‘Stay still,’ I say, ‘Keep your eyes closed.’ I offer up the object and you nuzzle into it as I reach down between your legs to feel the growing bulge. You push your hips against the spread of my fingers.
‘I said stay still.’
You stand up straighter, with an affecting shiver and I take the rubber object and unzip it. It is a hood. You start to tremble in anticipation when you realise and I fit it over your head and zip up the back, making sure it is snug and that you can breathe adequately from the nose, as I zip up the eyes and mouth. You can smell it. You can taste it. It caresses your skin with its hard fragrance and with its silky, oily essence.
Since childhood this has been your fantasy, the delight that accompanied your first sticky fumblings into adulthood and beyond; the shame that you tried to hide, strike out of your life so many times but which has always returned with renewed sweetness, reminding you of the exaltation and ascendancy of sex.
I take your hand and lead you into the room, and the soles of your feet steady you on the smooth surface I have created, the sheets of rubber that clothe the small space all around to the walls. I listen with satisfaction to your grunt of surprise beneath the mask.
You can feel my fingers loosen the belt of your jeans, undo, unzip, pull down, undress. Your erection is now straining against the material of your underwear. It’s almost uncomfortable in its confinement and it amuses me briefly to see fabric so tortured. I help them off and down. Naked from the waist down, I now strip you completely, letting your shirt slide away on the smooth flooring.
You are my creature now, standing in the middle of the half light of the room, waiting. You are hot, aware of your arousal, slightly humiliated by the ease of this excitement, made vulnerable by your nakedness and cut off from sensation by the pungent confinement of the hood. You can feel your heart-rate quicken and anticipation floods your mouth with saliva like the expectation in hunger of a favourite meal. I promised you this. And you have absolutely no idea what is going to happen next.
I leave you standing there for a moment and admire you. The mask cuts off your identity but this makes you my special thing. Something only I am allowed to know. I can see your chest move with a slight panic that you are controlling and enjoying. Your shoulders are tense but your arms loose. Your legs slightly parted, nicely shaped and muscular. And the most vivid thing about you – your cock is huge and hard, almost a separate living creature that makes an obvious demand, despite your submission. I decide on something punitive.
‘Slut! Look at you, stood there ... I can smell you, whore!’
You hear me and hang your head, you can feel the blush of embarrassment prickle across your skin momentarily. You want to say something emolliating, apologetic, pacifying. But the fear that prompts this contrition is too exciting.
‘You know what happens to sluts, don’t you?’
You nod your head, even though you have no clue.
The arm binders are rubber. Their straps are rubber and the buckles shiny stainless steel. They are heavy and cold and I pull your arms back; you moan slightly as I strap you into them, feeling the weight and the new tension in your shoulders. I brush my hands lightly over your chest and up to your neck as you steady yourself, breathing heavily.
For the first time you realise how difficult this is going to be. The posture collar is thick rubber, of course it is, and encloses your neck in a high, uncomfortable stranglehold forcing your head up and back, a tortuous counterpoint to the binders. It has a single, thick steel ring at the front.
But this is going to get worse. A sheen of perspiration blossoms across your chest as you start to labour a little beneath the hood and you hear a faint click and a tug as I attach the trigger hook on the rope to the ring in your collar. Your feet leave sweaty marks on the latex sheet as I lead you to the centre of the room.
You can feel the arm binders cutting into the skin under your arms, becoming uncomfortable and sore and you can feel the tingle in your fingers as your circulation struggles with the restriction. You keep your eyes closed under the hood as the sweat slicking down your hair will sting your eyes and you can taste the salt in your mouth.
This is hard. Very hard. I leave you to stand and steady yourself while I watch you, a tortured object in my rubber room. In this dark dungeon, the rope attached to your collar snakes up from the fitful light of the candles into the gloom of the ceiling and the pulley safely secured there.
I go to where the other end of the rope is tied off against the wall and watch you with satisfaction as I begin to pull. I can hear your muffled cry as the rope takes up the slack and urges your body forwards and up. You look beautiful, struggling with panic, stepping and sliding on your tiptoes on the greasy surface beneath you. I can hear you moaning.
