| Pact with Satan | ||
| Bob and I lay facing each other,
with my prick tip inside his long, voluminous foreskin, literally head to head.
I was doubly lucky to have found Bob. Unlike me, he hadn't been mutilated when
he was born, and still had his precious hood to protect his helmet. I'd spent
almost every day of my 30 years circumcised. Also, he had the longest foreskin
I'd ever seen, dangling off the end of his prick when he was limp, and covering
the head with overhang to spare when he was erect. He had enough overhang to
accommodate my thick, fleshy helmet right down to the groove behind my rim, and
we made the most of it. We both knew from experience that most uncut guys didn't
have enough foreskin length to accommodate another glans, and that ruled out
docking for them. We'd met at our apartment that evening after work, and after eating a take-out Chinese dinner, we'd undressed and begun docking. His foreskin was long and loose, and the first thing we did after undressing was to lie facing each other on the bed. He'd stretched out the opening of his long foreskin nipple and I'd slipped the end of my prick inside. The contact was electric, and it didn't take long for us to become fully hard once my helmet was enveloped inside his foreskin, touching the blunt front dome of his. At the first contact I'd felt a little electric tingle deep in the root of my prick, and knew that I'd secreted a drop of lubricant, which now was crawling slowly up my tube towards the end. Bob was seeping too, more than I was because his helmet was more sensitive than mine, and our engorged tips were sliding easily inside his hood, rubbing nose to nose. Nature had been good to us. Each of us had a straight shaft, a large helmet shaped head with a sexy upturned flaring rim, and a big vein running down the right side. Overall, our pricks were six inches long from pubic bone to the end of the glans. The only significant difference was that while he had a long foreskin covering his helmet to keep it moist and sensitive, my prick had a thick brown scar behind the corona, evidence of the surgery that had removed my foreskin a few days after I'd been born. The doctor who'd cut me had also removed the frenulum, or gee-string, under my glans. Bob still had his, of course, and I knew that even a light touch on that hot spot would make him moan with delight. Bob was lucky too in having met me, someone who truly appreciated his foreskin endowment. Some cut guys didn't like foreskins, perhaps because a foreskin would remind them of what they'd lost, but I was always comfortable with Bob's natural prick, envious instead of resentful. Now we thrust gently against each other's helmets. I felt the rounded front dome of his press into mine, compressing the nerve endings. Bob's fingers were wrapped around his foreskin, holding it in place over my tip, and he was twisting it rhythmically to provide extra stimulation to both helmets. "Our tips are getting harder," he muttered as we continued our docking. I'd noticed that our balls had already drawn up tightly against our bodies with excitement, and now our helmets were filling out fully in the final swelling that precedes the moment of release. The front dome of his tip felt harder now as it pressed into mine. “I’m getting that tickle," I said to him. The delightful friction of his foreskin around my rim had produced a light tickling sensation in my nerve endings, and I knew that I was close. "Mine's been tickling for a few seconds," he replied. I wasn't surprised, because I knew his glans was more sensitive than mine. Our breathing had become heavy, and even though we were both trying to remain relaxed to prolong our enjoyment, orgasm was not far away. We kept thrusting, perfectly synchronized from long practice, as we waited for our sensations to overtake us. I felt the tickle in my glans become more intense and another sensation in the front dome of my helmet, a delicious ache that signaled my need for release. Now we were moving more urgently, driven by the need to spew our cream, and Bob's fingers had tightened on our pricks to increase the pressure and friction. My breathing became ragged as my excitement mounted, as did his. The tickle spread from my corona through my glans, and I felt the root of my prick tightening up in anticipation of the explosion. We were beyond the point of no return and couldn't stop now, or even slow down. The supreme moment came as my helmet seemed to swell even more, filled with a hot tingle that made me close my eyes. I heard Bob cry out, and felt the end of his glans throb hard against mine while spewing a gush of hot cream all over the front of my helmet. This triggered my orgasm, and I felt a hard contraction deep inside me as the heavy pounding of orgasm began in my body. I grunted hard as the first hot jet burned its way up my urethra to slam through the lips of my slit and mix with his fluid. Bob's glans again throbbed