He knew he would not. He also knew, just because she was gay, this didn’t make her different from any other woman he’d known in that she wanted to know everything about a relationship, no detail too small to be found fascinating. So he would give her the gift of sharing, as far as his private nature would allow.
“Well,” Johnny began, starting with the easy stuff first, “he’s a great cook. He’s Puerto Rican, you know. He loves his abuela—his grandma.”
“Wow, he cooked for you,” Amanda breathed.
“Don’t interrupt or I’ll never get through it.” Johnny laughed. “I do have to work tomorrow, you know.”
Amanda nodded, doing a mime of zipping her lips shut as Johnny continued. “The first weekend was amazing. When we left Moe’s he took me to his place. It was, like, so easy. He didn’t make me uncomfortable or pressure me at all.”
Amanda laughed. “He didn’t know you’d only been gay, or ‘openly gay’ I should say, for about five minutes. I mean, if he had, he probably would have run as fast as he could in the other direction. Nobody wants a virgin, male or female!”
“Amanda, you promised—”
“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up.” Again she drew her thumb and finger across her mouth, rolling her eyes histrionically.
“And anyway, yes he did.”
“He did what?”
“He knew I was new to it. New to admitting it anyway. He said he picked up right away my nervous vibe and my confusion. He was really cool about it, though. He didn’t make me feel like a jerk or anything.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool. Not the tough-guy image he likes to portray, huh?”
“Well, he’s got a day job, you know. He’s a psychologist with a degree and everything. So he knows this stuff. Anyway,” Johnny said hurriedly, so Amanda wouldn’t interrupt. “After that we went back to his place and well, it was really nice.”
Amanda waited a moment, and then prompted, “Really nice? That’s it? Really nice? Come on, Johnny!” She stomped her foot for emphasis.
“Hey, you’ve never told me the details of your love life with Marlon.”
“Yeah, but that’s only because you didn’t want to know.”
Johnny thought about this, realizing he definitely did not want to know. “Well, yeah, I guess,” he admitted. “I don’t know, I guess it’s the way I was raised. You just don’t talk about this stuff out loud.”
“Okay. Listen. I understand. And I’m half kidding anyway. You don’t have to tell me details. I don’t need to know his cock size and stuff like that.” Johnny winced and Amanda laughed. “But tell me this,” she said softly. “Are you submissive? And are you still a virgin?”
“Yes and no,” Johnny said and took a long drink of his beer, finishing the bottle before putting it down and reaching for another.
Amanda stared at him a second before comprehension dawned. “Oh,” she breathed. “That is so hot!”
As Johnny drank his second beer, he thought about what he’d just admitted. Yes, he was submissive and no he was no longer a virgin. His mind shifted back to last Saturday night when Eric had bound him and spanked him, heating his skin and making his cock so hard he’d been afraid he’d ejaculate before Eric even untied him.
He’d thought about it a lot since then, wondering how he could be so turned on from being hurt. He’d even discussed it with Eric, trying to understand. “I mean, I’ve read about it online—the idea of pleasure and pain blurring together, fusing together into something more intense than either alone. But I don’t really get it. I mean, I wouldn’t get turned on by stubbing my toe. Why does it get me so hard when you smack my ass or use that ruler on my cock?”
“You know, I’m the flip side of the coin,” Eric had said. “I derive intense pleasure from inflicting pain, but not just any pain. It’s like you said—it has to have erotic overtones. And it has to be consensual. I don’t get off on forced torture like some Doms. To me they aren’t Doms, but just bullies and assholes. But anyway, I’ve had this discussion with many a sub. A lot of them, like you, try to reconcile their feelings—to understand why getting whipped or spanked turns them on so much when it’s our natural instinct to avoid pain.” He had paused, and then added, “You know what I think, after endless conversations like these?”
“What?” Johnny had asked, ready for “the answer”.
