Title: HOW COME THEY DON'T CUM?
Date: February, 2000
Summary: A little bit of game playing.
WARNING: BDSM with role playing
Archive: With thanks to CJK at:
Yes, to Basement, Ratlover
OR, if you're getting bounced due to the anti-spam filter my server has added, try email@example.com
DISCLAIMER: These are the property of CC, Fox and 1013, and no money is being made off them. Don't I wish....
NOTE: TITLE EXPLANATION
Someone, who shall remain nameless, but who knows who she is (Don't you, kiddo!), wrote to me to ask why was it that the sex in my stories was...well...fairly non- technical. She liked the way I did relationships, but she wanted more grit in the sex scenes.
I wrote this for her.
The title of this "story" is a paraphrase of the header on the letter she sent me.
HOW COME THEY DON'T CUM?
The man stood in the entrance of the bar and cased out the room.
It was dark, as all such establishments were. Not large, probably holding maybe fifty people max.
There was a long bar to the right of the doorway, with a shortish large woman serving the customers, a large dangerous-looking man helping her, obviously the bouncer.
The visitor thought that he was probably more for show though the musculature that tested the seams of his t- shirt, the scar that diagonally decorated one cheek indicated that he was not a stranger to violence.
The man laughed to himself. Muscles probably had more experience in that than all the room put together.
Well, maybe not. There were one or two specimens in the place that indicated this leather bar was not all yuppies playing. If he had to bet, he'd say the Dom in denim with the two beautiful leather boys was for real. So too the slim, pretty boy in the corner whose knowing smile was enjoying the activity around him too much to be taking it seriously. As was the short, puggy- looking man wearing leathers -- that had to have been made to order -- at the table in the centre, holding court.
The others seemed to be a variety of wanna-bes, pretenders, and guys on the make.
The visitor made his way to the far end of the bar and hooked a seat with his foot, claiming it from one of the wanna-bes who was just about to sit on it.
"Fuck, man, that's..."
The visitor merely raised an eyebrow and waited. The wanna-be swallowed audibly. Eye to eye with the real thing, he backed down with his next inhalation. The visitor merely turned to the woman who had appeared as quickly as the wanna-be had stepped back.
She served him the beer he asked for, gave him a good look over and decided that the minnows in tonight's pool had better watch out or they would be eaten without a second thought.
She made eye contact with the puggy man, and the denim- clad man with his two pets, gestured slightly toward the visitor with her head. Message sent, received and understood.
Over the next hour she and they watched as the braver minnows made a play to get the visitor's attention. Some came and posed near him. Others were brave enough -- no, foolhardy enough -- to actually approach the man, trying to get him to at least talk to them.
It didn't take much to scare them away. One disdainful look-over -- if he even glanced at them that long -- from those cold green eyes told them that he wasn't interested in their goods.
The green eyes, with their long eyelashes, the mouth that hinted at cruelty were not the only thing that distinguished the visitor. There was the fact that his left hand, resting on the bar, wrapped around his beer bottle was fake.
As the minnows left, to go to other places, they were replaced by some of the more serious players who frequented the bar. Word quickly spread and though everyone was very careful to allow the man his privacy, they also kept an eye on the little dramas that were taking place as though for their enjoyment.
The noise in the bar rose, smoke from cigarettes, cheroots (no cigars allowed on order of the bartender) added to the general atmosphere. One of the doms approached the visitor, offered him a beer. He was thanked, the beer accepted. A little conversation ensued and the dom returned to his group, to shrug and indicate that the man didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular.
His presence in the bar had been more or less accepted when the second visitor showed up.
The bartender looked up because of the sudden silence that made its way from the door to the bar. She straightened. Well, she thought, two in one night. There were going to be some very upset minnows, the ones who hadn't been here tonight.
This one wasn't in the first bloom of youth. Pushing middle-age, though pushing it well, in spite of the crome dome, the wire-rimmed glasses. The black leather jacket he wore was used, not for show. Open to show the tight body that was encased in the black t-shirt. He was wearing motorcycle chaps which only served to frame a black denim-dressed basket that most of the yuppies would have given their right arm to sport.
This was too good to miss. She pressed a silent buzzer under the bar in a pre-determined code. The door at the end of the bar opened and her business partner appeared. She smiled at her, nodded to the door: her partner's eyes had already spotted the first visitor.
The woman in the wheel chair settled back to watch the second man check out the room. She laughed silently to herself as she caught one of the doms licking his lips.
The man didn't have to excuse himself as he slowly made his way through the crowd to the bar: it parted for him. He ordered an imported beer from the bartender, took a long chug from the bottle, and, holding it by the neck, turned to continue his inspection of the place.
