RINGING IN THE NEW YEAR by Throne

RINGING IN THE NEW YEAR by Throne

My busty wife Irena and her Black lover, Jarrel, were out celebrating New Year's Eve.  That meant I got time off from the torments they directly heaped on me.  The bad news was that before they left, she gave me a list of chores to do.  The main one was to polish the brass head and foot boards of the bed I had bought them.  It was a fool's errand, as the metal didn't really need that done to it.  Because there was a motion-activated camera in the room, I couldn't skip doing it, or even rush through the job.  No, I had to get every inch of both parts, and that was a lot of inches.  

As I worked, I had to wonder if she and her tall muscular man were watching me, via the camera, on their cell phones.  I hoped not, because all I had on was a garter belt and smoky stockings.  Every bit of my skin was hairless.  It had been several months since Irena had a woman come to the house and use a laser tool to eliminate the follicles.  Not until after it was done did my wife bother to tell me that the results were permanent.  What made it especially humiliating was that I have small genitals and, with no pubic bush, my dick appeared even more immature than previously.  

One reason they had me working on the bed was to remind me of all the sex they had there.  Just in case I might not be inspired to dwell on that, my wife gave me a special reminder as they were departing.

She said, "I want the bars on the headboard to be especially well done, Binky."  That was one of the insulting names she used for me.  "You know how I have to hold onto them sometimes, when Jarrel is slamming me with his pussy-stretcher cock.  That thing is such a monster that I have to hold on to something when he's jamming me with it.  I mean, it drives me so crazy."

"Yes, dear," I had responded obediently.

She went on, "It's not like when you used to be allowed to screw me.  No way.  With that joke between your legs, I couldn't even be sure if you were in or not.  What you've got is the size of a mini-shrimp-roll.  And your nut sack..."  She laughed wildly.  "...could use a good stretching."

With her waiting for me to say something, I had to tell her, "You're right, darling."  Just to be safe, I added, "It could use a good long stretching."

Both of them thought that was funny.  It was almost as if there was a private joke involved, one that I wasn't privy to.  Then they were gone.  I did my easier tasks first and saved the brass buffing for last.  As I worked with a bottle of polish and a rag, feeling like a housemaid, my mind turned in the direction Irena had intended.  I pictured them together, standing there and undressing each other, kissing while they did it.  In my mind, their hands wandered over each other's bodies.  He fondled her exceptionally large breasts.  His dark cock rose.  It was so long and girthy, with thick veins decorating the shaft, and a bulbous head at the end.  I imagined my wife lying back and spreading her legs invitingly.  At that point they might or might not require me to get her pussy wet with my mouth.  You can't understand how demeaning it is to have to prepare your wife to be penetrated by a superior man.  

I could hear her saying, "Get me nice and moist, loser" or "I need to be really juicy to take on such a heavy tool".  

Then he would take his place, stretched out above her, his enormous Johnson poised to enter.  He could effortlessly hold himself in that position, like he was about to perform push-ups, for as long as he needed.  The only calisthenics he would be doing, however, involved thrusting his pelvis.  He would drill my bride while she moaned and praised his sexual prowess.  Before he took over, she was used to me finishing in mere minutes.  Her stallion could go on for a full hour.  When that happened, he would vary his movements in ways that kept her arousal at a high level.  He was a master cocksman.  And quick to brag about it.

Though he wasn't there, my minds ear heard him say, "You just relax, girl.  I got this under control.  Make you cum so hard you might strain a muscle."

It wasn't unusual for him to trigger a climax for Irena after about ten minutes.  Then he would slow down before gradually building her toward a second one.  That might come around the halfway mark of one of their sixty-minute romps.  It was awful when they made me stand by the side of the bed and watch his enviable organ sliding in and out of her precious body.  They knew seeing that upset my stomach, so they would frequently make me eat something heavy before we went to the bedroom.  

Right in the middle of their sweaty copulating, Irena might ask me, "How's your tummy, Binky?  Not giving you any trouble, I hope."

As he pushed her toward a third orgasm she would lose the power of speech.  Often, she would wrap her shapely legs around him.  She would meet his jabs with jerks of her hips, as if she could make his cock go even deeper.  Then it would happen.  She would cry out feverishly, shake all over, and finish with a sexual seizure.  It was incredible to see.  It also made me feel totally inadequate.  The mental stress would threaten to make me swoon.  Then they would lie there, spent but happy.  If they were thirsty, I could hurry to the fridge and get them something to drink.  

After a coupling was when my tension was the highest.  I never knew if they were going to order me to perform the disgusting act that sometimes ended those bedroom marathons.  

Ireana might say, "Jarrel really pounded my twat, Binky.  It needs some tender loving care from your mouth."

