If you have problems with man-male teen sex, or male on male sex period, don't read this story. If such things turn you on, read on. Responses are welcomed to leathernvanillany@yahoo.com. Flames will be ignored. This story is real, but the names have been altered to protect privacy.
Dave and I knew early on that while we loved each other deeply, we knew we couldn't meet each other's needs completely. No one can. So we'd begun talking about other fantasies: different types of leather and S&M scenes, other men, sex with athletes we'd fantasize about. We often would guess who was gay when watching a game on TV or in person. Yes we both are that rare breed, the gay jock, or jock sniffer. I'd always liked baseball and hockey, and being Canadian, Davey was raised on hockey--even played it. In all our talk, we wanted to be as open with our minds as we'd become with our bodies.
After five years, things just always seemed to stay hot between us, probably because we shared our deepest selves.
"I want you to know," said my hunky 20-years-plus younger lifemate, as he nuzzled my ear and nibbled on my ear lobe, "that I'll always come back to you, whatever happens."
"Me too," Davey, as I reached for his crotch and then put him in my favorite embrace: my hands cupping his ass cheeks as I deep-kissed him.
As we embraced, we were standing in our swimming pool on a hot August afternoon. Work in our real estate legal practice, where I was the "suit" and Davey the worker in "the home office," had been slow, so it was easy to take time off.
We might as well have been naked, for we lived a mile from the next house, but I loved to see my boy in one of his almost hundred pairs of speedos, this one a little less daring, less revealing than his usual skimpy kind that would leave little to the imagination. But I'd get turned on even more sometimes by seeing less skin. I slid my hands down his lower back, into his suit, onto his cheeks. I moved my forefinger over his hole and gently massaged it.
Davey's butt and basket were framed beautifully in his lime-green suit. He got out of the water, his body glistening in the sun and reflection of the water, to get us both beers. I swam a few laps in my black speedo with white and purple racing stripes. While Davey was inside the house, I kicked back and started thinking about tonight.
We had plans that night to visit our "club," the bondage club in NYC we'd found online. We'd met so many great guys there with such great imagination. Sex was just pure fun and for those in relationships and not, the freedom to express themselves just made them more committed--even if they went off with other guys from time to time.
The scenes could be awesome and you could tell the guys had planned them out and knew and respected each other's limits.
I remembered our first night there a year ago, I in my summer leather shorts, boots, and vest, and Davey in his spiked collar and vinyl jock. We watched, arm-in-arm, as a master worked over his young boy. He was a little rougher than I'd like, but I soon realized both were getting what they deeply wanted. The top, in full leather, pulled the boy, shirtless and in jeans, by his dog chain (affixed to a sexy leather/metal collar) and started whispering in his ear. Next came a slap across the face on both sides. Then a huge hock of spit with force against the slave's face. The boy stood there, proudly, as the master then pulled him across the room to the bar area. On orders, the boy sunk to the floor, and began licking his owner's boots as ordered. The top sat at the bar, draining two or three beers, all the while ignoring his slaveboy at the other end of the leash. He began chatting and laughing with his buddies--while his boots got a full cleaning from below.
Davey and I watched it all and took it in with our hungry eyes After about five minutes, the master pulled his boy up and walked him across the bar to a lit area that looked like a stage. And was it ever a stage for the show about to unfold. Without words, the master undid the collar and leash. The boy slipped off his jeans and sneakers, and got on his knees at the center of the stage. As we all gathered around, the bareass naked kid bowed his head and the master opened his zipper.
Davey and I had made piss a big part of our rituals, but this scene was more exciting than I'd ever dreamed. In short order came a parabola of an endless golden shower from five-six feet away. Then the master drew closer to the boy, finally putting his still-flowing penis into the bottom's mouth. So much piss, the boy couldn't keep up with it and every time even a drop fell from his overloaded mouth, the master would yank on his hair, hard.
Then, when he was done with his performance, the master turned to the crowd and waved us up. We would all have our chance in this hot scene.
"Let's go," I said as I patted Davey on his firm, giggly butt cheeks.
For the first time in a long time we were "outside" our roles. Instinctively Davey and I had our cocks out and with ten others were unloading gallons of piss on the slave boy, from every angle.
Then, as at a dance, Davey got a tap on the shoulder. Respectful of me, the other top asked if he could use my boy.
"Davey, go right ahead," and he eagerly went off to the side with this hot-looking stranger, more his age, I guessed. I walked a bit with them to get in position to watch. The other top had been watching the previous scene and picked out Davey. Voyeur I am, I got harder than hard as watched Davey free for use by someone else. This blond top, a thin, beach-type guy, was in control of my boy in right in front of my eyes, and the crowd was now looking at them.
He undid Davey's collar and in one motion ripped off his jock, throwing both on the floor. I watch with wonderment at my boy, all naked and shaved (as always) began to take a piss drenching on his head and then on his chest. Then I watched the guy order Davey to stand against the wall. He finished the piss shower with Davey leaning against the wall, piss running down his back, ass, and legs.
"Can I take him in the backrooms"? said this sexy invader.
"Sure," I said. "Just come back and describe your show." Davey had an eager grin on his face.
They went right to the backroom stalls where Davey and I had jacked off before?putting on our own show for the other guys.
Five minutes later they were back, Davey all smiles. Fresh cum all over his already-pissed on face.
"Don't clean up. Go pick up your stuff, but don't put it on. Let's go." I told him, my dick raging with excitement.
Emboldened, I decided I'd walk my boy, naked and covered in man juice, the few short yards to our parked SUV. It felt daring, but, hell, it was 3 am, and worth the adrenaline rush to see him naked on the city street, which was empty enough. I took out my cell phone and had him pose for a few photos.
