This story is intended to be read by persons over 18 years old who are broad minded, sexually enlightened and horny.
It contains descriptions of consensual adult man-to-man sex - `specially the really nasty kind . . .
If this offends you, disturbs you or is likely to corrupt you, then piss off.
Stray straykiwi@hotmail.com
July 2005
Gatecrasher
The ProState was a small but active cruise-club' that boasted a lounge area with pool-table, pinball machines and cable TV, a locker area, showers, a large, provocatively-lit maze with theme' rooms (including one with a Harley-Davidson), several glory-hole areas, a sling room, mirror room . . . It catered to a wide and varied crowd of testosterone-driven men. Heaven in two-and-a-half floors . . .
For about 15 months after I'd arrived in the City I went to ProState at least once a week - usually a Friday and/or Saturday night. I'd arrive anywhere between 10pm and midnight and generally stayed (depending on the crowd) till 4 or 6am. I found new fucks every time - as well as one-or-two (or twelve) regular favourites!
I was 23 - 24 at the time. Five feet eleven tall, a skinny stick-insect, rat faced . . . but I did have one intriguing talent; I was a sexual chameleon.
Chameleon's have the innate ability to physically blend into their background. I was able to blend into the sexual desires of my partner - what they wanted, I'd give `em! For one guy, I'd fuck him senseless - pounding my eight fat inches of solid ass-busting dick up his worthless bitch-cunt. For the next guy I'd suck his dick for an hour. Another guy loved to have me lie on my back while he stood over me and slowly lowered his puckered asshole down onto my eager mouth . . .
In fact, most of my regulars' seemed to have very specific sexual desires; and I found this odd . . . my own sexual tastes were (fukkit - they still are!) wide and varied. While I was always able to please my partners', I never felt completely fulfilled by any one of them - I'd have to go through several sexual scenes in one night, with as many different partners, to get my buzz . . .
Anyway, after fifteen months of regular trips to ProState, I arrived one Friday night to discover an odd difference; an odd difference that changed my life.
In one section was a corridor that opened on to a couple of gloryhole booths, a mirror room, a regular `bed' room and a large room with a sling and padded saw-horse. This particular night, that corridor was closed off . . . The gloryhole booths opened onto other accessible booths and there were always dicks, mouths and assholes available whenever I went in there . . . obviously there were people in the closed off section but I never saw anybody coming thru the locked door.
Now, I love a mystery as much as the next cocksucker but this was pissing me off . . . why was the door locked? Who was on the other side? Why couldn't I have access to those rooms?
I asked the guy at the front desk/bar area and he told me it was a private, invitation-only party . . .
So, I went back hunting . . . Another room was also locked for a very long time . . . This room - a small room with a `bed' and a closet-sized barred cell - backed onto the large sling room. I happened to notice one guy emerging from that room; a dark, heftily muscled, hairy guy dressed in tight leather pants, black army combat boots and a black leather bar vest. Once he emerged I tried the door - still locked.
I found a dark corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and settled down to watch that door . . . A few minutes later, a couple of guys left through the door, one in jeans-and-leather-chaps, the other wearing jeans and a leather harness - so I got the `theme' of this party . . .
The whole leather scene had always fascinated me. Some people dismiss it as just another form of `drag' but to me it always more - it reeked of male sexuality in its most powerful, raw form. While I'd fantasised over the scene, I somehow didn't think it was real - at least in this small corner of the world. Now, my opinions were changing . . .
A few more minutes passed and one of the couple returned. He knocked on the door, it opened, a head emerged, and the guy went into the room. I immediately went up to the door and tried it - still locked.
I settled back to my corner and watched the same routine with other people. Dammit, I wanted in! I was dressed in black jeans, a black muscle shirt and black army boots - would I pass the dress-code??
I decided to push my luck and went up to the door - and knocked. The door opened a crack and a shaven-headed guy thrust his head out. Jesus! My heart was pounding! Here I was, a nice little boy from the burbs, gatecrashing a leather fuck scene!
With all the authority I could muster, I pushed the door further open. There was no resistance from Shaven-Head - I was in!
The door was closed and locked behind me as I quickly took in the scene.
Fuck!
There were two guys on their backs on the bed - one with a huge rubber dildo being fucked in and out of his arse, the other being fisted by a huge, lather-clad, bearded muscle-bear . . .
I avoided gawping like a tourist and quickly noticed the open door that lead through to the sling room. This door was usually locked - I'd never even noticed it before. . .
