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Controlling The Urges free porn video
CONTROLLING THE URGES
By Charles E. Campbell
Control.
Looking back, I guess that's what it's always been about. Really about. Control.It's control over me. My control over it. When it would start. Keeping it incheck. What it would require of me to appease it. How long the urge would last.Keeping it as a long held private secret. Mine only. To know and fear, andyet, embrace.
All of these things, and more, it has been for the better part of forty-fiveof my fifty-two years.
But now, it is complicated. Not it isn't so much about my control, or evenit's control. Now it is, quite in fact, completely out of my hands.
It started innocently enough, I'm sure. Subtle little urges that all littleboys have growing up. I used to scurry down the stairs to the living room whenI was five or six, real early on Saturday mornings to partake in that timehonored ritual of Saturday morning cartoons. My parents, still dead to theworld from their weekly Friday night trip to the neighborhood tavern, wouldn'trouse themselves for at least three more hours. So I'd turn on the TV, waitthe pre-requisite three minutes for it to warm up, adjust the rabbit ears justso, and settle on the floor in my flannel pajamas, glued to the flickeringblack and white images on the tiny screen.
Most Saturdays I wouldn't get the urge, but every so often, I could feel itbegin. Nothing really tangible mind you looking back, just this strange sensationdeep inside my penis. An internal itch that couldn't be scratched by conventionalmeans. I would strip often my pajamas and watch the cartoons naked. My tinylittle ?boner? stiff and proud. It felt so good to touch it, to see it, withthe smooth purple ?hat? smooth and rigid against my pale hairless skin.
For a while ths was enough to satisfy the urges. Sometimes it would come tome when my parents were out on their weekly Friday night, when I was home withsome young junior high school or senior high school baby sitter. Male or female,made no difference. The urge would come, and I would pull off the pajamas infront of them, squealing with delight as they'd try to catch me and get medressed and off to bed. The feelings I got as my hard-on slapped against mybelly while I ran were heaven.
By the time I was in junior high, I was deemed ?old enough? to be left homealone on the Friday nights, so I would get out of my pajamas as soon as myparents left. Relishing in the excitement of being naked for four or five hoursor more at a time, roaming the house. I especially loved the basement, withit's dirt floor. I'd crawl across it, rubbing myself on the hard dusty earth,getting filthy. Having to shower two or three times before my parent's return.Half ducking down as I'd walk past the windows, the blinds not quite closed.
In high school, the urges took a quantum leap forward. My parents by thistime didn't even bother with the formality of ?family dinner.? No more falsepretenses for them now. Straight to the bar from work, meeting each other there.No dinner or sitter for me any longer. I'd be alone in the house from about5:30 until midnight or even 2:00AM when the bar closed down, prancing aroundwith clothes pins on my cock and scrotum, jumping on the hard basement floor,making the pins shake loose. One time, I was standing before my mother's fulllength mirror, and didn't recognize the hairy body that looked back at me.It was that night that I began shaving. Not too much, mind you, but my pubichair was removed from about two inches below my naval down and around to thetop of my ass crack. The rush of memories of my small penis and smooth skinwere rekindled. I vowed never to let the hair grow back.
As the intensity of the urges increased, I began to venture outside naked,bringing a pair of gym shorts with me. Of course this escalated. My parentswould be trying to sleep it off in their bedroom, and I would sneak out ofthe house, three or so in the morning, shorts in hand and go for late nightstrolls through the neighborhood. I would dive into the bushes and behind parkedcars whenever a tell tale set of headlights would begin to appear. When thiswasn't enough, I would leave my shorts, and my Timex watch with the stainlesssteel watchband, behind a tree in my yard, and go off with no chance of coveringup if discovered, scaling the chain link fence that kept the deer off the Interstate,and I would expose myself to the passing cars as I masturbated.
In retrospect, there were two of these nocturnal adventures that were different,and at the time, I had no idea what happened. On the first night, my shortsweren't stashed behind the tree when I returned. I thought maybe a racoon orsomething took them. About five months later, both the shorts and my watchwere missing when I got back. They just disappeared. I looked for them in themorning light, but never located them.
Then urges came to a sudden halt when I went away for my freshman year ofcollege upstate. I never experienced the urges during those four years exceptwhen I was home for semester break or summer vacation.