I raise my arm back quite high. At the first hard slap on your arse your whole body jumps forward, your feet stepping and slipping, trying to gain purchase as you swing and I hear your muffled yelp through the secure enclosure of the hood. I can hear your agonised breathing. You manage to steady yourself. I hit you again. A groan. Again. I spank your beautiful bottom, your tight little arse, until your legs shake from the effort of trying to stay upright and each cheek is a glowing fiery red, until my hand stings abominably. You are moaning continually, a slow exhausted noise and I unzip the mouth on the hood and hear your grateful gasp of air.
‘Slut! You enjoyed that!’
You have no hope of denying this. Your cock is hard and tense and you ache inside, a much more urgent feeling than the sting that still warms your arse cheeks or the strain in your neck and arms. To make this point, I push a ball gag into your mouth and buckle it viciously behind your head. I pull on a pair of tight surgical gloves and watch your chest move, struggling to draw in air behind the gag as I pour lube into my cupped hands, sliding it smoothly over the latex skin. From behind I push my fingers between your legs, hard and begin to finger you, just behind your balls, pressing, massaging. Then you feel the sensation shudder through you as I slide a finger inside your arse, holding you in space, my other hand on your belly. I can hear you whimpering as I insert another finger, then another, pushing and stretching you. I can feel you shaking – the throbbing of your cock, the profound sensation at the tips of my exploring fingers and the spiteful glow of your arse are confusing, mind-numbing, liberating.
I reach between your legs again and feel your balls, letting my lubed latex fingers slide over them as I grasp and squeeze, and you swallow noisily in your throat and groan as I move my fingers inside you, exciting that most delicate spot. My slippery fingers move again, parting your arse wider, pushing all the way into you, one, two, three, four fingers and the rest and I take sweet delight at hearing you cry out, a muffled squeal behind the gag, as I fist you.
Each slow thrust inside you brings you on more; your breath is coming in short, shallow gasps and you grunt with each deep stroke. You have forgotten that you have any other existence than this moment, than feeling me inside you and I am smiling, smiling because I can hear your anticipation.
I reach around your thighs and, as I thrust into you again, I grab your cock with my other gloved hand. I can feel it hard and warm through the latex, and the thick pre-come oozes urgently as I spread it round the head of your cock. You are suspended in rubber by my hands, it’s all you can see and all you can taste and all you can feel beneath your feet. You cannot breathe behind the gag. Spit flecks the rubber of your mask as you struggle and dance in the support of my arms. I can feel you strain for air and release as I start to stroke your cock with my rubber fingers, slowly at first, then faster, the counterpoint to my fist. All I have to do is squeeze now you are on the brink of suffocation, on the very edge of drowning in the soft substance of that pungent, elastic second skin. I move my hand faster. The dark beckons you through the pain in your chest and the ache in your jaws.
‘Slut!’
Can you even hear me now? Does it even matter? Your whole body shakes convulsively as you cry out fr
om behind the gag, a delicious sound torn from deep inside you and your cock suddenly jerks and throbs as you come hard and helplessly, the warm stream spurting again and again over my fingers.
I remove the gag and listen to the grateful gasps filling your lungs again with air. You are only barely aware when I withdraw my hand from you, unbuckle the binders and collar.
Finally, I remove your hood and your legs buckle. Your body is soaked, your jaw slack and although your eyes are half closed I can see in the shadows that the pupils are just pin pricks. The warmth of the room has enclosed you, the candles are fainter and the only sound is of your breathing, now long soft breaths like sleep. The sweat on your body is drying and you ache.
I hold you and you curl up in my arms like a child. You are smiling faintly and I am happy. I haven’t finished with you yet. There is still the small matter of my satisfaction. After all, this is my birthday, not yours.