against mine as his second discharge erupted, and an instant later I followed him with another torrent of cream. The hot liquid filled his foreskin, swirling around our throbbing helmets and filling the grooves behind them, bathing our coronas in boiling sperm. We both cried out helplessly, trapped in the frenzy of our release. Our bodies strained against each other as our pricks disgorged another load that made his foreskin distend. I knew that by now it would be leaking out the end of his foreskin, and right then I smelled the characteristic chlorine odor of our sperm filling the air. Another hard throb jolted our pricks and more juice seared its way up our urethras to flood his foreskin. Now Bob stopped thrusting and his hand stopped twisting his foreskin because his helmet had become super-sensitive to stimulation. We still continued to gush our life-juice, though, and felt each other's throbs as our orgasms began to fade. We were in the blissful free-fall of orgasm, our sensations tapering off but still delightful, as we emptied ourselves. We lay still for a long time, our breathing getting back to normal, as we enjoyed the intimate stupor of the aftershock together. Our pricks softened, which allowed us to hug more closely communing and sharing the blissful moment. Bob kissed me on the lips and murmured "Thank you," and I nibbled at his earlobe. We often docked, but at other times I'd play with his foreskin, stretching it out and generally worshipping it. I'd sometimes arouse him by inserting my tongue inside his long fleshy tube, probing for his slit. Other times I slip my finger inside it, working it around the sexy contours of his glans. His prick enjoyed all kinds of attention, and I made sure to provide it. One evening some days later, while Bob was out of town, I was having a drink at a quiet neighborhood bar near us, and got into conversation with an affable stranger about sixty years old. He'd mentioned that many guys resented having lost their foreskins, and I told him that I'd been circumcised at birth. My manner conveyed to him how much it meant to me, and how badly I'd like to have my foreskin back. We each had several drinks, and as the conversation became more intimate, moved to a table in the back. "What would you do to get it back?" he asked directly. I wasn't prepared for this question, and wasn't even sure I understood it. I knew that once the foreskin was removed it was gone forever. I'd heard of some guys having had plastic surgery to create a semblance of a foreskin, but knew that this wasn't comparable to the real thing. "What would you do?" he asked me again. I shook my head and murmured: "I don't know. Anything, I guess. What could I do?" I was really confused by his question and his persistence. If he hadn't had such a pleasant and sympathetic manner, I would have walked out right then. I wondered if I were dealing with some kind of a nut. "What I mean is would you strike a deal if somehow, by some miracle, your penis would get restored to good as new? Here, let's have another drink," he said as the bartender delivered two more glasses. I drank, looking at him curiously. "Ever hear of Satan?" he suddenly asked. I nodded, wondering what was to come. I'm an atheist, and don't believe in either a deity or Satan. "I'm him," he declared. Now I was sure he was a nut, but I was reluctant to be impolite and say so even as I wondered how I might tactfully extricate myself from this nutty conversation. "Yes, I know, you find that hard to believe, and even if you did, you'd be reluctant to strike a bargain with him. Well, the popular notion of Satan is a folk tale. I'm supposed to represent everything that's evil in the world, but I'm really only the leader of a counter-culture." I didn't quite know what he meant, and didn't say anything. "If you want your foreskin back, I'll arrange it," he promised. "Okay, what do I have to do in return, sell you my soul?" I asked, waiting for the punch line because now I suspected this might be some sort of practical joke. I don't believe in souls either. He didn't look surprised or indignant as he told me: "No, I don’t need your soul. I've got one of my own." "What do I have to do in return, then?" I persisted. Simply tell the truth. I know you live with a significant other, Bob by name. When he gets back, he'll surely notice that you've got a foreskin. Just tell him truthfully what happened." "What's the point of that?" I asked, becoming more disbelieving by the moment. "As you know, I've been the victim of very bad publicity, the personification of evil. I need some good P.R., and you can help. Don't hold back anything, and don't embellish. Just be truthful about what happened here tonight." He placed his hand over mine. I pulled away. "I really don't know what your agenda is…" I began but he silenced me with a wave of his hand. "Please, just listen. Just go home tonight and go to bed as you always do. If