She had been wet all morning. It had been difficult to work. Her mind kept wandering and the urge to touch herself nagged.
Sheri was an admin assistant in HR for a large company, a professional, respected, well liked.
Sheri also had a bit of a secret life; a few special things she did that gave life a bit of a bite. She was on her way to do one of these things even now.
Two blocks away in a glass and steel tower was a special facility, discreet and inconspicuous. She had stumbled across it one day during a job interview. She didn't get the job, but she had inadvertently become aware of EMS, Inc. It sounded like an ambulance service, or something. It wasn't until she found out what EMS stood for that she began to ask more. Erotic Matching Services, Inc.
Her budgeting had changed a bit since discovering EMS, Inc. She now reserved almost 10% of her income so she could visit the offices once every week or two.
Stopping outside of the massive downtown building on Clark Street, she looked up. EMS Inc. occupied about half the third floor of the business building. The bottom was a bank. A logo for a major company appeared on the top. She was certain none of these businesses had any idea what was going on in the offices of EMS Inc., on the third floor.
Upon entering the lobby of EMS, Inc., Sheri found the familiar waiting room with several comfortable chairs, magazines, soft lighting and music. She approached an attractive receptionist and announced herself.
"I have a noon appointment." She said. "Sheri is the name."
The receptionist looked her up on a sheet and nodded. "Yes, Sheri. That will be $300."
Sheri handed over the cash. EMC Inc. did not know her last name, and she always paid cash.
The receptionist counted the cash and nodded. "Thank you Sheri. Changing room 4, I believe everything is set up for you."
"Thanks," Sheri said. She entered the back offices through a side door and went down a corridor. Doors were spaced every ten feet or so, numbered. She entered the one numbered "4".
The carpeted room on the other side was the size of a corporate office, and contained a sofa, a table, a set of hangars, and a small combination safe. The door to the room from the hall was heavy for soundproofing. There was a door on the opposite side of the room as well, also heavy and soundproofed. There were no windows. A small bathroom could be seen in an alcove to the side, containing a toilet and shower. Soap, shampoo and towels were provided, though Sheri would not need them for today's activity.
Sheri removed her clothes. She did so not because she was going to have any sexual activity per se, but because it made her feel more sensual. And because she was likely to masturbate during the upcoming activity, and it made for easier access. Once her clothes were folded and set on the small side table, she waited on the couch until the light over the next door turned from red to green.
Opening the door she entered the activity room.
The activity room was plain. Beige tiled walls and floor were unadorned with pictures or other clutter, making it easy to wash the room down of any body fluid residue after a client's activities. A small drain in the center of the floor supported this requirement.
In the center of the room was a long table, rather like a gurney. A long coffin-like box sat on top of it.
There, slightly off center, hung a penis and testicles.
They projected from a small hole in the table. They were attached to a man, of course, currently confined inside the small coffin-like box above. But that didn't matter. All that mattered to Sheri was the cock and balls hanging before her.
Smiling, Sheri reached out and took hold of the penis. The cock and balls jerked slightly at this first touch, but the man in the box above was clearly strapped down securely and would be unable to move. Sheri stroked the cock for a bit, watching and feeling as it became engorged and hardened.
Once it was nice and hard, she let go of it. Now for the fun part.
She punched the balls. One fist, balled up, swung hard and slammed into the fleshy scrotum and two lumps inside, as if they were a punching bag. The whole genital assembly gave way and flopped to the side, swinging up and slamming into the bottom of the table, then dangling below.
Above, in the box, was a muffled cry. The testicular impact had the desired effect. Some guy was in pain.
Sheri struck again, and again, the testicles bouncing back and forth as she struck. The cock began to shrink as she slammed her fist into the balls, smashing them into the table above. Each impact evoked a sharp sound of pain and misery from the box above.
The cries of pain were muffled, partly because of the box containing the male and partly because the male's mouth had been gagged in some way.
Sheri resumed masturbating as she continued to strike the testicles as hard as she could. The screams that ensued from the box above made her wet, hardened her nipples, readied her body for sexual intercourse, stimulated and aroused her, encouraged her to keep beating the small globes of flesh inside the fleshy sack before her.
Over and over again she hit, and the screams migrated to sobs.
After about 15 minutes of continual beating, she stopped and switched to stroking the cock again. It had shriveled and become limp during the ball beating, but now quickly responded to her hand job. She kept stroking it, pulling it, sliding both hands on it continuously, until it hardened and began jerking.
The moans from the box above changed subtly and liquid began dripping from the end of the penis as Sheri stroked it. She moved from stroking to jerking, moving faster, concentrating on the head of the cock. The drips of fluid suddenly changed into a stream of white sticky fluid that spurted down, puddling on the floor below. The moans in the box above changed to a gasping and then grew silent.
Sheri let the cock and balls hang as she diddled her clit for a bit. She could bring herself to orgasm right then, she had been having lots of fun and the muffled cries from the box were hugely arousing to her.
Glancing at a large round wall clock near the ceiling, Sheri noted she still had 10 minutes. Might as well use them.
She grabbed the cock again and began jerking. The male voice started moaning and crying out. Post-orgasm stimulation; not something guys liked. Sheri kept jerking him, causing squeals and slight wiggles of the genitals that hung before her. The cock was slowly getting harder again.
She didn't want him to cum again, and there was that possibility. So she stopped the post orgasmic stroking and grabbed his balls and squeezed as hard as she could. That caused a different kind of screaming, muffled but still quite audible.
Not letting go of the small globes of tissue, Sheri pulled down in addition to squeezing. She added a second hand to try and squeeze and pull even harder.
