I am waiting in the shadowy confines of a stone corridor leading along the side of the ancient stone temple in northern Thailand, near the Golden Triangle. The temples here have a decided Burmese flavor. The air is close and humid, and my white tee shirt is soaked with my own sweat. My fingers nervously massage the grip and barrel of the Beretta automatic I hold in my hand. In the room next to me, a row of impassive Buddha’s look on. Time means nothing to them. I am waiting to kill a man. Time means everything to me.
A man, did I say? A monster, surely, and yet, the greatest monsters on our earth are men. How could anyone do what he had done to me? The physical scars I always carry are horrible reminders of my years of abuse as a victim of Mr. Black. But, terrible as they are, the emotional scars are greater. What kind of physical scars, you ask? I look like a rather handsome twenty-year-old man, with a good muscular build, strong jaw, quirky smile, and a head of curly hair. The smile is something I cultivated. I never really smile. Not since I was fifteen. Take a closer look at me. In my eyes, you will see infinite sadness, deepened by my inability to have sex with women. When my nostrils flair, you will notice constant disgust at what has become of my life and myself. In my eyes burn a loathing for the man who did all of this to me.
I must stand very quietly, pressed against the stone wall. Mr. Black and his thugs have a heightened sense of hearing, among other seemingly almost supernatural attributes. I gently shift the weight from one sandaled foot to the other. When I do so, my testicles in my cargo shorts ache. It is an ache that is normal to me. My balls are almost always in extreme pain. That is because for the three years that I was Mr. Black’s “movie star,” my nuts were tortured and stretched on an almost daily basis. Heavy weights were hung from them, and I was forced to dance naked with a cord tied to my scrotum. I was whipped until I dragged impossible weights across a room by my balls. I was punished for any lack of enthusiasm by having my fifteen-year-old sac beaten with a ruler or bamboo cane until my nuts were swollen the size of lemons. I am unable to father any children because of the years of scrotal abuse I suffered.
At fifteen, I wanted to fuck every cute young girl I met. Now I carry with me the burden that I have been fucked up the ass by over nineteen hundred men. You have no idea of the courage it takes me to say, ‘fucked up the ass.’ For three years, if I dared to call my asshole anything but my cunt or my pussy, I was punished. Imagine, if you will, a healthy, normal fifteen-year-old boy, being forced to bend over, spread his ass cheeks, and beg strange men to shove their dicks up his ‘cunt!’ And—believe me—for his films, Mr. Black only hires fuckers with over eight and a half inches of dick. I was not only ruthlessly raped over and over, but I was also stretched and ripped and mutilated by the dick so badly, that now I cannot properly control my bowels. To have to admit that at twenty is so humiliating, I cannot bear to hear the words come out of my mouth. I did work hard to raise the money for some rectal surgery, but the doctors said there was only so much they could do. It was not the cocks so much as the fist fucking that destroyed me. For some films, I would have to endure two large hands up my asshole at the same time. One well-hung ‘co-star’ shoved his dick and hand up my ass-cunt, and then masturbated his own dick up inside me. I think I was seventeen then. I know that was before the donkeys and horses.
When I shift weight, my balls swing and slap my thighs. That always hurts. Walking hurts too as does running. My nuts have been stretched until they hang over eight inches low in the sack. Some people might think this is hot. I think it is horrendous.
Part of my problem was that, even at fifteen, I had a large dick. Mr. Black told me upon more than one occasion that if my dick had not been so large and beautiful, he might not have chosen me. I was a star athlete, popular with the chicks, loved at home, a good student, and it all stopped overnight. I was kidnapped—literally kidnapped on the way home from swimming practice.
So my big teenage dick became a central part of many of the films in which I starred. Long thick pins were shoved through my dick stalk. It was burned, beaten, and bent when erect. It was yanked and stretched when flaccid. One film called Eric gets his Piss Hole Worked On (not a very creative title from the creative man) was just that, two hours of me getting my teenage cock tortured. They shoved larger and larger objects up my piss hole. I begged them for mercy until I lost my voice. I speak now in a permanent rasp, my vocal cords damaged from all the screaming. My urethra is now so damaged that the piss just dribbles out, and I have no control of my bladder. Mr. Black said I looked cute with the piss just running out of my dick and down my leg.