you wake up tomorrow morning and you're still circumcised, just forget this conversation. Conclude you'd been talking with a screwball and forget about it." "What if I do wake up with a foreskin? What do I do then?" "Do just as I told you. Tell the truth." He stared affably at me, his manner absolutely non-threatening. "What if I wake up with a foreskin and lie about it? What if I tell Bob the Tooth Fairy brought it? What will you do if I break my promise?" He didn't show any dismay or annoyance as he replied calmly: What do you think a wooden stake through your heart? Fire and brimstone? That's extreme, and it's not the way I work. If you don't keep you end of the bargain, you'll simply wake up the next day with a circular scar around your penis and your glans will be dried out and leathery again. You'll go back to being circumcised. That's logical and easy to understand, right?" "I guess so," I replied, now too numbed by the alcohol and confused by this bizarre conversation. I still didn't believe what I was hearing. "Do we have a deal, then?" he asked as he held out his hand. Yes, I guess we do," I replied, not knowing any other way to get rid of this nut. I shook his hand. "Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I have to use the bathroom. Surprised? I have to go too, just like you." He got up and walked to the toilet and went inside. I sat there, wondering if he really thought that he was Satan, and wondering if he might be dangerous. I was ready to run out the door if he made a threatening move, but as I waited he didn't reappear. Fifteen minutes passed. "What the fuck?" I thought, as curiosity got the better of me and I approached the door to the toilet. Maybe he'd had a heart attack inside, or a stroke. If that was it, I couldn't just leave the old guy to die. I'd tell the bartender to cal 911 and get him help. I opened the door and stepped inside. Nobody was there. I looked inside the two booths to find them empty. I knew he hadn't come out because I'd been seated facing the door and had kept my eyes on it. I looked at the window high on the wall, which was closed, and in any event too small for even a child to crawl through it. I walked out and went home, crawling into bed. I was frankly drunk and still wondering about this bizarre event when I fell asleep. Next morning I awoke, only slightly hung over, deciding that although I could consume a fair amount of gin, the whiskey I'd had last night was very bad for me. I went into the bathroom to empty my bladder and, still only half awake, aimed my prick down at the toilet. The warm urine splashing on my legs brought me to wakefulness. I looked down to see piss splattering all over me and the floor from the end of a long nippled foreskin. I then realized why my penis had felt unfamiliar in my fingers when I'd begun. My large, helmet-shaped glans wasn't visible, hidden beneath the bulge in a long foreskin that extended at least an inch beyond it. I tightened my sphincter, shutting off the flow, and went over to the sink, examining my prick. Slowly I drew back the thick fleshy covering that seemed very unfamiliar on my penis, gradually bringing the glans into view. I skinned back until my foreskin snapped down into the deep groove behind my flaring corona to form a thick fleshy collar behind it. I examined my glans. It was the same familiar helmet-shaped tip I'd been looking at all my life, with blunt nose, expanding to a sexy upturned rim that flared in a very attractive manner. I saw that it was a rich purple color, instead of the pinkish-purple it had been before, and the dry, leathery texture had changed to glossy. As a result of this manipulation, my prick had begun to swell. I raised my prick so that I was looking down at my slit, which had begun to pout into the usual teardrop shape it assumed with erection. Now I pointed it down at the sink and consciously relaxed my sphincter, eager to empty myself before full erection prevented it. A yellow dribble began falling from my glans, becoming a strong stream as my bladder drained itself. When I was finished, I carefully milked my penis to expel the last drops, and then set about wiping up the spillage I'd created on the tiles around the toilet. As I got to my feet the towel I'd used lightly brushed my glans, producing a feeling of profound tenderness I'd never experienced before. Now I realized that I'd left my foreskin back behind the rim, locked in place by my high ridge. I also realized that my helmet was now exquisitely tender, whereas before it had been numb by comparison. I grasped my shaft and began pushing my foreskin over the rim to cover my helmet. It slid easily, as my glans was soft and spongy, but it quickly swelled as I slid my foreskin over it. I pulled back slightly, relishing the delicious sensation of my new hood's gentle friction against my more sensitive helmet, and now I felt a slight tickle deep inside that told me I was