The sling room now housed not one but four slings - all of them occupied. The room was full of heaving, sweaty men performing sexual acts that I'd only ever read about. One guy had been totally encased totally in cling-film and duct-taped to a pillar with only his dick, balls and tits free of the binding - no that you could see his exposed parts as they were covered in clothes-pegs. Another guy, totally naked except for the cuffs at his ankles and wrists that kept him in place in one of the slings, was getting black wax slowly dripped all over his body; his tits, dick and balls were already covered by a hard layer of wax.
I played it cool and went through to the corridor where I literally had to pick my way thru the bodies of men who were fucking, sucking, pumping, slurping . . .
I went to the furthest room - the mirror room. This was obviously the `coat' room for the party, the room where everyone stored their coats and bags - bags that contained all manner of sexual paraphernalia! But what really caught my attention was the one man who was in this room.
In the twenty seconds it had taken me to get from the entrance of this private party to this room, I must have seen 50 leather men. Bears, muscle-studs, bois, testosterone gods . . . but this man . . . this man . . .
He wore a leather harness, chaps, studded codpiece and serious boots.
He was toking on a dick-shaped bong.
He wasn't 6'2" . . . he wasn't a muscle freak . . . he wasn't a gorgeous GQ model type . . .
He was white-haired with a close-cropped military-style haircut, about 5' 10", a tanned, weather-beaten face, and a slender, work-muscled body . . .
He raised his eyebrows as I entered the room and continued to suck on the bong.
And I fell to my knees - God knows why! It just seemed to be the natural thing to do when in the presence of someone who oozed sexual dominance. A mixture of calmness, stillness, power and control . . . how he managed to exude such qualities while just standing there sucking on a bong is beyond me. All I knew, all I was aware of, was that I had to kneel before this Man.
I lowered my eyes, my hands clasped together behind my back. My heart was pounding - I could actually feel the blood pulse heavily through the veins at my temples - and my dick was rockhard.
He observed me for a while - and a vague sense of panic set in . . . Had I just made a complete fool of myself? Shit! Normal people don't enter a room and kneel in front of the first person they see! What if he realised I wasn't invited to this `party'.
Heavy fuck-music boomed all around us punctuated by cries and moans, the sounds of leather on flesh, the unmistakable smells of leather, rubber, cum, piss, sweat . . . the smell of men using men . . .
And above all that - above my own anxieties, above the insane sexual madness all around me - I sensed his smirk of pleasure.
He strode toward me in four easy, loping steps until the studs on His codpiece were a hairs-bredth away from my head. Reaching down, He placed one leather-gloved hand under my chin and raised my face upwards so that our line of vision connected. He seemed to looked right into my head. His face was gentle, smiling as He eased the fingers of one gloved hand into my mouth and grabbed a handful of hair with other, causing my mouth to gape open . . . Slowly, deliberately, He hawked up wad of phlegm, gobbed it into my mouth then, with a tinge of defiance in His eyes, clamped my jaw shut. He clamped one hand over my mouth and stroked my throat with the other.
His meaning was obvious.
I swallowed.
He smiled.
Swiftly He placed His knee behind my neck and forced my head down onto the ground. At the same time He produced metal handcuffs and cuffed my hands behind my back, then buckled a hefty leather collar around my neck before shoving me over on my back.
He stood over me, casually playing with His meaty right nipple, as He observed me, enjoying His power over me.
I was still recovering from the swiftness with which He had cuffed and collared me. I was gripped by a mixture of fear and exhileration. He was the picture of casualness while I lay curled at His feet, blood pounding and breathing heavily..
Again showing snake-like swiftness, He thrust one hand down toward my head and grabbed me by the face, digging His gloved fingers into my cheeks and under my jaw, pulling me up and forcing me clumsily to my feet. Once I was standing steadily He moved His hand from my face to clamp onto the back of my skull, lazily stroking my head on the way. He smiled and looked deep into my eyes, chuckling softly as He pulled a tight leather hood over my head and laced it at the back.
I'd never worn a hood before and the feeling was much more intense than I'd expected - the sense of restriction created by being encased so tightly in leather was something like a submission and a sense of release. A blindfold was snapped in place over my eyes leaving only my mouth and nose exposed. As I stood there, collared, hooded, blinded, hands cuffed behind my back, I was aware of a smell around me and breathed in deeply as He fed me smoke from His bong. I felt oddly relaxed, very trusting of this man whom I'd only laid eyes on for the first time two minutes ago: He hadn't even said a word to me and yet He took control, the control I'd been craving . . .