For one film, my dickhead was safety-pinned to my thigh. For another, my piss lips were sewn shut. For another, my dick skin was sewn tightly over my dickhead so I could not get an erection. Another time, my dick and balls were put into an electric waffle iron, and I had to suck off five guys before it heated up enough to burn my junk off. Once, because my dick is large, I was bent over double, and my cock head was superglued to my mouth, so I was stuck sucking my own dick and could not unbend. The pain was agonizing, and I thought I would die. One time, my penis was forced up my own asshole, and then I was sexually stimulated until it grew painfully erect. I was fed Viagra every day, so my cock was almost permanently erect. There were eight months or so, where if I was ever caught with my dick not hard, I was punished. I was forced to keep hard, but not cum. It almost drove me nuts. The doctor says part of my erectile dysfunction at twenty was caused by this. Much of the rest of the problem is in my head.
My tee shirt clings, and this too almost drives me crazy as I wait for Mr. Black. You see my tortured nipples have been so stretched and irritated that they stick out from my chest like sow teats. To wear any kind of shirt is painful. I have tried putting Band-Aids over my nipples, but it does not help much. Mr. Black loves giant eraser tits on his boys, so for hours each day, my nipples were worked on. I sobbed as much in humiliation as in pain. I had been a buff, good-looking teen, and now I was nothing but a sexual freak. The nubs of my tits were the size of a marble. There were holes in them from the rings I had been forced to wear. In one sick film, they had even inserted thin hoses under my skin up into my nipple nubs. Then holes were pierced in the titty-tips. That way, I could produce milk through my tits like a girl. The other actors in the movie drank the milk from my tits. I was forced to suckle two puppies, one sucking at each nipple, and then a baby goat, which really hurt. I sobbed from shame until I fainted and had to be revived by two guys pissing on my face.
I was forced to drink piss every day. Often my meals consisted of some kind of rice cooked with piss and mixed with cum and a bowl of piss to drink. There were films made of dozens of guys pissing in my mouth until my stomach bloated like I was pregnant. Guys pissed up my ass too. I was given piss enemas until I thought my guts would explode. And then with a bloated tummy, I had to do exercises until I passed out from the pain.
I am still ashamed to admit this, but guys took a shit in my mouth. I was forced to eat shit out of toilets and off the roadside. I was forced to eat animal shit and human shit. Mr. Black said my films earned him more money than any other “star” he had.
Men clamored to see new abuse heaped on me.
Lizards and boa constrictors were shoved up my ass-cunt, as well as candles, bottles of every size, baseball bats, umbrella handles, golf clubs, you name it.
I was also made to do unspeakable things to others. I was forced to torture children. I was forced to fuck little girls and boys with my huge dick. I had to slap one little boy with my big dick until he had huge red dick welts across his face. I had to impale little boys on my dick and carry them around the room. In one film, I was forced to fuck a little boy in front of his father.
In one film, I was “captured by the Asian enemy” and tortured in unspeakable ways. My dick and balls were enclosed in a jar with angry hornets. Thorns were forced into the soles of my feet, and then I had to dance naked for the enemy. I was hung from a tree by my dick and balls until I thought my genitals would be ripped off.
Mr. Black always took delight in the creativity of each new project. He would stroke my hair and face as he told me what a good boy I was and how much he loved me. He would stroke and pamper me, bathe with me, and massage me himself. He was such a unique, fascinating monster that I fell under his spell. He was quite young himself then, but now would be two years older than when I last saw him. I wondered as I stood dripping sweat in the shadow of the temple if he would have changed much. I pondered if my bullet would kill him. Was he truly inhuman, invincible as some of his native thugs believed?