secreting lube. I continued to work my foreskin up and down my rapidly swelling prick as was rewarded by more tickling in the root of my prick. A drop of clear fluid parted the lips of my slit, and I quickly engulfed it with my long hood, spreading it over my swelling helmet. More lube appeared to lubricate my foreskin, and I began a slow but steady rhythm that pumped up my excitement. I realized that I was doing what I'd dreamed of all my life when I'd seen intact guys jacking off with their hoods. I was stroking myself in a manner I'd only dreamed about before, and this realization stoked my fire. I moaned, in delight, ecstatic that I was really doing this, giving myself pleasure the way nature had intended it, and before I knew it I felt my helmet get very hard through the enveloping skin. Each time I bared the front dome of my helmet I saw that fluid was steadily seeping from my teardrop shaped meatus, lubricating my glistening glans. I was seeping lubricant as copiously as Bob did. I also saw that my tip had turned darker purple, and knew that I was close to the point of release. I was so excited that I couldn't hold back to savor the moment, but began pumping faster as my body responded automatically to the pleasure in my prick. I felt the familiar tickle in my rim, but this time it quickly spread all over my helmet. The sensations were rushing at me with the force of a hurricane, and my fingers flew over my hot hard prick, adding to my sensations. Suddenly the tickle in my helmet turned into a hot tingle, and I felt a sharp spasm deep inside me as the orgasm slammed into me. I cried out loudly and helplessly as the hot frenzy gripped me, and my knees buckled as I shot my first stream into the sink. I leaned against the counter, too weak to stand, as another spasm wrenched the root of my prick. My prick throbbed hard in my fingers as the second stream poured from my dark purple tip into the sink, and I groaned in agonized ecstasy at the sharpness of the sensation. Another hard contraction deep inside me sent the third stream gushing white from my glans, and suddenly I yelped as the sensation in my throbbing tip became overpowering. I had to stop stroking because my helmet had become too sensitive. Still, my contractions continued deep inside me, and as I held on desperately to the edge of the counter with both hands I saw my prick bob up and down frenziedly with each ejaculation. My prick was still too sensitive to touch as the last drops dribbled from my orifice. I was breathless, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations I'd just experienced. Now I was just barely seeping white juice, the residue of my massive discharge. I was losing my erection but my prick was still too tender to touch, as I discovered when I tried to slide my foreskin forward. I turned on the shower and stepped under the hot water, letting it rinse my body. My foreskin was still locked behind my rim, and the hot flow stimulated my urge to pee. I relaxed under the spray, and finally my prick lost its excessive sensitivity and I was able to cap my glans once more. I soaped up and rinsed myself, being careful not to leave a soapy residue inside my hood because I knew it might cause irritation. As I dried myself, I inspected my body in the long mirror. My gaze was focused on my groin, and I smiled as I contemplated my image, my long foreskin nipple dangling at the end of my penis, much like Bob's prick. I'd always felt incomplete, inadequate, and inferior because my foreskin was missing but now that feeling left me. I realized that I finally felt like a real man. I also realized that from now on, I'd have to be careful to skin back when urinating. This morning's experience, with the urine splattering over my legs and the tile floor, had been relatively innocuous. If I forgot to retract my hood when in the men's room at work, I'd end up with very wet clothing and shoes. I dressed for work, and resumed thinking about the events of the night before. I realized that Satan had been perfectly serious and had kept his promise to me. I was now concerned about keeping my end of the bargain. I knew that, just as he had given me back my foreskin, he could easily take it from me. I was very much afraid of losing my precious foreskin and intended to keep to our agreement. The prospect of returning to a circumcised state frightened me as much or more than having a stake driven through my heart. It was clear that Satan, if he was that, knew me better than I knew myself, and fully understood how to exploit my fears. However, I also worried about how he'd view my effort. Would he hold it against me if I didn't repeat our conversation to the last detail? Who would I have to tell? I knew I'd have to tell Bob, and this didn't bother me at all. I also knew that most people I knew had never seen me naked and didn't know I'd been circumcised at birth. At work, we had high partitions between the urinals