“That it doesn’t matter why. The fact is, there are a lot of people, men and women, straight and gay alike, who derive intense sexual pleasure from delivering and receiving erotic pain, and, taking it a step further, from causing and experiencing erotic humiliation. I think the key is in the eroticism. It has to be the right setting, the right conditions and the right people together.
“Then, as to why, what does it really matter? Some people are very aroused by beautiful feet. Or by high-heeled shoes. Or by a woman’s breasts, or by all sorts of things you and I would be utterly indifferent to. Just as I wouldn’t want to judge someone for their sexual orientation, I think D/s is the same sort of thing. You are what you are. And if there’s some sort of divine plan, well, we are part of that plan too. We are here with as much right to our capacity for pleasure and our unique way of expressing it as any other human being.”
He had leaned over on the bed where they were lying together and ruffled Johnny’s hair. “So,” he suggested, before kissing Johnny’s mouth, “please stop worrying you might be sick or twisted and just revel in who and what you are.”
After the kiss, which had lasted quite a long time, Eric had added, “And you belong to me. You may not know it yet, but you are mine.”
Amanda pulled Johnny out of his reverie by demanding, “So, you gotta at least tell me this. Was it good?”
“It was heaven on earth.”
Chapter 12
“Say, Johnny. What’s that?” Johnny’s brother Billy leaned over the engine they were both working on and tapped Johnny’s leather bracelet. Though he’d worn it for several weeks, in the chilly fall weather he always wore long-sleeve work shirts in the garage and so far, no one had noticed. Today, in a careless moment, he’d rolled up his sleeves while trying to reach a difficult spot under the engine.
Johnny jerked his hand away, putting it behind his back. “Oh, um. It’s just a bracelet. You know, just something I picked up.” He knew he was blushing so he turned away, busying himself on the other side of the car.
“Huh,” Billy said as he wiped the dipstick and slid it back into the engine. He looked at Johnny for a moment, his expression bemused, before putting his head back under the hood. “Hey, Johnny,” he finally said, “let’s grab a bite at Aldo’s for lunch. Want to?”
Usually Billy, Hank and Frank ate lunches packed by their wives, sitting together around a small table in the cluttered office of the garage. Johnny would go out, mostly just to get away for a while.
He didn’t usually eat lunch, as he found this made him sluggish. But he welcomed the chance to take a brisk walk and clear his head. Especially lately, since his life had exploded open with possibility.
Eric still limited Johnny to weekend visits, which at once frustrated and relieved him. A part of him wanted to move in with Eric, to spend every possible minute with him. Being in love felt wonderful! Before Eric, Johnny had secretly believed that all the hype about “true love” was just that—hype. He couldn’t understand the obsession that seemed to overtake people who claimed to be in love. But now that he was in it, if he couldn’t be with his lover, there was nothing he’d rather do than stare out a window, daydreaming about him, and counting the minutes until they’d be together again.
The edgy overlay of a D/s relationship added a fierce intensity that left Johnny reeling. It scared him sometimes, if truth be told. Over the course of the last few weeks Eric had been taking Johnny steadily farther down the BDSM path. After that first time, when Eric had penetrated Johnny’s virgin ass, he’d begun to train Johnny in earnest.
The sessions could be intense, and sometimes Johnny found himself ou
t of his league, near panic and frightened, not only of what was happening, but of his own reactions. A whipping session begun sensually, with Johnny kneeling naked in front of Eric, his head bowed, would slowly escalate until pain began to outweigh pleasure. Yet even as he rebelled, he was wildly elated, desperately longing for what was happening, and this scared him a little.
The sessions would usually start with Johnny paying homage to his Master’s cock, as Eric had phrased it, to put Johnny in a submissive headspace. Johnny would be required to strip naked and kneel, his head bowed as Eric stood in front of him. Johnny was to open Eric’s pants, using his hands as little as possible. He had learned after a few tries to open the top button of Eric’s jeans with his teeth, and then drag the little tag down to open the zipper.