I will never forget the film in which I was forced to eat the dick and balls of a recently deceased teen boy. The boy had died in a motorcycle accident, and Mr. Black acquired the body. I had to watch as they cut the cock and balls off the dead teenager and served them to me on a plate. The film was made to satisfy the cannibal tastes of certain clients. The cameras kept lingering on the serene face of the dead boy, and then to my agonized face as I was forced to chew and eat the skin and meat of the teenage dick and balls. That was when I had my first breakdown.
But Mr. Black was not finished with me. Oh no, I was a cash cow. I was lovingly nurtured back to health. Those were the best days, resting in the sun, eating fruit and watching the sunset while being sexually serviced by young native boys. Oh yes, I began to enjoy the oral services of native boys. I—a confirmed lifelong heterosexual—was now enjoying some young kid swinging on my dick. Guilty as I felt, I could not help enjoying it. It was such a relief from the constant abuse.
Soon, it was back to filming and more horror for me. I remember one film because it was shot in a remote part of northwest Thailand. I was brought into a village, and it was announced that I would suck the dicks of every male in the village. I was forced to suck over a hundred men and boys’ cocks. I even had to suck on the dicks of very little boys and babies, just for the record. Every male member in the village from the youngest to the oldest was in my mouth. Then I was fucked with the pizzle of a water buffalo. I tried to kill myself by jumping into the river, but they dragged me out. That was when Mr. Black got the idea of attaching fishing lines with hooks to my titties and dickhead to catch fish.
Another time, my hands were tied behind my back, a rope was tied from my dick and balls to the rear of a motorcycle, and I had to run behind the motorcycle up mountain trails and through jungle clearings.
And then at eighteen, I escaped. I do not even remember the details. Not many boys escape from Mr. Black. Usually, he disposes of them to one of his clients. I heard from one of the thugs who had taken a special liking to me and the way I sucked his dick, that Mr. Black was selling me to a client who was going to have me castrated on film. I was to have my dick and balls cut off without any anesthetic, of course. I am not even sure if this was true, but I knew I had to get out. I told the guard that I loved him and wanted to run away with him. I sucked his dick and let him fuck me. And he ultimately became smitten with me and decided to run away with me. This too is very rare for one of Mr. Black’s thugs to betray him. He pays them very well, and they are incredibly devoted to him. They also enjoy the same sort of sexual extremes that he does, and where else does one get the chance to indulge in such games? The thing is Tui, this guard, really loved me, I guess. Still, that did not stop him from being a brutal child-raping bastard, so I left him in the ditch with his head bashed in and made my escape.
But I could not escape from myself. There I was an eighteen-year-old white kid who had been sexually abused since he was fifteen. I had no passport, no papers, no money. And I could not go to the police. Mr. Black thinks of everything.
I was hooked on drugs other than just Viagra. They also warped my mind so that I was addicted to cock! That’s right. I needed dick in my mouth and up my ass. If I didn’t get it, I went nuts. At eighteen, I had been turned into a dick craving fucked up pervert. They also got me to want to fuck around with young boys. I mean really young boys. When you are tortured and abused, and then offered the comfort of a soft young body, eventually you take it. So to this day I have nightmares and am guilt-ridden about what I did to little boys.
Somehow, I made my way to Chaing Mai, where I started sucking cock and selling my ass for money. Nobody really wanted my ass as it was too stretched out, but I was a damned good cocksucker. What kept me going during this time, and ever since, was my overwhelming desire to get revenge on Mr. Black.
Let me explain something about his charisma. He turns well-built, competent teen males into dick pigs hungry for his amazing cock. I must admit, after sucking thousands of dicks, I have never encountered a cock like his. It has a life of its own. It mesmerizes people. I would sit and stare at his dick, drooling, for hours at a time. Of course, I was on mind-altering drugs and pretty fucked up. It got so bad that I would go without food for days if I had a chance to suck his dick. I would suck off dogs, torture little boys, and take donkey dick up my ass if I could just get a taste of his magnificent cock. I cannot explain it, and I know that it defies logic to you, but some cocks are just that amazing. They pulse with total masculinity and control. They dominate. They rule.