He had the bottle to his mouth when he spied the first visitor. He finished his drink, put the bottle back on the bar and, without asking, got a cleared path to the man at the other end.
The room magically silenced as he stood next to the man who didn't seem to notice him.
The older man, to the astonishment of the room, reached out and hooked the other's chin, turned his face around so he could examine it.
The bartender took a step back, closer to the gun she kept hidden for emergencies. The bouncer braced himself.
The two men stared at each other, and then, slowly, the younger man slid off his stool to stand sedately, allowing himself to be examined.
He was something to be looked at. He, too, was wearing a black leather jacket, much used by its condition. The black-green t-shirt gave his eyes an almost emerald sheen. The worn denims were tight, not second-skin tight, but tight enough to show he wasn't lacking in the groin area.
And he stood there, passively, allowing himself to be looked up and down when no one in the place would have dared do such a thing.
There were more than a few raised eyebrows at his behaviour.
Slowly, the older man's hand stroked downward from chin, down a throat that raised for his touch, across to a pec where the hand tightened for the space of the long breath the younger man took in reaction to that touch. It continued, hard, down the tight stomach, down to the man's crotch where it gripped what there was.
And all the time, their eyes held each other, oblivious to the room, to the fact that they were the focus of that room.
"You free?" The aggressor's words were the only sound as everyone waited for the second man to speak.
He nodded. "My name is..."
"Dog." The older man smiled and it sent chills down many a back. "You answer to the name Dog when you're with me."
"And if I care to actually address you, you call me Master. Is that understood? Dog."
Master tightened his grip on Dog's cock and balls. Dog raised a bit on his feet, accepted and settled back down. He also lowered his eyes for the first time since their encounter had begun.
Several of the Doms in the place exchanged smiles, nods of approval. One or two of the subs who had tried to get Dog's attention tried to show that they had known all along that Dog wasn't what he seemed to be: they were ignored by the others.
"There are rooms upstairs," said the woman in the wheelchair. "Play rooms for all sorts of play. Guaranteed clean."
"So I've heard," said Master. He let go Dog's genitals, wrapped a large hand around his throat, stepped around leaving him to face the open scrutiny of the room.
Price and money were quickly exchanged and Master pulled sharply so that Dog preceded him up the narrow stairs to the upper floor with its play rooms. Those closest the door saw his hand slide down the other's back to grip one full buttock as they went up. The door closed behind them and the noise level rose as discussions of all types arose.
"Which room?" asked the bartender.
"The executive suite," replied her partner and, with a laugh, turned her chair back into the office and the paper work that waited there for her.
Dog didn't ask where they were going, merely turned in the direction the hand on his ass indicated. It gripped hard when they reached the door Master had rented for the night. He stood unmoving till the door had been unlocked, for the light to be turned on, for Master to indicate he was to precede him into the room.
He looked around the room, immediately checking out possible exits as was his usual wont in new places. Master checked out the room for its contents.
The room was a large windowless rectangle, with a well- equiped ensuite bathroom just to the side of the door. The walls were panelled with real wood, not cheap fake panelling. It was lit with track lighting that was adjustable not only for direction but intensity as well. There were a variety of attachments on one of the walls, a couple of bars hanging from the ceiling, a whipping horse to one corner, a largish bed in another with barred head and footboards.
The closet came with wooden hangers, and shelves to store clothes. The dresser drawers produced all sorts of toys: cock rings, nipple clamps, harnesses, plugs, whips, crops, paddles. All vacuumed sealed for cleanliness. There were boxes of condoms of all types and sizes, small foiled packages of different lubes.
And a decent-sized first aid kit.
The place certainly lived up to its reputation. Master was impressed. He looked to find Dog standing where he had left him, eyes on the floor. Waiting.
Master smiled. He walked around Dog to the door, locked it and went to pour himself a scotch from the selection of minis on the top of the dresser. He found ice in the tiny freezer next to it, along with a variety of miniature bottles of vodkas.
He made himself comfortable in the only armchair in the room, a leather one. The only other furniture was the small table by the armchair, and another chair by the horse, but wooden, with no arms.
Dog looked up and came to stand between Master's legs as the man indicated. Master's hand came up, felt his crotch again and slowly lowered the zipper on his jeans. The hand reached in through the slit in his boxers to find his cock, measure it.
"Not bad," Master approved. "For the duration, it's mine. You are not allowed to touch it, to rub it against anything. Not even to come. Not without my expressed permission. Understood, Dog?"
Dog nodded, remembered when the hand gripped painfully. "Yes, Master."
"And," continued Master, "you may not speak. Unless I call you by name. Is that understood?"
