ."
	"I'm going to . . ."
	"Sh wants you to fuck her really hard with your fist . . ."
	" . . . I will . . ."
	"And I bet you'll ram it in her asshole, too . . ."
	"Yes . . ."
	"You're just as filthy-minded as her, aren't you . . .?" the nurse
chuckles, as I give a loud grunt and squirt all over my hands and belly.
I'm ashamed, but she makes me wipe the semen up, and lick it from my
fingers while she watches. "Oh, you are a pervert, that's for sure."


	Preparations are over, our bank balances are bigger by $50,000
each, and it's time to stop maneuvering, and deliver. I'm been sworn to a
week of celibacy beforehand. Very difficult, but I'm told that if I find it
difficult, I'll be taken to a local hotel and locked away under guard, in a
chastity belt. I can't afford to miss work, so I persevere.
	MaBelle is merely asked to go easy on the self-abuse with clips and
pins. She's told her pussy has been judged to be much too hairy and offered
the option of shaving herself, or being shaved by his prep team. She votes
for them doing the work when she hears that it'll be a semi-public event,
and filmed. They'll do a better job, and it's going to be rather
humiliating, something she's often wanted done to her.
	The venue is a rented West Palm Beach mansion. We fly in
separately, and are met with a limo. In mine, a pair of uniformed female
security guards have my clothes off before the limo is out of the airport
parking lot, and hand them over in a zipper bag to an accomplice. I'm
handcuffed, shackled.
	"Did you do this to MaBelle, too?" I protest as I'm tightly
collared, and heavy links are snapped round my ankles.
  "Sure. Bitch been here since las' night. He got her naked, in a big ol'
cage wit' jus' a bucket to piss in."

	It's a long ride. With the two guards teasing me about their
adventures with MaBelle yesterday. Both claim to have had their feet and
pudenda licked by my 'love interest,' and I'm teased that I'm probably as
queer as she is, and ripe for all kinds of mistreatment. When we arrive,
the limo stops at the rear of the mansion, and the two guards hustle me in
through a back door. I'm led through the kitchen, to the helpless amusement
of a half-dozen cooks and waitresses, who hoot at me in Spanish. Into a
large tiled room adjoining a sauna and hot tub. I'm greeted by the
redhaired nurse I met in New York. She says with a knowing grin: "Well,
well, it's my dirty friend again . . .Pleased to see me, too." I have an
erection, of course. A couple of other pretty nurses are fussing about, and
she speaks to them in fluent Spanish.
	Then turns to me: "We just finished with MaBelle. Time to tidy you
up now." The nurses are running water, laying out towels, mopping up. The
nurse says: "I'm Anthea, by the way. Come over her," and grabs me by the
cock and leads me to a tub. "Step in."
	I do, the water's warm. The two nurses join her. One is shaking a
big aerosol can of shaving soap, the other has a razor in her hand, and
three or four more tucked in her top pocket. Anthea takes a washcloth and
wets me down, splashing me with water. I daren't speak. She tells me: "You
look all dirty and bedraggled, so he wants you shaved."
	Which means I'm soaped all over, and my back, chest and legs are
shaved smooth. Only a little powder-puff of pubic hair above my cock is
left. They even make me bend and spread so they can shave my asshole. Then
the remains of the soap is showered off, and they go hunting for any
remaining bristles, all three with razors in hand.
	Anthea pronounces me done. "That was real quick. It took us longer
to shave your girlfriend's twat." Before I can comment on our relative
hairiness she gestures. "Over there."
	'There' is another tub, this one fitted with hoses and nozzles,
with jugs of different-colored foaming liquids on a nearby counter, and
what I recognize as enema bags. I'm trembling nervously, and look at
Anthea, silenty pleading with her. She says: "Well, what are you waiting
for? Step up, please. MaBelle didn't make any fuss about being douched and
cleaned out, and neither will you. Bend over."
	I'm blushing hotly as I get my first enema, the fat nozzle driven
home by one of the other nurses, who finds my shamed reaction highly
entertaining. Anthea smiles tolerantly as I plead for an easier way out,
asking "Can't I just, you know . . ."
	"Oh, you will, in a minute. After we've given you a good flush, you
dirty man."
	I hear liquid glugging, and I feel as though I'm going to burst.
Shuffling my feet, I'm led to a nearby toilet pedestal. Despite my shame at
being watched, I'm relieved to be allowed to squat, pull the nozzle free,
and empty myself while they stand around me. As I rise to my feet, Anthea
says: "Three more, then we'll move on to the irrigation nozzle . . ."
	I'm speechless, but Anthea makes me feel worse when she says: "It's
all being filmed. So, you won't miss out on all the nasty details of
MaBelle's own little adventure either. Look down there. See? That's the
potty camera. It gets the best view in the house."
	What's the point of resisting? My dignity is gone, long ago. Anthea
teases: "We have to have your asshole nice and clean, don't we? Who knows
what will be done with it." When I've been pumped and squirted and siphoned
to their satisfaction, I'm led out into the corridor. There, MaBelle is
sitting in a lounger, watching a closed-circuit TV screen. She'd seen it
all. Before I can speak, I'm gagged. She's already trussed, bound and
tightly gagged herself. And so, we finally meet each other face to face.