I am ashamed to admit it, but I would crawl across the floor naked with my tongue hanging out of my mouth, just to catch a few drops of his pre-cum from his dick. I would cry for the chance to lick the excess drops of piss off his dick when he urinated. And I was not the only one. On the contrary, there were dozens of boys—boys from six or seven up until twenty or twenty-one—that he and his team had trained and turned into dick pigs. Mr. Black particularly likes to transform a high school or college jock or a young handsome military guy into a totally fucked up dick slut. He could turn your natural sexual drive upside down through conditioning, mind control, torture, fear, and drugs.
I remember one film he had me make that took almost an entire year to film. He had me fuck this thirteen-year-old girl until she got pregnant. Then over the following nine months, I would fuck her every month. When her tummy became too swollen, I fucked her in the ass. Then when she delivered, they filmed it with me jerking off onto her face as she gave birth. As soon as she had delivered, I was told to shove my dick into her mouth and face fuck her. Then I had to masturbate onto the newborn baby. I cannot even tell you the sick things I did. And he promised me that if I did an outstanding job and were really brutal with the girl, I would get to suck his dick every night for a week. Before you judge me, remember please what had happened to me. Remember that I was drugged up. I was like a fucking trained animal.
So by the time I escaped, my brain was fried. I sold my ass for a living. I performed in live sex shows with animals. I worked in Bangkok fuck clubs, a real novelty as I was a farang and then there was the bonus of my huge, tortured cock.
But eventually, my cock stopped working—trauma, or guilt, or fear, or the damage to my balls, who knows? I was nineteen now, and my one asset, my big dick was betraying me. Who wants a sex show star with a limp dick? So I had to do other things. I had to do scat shows where customers could shit in bowls, and I ate it. I had to let donkeys and goats fuck me and get fist fucked for money. I had to squat on large wine bottles and fuck myself. Any money I made went to drugs. And twice I had to go into hiding because Mr. Black’s men found me.
What kept me going was the dream I had of killing Mr. Black. He ruined my life, so I would take his. I would stop him from hurting any more boys and girls.
Finally, it was a man I met at the Malaysia Hotel off Sathorn Road that saved me. I had been in a room there with two German guys who were taking turns shitting in my mouth and making me eat it and then fucking my shitty mouth with their big dicks. I was totally fucked up and staggered down to the coffee shop at the hotel (after I had showered and cleaned, of course), and I was having some hot soup when I saw this older well-dressed gentleman seated alone at a table. Beaten and fucked up as I was, I thought this might be a chance to make some more money, so I hit on the guy. I put on my best fake smile and went over to his table.
He was a writer, and it turns out, that although he did not want to fuck me, he did want to hear my story and be my friend. He saved my life. A year later, here I am with a nine-shot Beretta automatic in my hand, waiting for Mr. Black to come down the hallway in this northern Thai temple.
Mr. Black is a Buddhist. How can a monster be a Buddhist? It all depends on your view of reality. Mr. Black himself was abused by his father as a child. He ultimately killed his own father and then ran away. He was abused by adult after adult and found no consolation or love until he arrived by accident to study at the Shaolin Temple in China. This was in the last days of the temple, and a study of life, its powers and charms, and martial arts that no longer exists. Mr. Black became an expert of what is called Hong Gar King Fu. He mediated and performed many kind acts, but he never forgot the cruelty of the world that he had seen and felt. He felt it was only fair play that he now extracted the same kind of cruelty from the world that had been practiced upon him as a child, and visited it upon others. He became the most powerful underground gangster in all of Asia. He specialized in truly perverse underground films and also in providing unwilling victims for clients with outlandish sexual appetites. But all of that did not excuse him in my mind for what he had done to me.