Because Eric was usually at least half-erect by this point, Johnny needed his hands to pull the pants down past Eric’s slender hips and over the lovely bulge. Sometimes Eric would pull down his pants the rest of the way himself, kicking them off before standing again with his legs in a relaxed stance, hands on his hips. He would watch with amusement as Johnny would struggle to pull down his silk underwear with his teeth, allowing Eric’s now fully erect penis to spring free in all its glory.
Eric was teaching Johnny to take his cock deep in his throat, his muscles relaxed, his entire being open to receive his lover. “Once you’ve learned to take me completely, I’ll allow the use of your hands, but for now focus on what you are doing.”
To help him remember, Eric would sometimes shackle Johnny’s hands behind his back. This heightened Johnny’s sense of helplessness and, ironically, his arousal. Eric would lightly hold the back of Johnny’s head as he guided his erection down Johnny’s throat.
After several false starts with Johnny gagging, his eyes tearing, sometimes even pulling away, Johnny started to learn how to accommodate his lover’s sizable shaft deep in his throat. He learned to close his eyes, empty his mind and relax his throat. Eric would permit him to lick and kiss the head for a while before slowly guiding himself into Johnny’s open mouth. Johnny loved the feel of the satin-soft skin stretched taut over the rock-hard shaft. He loved to kiss and suckle it, but after a while, Eric would press farther, forcing Johnny to let go, to open his mouth and throat in utter submission.
As Eric slid his cock in farther and farther, Johnny would breathe deeply, willing himself to relax and accept this offering. Eventually Eric was able to press his cock in to the hilt, Johnny’s nose pressed against his pubic bone, his windpipe completely blocked by the invading member.
Eric would remain this way for several seconds, sometimes close to a minute. There was a moment during this process—Johnny could actually feel it descending over him—when he felt utterly at peace. It was hard to describe, but it usually followed some difficulty—some resistance, perhaps some gagging—during which Eric would whisper, “Relax, baby. Take it for me. This is what you were born for.”
Even in the midst of the struggle, on the edge of panic, unable to breathe, Johnny would hear these words and something would change. He actually felt his heart slowing, felt his mind easing into a curious peace. At the same time, his cock would be raging, ignored while he ministered to his Master.
Eric rarely ejaculated in Johnny’s mouth, preferring to keep himself on the edge as long as Johnny was. He would take his pleasure later, much later, using Johnny’s ass until they both came together, collapsing into exhaustion, utterly spent.
Instead, Eric would slowly withdraw from his sub’s mouth and Johnny would usually lean forward as a matter of instinct, wanting to keep the delicious cock for his own. He loved to elicit the moans and sighs of pleasure from his Master, feeling for those brief moments as if he were the one in control.
Then the whipping would begin. Slowly at first, with a heavy flogger of the softest suede. Johnny loved the flogger, loved the feel of its whispering sting, barely more than a kiss of pain at first. It would build as Eric increased the force of his blows. He was careful to ratchet the intensity of the whipping slowly, so Johnny was barely aware it was getting harder, the heat building along with his desire.
When Eric switched to the crop or single lash Johnny had more trouble coping. Eric would usually have him stand at this point, his body now bathed in sweat, his back crisscrossed pink from the suede tresses kissing the flesh over and over.
On his ass Eric was much rougher, using a riding crop to strike the same spot until Johnny was literally dancing in place, begging for mercy. Eventually Eric would relent, but only to change implements, using the single lash, which bit into his flesh as it found its mark.
Johnny, who during these whippings was instructed to stand with his hands behind his neck, would often flail out when the single lash struck him with too much force. He would scream and reach out instinctively to ward off the blows. “Back into position!” Eric would bark, his voice stern, not a trace of the tenderness he usually reserved for his lover.
Johnny would struggle to obey, his breathing labored, his ass on fire, his cock perversely still hard as iron, poking out straight between his legs. Sometimes he could move past this stage, recapturing some of the peace and sensual serenity he’d felt earlier in spite of the pain, but more often than not he could not. Instead he would fall out of position again and again, finally begging and cowering as Eric continued to lash his ass and back without mercy.