"Good. Now take the jacket off."
Dog shrugged and the jacket slowly slid off his shoulders and started down his arms. When it stopped, he shook his right arm and the sleeve continued down its path on the right. He pulled his arm out and reached over to the left, removing it completely. He held it in his hand by the collar.
Master nodded towards the bed and Dog tossed the jacket onto it.
"Now the t-shirt."
Dog hesitated a moment: Master squeezed hard. Dog tugged the hem out of his jeans, grabbed it one-handed and pulled it off, slowly, revealing inch by inch of smooth, tanned skin, a pec, a small brown nipple and then, with a quick movement, he had it off and onto the bed.
Master ignored the prosthetic arm with its attachments for the chest with its nicely defined structure. Not the body of a man who played with machines like he did, but of a body honed by activity, by life. And from the thin white lines, the puckled skin, the knobbed collarbone, not an easy life.
Master passed his ice-chilled glass across the other's stomach, was rewarded by startled muscles flickering under the skin. He pulled his hand out from Dog's jeans. "The rest of it." He settled back in the chair. "Slowly."
Dog toed off the half-boots he was wearing, used each foot to rid the other of sock. He unbuttoned his jeans. Using both real and fake hand, he pulled down first one side then the other over his hips, taking his boxers with him.
Slowly revealing the dark bush at top of his thighs. The thick circumcised cock that was nothing to be ashamed of in length. The balls that hung low in their dark sac. Thighs that were tightly muscled, lightly furred with dark hair.
When he'd gotten his jeans down past his knees, he stepped on the cuffs of one leg and drew that leg out. Repeated the move with the other. He used his foot to push them out of the way.
And stood straight, confidently awaiting Master's evaluation of him.
And waited until he began feeling a little less confident.
Master kept his face expressionless while all the while admiring what he had in front of him.
He reached out for the man's genitals, weighing them in his hand. The cock thickened slightly, began rising in response to the heat of his hand, the play of his fingers on his balls.
Master waited until Dog's cock was paying attention before he let him go. "Clothes in the closet."
Dog obeyed, his cock bobbing to the motion. Master waited until Dog had resumed his place in front of him to stand. "Undress me," he ordered, "but leave my jeans on." He took a sip of his drink as Dog stepped around him, to ease the jacket off his shoulders. He helped only so far as to change hands for his glass when Dog carefully eased the sleeves off.
He was taking a sip of his scotch when his t-shirt was pulled out of his jeans and he felt the warmth of a wet tongue follow the definition of his spine to the nape of his neck as the shirt made its way upward. A mouth followed the line of his shoulder as that side was undressed and then back to the other as the t-shirt came off and was tossed unto the bed.
Master sipped his scotch appreciating both it and the sensations awakened by the mouth.
Dog knelt in front of him, his hands unbuckling the belt at his waist that held the chaps up. Hands that "accidentally" passed, back and forth, over the bulge that wasn't covered by the leather chaps. A bulge that grew with each pass of his hands.
The buckle released, Dog leaned forward, his open mouth sucking, through Master's jeans, on the hardening cock. Master's hips pressed forward and the bulge grew again as Dog pushed back with his mouth. The fly of Master's jeans was wet when he pulled back, finished removing the chaps which joined the other clothing on the bed.
He placed both his hands on either side of Master's thigh, slowly brought them as well as his body down to the floor and Master's boots. These were full boots, not easy to remove from that position. When Dog tried to straighten, Master's other boot pushed hard against the small of his back, keeping him in the position of head low, ass high. Certain that Dog wouldn't try that again, Master removed his boot, shifted his weight to that foot and raised his other foot just high enough for Dog to tug the boot off. White athletic sock followed and was stored safely inside the boot.
Dog's hands stroked the now naked foot, then he lowered his mouth to lick and lave the top to the toes, the high arch. Without being told, he took each toe into his mouth and sucked hard, played his tongue around, bit gently. Worked his way from the smallest to the biggest. He stopped only when he was nudged by the other, still booted, foot.
With a sly look up to see whether he had pleased Master, he paid the same attention to the second foot. He was feeling confident again when the foot he was working on was suddenly pulled away and it shoved him onto his side.
Master bent and grabbed Dog by the hair. "Nice try, *Dog*, but still not pleasing enough. Now, put away my clothes and wait for instructions. Like the good doggie you're going to be."
Master made himself a second drink, settled back in the chair and watched as Dog hung his clothes in the closet. My, but that was a nice body he had to play with. Pity about the arm, but somehow the lack of it didn't make the man less attractive. Would make it harder for him to be restrained, but, hell, he was a man with imagination: he would find a way to take care of that.
