textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/triphell.txt

              ********* 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.......