I insisted on Davey staying naked, covering in dried piss and cum the whole hour-long ride home. With the roads empty, it was worth the dare of riding home with such risk. Every few miles I?d reach over and grab Davey?s cock and balls. Then I undid my codpiece and let Davey go to work on it as I drove.
Half-way home I drove to a secluded spot just a bit away, and while cars occasionally passed by, Davey and I shared a joint I had brought in my equipment bag. Buzzed, I began to lick his sweet-smelling skin. We deep kissed and I went down on his cock for a minute.
"Ok, now home. I'm hungry--and not just for food. Let's finish this."
"Go for it," said my guy.
As we pulled into the driveway, the sky was just brightening. But there was nothing on our minds but thoughts of fucking the daylights out of each other. I took Dave down to the dungeon, on our special old mattress, and delved in, licking and sucking everything, everywhere. As the sun crept through a tiny slit, I had begun pounding my cock up his ass like never before.
"Yeah, man, yeah," we both moaned. I exploded with endless jism for the thousandth time, but it seemed like the first. I then gave him my best blow job, teasing his nuts, running my tongue up his shaft, and then softly sucking him off, taking special pleasure in his large, cut, mushroom-head. His spunk, added to the piss and the stranger's cum intoxicated me.
I wasn't ready for bed, so I said, "Hey bud, it's got to be seven (am--and it was). Let's shower and have a great breakfast. We'll have all day to sleep."
"Sweet night, sweet morning," said Davey. We showered first and both took enemas. After his third, I stood behind him in the shower as Davey shot his clean water back at me, that devilish look on his face. I let it run over my hand and down my chest, and smiled back.
After breakfast it was 9:00am. We were in bed, exhausted, phone off. A day to rest from a night to remember.
"Thank you so much, master."
"Anything for you, Davey boy."
Completed sated, we slept until six, the deepest sleep I'd had for a long time.
So tonight, our buddy Trey, who ran the bondage club, had convinced us to "perform" at this week's dungeon demo. I cooked up our show early in the week. I couldn't wait.
We got to the club early to take in some special scenes: a guy paddling his buddy, with a hot buffed, naked body and tight butt, roped-tied to a chair. The harder the whacks, the more the bottom seemed to concentrate--nodding his head yes everytime he was asked if he wanted to continue. Harder and harder came that paddle. Then a hard kick in the balls with steel-pointed boots. I winced, but there was just determination on the face under the blindfold. When they reached the limit, finally, both fell over into an embrace. Clearly they knew each other's needs and desires. They both got what they wanted and within minutes were sharing beers and chatting with a group of guys.
Then off in the corner, a shirtless top with tight, with shredded jeans showing his butt off beautifully, was tying and immobilizing two eager young boys on top of each other, face to face. Their rock-hard members showed their eagerness.
Now Davey and I had our turn. I walked him to the back and stripped off his leather shorts and boots and pulled on a black lycra g-string. With his boots on, I strapped on Davey's collar, leash, and full hood, lacing it tightly. I was dressed in my boots, chaps, and favorite silver codpiece.
After walking my boy to the St. Andrew's cross, I reached into my gear bag and put cuffs on his ankles and wrists. With Davey now affixed upright to the cross, I pulled out my lash. A hit of poppers helped him relax as I started a familiar routine: I went at his always beautiful body, lightly lashing his pecs. stomach, and legs at first. Then I went heavy, and David grimaced by his body language, but never complained. We always had a safe word: blue, or three nods of the head "no" if it was too crowded. But in seven years had never used them.
I had taken breaks with a couple of cans of beer and when I felt ready, I told Davey to get ready for a drink. He eagerly nodded yes. And as the crowd drew around, I pulled out my cock and pissed into the empty can.
I zipped open the mouth opening of Davey's hood and poured the golden piss down his throat. He gulped it all down, pro that he was, not spilling a drop.
Giving him a few minutes, I continued the scene by pulling out a favorite of both of ours: a ball parachute. After adjusting it, I decided on using the three-pound weight. As I secured on the parachute's ring, I knocked the lead weight around just a bit. Davey writhed, but I knew his moans were from that line connecting pain with pleasure.
Then I moved to finish our scene with clothespins, tons of them--first around his scrotum, then up his shaft. Then over his nipples. Davey was stoic, but knowing him, he was getting off on the endorphins. Then I went up and down the outside of his ribs, then up the inside of his legs.
Next, I reached for the pinwheel, that delicious medical toy, and tickle-tortured Davey's cock, nipples, and balls, picking my places and changing the order so to surprise him over and over.
Davey was good for a half hour in that position...and I was ready for another beer...and to admire our work. After a few chugs, I decided to give Davey another form of quencher...back next to him, I poured some down his mouth. As I saw him struggle just a bit, I ran my hands over his clothespins and knocked the weight under his ball parachute.
"Aargghh...," followed by "Aaahh."
He was ok. But just to give him a little more of a break, I held the poppers bottle near each nostril and told him to take some deep hits. The next squirming was pure pleasure for him, I could tell from past experience.
As I turned away, a husky stud in an executioner's hood--tall, muscled, athletic, and wearing tight full leather pants, a vest, and sexy armbands--approached me.
He stuck out his hand, in a leather glove, of course. "That was super hot, guy. Let me buy you a beer. I need to talk."
He looked familiar. Maybe I'd seen him here before? The voice sounded familiar, too, like something I'd heard on TV maybe? But who? And why would such a powerful guy be needing any help? I'd know shortly, and so would Davey. It would change our lives in a big way....