in the men's room, so I wouldn't have to explain anything to my boss or fellow employees. I also had to remember to skin back for urination. I almost forgot a couple of times at work, and clamped my sphincter tight when I realized I was about to splatter my clothing. Another reason for skinning back was that if anyone happened to see my prick, despite the partitions between the urinals, my new foreskin would be less noticeable if it were peeled back and my glans was bare. Would Satan expect me to volunteer the information to people who had seen me naked? If I avoided them to avoid having to explain the transformation of my penis, would he hold it against me? I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was gradually becoming trapped in a network of evasions, if not lies. Bob returned four days later after the weekend, during which I'd had no untoward incidents at work. I'd also avoided seeing any friends. I'd turned down an invitation to go camping that weekend because I was afraid that one of my buddies would notice my foreskin. In the woods it was unavoidable to pee out in the open, and this was a real danger. Fortunately, Satan didn't hold this against me, for I still had my foreskin Monday morning. I was supremely glad I did, for I'd been making good use of it each day, relishing my new method of masturbation. I had a nagging feeling I should be saving my sperm for Bob, but also knew that he, of all people, would understand my need. Each day I stroked myself to orgasm at least twice, taking long slow strokes that completely covered the head on the up-stroke and then sliding the hood down to bare it to the groove. At first I was concerned I'd irritate my prick from too much jacking but then I realized that it needs relatively little stimulation to attain orgasm. Slow and gentle strokes always brought me to a gasping, shuddering climax that left me drained and fully satisfied. I also had learned to sit or lie down during these sessions, as my knees had buckled the first time. Now I usually sat in a recliner, towel on my stomach, and brought myself to orgasm with long slow strokes. Although I always pulled my foreskin down when I began to come because I enjoyed watching my big purple helmet spurting, my eyes closed as the full force of the climax hit me, and I missed the show. I picked Bob up at the airport and during the drive home he told me about his trip. I was only half listening, because my mind was on our forthcoming show and tell that evening. I'd have a lot to show and a lot to tell, although he hadn't a clue as to what was coming. Once inside Bob quickly unpacked, while I prepared a couple of martinis in the kitchen. He expected me to join him in the bedroom, but I asked him to come into the kitchen after he'd undressed. I quickly shed my clothes and was standing next to the table when he entered. He sat in a chair and at first I thought he hadn't noticed anything different. However, he was silently staring at my crotch, studying it as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "Okay, Bob, I know you've noticed my foreskin. Let me tell you all about it," I began. I sat and related the entire story to him. Leaving nothing out, telling him about my hopes and fears. He sat silently, staring at my prick, and after about 10 minutes reached out and clasped my long nipple between thumb and forefinger, as if to reassure him by touching me that his eyes were not deceiving him. This gentle handling got me hard very quickly, and his prick began to swell too, although neither of us had touched it. I was happy to see that he was being turned on by my new hood, and I finished the story confidently. "Well, I know your foreskin's real," he said. "I even stripped it back to see if there was a scar underneath, but there's nothing to show that you were ever circumcised. You've even got a gee-string like mine." "Yes, it's real," I confirmed. "I've been using it a lot these last few days, getting used to it, learning to jack myself the way I'd always wanted." "Yes, but do you believe that guy was really Satan?" Bob was an atheist and skeptic, just like me. He found it hard to believe that this had happened, although he had to agree that my prick was now beautifully pristine and untouched by circumcision. "I guess I have no choice," I replied. "I find it hard to really believe it, but I have no choice but to go on the assumption that he was who he said." "I guess that's as far as we can go then," he concluded. As he spoke he began testing the edge of my foreskin, grasping it with thumb and forefinger of both hands, stretching it out to widen the orifice. I guessed what he had in mind. "I think I just might be able to dock you, Bob." "That would be wonderful," he exclaimed. "That would be a perfect way for us to celebrate your new skin." He got up, taking my hand and leading me to the bedroom. As we walked, our heavy-ended pricks swayed from side to