"Lose the arm."
Dog hesitated. Master merely raised an eyebrow. Dog removed the prosthesis, slowly, as if losing the last barrier between Master and himself. He stored the arm on one of the shelves in the closet and shut the door.
Master snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor between his spread out legs. The position put additional strain on the material at his groin. He waited until he'd finished his second drink to touch the man. "You're very beautiful, but beauty should be adorned. I think it's time to see just what I have to play with."
He stood, passed over Dog, stopping to rub his genitals against the top of Dog's head. He came back the same way. He dropped several packages on the table by the chair and placed a pair of scissors on his thigh. He took a package in one hand and clipped the top away with the scissors.
"Magic presto. One leather collar. A dog collar. Just what a good dog needs." He fit the collar around Dog's neck, leaving some space so it wouldn't choke him.
He bent and took one of Dog's tits in his mouth, sucking hard, biting the growing flesh until Dog gasped from the pain/pleasure sensation. Master smiled, went to work on the second. When he had them to his liking, he sat back, flicked a finger against the now sensitive flesh. A hint of a smile softened his mouth when Dog closed his eyes, winced at the pain that radiated from each when he flicked harder and harder. Another snip and two tight sterile clamps decorated the hairless chest.
Master smiled more openly. The small weights hanging in the middle of slightly larger hoops were functional as well as pretty. They would serve to pull, keeping the tits long enough not to slip out of the clamps. And the hoops could be used as an attachment. He gave a final flick to each and went on to the next item.
The cock ring was a wide leather band that snapped closed. To Dog's surprise, Master bent and took the head of his cock into his mouth, his tongue circling it, sucking till pre-com came out of the piss slit. Dog's hips jerked, ceased when two hard hands gripped his hipbones, holding him still. Then Master went down on him, all the way to the root, taking him down his throat and slowly, sucking hard, pulled back. The cock bounced slightly on release.
Master snapped the cock ring on, noting with satisfaction that Dog's eyes were shut, his lips parted.
On either side of the cock ring dangled two looped chains. Master picked them up. "Hold these." He turned Dog around and examined the ass that stood before him at the right level. It was a fine ass, a good ass. An ass that had tight, muscular globes that topped strong thighs.
Master took the time to appreciate that ass. To touch it with the tip of a finger, to trace the crack from the small of the back, pass the puckered asshole, down the perineum to the back of the balls. His finger circled each ball, bounced and played with them for a minute or two, enjoying the small movements, noises that Dog couldn't prevent.
"Bend forward. That's enough."
Dog's ass was almost in his face. Each of his hands took possession of a cheek, squeezing hard, kneading hard, letting his fingers painfully separate the two so that the pink ring was no longer hidden or protected.
Master rubbed his nose up along that path until his mouth reached the hole he was going to fuck, hard, sometime that night. Right now, his tongue teased its way around the flesh, taunting it. He had to grip hard again when Dog tried to push back into that tongue. The man's hips would be decorated with bruises come morning.
Master reached over and grabbed a couple of foil packages, another of the sealed ones. He tore the foil open with his teeth, spread some lube on his fingers. With little gentleness, he pushed one lubed finger into the asshole, ignoring Dog's gasp of pain. More slowly, he played back and forth, lubricating the passage, pulling out. He forced two fingers back in, this time making sure that he rubbed hard against Dog's prostate, rewarding him for keeping his hips still. They had a harder time when he inserted three fingers in, scissoring them open to widen the passage. Master had to leave his hand print on a hip when Dog made a sound of protest.
Master sat back in his chair, took a sip of scotch. The ice in his glass was smaller, less cubed than at the start. He took a piece in his mouth, smoothing out any rough edges as he opened the next package, lubed it properly. Smiling, he used the fingers of one hand to spread open the cheeks, the other to take the ice out of his mouth, insert it into the hole and push it deep into the passage before Dog had time to react. The lubed butt plug followed, forcing the ice even further in.
Dog was not appreciative.
Master reached around and took one of the chains from him, hooked it to the clamp on the plug. Repeated it for the other side. Now, no matter how active their games got, the plug could not come out.
He played with that lovely ass, until he decided that it was too pale in comparison to the rest of Dog's body. Master grabbed Dog by the hips and, before he had time to react, had him over his knees, face down, ass in position to be worked on. Without warning, he brought his hand down on one white globe, hard enough to raise a pink marking of his hand.
Master smiled at hearing the muttered protest coming from Dog. He decided *that* needed punishing. His hand came down with increasing rapidity, heaviness until the body on his knees was squirming, until Dog could no longer hold back his groans, his increasingly difficult-to-swallow curses.
