********* THE TRIP TO HELL ********* ***** NOT FOR THE WEAK MIND ****** 'Shut the fuck up skum!' Sometimes that little cock sucker could definitely get on my nerves. He sure had a big mouth for such a short cock sucker alright; and the gag in his mouth didn't lessen his screams by half. Its been two and a half months since I started with this little skum and his need for abuse from me seems to just grow and grow daily. But, hell man, let me tell you how this all started..... I'd been working for the phone company out here for the last few years. Daddy Bell to be exact. I'd moved out here after losing my job at the steel mills in the Midwest. Came out here to see what was in the old adage: 'Go West Young Man' . My area is the posh Bel Sky section. You know the place. Its where all the 'very' successful entertainment elite live. Home to all the fabulously wealthy, extremely neurotic pandered pissheads and condescending cock suckers. Where the elite meet, greet, and fall off their feet. Most of my calls are to replace phones and jacks ripped out of the walls by tantrum throwing temptresses or to work out some of the bugs in the wiring of newly redecorated mansions. 'You know darling, I just have to have a phone near by always. My agent insists!' All that money, the splendor, the power of these jackoffs was impressive at first yes; but the glitter tarnishes quickly and what you have left is a herd of hedonistic and nymphomaniac groupies. Any dude wearing a utility belt is potential prey for those hollywood wives who've had anything and everything even remotely resembling a prick within their reach, up their carnivorous cunts or saggy, worn out old B-movie actors, who offer scads of money to anyone who'll double foot fuck their already garbage sized shit holes. Now don't get me wrong. There are a lot of young hot stuff out here, and I'm just as horny, even more, than the next guy; But these aged S.O.B's, Fuck! What a pathetic group. I could tell you a shit load of behind the scene stories on what really goes on in the homes of these stars and starlets or offer psychoanalysis of the whole scene, but hell, that would take days. So, what was I beginning to tell you about? Oh Yeah. How I got entangled with this little satyr. It all began one late spring morning. I had to go and finish up a newly replaced pole in an extremely remote place on San Prevert Drive. One of these assholes had driven his or her Porche, Jaguar straight into the pole and laid it out, fucking up all the phones in that immediate area. Its really a drag when something like that happens. You've got to go up the pole, down the pole, up the outside of the house, in the house, back out, back up the pole. Up and down, Up and down, god knows how many times till you get all the crap working right. Luckily, there were only three houses connected to that particular pole, and it had taken me all of one day to do two of them. So there I was on a super Saturday morning to finish up with the third. I'd been up and down the pole for at least an hour and finally had to go to work on the house. After about twenty minutes, I heard voices around at the front door. Out of curiosity, I stuck my head around the corner to see what famed asshole it was this time. Damn! I almost fell off the ladder. There was this old fucker decked out in leather and I could just barely see the top of some leather hooded head evidently kissed this fuckers boot and thanking him, calling him Sir. The voice sounded very familiar, but I just couldn't place it. I did, though, recognize the guy in the leather outfit. I'd seen him a couple of times in a few of the leatherbars in town. Had even been introduced to him once by a mutual 'friend'. If I remembered correctly, and I always do, he was a real jackoff. All show, No go. I retreated a bit so he wouldn't see me and waited till he left to come down the ladder. Curiosity had totally overtaken me by then to see who the little mystery masochist was. I remembered there was another service box by the kitchen window downstairs, but I didn't want to risk being caught and accused of peeping tomism, besides, there was at the least one way I could find out. I connected my phone to the house wire and rang the number. A couple of rings and his machine answered. 'Hi, I can't come to the phone right now, but is you'll leave your number, etc......' Shit, that voice was ultra familiar, but I still couldn't place it. Damn, who the fuck was it? I could get the operator, but this time I felt a bit more cautious. 'What the hell!' I thought, 'I'll just go to the damn front door and check the phones inside, I have to anyway.' I hurried to finish up the basic necessities I'D need to get the phone working, back up again. By the time I got down the ladder, my cock was hardening and my balls rolling in their sac, with the thrill of finding out who the mystery celebrity was. As I walked to the door, I reached down my pants to fix my orange sized balls so as to show my tempting basket, so to speak, to my host. I rang the door bell and waited. Nothing; so I rang again. This time I could hear a distant voice. 'Who is it?' 'Telephone Man' 'What?' 'Phone man!' I shouted. 'OK!, wait a second!' I could hear some running around, doors slamming, and a few more thumps and running around. Finally he came to the door. 'Yeah, the phone work yet?' he said out of breath. Damn! I almost lost my load. there in front of me was Timmy Foxx wearing jeans and a sweat shirt! . I'm not usually much impressed by celebrities, but this little bugger looked better in real life then he does on the tube. My mouth hung open as I stood there looking at him. 