side, advertising their arousal and readiness for action. We lay facing each other, pricks pointing toward each other, their big blunt heads still shrouded by long hoods. I spread a towel between us, for I was certain that we'd be flooding the bed with our cream this evening. "Let's get you ready," I said as I reached for his prick, gently sliding the long hood back until it snapped down into the deep groove behind his sexy upturned rim. His glans glittered wetly in the soft room light. Now I stretched out the opening of my long nipple, and he thrust forward slowly, pressing his tapered glans into the orifice. He slid farther in as we watched his helmet gradually disappear inside my foreskin. I felt a delicious tickle as the nose of his glans touched mine. Now my hood was stretched to cover his wide rim and the thick fleshy ring behind it, and I formed my thumb and index finger into a circle to keep it clamped there. "Let's go," he said as he began to thrust gently. We moved in unison, our blunt front domes touching as we thrust forward, and then we moved back, breaking the contact. I felt both our tips sliding inside my hood, their outlines visible through my flesh. My fingers compressed his corona as he moved back, and now he closed his fingers over my rim, compressing it through the fleshy sleeve. I stared into his eyes, watching his excitement mount, as we did what had been inconceivable a couple of weeks earlier. "Our balls are tight and I can feel your tip getting harder," he said. I knew he had several days' pent up semen waiting to be released and was ready to pop. I, although I'd been jacking my new foreskin at least once each day, was very excited by my new equipment and the enhanced pleasure it was providing. "Yours is harder too," I commented in return. "I think this is going to be a really big one for is." Bob smiled slightly as we continued thrusting. We were so in tune that we matched each other's moves perfectly as we went head to head, pressing our blunt front domes together before withdrawing. We were already on the plateau, feeling the hardness of each other's helmets each time we bumped together. "I don't think we can hold back," I said. "Let's go for it now." I began twisting my foreskin around his rim, heightening his sensation, hearing him moan in response. My other hand reached down to cup his tight scrotum. We increased our pace, very aware of each other's mounting excitement. "You're giving me that tickle around the rim," he whispered as he tightened his grip on the flesh surrounding my swollen corona. He wanted me to come with him, and this time I might, because I was feeling that tickle too. We thrust slightly faster, our breathing getting shallower as we began to gasp in our excitement. Bob's face was flushed, and I knew he was very aroused. The front of our helmets slid against each other with each bump, and the lips of our slits kissed voluptuously. "It's tingling," he cried out, and I knew he was poised on the brink. My tickle had spread all over the head, and I knew that when he'd explode I'd be right behind him. We were panting now, taking ragged breaths as our excitement peaked. I felt Bob's hot hard helmet throb against mine and then a hot jet erupted from it, drilling deeply into my urethra because for that moment our holes had been aligned. We both cried out as my body responded and shot a heavy load that collided with his in my tube and forced it out my gaping orifice. The hot cream spread quickly, bathing our helmets in thick, viscous fluid, and then we both came again, shuddering and gasping in our joy. My eyes had already closed, as my mind was totally focused on the throbbing sensations in my prick. The next spasms jolted our pricks, and I felt my discharge searing it s way up my tube to erupt against his throbbing glans. I felt his helmet hammering against mine as he yelped in ecstasy, and my prick jerked in frenzy as its root convulsed again. My foreskin was distended with our cream, which cushioned our tender tips against the friction, so we were not distressed by too much sensitivity this time. However, the volume was so much that our mixed juices were leaking from under the edge of my foreskin onto the towel. Bob and I grunted our way through the last spasms that wracked our tortured bodies, until our orgasms expired. We began to relax as the last drops seeped from our slits. Our pricks shrank and we hugged closer, trapping them between our stomachs. "I'm really glad you got what you wanted so much," he said after kissing me on the lips. "I know how much it means to you." Bob really understood me because we'd been intimate friends for so long. "I just hope Satan doesn't change his mind, or think I've broken our agreement," I said. "So far so good," he replied. "We'll just have to take it one day at a time. If worse comes to worse, you'll still have some wonderful memories." |
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