Just as suddenly as he had begun, Master stood up, rolling Dog onto the floor where he landed on his ass. His body curved up, trying hard to keep his pulsating flesh off the floor.
Master just stepped over him, went to examine the set up on the horse. Dog rolled onto his stomach, slowly rose to his hand and knees, and, head hanging down, got the sounds he was making under control.
"What was that all about?" Master's boots appeared under his head. "Don't tell me a hard-looking dude like you can't take a little discipline." Master crouched, grabbed Dog's hair and raised his head so that he could look at him. With the other he wiped the wetness off the man's face. He tugged harder, brought the mouth up to take possession of it.
Dog didn't react immediately: Master worked harder at getting his co-operation. He sucked on the sensuous lower lip, making it swell under his ministrations. He played his tongue over Dog's teeth, used the tip to trace the inside of his cheeks, duelled with the tongue that began to reciprocate, sucked hard, pulling it into his own mouth where he bit down softly on it.
They both needed a moment or two to recover their breaths.
Still gripping Dog's hair, Master rose, pulling the younger man up with him. Once on his feet, Dog leaned over and returned the play in Master's mouth, all except for the bite, which he did harder, almost to the point of blood.
Master pulled back, backhanded the smiling man. "*That* was not smart, Dog. Not a good thing to do. Dogs who do things like that need to be punished."
He released Dog's hair, turned him around and shoved him over to the horse. Dog attempted to pull away from Master only to captured by those large powerful hands, held down with one on the nape of his neck while the other unhooked a chain off the side of the horse and attached it to the hoop on the front of the dog collar.
Just as quickly, Master locked the fur-lined manacle at the end of one chain to the man's only wrist. That took care of the top half. Dog's foot lashed out and Master made a grab for it. Got it on the second try. Another fur-lined manacle put an end to its movement. It was a relatively simple operation to cuff the other ankle.
Master stood back to examine the picture in front of him: confined, movements restricted, head down on one side of the horse, legs spread apart revealing the unprotected balls, the ass just at the right level for attention, decorated with the two chains that had ridden high with all this activity. He felt his cock harden at the sight. He unbuttoned all but the top button on his fly and pulled his cock out, giving it a couple of strokes to encourage it.
The blushing ass, he decided, needed bit more colour to it. He seemed to remember...ah, yes, in the third drawer of the dresser he found what he was looking for. A snip of the scissors and he held a strap in his hands.
"You know, Dog, they really are very conscientious in this fine establishment: not only clean, but nicely oiled." It made a swoosh sound when he tried it out in front of him. "Seems to me a good thing to use to make you understand that biting is not an approved activity for a dog."
Master cautiously tucked himself back in, took his position behind and to the left of the ass that demanded his attention. "Of course, dogs do howl. Let's hear how you howl, Dog." And he brought the strap down on one pinkened cheek.
But because that was what Master wanted, Dog tried to deny him his cries. Still the strap made harder and harder contact until the groans he'd been holding back demanded release. He moaned loudly at first, his cries growing in length until finally he gave forth the howls Master delighted in hearing.
"Ah, now that's the good dog. And a good dog howl. Let's hear it again."
He'd been concentrating the strap over the rounded ass, now he directed the next swings to the top of the thighs, paying particular attention to the curve under the cheeks. The howls became screamed curses. Curses in a variety of languages. In a variety of imagery. Master enjoyed the ones he understood: the other's skill in swearing was impressive.
He had been careful to hit hard enough to bring colour to the man's ass, not to welt it. It was flaming red, and when he held his hand over the skin, he could feel the heat of his strapping. He smiled, happy with his work. Still, it needed a little something extra.
He went back to rummage in the dresser drawers while Dog slowly regained control of himself. The curses had dropped to mutterings, the sobs to sniffing when Master took up his position once more behind the man.
"You need something to remember this," he said and brought the crop he held down hard at an angle across muscles that were already trembling from his attention.
Master changed sides so that his next stroke crossed the first welt, like a giant "x" to mark the over sensitized flesh.
Dog barely had time to inhale between screams.
Master fixed a couple of drinks while he allowed Dog time to recover. He waited until the glass with the vodka was ice cold before he went to stand behind the quietly weeping man, skimmed the glass against the hot skin, more slowly where it sketched the welts.
He set the glass down on the top of the horse, went around to the front to release the chains, not from the man but from the floor, so that the chains dangled from the collar and his wrist. With something that resembled kindness, Master helped Dog raise himself. Dog braced his hand on the top of the horse, stood as upright as he could, considering the fact his ankles were still manacled, that the condition of his ass made it painful to straighten.