'Yeah, Well?' he said. I shook my clouded head an spoke. 'Oh, Sorry' I said, I was a bit dumb founded there for a second, 'I didn't expect you, I thought some old hag or....'. 'Well I'm glad you don't think I'm an old hag; what do yea need?' . 'I need to check out your phones. They just replaced the pole over there. Some idiot ran into it the other night.' 'Yeah, I noticed' he said, 'Do you need to check all of them? Come on in.' . He motioned me in as he turned and walked down a small staircase past the foyer. I couldn't help but notice his tight ass as he walked in front of me. For a minute I'd completely forgot about his visitor that had left not fifteen minutes previously. 'Here. The phones over here.' he pointed in the direction. 'Is this going to take a long time?' he asked. 'I don't want to rush you, but I'm already kind of late for an appointment, you understand?' Well to make a longer story shorter I got him to show me another phone, the one in the Kitchen. Then while he was in the John I unlocked the window and checked for alarms. I didn't see any so when he came back I said I had more work to do. Since he had to go I went back out side and puttered around until I was sure he was long gone. I went to the kitchen window and listened. The stillness made me feel certain the place was vacant. Opening the window with the skill of an agent, I quietly slipped in. With no one around a much stranger air about the place was perceived. Venturing from the kitchen, I was confounded by the complexity of the interior structure. What seemed from the outside like a simple basic house, was a complex maze within. Room led to room in a strange circular way. As I slowly ventured from one room to another snooping about, I began to feel that I was headed towards a vortex. The basic spaces for living (living room, kitchen, bath, den, etc) seemed normal enough. But as I went deeper within, the decor seemed to take on an eerier feeling Finally coming upon his main bedroom I was only mildly surprised to see a motorcycle next to a sofa, where a pair of cowboy boots, leather gloves and a bike helmet had been tossed. Against the wall, a stack of tires held up a large photo of James Dean, the Mikado of Masochists. His finger seemed to be pointing the way. The pungent smell of mansex permeated the room, filling my nostrils. My hardening cock strained at its cloth confines as I investigated further. I could only imagine the scene that had taken place between that old worn out cock sucker and the young Timmy Fox and wondered what the little stud might be into and to what extent. To the front of the bike, panels of floor to ceiling mirrors covered the wall, giving the room the illusion of vast dimension. Huge stereo speakers hung from the ceiling corners and a wooden canopied bed centered the far wall. 'A very likely place to start' I thought. I noticed the giant mirror covering the underside of the canopy as I sat down reaching for the small handles on the headboard. 'If only that mirror could talk' I said to myself. Sliding back the doors to the headboard revealed a control panel with a myriad of buttons. Deciding to sample a bit of each, I pressed the first. Tomitas version of 'ZNight on Bare Mountain' blarred from the speakers. The music changed on the press of each button of the first group. The second set of buttons controlled the room lighting. A number of others did seemingly nothing, but with the last one I hit paydirt. A low masculine voice came from the speakers, obviously in mid- conversation. 'You know what I'm going to do when I get hold of you boy?'...'N-No Sir...' the second voice was Timmy's. 'First I'm gonna rip off my belt and beat your damn sniveling little ass!'... 'Please Sir! I'm sorry... p-please don't....'... 'What the hell did I tell you about playin' with yourself shithead!'...'Please Sir; I couldn't help it. When I think about you, it gets real hard and it feels so good when I rub and lick it. I could make it up to you Sir! Please, I could lick your big balls and kiss your big smelly cock till it gets hard Sir. Please!, P-Please let me make you happy Sir!' . The puerile tone of his voice bordered on being nausious. 'You know what will make your Master happy boy? To rip off your clothes, tie your fucking legs over your head, and beat your fucking little white ass red till you piss all over your pretty little face! That will make your Master happy, skum!' 'Yes Sir Master Sir! I deserve to have my ass kicked by you Sir! I need you to hurt me Sir! I know that when you hurt me it means you love me and need me too!' 'And that cock boy. Its that big fucking cock of yours that gets your damn worthless ass into trouble wimp! You don't even need it you little puss! Only a man needs a dick, and you ain't that for sure you skum boy!' . 'I ought to carve that chunk of meat with a straight razor, till it looks like a barbers pole and lop it off your squirrely ass. 'Yes! Yeah Daddy Sir;' he gasped, 'cut it off! I don't need it! It only makes me do things that displeases my daddy!' His inhalations increased. 