	MaBelle's eyes seem bright, and I think I see adoration. But who
knows? I'm probably making eyes at her too. She's especially beautiful to
me now, tightly roped and chained like this. Her hair is pinned up,
ballerina-style, her genitals are freshly shaved. The perfect victim type.
I want her very badly, and my erect cock tells everyone.
	Leashes and collars are attached. We shuffle along to meet our new
owner, led by the two Hispanic nurses. We're guided to a ballroom sized,
high-ceiling room with a fine view of the gardens, the sea. Well-lit, open.
He's there with a couple of dozen male and female friends, sipping
cocktails, nibbling on elaborate buffet food. There's polite applause, but
little overt excitement. Evening dresses, tuxes, an elegant party
atmosphere. Most of the guys are his age, or older, as are the women. Two
or three teenage trophies are mixed in. And, front and center, two naked,
sweating wretches, trembling in anticipation.
	Mr.MoneyBags obviously thinks he is very famous, but you know
something? I haven't got a clue who he is! Just another of those plastic
execs Forbes magazine features by the dozen each issue. Interchangeable
rich guys, with their smooth glowing faces, perfect bleached teeth,
immaculate casual clothes, the aura of self-importance, the feral glare in
their eyes.
	"There you are. We've been waiting. So, like the view?" He waves.
"Well, let's not waste time, agreed? Today, my dirty friends, we'll start
on Phase I of our program," we are warned. He stares, and pauses, hoping
for some reaction. "This will be a mild but thorough introduction to my
needs. And we'll be exploring some of the byways of your own perversions.
Both of you will suffer, but," he shrugs, "not as much you will later. Be
patient. We need to take our time, and let you get the most from the game."
	From the equipment laid out here, it's plain that spanking and
caning will be key elements in this phase. I'd expected that, almost.
	We're warned: "I hope you're not feeling proud or squeamish.
Because no thought will be given to your dignity today. All I'll promise is
that you probably won't require much medical attention afterwards . . .
that's something that can't be promised for later games."
	"We'll start with MaBelle, since she is so eager to be punished.
I'm told she's been masturbating for nearly a day now. How filthy. Well, it
explains why her pussy lips are as fat as they are . . ."
	And indeed, she has the exaggerated external genitalia of an
inflatable sex doll, or a she- baboon in heat. Her shave has made her even
more inviting.
	I'm told: "Time to keep your promises to the lovely young lady,
Vee-O. MaBelle, are you ready?"
	His two nurses and a couple of young male helpers spring into
action. Anthea gets to supervise. The rich guests aren't going to lower
themselves to handling two filthy perverts, it seems. MaBelle is ungagged,
her various chains are removed. Then she's laid over a padded trestle.
She's strapped down firmly, with a belt round her waist, her wrists and
ankles tightly restrained, her thighs rather rudely opened, showing off her
glistening, spread labia. Her backside is begging for a spanking, the skin
taut, white, smooth.
	"Tell everyone why you're here, MaBelle. They want to know," he
teases.
	"To be tortured!" she cries out, shivering with excitement.
	"Good, and you won't be disappointed," he chuckles.
	I'm being freed from my cuffs and chain too. I'm handed a fat
wooden paddle by Anthea.
	"Okay, so what are you waiting for?" I'm asked.
	I spank her, long and hard. He tells me: "Keep going. And hit her
harder. I want her backside crimson, and we all want to see her come a few
times, okay?"
	I don't need to be encouraged. Her buttocks are already blotched
and lined, turning that color. Each stroke brings a gasp of surprise, a
little moan, a yelp, some audible reaction. She's tough, but she's not
stoically accepting the punishment. It hurts, and she wants me to know it.
I know something else: my nose detects the rising scent from her pussy.
Being spanked excites her, as we always knew it would. When she's dripping
and she's been brought to tears, I am told: "Now, start caning her. There's
lots of ass to whip there, so let her have it, all over. Until she is as
sore as she deserves. The fuckslut needs her rear striped for this lack of
self-respect. Harder, like she is always asking for." I try to be
methodical, and not make the strokes overlap, but it's very difficult.
"Lower down," he tells me. "Don't worry if she likes it or not. Right,
good. Make sure you clip her fanny lips with it . . . Oh, yes, like that!
Look at her jump! Yes, that's what she needed!"
	I'm not ashamed to say I beat her with passion, willing every
stroke to hurt more than the previous one. And the audience is
appreciative,  with one older woman suggesting that MaBelle needs her vulva
caned specially. "We'll get to that, don't worry," she's assured.