Master took one of the cloths he'd found in the large bathroom, wiped the tears, the snot off Dog's face. He held the vodka to his mouth, tipped it so the man could drink without choking. When the drink was finished, he took a sip out of his own, placed his free hand on Dog's shoulder and stroked down his ribs as went back to behind him.
"Now then, that wasn't so bad, was it? Nothing more than a little tenderizing. Something to get us both into the mood. You agree, don't you, Dog?"
Dog's breath hitched as he nodded. "Yes, Master," he whispered through a throat roughened by his cries.
"Excellent." Master's hands gently massaged the tense nape and shoulders for several minutes, as if he knew how difficult that position over the horse had been for those particular muscles. He continued massaging the long back, carefully avoiding going too close to abused flesh, gradually lulling Dog into a state of relaxation.
Then he grabbed the sore ass and squeezed hard. Dog's scream filled the room.
"Just so you don't forget who's in charge here." Master pulled Dog's head back, kissed the still open mouth, insisting on Dog's participation.
"Beautiful. You are so very beautiful, Dog. Let's see just how much more beautiful I can make you be."
Master bent and released the ankle chains from the floor. Wrapping his hand around the chain that dangled from the collar, he pulled the unresisting man to the bed, pushed him down so that he sat down on an ass that didn't appreciate the gesture.
Dog's body jerked up off the fabric of the bedcover, but Master pushed him back, brought his knee up to trap the semi-erect cock against Dog's stomach. Pressing his jeaned knee against the man's groin, Master tugged on the collar until Dog's mouth was where he wanted it to be, against one of his nipples.
"Put that mouth of yours to work, Dog. Give me a reason to let you off your ass."
Dog brought his cuffed hand up to hold onto a jeaned hip. He used his lips, his tongue, his teeth to tease Master's nipples into small duplicates of the hard-on he could feel growing against his chest. The sounds Master made served to encourage him. Then Master loosened the chain enough for him to make his way down the furred chest, to follow the treasure line down to the open fly and the erection that seemed to be caught behind the black denim.
Using his mouth, he managed to get a suction grip on Master's cock, and after several attempts, got it out of Master's pants. He'd taken its measure before, behind the material. Now, out and growing, he worshipped it.
He took it deep into his throat, almost strangling himself on the thickness of it. It was as long as his own, but thicker. He had to open his mouth wide to take it in. He pulled away, his tongue pressing against the large penile vein as he slowly made his way to the uncircumcised glans, using the heat of his mouth, suction, to make it grow even thicker, to rise even higher. His tongue swirled around the head, the tip sweeping where the hood folded back to reveal the reddening crown.
He could hear Master's breathing harshen, quicken. And found himself pushed flat on his back on the bedcover.
Master grinned at him. "We'll just keep that for later. When I come, it'll be because I've fucked your ass into the bedsprings."
Master reached over and pulled the collar chain until Dog lay lengthwise on the bed. Master hooked it to one of the many hooks and clamps that decorated the bars on the headboard. When he finished hooking the wrist and ankle chains, Dog was lying on the bed, on his back, right hand pulled tightly to the right head post, legs spread far apart, to the end posts of the bed.
Master wanted the stump confined as well. He'd noticed how Dog had pounded with it against the horse: he didn't want it more abused that it had already been. He found a slave armband in the toys provided, snapped it snugly around Dog's biceps, used one of the chains from off the horse to secure it to the other head post.
He took up his watered drink and examined the man laid out for his purposes. He would have very little room to move, which would allow him, Master, to use his body whichever way he wanted.
Dog lay still...what choice did he have?...eyes closed, mouth partially open.
The fact that no one had appeared at the door when Dog had screamed meant that the room was sound-proof, that Master had no need to gag the man, that he could scream as loud, as long as he liked.
Master finished his drink, put it down on the dresser top and took a seat on the side of the bed, by Dog's hip.
The bed dipping caused Dog to open his eyes, check out what Master was up to next.
Master smiled at him, reached out that large hand to cup the side of Dog's face. With his thumb, he stroked the boney ridge under the eye, stroked the slightly stubbled skin of the cheek, passed his thumb along the man's jaw. His fingers dropped down to caress the ligaments that stood out along the neck line, the back of his hand coming up to stroke the under chin.
He bent and kissed Dog: not forcing his way into the warm, wet cavity, merely passing his lips over the now closed mouth, slightly sucking on the fleshier parts, nipping playfully.
Gradually Dog's mouth relaxed open and Master's tongue traced the separated lips, stroked the top palate with the tip. He placed his mouth over Dog's and invited him to participate. Their mouth play was hot, wet, noisy.