'Cut it off very slowly Sir, so I can relish the pain that pleases you. Make me feel every second of it for a lasting reminder of what caused my daddys anger!' . He breathed heavily in a trembling way, signaling his orgasm... Judging from the content of other taped conversations, our young Mr. Foxx was definitely an unmitigated bottom; with a taste for the bizarre. Listening to excerpt upon excerpt of his quaffingly cock hounded phone conversations, I wondered where the hell these tapes were being played from? The last button answered my question. A panel of the mirrors opened. I walked over and side stepped behind the panel. Damn! This was like opening a tomb and finding a pharaohs treasure! What a fucking control room. Beau coup bucks had certainly been spent on this setup. It was like being in the flight deck of the space shuttle! Totally boggling at first. Mountains of machines sat. Reel to reels, mixers, computers at the helm. A not-so-mini- Television and recording studio! The opposite wall was a giant library. The floor to ceiling type you see in older movies, with the track ladder and such. There on the shelves stood volume upon volume of audio and visual tapes, magazines, books and scripts. I picked up a volume of the collected works of many authors and glanced through them. Perusing the rest of his library, I noted a system of color coding. Black, Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, and Brown, and to each of these, subsidiary hues of different intensities. I plucked out a copy of a film with accompanying scrip titled 'Carl and Rodger'. Not knowing how to work his frickin machines and not willing to take the time to learn, I plopped down in a chair and started to read... "Prose outline - Refer to story board no. 5197 Scene I [Special effect #37] man on wood stool wearing sunglasses and police cap. stroking extremely large cock and balls. CARL: As I recall the details...I find myself in a uncontrollable state . of ecstasy... I feel like pumping up every tingling detail... Reliving...Refeeling...Recalling the vivid visuals of an adventure . that happened two nights ago.. and I'm still aglow from it all! . Its the kind of thing you can't plan. It only happens if your . "totally" free and easy with yourself. Erotically secure to send . out and receive vibrations of the "Inner nature" So carefully honed . Its a tease, looking for the next signal. Getting bolder every time . Going for all the pleasure men can share only with each other and . the freedom to do so!........ Fuck! As I read the preamble, my cock drooled in my pants. In my minds eye, I could picture that hot little prick stroking his tool while I blasted his bowels with my slimy fuckpole. I vowed to myself to have this little fucker as a slave. Decided to "borrow" a few excerpts from his collection and view them at home later, I selected some I hoped he wouldn't miss for the time being. Since I'd been in the house for nearly an hour, I decided I'd better get the hell out of there before he returned and caught me invading his "inner sanctum" I grabbed the tapes and retraced my trail through the house making sure I replaced everything the way I had found it. I didn't want him to discover I'd been there. That could ruin one of my diabolical plans of surprise I had brewing in the back of my mind. Sticking the tapes into my equipment bag, I stuck my head out from the kitchen window to ensure the coast was clear. Confident it was, I slid out and secured the window. Sauntering to my truck, I threw the bag into the front seat and began securing my load, just as if I was finishing up a routine job. My curiosity was at such a high that I ran a few stop signs on my way home. I could hardly wait to see what kind of secrets that little Imp had on these tapes. Secrets that he was now inadvertently going to share with me. Driving, I couldn't help but contemplate on how I knew the Hollywood star scene well enough to realize the "images" the industry builds for their stars are usually 180 degrees from the truth. I had a feeling this little snot's wholesome, all-american, boy-next-door cuteness would likely reveal him to be a snivelling bottom with a penchant for being shackled, his cock in a vice and having his ass and balls whipped while he's forced to suck his masters hard dick and whimper his heartfelt thanks. But I wouldn't have to imagine what that little cocksucker's trip was for very much longer. That can sometimes be fun, but proof is in the pudding, and I had a dish of it in my hand. After almost running my truck into the garage door, I bound up the front stairs of my house, slammed the door and dashed to my bedroom. I pushed the first tape, "Carl and Roger", into the VCR and plopped back onto my bed to view the "expose" in comfort. True to the script, the film opened with a guy in police hat, sunglasses, and white sweat socks, sitting spread legged on a short stool. As he began the prologue, he languidly stroked the biggest damn cock I'd ever seen in my life. The thick slab of meat had to be fourteen-no-sixteen inches long. With one hand he held the gargantuan appendage at its base, while his other, unable to completely surround it, slowly ascended the massive column of flesh, pushing a wave of corpulent foreskin before it. While he stroked and spoke, he began kneeding the pendulous, heavy skinned sac that hung between his out stretched thighs. Had I not known from whose library this tape had come, I might not have been able to make out who this guy was. With all the special effects one could hardly tell that it was our young budding star himself. No wonder that little bastard was so sex crazed. If I had a King Cobra coiled in my pants like that I know I'd be entertained by snake charmers around the clock. Hell he must wrap that fucker around his waist or stick it up his ass when he goes out! And even though the little guy is cute as hell, you'd never imagine he'd be sporting a slab like that! While the preface wound up, he twisted his length ball sac around his finger and gave it a couple of good tugs. He squeezed his nuts and leaned forward and the camera zoomed in for a close- up just in time to show him lap a pearl of clear drool from his oozing cock head and stick his tongue into his gaping piss hole.......