The Anniversary Gift
by Garland
The full pillows were behind me. I was sinking into them like a ship sinking into the waves. There were six of them propping me up. My legs were spread wide and except for the cowboy hat perched crookedly on my head I was nude. My dick was semi-hard. I lightly stroked it wishing it would grow harder as I watched Sug slowly strip in front of me. He was still wearing his suit.
Slowly like a curtain being opened to reveal the star he unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide down his broad shoulders revealing his pecs and dark curly hair. His tie hung in between his pecs. Smiling he rubbed it over his chest and nipples before unbuttoning his pants and stepping out of them and his briefs. He was hard. Sug was always hard. Just mention the word sex and his dick sprung to life.
‘Like what you see?’ he asked.
‘You know I do, Sug,’ I answered.
‘You don’t look like you do,’ he said indicating my now flaccid penis.
‘Come on, Sug,’ I said. ‘You know that don’t mean nothin’.’
‘I do know one thing,’ he said confidently as he walked toward me.
‘What’s that?’
‘That I love a man with an accent,’ he said before kissing me.
Sug told everyone that my Texas accent, made husky thanks to years of heavy chain-smoking, was what made him fall in love with me. Sug had moved to our small town from Seattle. According to him no one had a real accent up there.
‘Still nothing?’ He asked looking down at my penis and breaking me out of my thoughts.
‘I’m sorry, Sug. You know how much I love you and your body.’
‘Let’s see if I can get you hard,’ Sug said burying his face in-between my legs. Sucking and stroking he pulled everything out of his bag of tricks, even hitting his hard cock against mine, but it was useless. I just couldn’t get hard.
‘I’m sorry, Sug.’ I repeated what had become the catchphrase of this lovemaking session as I flopped back onto the pillow. Taking out a cigarette I lit up and inhaled deeply, closing my eyes in bliss.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sug asked lying next to me. ‘It’s Wednesday. Hump day.’
‘It’s Wednesday. Hump day,’ I answered, eyes still closed.
‘What are you talking about?’
I opened my eyes and gazed deeply into his dark honey eyes. ‘Our lives have become routine. Day in and day out. You go to the office. I stay home and write. On the weekends we go hunting or fishing or camping. Wednesdays we make love right after dinner.’
‘Are you saying you’re bored with me, Huston?’ Sug asked, eyes full of hurt.
‘No. Of course not! It’s just … I don’t know. I need some variety in my life. In our life. In our sex life. We even have sex the same. You strip except for the tie. I wear my cowboy hat: we do the 69; then doggy; then missionary; then cowboy. The only time I get any variety is when I write erotica. It’s only natural, Sug,’ I assured him, stroking his hair and trying not to bruise his fragile male ego. ‘These things happen. We’ve been together ever since we were sophomores in high school. That’s almost 15 years. Naturally we’re goin’ to fall into routines.’
He looked away hurt. Sighing I inhaled deeply and savoured the smoke tickling my lungs before exhaling. We laid there, side by side, in silence. Sug was staring intently at the virginal white wall; I thought he was going to burn a hole through it.
I stared at the man I had been with since I was 15 years old. When had he become a man? It seemed like only yesterday he was a teenager and we were ready to take the world by the ass. He was going to be a lawyer who stuck up for the little guy and got rid of corruption and I was going to change the world with my writing. That seemed so long ago yet just like yesterday.
I did love him. He was the only man I had ever loved. The only man I had ever been with. He still had a great body compliments of a rigorous seven-day-a-week workout schedule he kept religiously. In rain or shine, sickness or health, Sug worked out. His chest was still solid and his stomach flat. His hair was just beginning to lighten and I noticed a touch of silver at the temples that gave him a distinguished look.
‘Sug,’ I spoke gently and laid a hand on his beating heart. ‘Please, don’t take this personally.’
‘Are you giving me the, we-need-to-take-some-time-apart, speech?’ he asked, still not looking at me.
‘Sug, I swear you should have been an actor the way you turn everything into such a heavy drama. Of course I don’t think we need some time apart. I think we need to spice things up a little.’