Master pulled up enough to look into eyes that were half-covered with heavy lids, swollen from the crying and weeping. He lowered his mouth and covered the man's face with small cat-licks, bites, mouth-strokes. Then he moved down the face to the throat after which Dog raised his chin, offering more in surrender to his to his touch.
Master's hands got into the game, stroking the smooth skin of the flat stomach, rubbing the hipbones gently, skimming down a flank, causing hips to jerk. Master pardoned those hips, allowing them to move, buck, in response to the teasing touches of hands on skin.
As his mouth explored breast bone, his hands dropped to play with the heavy balls, warming them, rolling them, lightly squeezing them, teasing them with a finger tip. One hand reached behind to play with the plug, twisting it slightly, pushing it in a little further, making it rub against prostate. Dog's hips rose off the bed and he gasped loudly as a shot of pleasure came up his spine. Master chose that very moment to drop his mouth over one of the clamped nipples, tugging on the weight. A sharp pain radiated from that tit, cancelling out most of the pleasure. A repeat on the other tit took care of whatever pleasure was left. Dog cursed.
Master punished the curse with a sharp pull at his balls. Dog's hips rose again, not in response to pleasure.
While Master's mouth alternately tortured and then soothed already over-sensitive nubs, his hand skimmed over the inside of Dog's thighs, back and forth, using the tips of his fingers, the back of his nails, the rough palm of his hand. Down and up one thigh, skipping over the genitals to work the other thigh. Pain at his nipples, teasing pleasure at his groin.
Head tossing back and forth on the pillow, Dog bit his lips to stop the sounds of protest. First pleasure dominated then pain. And those hands that played everywhere around his cock, never touching it. He nearly screamed his frustration.
Master could tell exactly how Dog was feeling. The ringed cock grew as did the tone of his grunts, gasps. Dog was pretty close to where he wanted him. Close, but not there yet. It would be some time before he allowed Dog what he wanted so badly.
He stood up, ignoring Dog's moan of protest and stretched. The action caused his own cock to rise higher, to protest the fact that it was still partially confined behind denim. Checking that Dog was watching, he undid the last button of his fly, slowly pulled his jeans down and off. He turned his back to the man on the bed, showing off one of his assets, and fixed them each another drink.
Resuming his place on the side of the bed, he stored his drink on the floor, used one hand to raise Dog's head and held the ice-cold vodka to his lips. Dog gratefully gulped down the liquid, wincing at the coldness it.
"You know," Master said in a conversational tone, "this place is sound-proof. I think I want to test just how sound-proof it really is." He smiled down at the man now looking at him warily.
He bent and bit hard around one of the throbbing brown aureoles.
Dog's scream made a good test.
Master pretended he didn't hear the curses, took a sip of his drink, leaned over and bit the other aureole. He smiled at Dog's reaction. He removed the ice cube from his drink, passed it around the outline of the teethmarks and watched as the coldness soothed the abused flesh. He did the same to the second bit mark.
Dog obviously did not trust him: he just kept his eyes on Master's face, trying to predict what the man would do next. Master offered him his drink again, and thinking he needed it more and more, Dog gulped it down.
Master nodded his approval. With a bit of a grin, he dumped the ice cubes that were left in the glass in his hand, brought it down to the man's groin and there, with a laugh, he held the ice against Dog's balls. A little cooling down for what was coming next.
Dog's curses filled the room. He tried to jerk his hips away from the freezing ice, but Master merely gripped one of his balls so that pulling became too painful. As long as his hips stayed still, the hand released its pressure: if he moved, at all, it just tightened so that all he could do was scream.
Finally the ice melted and Master wiped his hand on the end of the bedcover.
Dog's body should be more aware of pain right now than of pleasure. It was time to add to both.
He thought, as he found what he sought in the bottom drawer, that this place was really on the ball. It hadn't been cheap to rent the room, but, by God, it was worth every penny. He kept his back to the anxiously braced Dog, used the scissors to snip open another package and turned, holding a suede flogger in his hand.
"No." Dog spoke for the first time without having been addressed.
Master responded with a raised eyebrow.
"No more, please."
Master tested the flogger against his own hand. "Oh," he smiled, "I think so."
He started gently, all things considered. Flicking the ends onto the flat stomach. It was obvious that Dog objected.
"Fuck!" he screamed.
And kept on cursing, "Motherfucker! Bitch!" and a variety of such that could easily be screamed as he tired to inhale between strokes.
Master worked his body from the collar line down to his ankles, even occasionally gracing the man's groin with its weeping cock. He walked around the bed, making sure that no part of Dog's body went without attention.
A body that was soon flushed red, that now rose off the bed with each stroke, with a voice that eventually spouted only garbled sounds, not recognizable words.