After a few seconds of this quiet reflection, He spun me `round and pushed me forward at the waist till my chest was resting on the vinyl-clad mattress, kicked my legs apart, and slammed into my arse cheeks heavily with some sort of paddle. This was no pussy-arsed "Ooh, spank-me-Daddy" blow but a full on strike with all His weight and strength behind it - and, even through my jeans, it hurt like fuck! I arched my back away from the surface of the bed and yelped. He shoved a hand on the back of my neck, forced me back down and whacked my arse for a further seven powerful blows. I gritted my teeth and suffered the full-on blows without yelping again. My arse was burning with pain after that eighth blow when He suddenly stopped and I felt His weight press against my back as He murmured into my ear:
"Remember this: say the word 'Red' and I stop, 'Amber' and I'll slow down, 'Green' and I'll keep going. Now, what's your colour?"
I didn't have to think twice. "Green, Sir, please, Sir."
He deftly rolled me onto my back, my arse hanging over the edge of the bed and placed something over my nose and mouth. I breathed in deeply and savoured the smell of sweat, piss and elastic: a very well used jockstrap. As I breathed in His smell, He removed my army boots, placing one of them over the jock so that I breathed in the smell of leather and my own stinking feet as well as His scent. Next, working quietly, efficiently, He removed my jeans and cut the shirt off me. I was momentarily pissed off at the thought of my shirt being ruined but His swift, smooth movements left me little time to reflect on such mundane issues . . .
He slipped soft leather bands behind each of my knees and looped each one behind my shoulders, effectively holding my legs in place and exposing my arsehole for all the world to see. I'd been fucked, rimmed and played in a sling before but I'd never felt this exposed.
Next I felt something being placed over both my nipples and then a great sucking that just went on and on: my first encounter with snakebite suction cups.
After a moments pause, I felt His lubed fingers at my arsehole - gentle, yet assertive - probing, stretching, exploring. Experienced fingers, the fingers of a man who knows and respects a man's hole. I relaxed my sphincter, pushing out and allowing him full access - but this was a Man who enjoyed the unexpected. As soon as I relaxed my hole He shoved a plug up my arse: I felt my sphincter quickly stretch to burning point then clamp down as He pushed the thing home. It wasn't a huge plug - He knew from quietly exploring my hole that I wasn't used to being stretched wide - but it was the first plug I'd ever taken and I arched my back and yelled at the intrusion.
He allowed me a few seconds to recover myself then removed the boot from my face and blew a couple more hits from His bong into my mouth. With His usual efficiency He replaced the boots on my feet, tied off my raging-hard dick and balls with leather thongs, removed the leather bands from my legs and shoulders, and slowly stood me up. He stood behind me, pressing His leather-clad body against my naked back, then removed the jockstrap and the blindfold.
I looked straight ahead and saw myself reflected in the mirror opposite, hood and collar in place, hands cuffed behind my back, booted feet placed wide apart. My fat, bloated dick throbbed within its leather restriction and was flowing with pre-cum. I flexed my arse muscles and felt the plug shift within me.
Still standing behind me, He reached around my chest and gently squeezed on the bright yellow rubber cups that were still sucking on my nipples, gently pulling them off to reveal the gross, blood-engorged teats below. He ran His hands over them, pinched them, pulled on them, gradually increasing the pressure, the intensity. I threw my head back and groaned: very few people had ever bothered with my tits and it was one of secret pleasures. After the intense suction of the snakebite cups, my tits were fuckin' sensitive and I adored the sensation of this wonderful, knowing man playing with them. Each sustained burst of pain went straight to my dick as I felt my knees go weak and I groaned louder and louder
The pain level suddenly changed - intense, persistant. I yelled out loud and fell to my knees. As I adjusted to this new sensation and got accustomed to the pain, I looked up to the mirror and saw that He had slipped clamps over my nipples: another first for me.
He leant down and muttered into my ear, "What's your colour, boy?"
"Green, Sir," I replied.
He released my hands from the metal cuffs, placed leather cuffs around each wrist and put me on all fours before squatting in front of me and raising my head so that He could stare into my soul. He was smiling, knowingly, trustfully as I felt a sharp, painful tug on my tits: He'd slipped a weight onto the connecting chain between the clamps.
My world went black again as He snapped the blindfold back in place and clipped a leash onto one of the D rings on my collar.
A tug on my collar and I followed Him, still on all fours, into the throbbing, lustful activity of the rest of the party.
End of Pt I?
Stray straykiwi@hotmail.com