Finally Eric would stop, softly reminding him, “I stop when I think it’s time, not you. We will continue these lessons until you learn to submit with more ease. Until you truly give up control and give yourself to me completely.”
Johnny was exhausted from these sessions, and frustrated. Eric always seemed to push him to the point of failure. No matter what new skill he’d acquired or new submission realized, Johnny felt he could never be good enough. He desperately wanted to please Eric and knew he was falling short.
“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this sub stuff,” he said one night while held safely in Eric’s arms. They had been talking about their experience so far and how it measured up to Johnny’s expectations and preconceived notions.
“I can’t seem to get to that point of grace you talk about. I don’t even know what it means, if you want to know the truth. Maybe I’m not really submissive, you know? Maybe I just get off on the pain when it’s mixed with sex, and that’s that.”
He must have sounded sad as he said this because Eric had kissed his forehead and crooned, “No, no, no. That’s not it at all, sweetheart. You are submissive. You are just right for who you are right now. You’re perfect. We don’t need to label ourselves. It doesn’t matter if people call me Dom and you sub, or not. You are exactly where you should be at this moment with me.”
Johnny wanted to believe this, and did feel comforted by Eric’s words. Eric had added, “I don’t really know if there’s such a thing as a submissive. I mean, someone who just totally gives himself over to another without thought or question. Someone who would allow himself to come to harm for his so-called Master, someone who never questions his Master and always puts his own needs second.”
He smoothed Johnny’s hair from his forehead in a tender gesture. “I don’t think I could love someone like that. I don’t want a robot or a blowup doll. I want someone who is strong and sexy, who knows his own mind and still finds the courage to take a whipping. Someone who is able to trust me enough to know I’d never stop your breathing for too long, or give you more pain than you could handle. Someone who appreciates the sensual potential of mixing pleasure and pain into something hot as molten steel and just as strong.”
Johnny found himself subsumed by their relationship—completely taken over by it. He didn’t want to speak to anyone else, see anyone else, even leave Eric’s Manhattan apartment. Yet by the same token this was sometimes exhausting. As if he were experiencing all the years of living he’d missed packed into the few weeks they’d had together so far.
Thus he had to admit he was partially relieved by their forced a
bsence from each other during the week. Over the past month they’d been seeing each other, Eric would send him home on Sunday night or early Monday morning with a lingering kiss and a “see you soon”.
So far, they’d stayed in, not yet venturing out to any clubs or meeting any other guys in the scene. Again, Johnny had been relieved. While it was exciting and sexy to submit to his lover in the privacy of their apartment, to do so in public was another thing altogether.
“But it will happen,” Eric had promised him. “You aren’t ready yet, but you move closer each day. When I do take you out, it will be as my boy toy, my slave, my possession. You will behave with submission and grace. You will make me proud.”
Johnny had nodded, but he wasn’t sure that day would ever come. As it was, he loved submitting to Eric’s delicious torture, his cock hardening just from the sight of the flogger or cane. Oh the cane! Just thinking about it made Johnny’s ass itch.
Unlike the heavy flogger, which built the heat up slowly, the cane would slice the flesh in one burning line, making him scream. Yet even as he cried out, he would thrust his ass toward the source of his suffering, inexplicably eager for more. The orgasms he would experience from Eric’s sweet kisses afterward were the most intense he’d ever experienced.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
Johnny jerked toward Billy, flustered. They were walking together the three blocks toward Billy’s favorite Italian restaurant and evidently Billy had been speaking. Johnny said, “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind, I guess. What were you saying?”
“Man, Johnny. What has gotten into you lately? It’s like you’re, I don’t know, gone. That’s why I suggested we go for lunch, you know? I don’t see you anymore on the weekends, Sandy and the kids are asking after you. Mom’s devastated you’ve been missing Sunday dinner and Hank and Dad think you’re doing something clandestine like using drugs or something. Mom thinks you’re in love. I don’t know what to think!”
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