Master stood back and admired his work. He doubted that Dog, in his state, had even realized that he was no longer being whipped. His tone pleaded, begged, entreated but in a language Master didn't know.
By now his own body was demanding attention. He dressed his cock, and waited, occasionally stroking himself, playing with his own balls the way he liked watching for the right moment, when the endorphins would send Dog into orbit.
From the diminishing sounds, the slow relaxation of the restless body, he decided that now was as good a time as any. He bent over and released the nipple clamps. The ensuing pain was enough to send Dog into that other world.
Master knee-walked his way to between the man's legs. He released the chains holding his legs apart and pushed them up against the man's chest. With quick efficient gestures, he hooked the man's knees over his shoulders, reached down and unsnapped the cock ring, unhooked the butt plug and with a practised move, removed the plug and shoved his cock deep into the man's ass.
"Oh, God!" Dog gasped.
"Nice ass, Dog. Now let's see how much it can take." Master pulled almost completely out and brutally rammed back in to the root. Dog's hips rose to meet him.
"Fuck me!" Dog screamed. "Hard! Harder!" as his hips rose to counter every one of Master's strokes. "No! Don't slow down! You fucker!"
But Master was in control and he had decided that Dog liked it hard and fast too much to give it to him. He slowed, almost holding still at times and let Dog's hips do the work, pounding into him, taking him in as deeply as he could. Making him do the fucking.
He did reach down and grab Dog's cock in his hand, giving it some attention, never enough to send Dog over, pulling back from Dog's hips when he thought things were going too fast.
It wasn't easy on him: all he wanted to do was ram himself into that tight hot canal and let himself come. He filled the air with his own curses, until he decided they had both had enough. He rammed hard into Dog, reached for the man's cock and stroked him quickly to orgasm.
Dog's body almost pulled completely away from Master's as the powerful thighs pressed against the solid chest, as his head was the only part of himself that actually touched the bed. His scream of completion -- "WALTER!!!" -- almost tore his throat as cum erupted out of his cock, splattering over his stomach, his chest.
As Master milked him dry, his own balls were signalling that they had had enough. He pulled out of Dog's spasming ass, ripped off the condom and with a couple of strokes, came all over Dog's body. A glob of creamy jism even landed on his cheek.
With the last spending of his cum, Walter dropped his body next to Alex's, an Alex that was almost unconscious from the force of his orgasm. Walter lay there slowly regaining his breath. He probably dozed a few minutes, but the coolness of the air on his sweat- wet body woke him up.
He went and used the bathroom, wet a cloth, picked up a towel to clean Alex off.
Alex was in a trance-like state. He never moved while Walter released his arms, removed all the toys from his body and the bed, washed the sweat, the cum off him.
Walter returned the cloths to the bathroom, left the light on in there, but turned off all the ones in the room. He tugged and shoved his limp lover under the bedclothes, slipped in next to him and pulled him into his arms.
Alex slowly wrapped his hand around Walter's waist, found the energy to snuggled his head in his favourite spot, just under Walter's collarbone, ear over Walter's heart.
Walter shut his eyes and thought that maybe these games weren't so difficult to play after all. Alex needed pain, once in a while, as payment -- at least in his mind -- for having survived. And, well, yes, if he wanted to be honest, they gave him the safety valve he needed from putting up with all the bullshit associated with his job.
Alex sighed, said sleepily, "Walter?"
Walter rubbed his cheek against the damp head. "Yes, love."
Walter smiled. "De nada. Just remember that next time I get to choose the game."
"Um," agreed Alex.
"Farmer and dairymaid," said Walter.
He thought Alex had fallen asleep when, with a chuckle, as if only now getting it, Alex said, "Only if you play the dairymaid."
Walter laughed aloud, pulled his lover closer to him and held him tight. For now, and the next while, Alex's demons should be at bay. Then, they'd see.
The bartender and the woman in the wheelchair were sharing a breakfast of still warm butter croissants from the French pastry shop down the street, slathered in home-made blackberry preserves or marmalade, drinking their own special blend of coffee when the door to the upper floor opened and the two last occupants came down into the bar.
Both men were smiling, walking arms around each other. The one who had called himself Master threw his head back, laughing at something the one he had called Dog said softly to him.
They nodded to the two women, and went out into the morning.
The two women smiled at each other: it was obvious that the men weren't the strangers to each other they had pretended to be last night in the bar.
The woman in the wheelchair scooted into the office, came back out and tossed two videos onto the breakfast table.
The bartender grinned. "Well, that should be more interesting than all those Super Bowl things that'll be on this weekend."
The other woman began laughing in agreement, a loud raucous laugh. The bartender's deep tones joined hers.