I found a good job right out of college, working for the local televisionstation. Over the years, I worked my way up the ladder and twenty years ago,I made it to the job I still hold today, co-anchor of the local news. My parentsdidn't survive long after I started at the station. Alcohol claimed them bothwithin eight months of each other. Being an only child, the old house, andall it's vivid memories, became mine, and the urges returned. Tenfold.
This was, of course, in the days before the internet, so finding ?toys? wasn'tas easy as it is today, with all the on line services. Generally, I did myshopping in cities that were far enough away, where the chance of being recognizedwas slim. Philadelphia, Boston, and Baltimore yielded me a wide array of itemsfor my collection: ball stretchers, cock cages, butt plugs, floggers and whips,clamps and weights, cuffs and locks, cock rings, leather harnesses and thelike quickly began to decorate the walls in my basement dungeon.
I built a St. Andrew's cross, installed suspension equipment, including aelectric motor controlled hoist. I even excavated a pit in the dirt floor underthe hoist, making it possible to hang myself from my wrists or ankles fromthe ceiling over the pit.
And yet, over time, the urges and needs grew stronger, more insatiable. Iwas forced to take more extreme measures to quell the urges, which were nowcoming daily. I booked a trip to San Francisco over a long anticipated twoweek vacation. I located a rather famous tattoo and piercing studio where Igot an Ampallang piercing with a very thick ring. The piercing was performedby a beautiful young girl, no more than twenty-three. I remember racing backto the motel when she was through explaining the after-care to me, tearingoff my clothes and standing in front of the bathroom mirror, mesmerized. Istarred at the steel that now ran through the end of my cock. Even with thedark red and blue discoloration I was intrigued. I jerked off four times thatnight in front of the mirror, reveling in all the sensations I so intenselyfelt. The day before my return flight home, I revisited the studio and gotboth a Guiche and Lorum piercing with rings to match my Ampallang. The piercingthis time was done by a man. Huge and muscular, tattoos running from his neckto his wrists. I asked him about nipple piercings, and he offered me a reducedrate because of all the recent work I had so recently gotten in his shop..So both nipples were done with the same size rings.
By now, the urges were beginning to come before I got home from work, whichwas usually fairly late. By the time I signed off on the eleven o'clock newsand got out of the studio it was generally around midnight. The commute fromthe station to my house was forty-five minutes. Many nights I would undressin the car, right after I went through the toll booth, and drive the finaltwenty-five minutes home naked, my ringed rigid cock standing up straight atattention. Once, I drove through the seedier part of town, past the hookerson the street. I turned on the interior dome light and slowed the car downas I approached them, but chickened out at the last minutes when an unmarkedpatrol car rounded the corner. Panicked, I killed the light, and drove as nonchalantlyas possible with one hand, while struggling to pull up my slacks with the other.Fortunately it was a false alarm, and the cruiser passed me without so muchas a glance.
Two years ago, one of the local reporters at the station did a piece on unwantedhair removal techniques: waxing, shaving, electrolysis, and laser. This wasthe first time I was taken by the urge while on live camera. I chatted up thereporter a bit after the broadcast ended, and asked about her research. Rightthen and there I determined to undergo the laser treatment myself. I had gottenfairly decent at the internet thing by then, so it wasn't too hard to findmaterial to read up on the procedure, the risks, and all, and even to finda place to have it done. Some back water town where the possibility of beingrecognized was slim to none, or so I thought at the time.
A few months later, after making all the plans, I drove the two hundred andthirty miles to the smallish upstate New York town of Cortland, comfortablewith my anonymity. I was beside myself with the excitement of never havingto shave all that hair below my waist. I walked into the dermatologist's officeand was greeted by the receptionist, a nice enough young woman, who gave meforms to fill out: questions about payment options, risks, and the like. Ifilled out the forms and waited about ten minutes before being shown to a roomand being told to strip down and get on the table.
I short squatty woman came in a few minutes after I had undressed and introducedherself as Ellen. Her voice was low and husky, the product of many packs ofcigarettes, and if I had to hazard a guess, I would have placed her age atabout her mid to late forties. She had a thick tangled thatch of knotted blackhair, streaked here and there by gray. That was tied back haphazardly in abushy pony tail. A fairly dark moustache was quite evident on her upper lip,and I remember thinking to myself, ?why didn't she avail herself of her office'sservices?'
Her scrubs made her shape indiscernible, but she was obviously a good fortypounds or so over weight.
