Chapter 24
I closed the door and turned to Greg. I asked him how he felt. "Great!" Greg said. Then he grinned and added, "My cock and balls are kind of sore. They haven't gotten this much use in one weekend since, well, since ever!"
"How about we take showers to clean off, then head out to the weekly Sunday tea party?" I suggested.
"What's a tea party?" Greg asked as he followed me into the bathroom.
"It's a Sunday afternoon dance. Sometimes there's a beer bust with it. Sometimes there's a buffet. Since this is the third Sunday of the month there'll be a barbecue. All kinds of guys show up, and they vary the music-a set of country and western, a set of disco, maybe even some swing and waltz music. There'll be drag queens and leather guys and guppies and college guys and the occasional weirdo. Something or someone for everyone," I explained.
I turned on the water and told Greg to get wet. In the meantime I put on a pair of luffa mitts and rubbed them with some handmade olive oil soap. I started massaging and cleaning Greg from head to toe. I ran my gloved hands over Greg's scalp and head, paying particular attention to each ear, his neck, and the soft skin under his chin. I then moved my hands lower, cleaning and massaging Greg's shoulders and back.
I held Greg's left arm out straight and squeezed and rubbed and pressed and massaged and cleaned it, working the soap into the skin. I continued with his right arm, then told him to put his hands on the top of his head. That gave me access to his armpits. I worked carefully and delicately, since I knew they would be tender after being shaved and Naired. I started on Greg's chest. I noted that Greg seemed to be enjoying my ministrations; he was purring softly and his cock seemed to be in a perpetual state of half-hardness. His tits, too, became hard and pointed as I rubbed them with the rough gloves.
I worked my hands lower, cleaning and massaging Greg's belly, then the soft, denuded skin around his cock. I took his cock in my hands and carefully cleaned off the lube and cum and other signs of Greg's recent activities with Guy. I pushed back his foreskin and rubbed gently, cleaning off the sweat and cum. I worked delicately on Greg's balls and perineum before moving behind him.
I rubbed and scrubbed Greg's lower back before working my hands over and around Greg's ass. I ran my hand along his ass crack, working a gloved finger in as far as I could, wiping away the evidence of earlier sex. I started rubbing and massaging and cleaning Greg's thighs, then calves and shins. I knelt and took one of Greg's feet onto my knee, then carefully scrubbed and massaged each toe individually, then the rest of his ankle and foot. Greg murmured how good that felt; he said he'd never gotten a pedicure or foot massage before. I worked extra carefully on his other foot, before standing up and telling Greg to rinse off. Greg looked squeaky clean, ready to fuck or be fucked.
I handed Greg another pair of mitts (into the wash for the pair I'd used on Greg) and told him to do me. While Greg had never massaged or worked his hands over a man, I suspect he'd massaged plenty of women. Either that or he had natural talent. He pressed hard where it was appropriate, rubbed gently on more delicate skin, prodding and probing and squeezing and relaxing me. My knees nearly gave out as I gave in to his efforts. "What a great find he is! I think I'll keep him!" I thought to myself.
We got out of the shower. I grabbed a thick Turkish towel and carefully dried off my boy. Again he stood there purring as I rubbed the soft cloth over his entire body. When I finished he took another towel and dried me off. I stood looking at him for a moment before moving closer and putting my arms around him.
Unlike earlier embraces, where he was still getting used to being held by-and turned on by-another guy, this time Greg responded as I pressed my lips on his. He opened his mouth to let my tongue in, and even pressed his tongue into my mouth. I felt our cocks getting hard between us. I rubbed my hands over Greg's back, squeezing the globes of his ass. Greg followed suit, even moving his hand between us to rub my chest and play with my tits. As I said earlier, how far Greg-this nominal straight boy-had come in just a couple of days.
After a few minutes of embracing I broke apart. "It's time to get dressed." We went into the bedroom where I decided what we would wear. Greg grabbed the ball ring and put it on-good, he was already getting good habits.
Greg found his underwear and looked at me. I shook my head so he put them down. He held up his 501s. They looked to be fairly new, and in good condition, and I knew they clung to his body and showed it off well. I said, "Yes, wear those," and he started pulling them on.