	Poor MaBelle. Her ass is almost raw when I'm through. At that
point, I'd relent, if it were up to me. But it isn't, and they don't. She's
unstrapped from the trestle. We're led to a tall rectangular framework,
made to stand facing each other. We're told to pose spreadeagled in the
frame, then strapped together belly-to-belly. A nurse grabs my cock, guides
it into MaBelle's drooling slit, helps slide it into her vagina, which is
grabbing at me like a moneylender's fist.
	"Baby, oh please, please, please...." is the substance of what she
has to say, give or take a nuance. I don't have anything more profound to
say myself, and I'm trying to kiss her, lick away her tears, reassure her.
	We're urged to stop talking and fuck. As if we needed much
encouraging. She's in a frenzy, and my cock is rock hard. I try to hold on,
visualizing with Tantric skills I don't have. I guess I make it through
about six of her spine-wrenching orgasms before I pump her full of spunk.
Well, not full, but poetic license, okay? A good number of squirts, by any
measure.
	Then, belly-to-belly, we're spanked and caned and strapped some
more, by him, his nurses, his chuckling guests.  Both our anuses are
liberally greased, and I am teased about whether I'd prefer a fat cock or a
fourteen-inch dildo shoved in me. His female guests insist on me submitting
to both, and on similar attentions for her. Our reluctance amuses them all.
	Surely these slick socialites won't be buggering us? No, that's
right. MaBelle gasps with recognition when one of her studmuffins from the
Scottsdale trip walks in, naked, musclebound, evenly tanned, his ten-inch
cock insolently erect. It's greeted with polite nods and envious blushes by
the women, grudging admiration by the men. And, to be honest, it is one
hell of a wang. MaBelle gasps with longing as this huge penis is directed
my way. But she'll be well-served too. A huge, hairy biker type with a
pickhandle-like prong walks in the other door, tearing off his filthy
clothes as he approaches her.
	 MaBelle and I are thoroughly used. For me being fucked in the ass
is a first, for her, who knows? To my shame, this anal invasion gets me
hard again, and the nurses obligingly plug my throbbing penis into
MaBelle's drooling cunt. This time, I don't disgrace myself, and she is in
a thorough frenzy before I'm ready to cum. My newly expanded asshole is
probed with a fat handheld dildo by Anthea, bringing me near to orgasm. But
I hold on, and only cum after a whip is applied to both our backs, setting
her off into a fit of sensuous writhing, all the while babbling filthy
encouragements to hit her harder.
	And while we're still quivering with exhaustion, we're left
strapped in a '69' position to orally satiate ourselves for a couple of
hours while they all have dinner. I don't know what gourmet treats they get
to eat, but my meal is delicious, if rather salty. Not too filling.
	The cabaret is us. We are set up on side-by-side spanking stools,
asses thrust out, and invited to compete for a surprise $20,000 bonus. The
two nurses swing riding crops, taking turns. To my amazement MaBelle wins,
despite her lacerated buttocks. She has stamina, that's for sure. But I
don't concede early: not before we're both in tears, and in no condition to
sit for a few days.
	Next time, we're told, it's going to be somewhere more secluded,
for longer. Perhaps a week or more, in a genuine dungeon, with torture
chamber, in some medieval castle or other in Europe. Easy enough if you
have the dough. We'll find out in few weeks. By then, we'll have grown used
to being slightly richer. But he's counting on the urge being just us
strong. On our being committed to continue. He tells us: "Because in Phase
2, you'll really be delivering. Meaning, we'll get down to what this slut
insists she needs, okay?" MaBelle sobs, but it's with joyful anticipation.
	He smiles cruelly. The experiment is proving amusing to him, no
doubt. "Yes, bitch. Now I've seen how eagerly you submit, I'm even more
curious to enjoy you. Well, next time I won't let loverboy be so gentle. I
want to get on to all that stuff you are always talking about for her. Lots
of blood, some screaming; and let's not forget some blisters, and a few
smoking scars. Total subjection, groveling for mercy."
	MaBelle sighs. Her eyes are teary, with gratitude. It's what she
craves.
	"And I think I'll want to take a few swings at her myself. After
all, why not?" he tells his audience.
	"Dont forget her pussy. That's where it'll do her the most good,"
he's reminded by Anthea.
	"The Sport of kings," a skinny young blonde at his side murmurs,
squeezing MaBelle's breasts, then tweaking her nipples with long, manicured
nails.
	"I believe that was hunting, my dear," a male companion observes.
	"Isn't it horse racing?" I suggest weakly.
	"Whatever," the blonde replies, chewing her gum.


(c) 1997 by MrSpraycan. All rights reserved.




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