I thought I caught a widening of her eyes when she read my name, and for afleeting instant I thought she might have recognized me from the television.She said that it would be she who would do the procedure and asked if I hadany questions. I told her I didn't, and that was as much as I said. I couldn'thelp but notice that she kept looking back to my face as she read through theforms dealing with my medical history, but I ignored it, rationalizing thatit was just my usual paranoia. ?Mr Martin,? she said, ?You seem to have filledout all the questions on the form, so I'm going to begin. You will feel a certaindegree of discomfort during the procedure, especially because of where I willbe working, so if the pain becomes too intense, let me know and we'll takea rest. This should take about and hour and a half or so.?
My urge had taken complete control over me by now, and my erection, threesteel rings and all, was as hard as ever. Pre-sum glistened at the tip. Ellenseemed to pay it no mind, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, and taking analcohol swab and wiping it clean. She then got down to the business at hand,and started zapping the hair at the base of the shaft.
It wasn't really all that painful, at least not compared top the piercings.Ellen made occasional small talk, and frequently asked me how I was doing,always smiling and looking me straight in the eye when she spoke. She stoppedtwice during the entire procedure, once for a cigarette break, and once fora bathroom break for both of us.
It took her a bit longer than her estimated time to finish up and completelyremove the hair, but when she was done, she handed me a hand held mirror toinspect her handiwork.
I was awestruck! There was no stubble, or five o'clock shadow, just smoothflat white skin, pink from the laser in several spots, but just like I rememberedfrom so long ago. She was reciting how I should care for the treated areaswhen she said something that made my heart jump/ She said that my accent remindedher of where she had grown up, in southern Westchester County, New York. Myheart jumped in my chest as I stammered out a hasty answer of how I traveledaround a lot as a boy and that my accent was a mixture of many places. Allthe while my heart was pounding furiously in my chest, because I too had grownup there, and lived there now as well!
She apologized for her intrusion, and said that she had a pretty decent earfor accents and that she liked to try to see how close she was. I made up alame excuse about having to get home, and dressed quickly, giving her a heartytip. On the long drive home, I soon forgot about my encounter with Ellen, andspent the time massaging my soft smooth skin, my pants around my ankles asI drove down the highway in the bright afternoon sunlight.
It was about two weeks after I had the laser hair removal when a package cameto my door. I was quite surprised, as I live alone, and have no living relatives.I knew I hadn't ordered anything, and was sure the package had been mis-delivered,but the handwritten name and address on the outside were unmistakably clearand mine! I opened the simple brown wrapping paper to find a small white cardboardbox, wrapped in a thick coating of bubble wrap. Removing the tape, I openedthe box and was face to face with an old Timex watch with a stainless steelband. It only took me about two seconds to realize that this was the watchmy Aunt had given me so many years ago. The very same watch that had disappearedfrom behind the tree in the yard that night when I slipped it off for fearof it's reflection in the street lamps as I traipsed about on my nocturnaljaunts.
I clawed at the wrapping paper looked frantically for a return address, anote, a name, something! But all I found was the cancellation stamped, postmarkedfrom Cortland, New York. I knew, of course, that my only connection to Cortlandwas the dermatologist's office, and that the only person I really spoke toat all up there was Ellen. I had shared a few sentences with the receptionist,of course, but it was Ellen who I spent two hours with. It had to be her! Ididn't have the slightest idea what she could want, or how she could have comeby the watch, or even known it was mine! I forced myself to calm down, thinkingthat there was nothing I could do at this point. It was completely out of myhands, so patience would be the prudent course of inaction at that time.
As the following days turned into a week, I waited anxiously, assuming thatif she was going to contact me, that it would be through the mail. One weekbecame two, and then two turned into three, and I kidded myself into thinkingit was some kind of joke. That is until I got home from the studio one nightto see the message light blinking on my answering machine. Fearfully, I pushedthe button and listened to the message that would change my life as I knewit:
?Johnny Martin,? the husky low-pitched female voice began,? I wonder if youstill remember me? Any clues from the ?present' I sent you? In case you'rewondering, I don't have the gym shorts any longer, but I was the one who tookthem. I found them behind that big sugar maple in your yard when you were ateenager. Just to set your mind at ease, I don't want any money. But.....thereis something I want. I'll let your imagination go to work on that for a while.I'll be in touch.? And the message was over.