Finally, he turned toward me. His eyes were sparkling like fresh cut diamonds.
‘Now, Sug, don’t start crying. There’s nothing to cry about.’
‘You’d cry too, Huston, if you couldn’t turn on the man you loved.’
‘You know you turn me on. We just need to find a different way to turn me on,’ I said stroking his cheek.
‘You think we can?’
‘I write erotica for a living,’ I said, winking at him before stubbing out my cigarette. ‘I think I can come up with something. After all, I am known as The King Of Gay Erotica.’
He smiled and we kissed. Placing the cowboy hat on him I looked down at his still hard penis.
‘Hate to waste a good boner.’ I smiled at him and slowly snaked my way down his hard body.
Looking up at him I massaged his curly black pubic hair. My hands got lost in his dark nest. Sucking on his balls I ran my hand up and down his hard length. We never took our eyes off each other. Slowly I licked his penis like an ice cream cone in July before opening my mouth wide and engulfing him. My hands explored his chest, pinching his nipples and getting lost in his chest hair as my head bobbed up and down. Flicking my tongue against the head of his dick like a snake I lapped up the little bits of pre-come that had leaked out.
‘Get up,’ I told him. ‘Stand at the edge of the bed.’
Laying down I looked up at his hard penis, glistening with my spit. Cupping his balls in my hand I kissed and sucked on them before licking that sensitive place right between a man’s balls and asshole. Sug’s knees buckled and his body shuddered. Opening my mouth he guided his penis in and vigorously pumped in and out. The tip of his penis tickled my tonsils. Smiling I massaged his balls. His moans were music to my ears. Thank God I didn’t have a gag reflex.
Hoisting me up our lips joined. Sug’s tongue licked my lips before penetrating my mouth. Our tongues swirled around each other, flicking together. Our hands roamed each other’s body, leaving nothing unexplored as we tried to make everything old and familiar new and exciting.
Wrapping my legs around him and clinging tightly to his back I kissed his broad shoulders and nibbled on his earlobe as he slid his penis inside me. Moaning in sync we kissed deeply as we made love. We had never had sex in the standing position before! He was able to penetrate me so much deeper and give every one of my erogenous zones equal attention. I loved it and couldn’t believe we hadn’t thought of this before. My penis, now hard, thank God, was pressed in between us like rose petals pressed between the
pages of a memory book. My stomach quivered and I felt that familiar tingle start way down in my toes and pulsate all through my body as I came, staining our chests with my come. Seconds later Sug exploded deep inside me with a low groan.
‘How’s that for charging things up?’ he asked me as we lay in bed, his eyes drooping like a wilted rose and his voice groggy with sleep. Sug always fell asleep after we made love.
‘It’s a start,’ I whispered enjoying my post-coital cigarette.
Before long Sug’s chest was rising and falling rhythmically and I was alone with just my thoughts and the warm glow of my cigarette for company. Sug had fulfilled my request to try something different with our love making so why did I still feel so incomplete?
Slipping on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt I tiptoed downstairs and sought sanctuary in my office. Lighting up another cigarette I continued working on a project I had started months ago but just couldn’t commit to finishing. It was about two boyfriends who, finding their relationship has become stale, seek out a young guy to help them spruce things up a bit. It was good and very hot. But I could only work on it for a few minutes before I got so frustrated I wanted to scream.
Pacing back and forth in the suddenly claustrophobic office I tried to will myself to finish the damn thing. It would be my hottest novel yet.
By the time the sun had stained the blue black sky a magnificent blood orange colour I had smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. I stared at my computer. I had just gotten to the part where my protagonists enlist the help of an 18-year-old hustler. Reading and rereading what I had, my eyes slowly grew wide. Maybe I had a solution to the problem between Sug and I.
‘Have you been here all night?’ His voice made me jump. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘You didn’t,’ I said truly smiling at him. ‘I was just thinking.’
‘About what?’ he asked with a yawn.
‘Put some clothes on and I’ll tell you over breakfast.’
Boy Fun, Four Book Bundle Page 15