I watched a little green lizard scurry up the wall. He had not minded me, so his sudden flurry told me others were approaching. I never heard their footfall, but I saw them emerge from the darkness. Like the incense filling the air, Mr. Black and three of his goons seemed to appear from nothing. The wall of the hallway was lined with over a hundred tiny metal bowls, and as he walked, Mr. Black dropped a coin in each bowl filling the hollow space with a kind of music. As always he floated more than walked, and although he was a little older looking, he still was unbearably handsome. I studied his forehead and pictured my bullet boring a hole in it. He would at last pay not only for what he had done to me but also for his crimes against hundreds of other boys and girls. He was not human. He was a malicious force of nature that had to be stopped. I dared not move. I dared not even breathe. I feared even the sweat dripping from my body onto the stones beneath me would be heard. Mr. Black was speaking in English to one of his men.
“It is only fair since he has refused payment three times that he is made to suffer. Visit his home and make him fuck his own son! Make sure his wife and other children watch. This will teach him he must not rescind on a promise. With everything I have done in my life, I have never broken my word. NEVER!”
Somewhere a bird cried, or was it me? I stepped out from the shadows, gun held at arm’s length, pointed at Mr. Black’s forehead. He saw me at once, and I saw the recognition in his eyes. He did not move. Not a muscle. His men froze also. They knew the slightest move, and I would squeeze the trigger.
At last, he gently whispered, “So!”, his voice like silk, “My darling boy, I somehow always felt we would meet again.” He smiles a small polite smile, and the wrinkles around his eyes showed genuine affection. “I have missed you. I have missed you and my coffers have missed you. I have had many boys since you, but none who suffered as exquisitely as you did. No doubt about it, Eric, you are special. I often watch your movies while being sucked off by some handsome youngster, and I pretend it is your mouth on my dick. I’m not lying. The feel of your mouth and your cunt linger in my memory.”
The gun in my hand was lightweight, but nonetheless, my arm was growing tired. I needed to kill him before he talked any more.
“We have a new thirteen-year-old from Holland who has the blondest hair and the sweetest little ass, and I keep thinking about how you would enjoy fucking him. I even told Trung that, didn’t I Trung?”
Trung was scared. He said nothing. His eyes darted about looking for a way to disable me.
“Relax, Trung. Eric is not going to shoot me. He has a weapon, but I have a more powerful weapon. Don’t I, Eric?”
One hand moved slowly down to the front of Mr. Black’s off-white Italian handmade trousers. Ever so slowly, my finger tightened on the trigger. His fingers gently lowered the zipper on his pants.
“I have something for you, Eric. Something you have not had in a very long time, but you remember it, don’t you? You remember the smell and the taste. I’ll bet you have dreamed about it.
“By the way, it wasn’t true, the rumor that I was going to sell you to be castrated. You should know me better than that. You have such a beautiful dick that I would never see it cut away. But your dick, beautiful as it is, cannot compare with mine, is this not true, Eric? You remember my big fat dick, don’t you? You remember how it feels your cunt. Does your cunt itch now with the memory?”
His fingers fished around inside his pants for a moment, and then he hauled out his thick, long, floppy beautifully formed penis, seven inches long flaccid. My eyes left his forehead and went to his cock. I could not help it. One of Mr. Black’s men must have been preparing to make a move on me because Mr. Black raised one hand in a warning gesture.
“No need for violence. Eric remembers my dick. He wants my dick again more than anything in the whole world. Why would he shoot me when he needs my cock? Do you want to see my big balls too, Eric—my big floppy balls that you sucked on and licked for hours? You remember the taste of my scrotum sweat, Eric. Here it is. Just for you. Come on. Just crawl over here and you may have it. I know I cheated you of my cock sometimes, but I promise to give you all the cock you can handle. Just crawl over here and lick. Put the gun down, Eric, and come and smell and taste my cock!”
AND I DID. I lowered the gun and let it clatter to the stones. I dropped to my knees and on all fours crawled toward Mr. Black. I lowered my jaw and extended my tongue as I had been taught. I could smell his penis and scrotum. I lifted my head to look up at him. He smiled down on me and with one hand gently gave his prick and balls a shake. The big dick head moved inches from my mouth.