FOUND OUT! I had been found out! After all these years, my secret was no more.I spent that night pacing and wondering who she was, what had happened. Whatdid she want, what did she mean that there was something she wanted?
By dawn, I had calmed myself down a bit. The only thing I knew was that shehad found me out when I was still a kid in high school, and I was comfortedslightly by the knowledge that she had kept the secret all these years as well.She didn't expose me back then, maybe she wouldn't now either.
A few weeks later, a manilla envelope arrived at the station for me. The returnaddress was a post office box in Cortland. During my dinner break, I went downto my car and read it's contents. All it contained was a letter, printed ona computer, which read:
?You are to put in for an emergency leave of absence. The reason you giveis yours alone. This Friday, you are to be at My office at three in the afternoon.You will be given further instructions at that time.
You will have no need of a suitcase or any toiletries or clothing except whatyou are wearing when you arrive. If you do not follow these directions, tothe letter, a video of your laser treatment will be sent to the televisionstation where you work at three oh one!?
I couldn't catch my breath. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach,driving the wind out of me. It was Thursday! I had less than eighteen hoursto comply, or be ruined. I had no choice. With trembling hands, I called mystation manager at his home, and explained that my only living relative hadbeen in an accident and had fallen and was badly hurt. I requested an emergencyleave and said I would call him as soon as I knew anything. I then called upto the program director and told him the same tale. As soon as I hung up, Istarted the car and headed for home.
It goes without saying that sleep was not in the cards for me that night.I couldn't even busy myself making preparations for the trip, as there wasnothing I was to bring. So as soon as the dawn was breaking, I headed backup to Cortland, arriving at noon. I tried to eat lunch at a small diner outsidetown, a read the local paper, trying to calm myself. I was actually doing alright,until I came to the advertisements. It was there that I saw an ad for EllenOlmstead's dermatology practice. Then it hit me: Ellen Olmstead! She livedacross the street from me for about two years when I was in college. They movedin the summer before I left. She was about six years younger than me. I waseighteen and she eleven or twelve. I never even noticed her that summer. Shehad to have seen me, watched me, followed me!
At five of three, I parked my car in the small lot adjacent to her office,and with sweat on my forehead and running down my back, I walked into the emptywaiting room, the receptionist the only other person there.
?Ah, Mr. Martin,? she smiled, ?I'm glad you could come back.? She handed meanother manilla envelope, and stood up, saying, ?excuse me for a moment, won'tyou??
I muttered something as I fell back into one of the chairs and opened theenvelope. I pulled out the sheet of paper, and read it:
?If you are reading this right now, congratulations! You made the right choice.If not, my secretary is on her way to the post office with a copy of the tape.
?You will do whatever Marie instructs you to do, and you will do it quicklyand without pause or question. If you do not, she will mail the tape anyway.
?I look forward to seeing you again, Johnny!? And it was signed simply ?E?.
As I was reading the letter for the third time, Marie returned carrying agreen plastic laundry basket, which she set at my feet.
?Get undressed and put all of your clothes, including your shoes, in the basket.?
Remembering the words in the letter, I stood quickly and disrobed before thepretty young woman. When I was naked, she took out a set of spiked metal ballsand clipped them to my nipple rings. They were quite heavy, and stretched mynipples down as they pricked the skin of my chest. She clipped three similarballs on my three penis rings. Then she bent down and reached into the basket,pulling out my car keys. ?Go out the side door, and get in your car. Drivedown the back alley out of the parking lot and turn right. Drive four milesuntil you see a large billboard advertising a restaurant. Turn left at thefirst road after the sign and take it to the end. Park your car behind thegarage and go in the back door.? And having said that, she went back behindher desk and started typing on her keyboard.
Cautiously, I walked down the narrow hall to the side door. Looking outside,I could see that the lot was vacant, so I sprinted across the hot asphalt andfumbling with the keys, opened the door and got it. I drove out quickly, butmade a conscious effort to drive under the speed limit by a few miles per hour.I found the billboards uneventfully, and drove down a long road that turnedto dirt about two thirds of the way down. After a few more miles, I could seea modest ranch house with a detached garage. I parked the car as instructedand went through the door into the garage. A dungeon/torture chamber greetedme. Much bigger than mine and far better equipped.
?You never enter My domain on your feet, slave,? Ellen's husky voice commandedloudly. ?Get on your knees. From this moment forward, I will control you. Youare Mine!?
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