"Just a minute," I said. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Greg looked at me a little guiltily. I guess he hadn't forgotten. He'd just chosen to ignore it. Greg put down his jeans and picked up the ball stretcher and locked it around his sack. Then he picked up his jeans again.
"Maybe I should jog your memory," I suggested. "I bet the butt plug would help. Especially if you fore it all week."
Greg looked at me and gulped. "I won't forget," he said. "I promise."
I kind of harrumphed and said, "Since I'm nice I'll let it go this time. Next time I'll have to punish you." Greg looked grateful as he started buttoning up his jeans. In the meantime, I contemplated what I would wear to the tea party.
I got out a pair of leather pants. They fit me well and had a matte finish, so they wouldn't make me stand out too much. They were loose enough to dance in but snug and tapered enough to make me look good. I put on a ribbed shirt that showed off what figure I had. I got out a similar shirt for Greg-it was too small for me but would fit him well. Both shirts were pale blue and we'd look good together. Greg pulled the shirt over his head, then waited as I spent a minute or so playing with his tits. I was right-the shirt DID fit him well.
I put on cowboy boots, the better to two-step in. They were snakeskin, very fashionable, comfortable, and went well with my leather pants and the vest I'd soon be putting on. I was digging around in my closet for something for Greg to wear when he piped up, "I have a pair of cowboy boots in the car." I looked at him, so he added, "I used to go western dancing a little, and liked them because they made me taller and, um, looked cool." This last bit he added with a sheepish grin.
"Go get them," I suggested. While Greg was out at his car, I pulled out a leather vest that I though would fit him, left over from some previous boy or boyfriend, I don't remember. Greg came back, booted, and pulled on the vest.
He looked good enough to hug, so I did. I put on my leather vest, and we were ready to go. Then I remembered, and hung a pair of handcuffs from my belt, just in case Greg misbehaved. Or we ran across some other miscreant. We got into my car and headed out.
By the time we got to the bar, the party was starting to swing. I'm not sure why, but it was one of those rare gay parties which attracted all types, and all types mingled in relative harmony. There were guys dressed like Greg and I were, in neat jeans or leather pants with what I call "dress vests" over neat shirts. There was the occasional pair of chaps, but almost always worn with a pair of jeans underneath--the party was NOT the kind to which you wore only a jock strap, leather or otherwise underneath your chaps so that your ass hung out.
There were the drag queens--always the drag queens. Their job, by and large, was to exhort us to have fun. As we planned to do this anyway, they better spent their time making sure their hair was perfect and checking out each other's jewelry and annoying the lesbians by hogging the women's rooms.
Then there were the "S&M" guys. These were the guys in their early 20s, with moussed hair (often dyed that shade of blond mixed with grey or brown streaks which is definitely "not found in nature"e) and clothing from GQ or Nordstrum's, "Eurotrash" I've heard them called. These "stand and model" (thusly "S&M") types were a strange breed. They thought they were too good to talk to anyone who was not one of them, but to each other would only make catty remarks about others still who were not present. In other words, these were the guys who it was our job (where "our" refers to any down-to-earth man willing to make the effort) to take down a notch.
"Why?" you may ask. "Because it's so much fun!" I would reply. Underneath each of those bold, brash, and superior facades is a boy--usually a bottom--just waiting to be guided, molded, controlled by a Daddy such as myself. And, as I said, stripping away the mask layer by layer is fun and rewarding, as when the ego of a hot-air filled politician is similarly deflated. But back to the party.
Greg and I stood in line for a few minutes, chatting with each other and with a couple of guys I knew. When we'd gotten in line behind them they'd given Greg the once-over, then checked him out again. One of them gave me a surreptitious thumbs-up behind Greg's back, I guess he approved of my current "boy." I saw Jeff, an old fraternity brother (see the TKE series of stories), a few guys in front of us. I gave a brief wave and Jeff waved back. The bar was so crowded that I never did see Jeff again once Greg and I got inside.