The male was sobbing now. That sound... that sound was what made Sheri the happiest, the most aroused. When a man lost it and basically just cried. It encouraged her, spurred her on and she got up on her knees to put some weight into her pressure and pulling, dragging, pushing, squeezing the testicles down and away from the man held in bondage above.
She jerked. Jerking the balls down, letting them up, jerking them down.
Then she released her nails. She had long nails, carefully manicured. Natural ones, not acrylic paste-ons. Her own nails, sharpened and polished.
Sheri curled her fingers and dug her nails to the soft scrotal flesh. With some added pressure they cut the skin, not only smashing the testicles, but slicing the flesh open until little dribbles of blood appeared.
The clock was getting close. Her time was almost up. She reached between her legs and stroked as she grabbed the testicles with her other hand.
Just as the climax arrived, just as the orgasm warmth flooded her body, she felt something happen to the glob of tissue in her hand. It changed, yielded in a strange way. Gushed. Popped. Deflated.
At the same time the screams from the box changed tone. They were already going non-stop, they were like music accompanying Sheri's orgasmic pleasure. But they became sharper, more panicked.
When the orgasm had faded and Sheri was leaning back against the wall, relaxing, the screams continued and changed back into sobs. They were muffled in and distant, but still conveyed a sense of panicked agony. That poor guy had probably paid $300 or more to have Sheri come and abuse his genitals.
Sheri smiled happily and rose, exiting the room to the dressing room where her clothes were folded. Someone would be along to remove the man in the coffin any moment. Her time (and his) were up. He had paid his fee to be abused, she had paid her fee to abuse, EMS had brought them together and raked in the cash. Fair trade.
Heading back up to her job a couple of blocks away, Sheri smiled happily. The rest of the day would be good. The endorphins were raging in her system, she had gotten her money's worth. She was already saving up for the next session, one where she would be able to take some man's breath away. Literally. She was planning on pasting a photo of her boss to the man's face before taping the plastic bag around his neck.
Once it was nice and hard, she let go of it. Now for the fun part.She punched the balls. One fist, balled up, swung hard and slammed into the fleshy scrotum and two lumps inside, as if they were a punching bag. The whole genital assembly gave way and flopped to the side, swinging up and slamming into the bottom of the table, then dangling below.
Above, in the box, was a muffled cry. The testicular impact had the desired effect. Some guy was in pain.
Sheri struck again, and again, the testicles bouncing back and forth as she struck. The cock began to shrink as she slammed her fist into the balls, smashing them into the table above. Each impact evoked a sharp sound of pain and misery from the box above.
The cries of pain were muffled, partly because of the box containing the male and partly because the male's mouth had been gagged in some way.
Over and over again she hit, and the screams migrated to sobs.
After about 15 minutes of continual beating, she stopped and switched to stroking the cock again. It had shriveled and become limp during the ball beating, but now quickly responded to her hand job. She kept stroking it, pulling it, sliding both hands on it continuously, until it hardened and began jerking.
Sheri let the cock and balls hang as she diddled her clit for a bit. She could bring herself to orgasm right then, she had been having lots of fun and the muffled cries from the box were hugely arousing to her.
Glancing at a large round wall clock near the ceiling, Sheri noted she still had 10 minutes. Might as well use them.
She grabbed the cock again and began jerking. The male voice started moaning and crying out. Post-orgasm stimulation; not something guys liked. Sheri kept jerking him, causing squeals and slight wiggles of the genitals that hung before her. The cock was slowly getting harder again.
She didn't want him to cum again, and there was that possibility. So she stopped the post orgasmic stroking and grabbed his balls and squeezed as hard as she could. That caused a different kind of screaming, muffled but still quite audible.
Not letting go of the small globes of tissue, Sheri pulled down in addition to squeezing. She added a second hand to try and squeeze and pull even harder.The male was sobbing now. That sound... that sound was what made Sheri the happiest, the most aroused. When a man lost it and basically just cried. It encouraged her, spurred her on and she got up on her knees to put some weight into her pressure and pulling, dragging, pushing, squeezing the testicles down and away from the man held in bondage above.
She jerked. Jerking the balls down, letting them up, jerking them down.
Then she released her nails. She had long nails, carefully manicured. Natural ones, not acrylic paste-ons. Her own nails, sharpened and polished.
Sheri curled her fingers and dug her nails to the soft scrotal flesh. With some added pressure they cut the skin, not only smashing the testicles, but slicing the flesh open until little dribbles of blood appeared.The clock was getting close. Her time was almost up. She reached between her legs and stroked as she grabbed the testicles with her other hand.
Just as the climax arrived, just as the orgasm warmth flooded her body, she felt something happen to the glob of tissue in her hand. It changed, yielded in a strange way. Gushed. Popped. Deflated.
At the same time the screams from the box changed tone. They were already going non-stop, they were like music accompanying Sheri's orgasmic pleasure. But they became sharper, more panicked.
When the orgasm had faded and Sheri was leaning back against the wall, relaxing, the screams continued and changed back into sobs. They were muffled in and distant, but still conveyed a sense of panicked agony. That poor guy had probably paid $300 or more to have Sheri come and abuse his genitals.
Sheri smiled happily and rose, exiting the room to the dressing room where her clothes were folded. Someone would be along to remove the man in the coffin any moment. Her time (and his) were up. He had paid his fee to be abused, she had paid her fee to abuse, EMS had brought them together and raked in the cash. Fair trade.Heading back up to her job a couple of blocks away, Sheri smiled happily. The rest of the day would be good. The endorphins were raging in her system, she had gotten her money's worth. She was already saving up for the next session, one where she would be able to take some man's breath away. Literally. She was planning on pasting a photo of her boss to the man's face before taping the plastic bag around his neck.