Or he could tell me, "I left one hell of a big mess inside your wife's snatch, boy.  Get your mouth on there and make sure it don't run out all over the sheets.  Put your tongue to work and lap up all that nutritious cream.  Suck hard to get out what's way up in there.  Let us hear you making slurping noises and yummy sounds."

Either way, the result was the same.  I would have to lap up and suction out his plentiful ejaculate.  While doing that, I inevitably got her excited again.  That meant teasing her clitoris with my tongue.  She liked me to press my mouth against her pussy.  Jarrel took special sadistic pleasure in kissing her on the lips while I did the same to her labia.  

I was replaying that disgusting scene in my head when I heard them coming into the house.  Glancing at the bedside clock, I saw that it was over an hour until midnight.  

Entering the room, Jarrel said, "We wanted to be with you when the clock strikes twelve."

"Yes," Irena agreed.  "Isn't that a romantic idea?"

"And we brought something to make the occasion special," he told me, holding up a pair of bells.  Their bottoms were the width of saucers.  They were thick and must have been heavy.  He swung them so I could hear how they rang.

Jarrel explained, "It's going to be your job to ring in the new year, Binky.  Just sit on the side of the bed and spread your knees wide, so I can get these big mothers hooked up."

I didn't understand what he intended to do but obeyed, rather then risk him smacking me around,  He loved to do that in front of my wife.  Too bad for me, she enjoyed it when he did.  I felt him fitting a ring around the base of my scrotum.  There must have been something protruding from it that he could get hold of, because he gave it a hard tug.  That made me yelp.  It also convinced me that it wasn't going to slip off.  Next, he took the weighty bells and attached their short line to the ring.  It didn't take a genius to figure out what that meant.  

My wife merrily urged, "Up on your feet, Binky."

As I stood, the bells dragged down on my testicles.  Jarrel cautioned me to keep my feet apart.  Irena told me to swing my hips forward and back.  That got the bells swinging and ringing.  It also increased the discomfort in my balls and made me fear for their safety.  

Jarrel said, "Only an hour until the ball comes down in Times Square.  That's how long you need to keep your own balls getting pulled down right here."

Irena reminded me, "Remember when you agreed that your dangle-bag needed a good stretching?  That's what this is.  An hour should do the job real well."

"We're going to mix some drinks in the kitchen.  Those bells better not stop going."

"The bells, the bells, the bells," my wife sang out.  "The ringing and the singing of the bells, bells, bells."

Moments later they were gone.  I was stuck there, my hips in constant motion to prevent the noise from ceasing.  My endangered gonads felt like they might be freed from their moorings.  I gritted my teeth and rocked my lower body.  How could I endure it for the rest of the hour?  What would be left of my family jewels by the start of the new year?  

The cruel couple reappeared with drinks in hand.  Jarrel said, "We were going to make you one but were afraid you'd spill it, with all that hip swaying you're doing."

"Hey," Irena enthused.  "Show us how high you can make those bells go."

Doing that made my ordeal more torturous.  I was perspiring.  Irena commanded me to play with my nipples while I kept moving.  I'm very sensitive there but didn't expect it to have the usual effect.  I was stunned when my pecker got hard, despite the suffering I was undergoing.  My wife thought it was hilariously funny to have it pointing high and then low as I continued my exertions.  

Could it get any worse?  I would have said no.  But that would have been without allowing for my bride's growing streak of maliciousness.   She went to the closet and got out a bamboo cane she had recently acquired.  In fact, it was a gift from Jarrel, who never missed an opportunity to increase my woes.  She got behind me.  Every time my butt moved back, she held the cane so it would lightly touch my bottom.  Then she began to use it. Striking my pale hemispheres and, I knew without seeing, leaving vivid stripes.  

"Look," she said brightly.  "I'm decorating Binky's soft bum." 

That went on until I was weeping piteously.  My rump blazed.  My rocks continued to be at risk.  The double dose of agony was unbearable but I knew that quitting would cost me something even more terrible.  I tried to read the time on the clock but there was too much sweat in my eyes.  Jarrel's wide grin stood out whitely against his dark face.  Irena held possessively onto one of his impressive biceps.  

At last, I heard firecrackers going off outside.  My wife's Black bedmate put his long arms around her for an intimate embrace.  As the year changed, they shared a kiss that was both tender and dirty.  Their groins ground against each other.  When they parted, I could see by the bulge in his slacks that he was hard once more. 

He said, "You can stop the racket, Binky.  Squat down so them bells sit on the floor, and stay like that.  I don't want to hear them while me and my bitch get down to business again." 

My long night was far from over.  

*********