The drag queen at the door took our, well MY, money, and we headed in to the raucous din. The bar had a vast dance floor with bars along two sides, booths along a third, and a "stand and model" wall along the far side. Already the S&M guys had staked out their territory, showing off the latest shirt or shoes or, for all I know, nail polish." Small crowds of "normal" guys had grabbed the booths. Leather-types had taken over one of the bars, leaving the other bar for everyone else to get their drinks. And the drag queens had taken over the bathrooms.
Greg and I head over towards "our" turf. I handed Greg a twenty-dollar bill and told him, "Use this for drinks for us. Let me know when you need more. Right now you can get me a Calistoga, and get yourself whatever you want. I'll be over there." I pointed toward where some acquaintances of mine were standing and chatting.
While I waited for Greg I looked around. I saw Dave, the guy from the leather shop moving his body on the dance floor. He was worth looking at that afternoon. He was bare-chested, his tit rings glinting in the disco lights. He looked like he was wearing shiny leather pants with an elastic waistband and black boots. When he spun I could see his shirt tucked into the back of his waistband. Even at that distance I could see the leather bulging around his crotch. He saw me looking at him and lasciviously licked his lips.
Greg came back with our drinks. Chuck and Dan, my chat-mates, also thought Greg was quite handsome. Chuck went so far as to rub his hand along Greg's chest--through his shirt--and even stopped to play with one of Greg's tits.
"No piercings," I commented. Chuck, I knew, had both tits pierced. He also had a ton of jewelry "down below," so to speak. Dan, I believe, had only a matching PA, the results of a "ring ceremony" to which I was not able to attend but had heard about in all its gory details (including the cute waif jumping out of the wedding cake.)
Greg and I finished our drinks and I asked him to dance. He looked a little apprehensive, as if he didn't want to be seen in public. "The public has already checked you out," I remarked. "On the whole they approve. Let's go shake our bodies." I grabbed his wrist and off we went.
Between the hot lights and tons of men and fast-paced music, Greg and I were soon dripping with sweat. "Take off your shirt," I mouthed to Greg through the din of the music.
"What?" Greg mouthed back.
"Take off your shirt!" I again mouthed back. I reached over and started tugging to pull his shirt out of the front of his jeans. Greg got the hint and soon had his shirt untucked. A few of our fellow dancers watched appreciatively as Greg handed me his vest and doffed his shirt.
I motioned Greg to stick it in his belt behind him, then handed him back the vest. The black leather contrasted nicely with the skin of his chest, made shiny by the sheen of sweat. Greg's tits, I noted, were perked up as the vest rubbed them each time he moved.
After twenty minutes or so, the music finally stopped (since the bar makes its money selling drinks, they have to give us hot dancers a chance to buy, and for the guys resting to take their places on the floor." Greg and I headed back towards the "leather bar," whereupon Greg went off to get us drinks without my asking (what a thoughtful boy!)
When Greg came back, he handed me my drink and we stood there talking. After a couple of minutes, Darcy (remember him from the bar Friday night? See Chapter 9) came over to us. He said "Hello" to me and gave me a peck on the lips. Then he turned to Greg and said "Hello." This time he bent and kissed-no, make that NIBBLED-on one of Greg's tits. Greg stood there, looking a little bit embarrassed. After thirty seconds or so, I took hold of Darcy's arm and pulled him off Greg. Reluctantly he let go of Greg's tit and stood up to talk with us.
The next set was country and western (like I said, the dance party catered to all types). Greg had done a fair bit of two-stepping in his life ('though always with a woman and hence always leading). After a few minutes of watching we headed out onto the dance floor. Greg fell naturally into my arms as we danced around the floor. His eyes were closed and he had a dreamy smile on his face. My eyes, of course, were open, as I guided us among the slower dancers, and out of the way of the more boisterous ones.
The music switched to a simple line dance, and I cajoled Greg into staying and trying it. I noticed that he was good at this--probably better than I was. And he seemed to know most of the line dances; I guess the breeders (well, he USED to be one) have the same taste in music as we do.
Greg and I got off the dance floor and stood talking with a couple of guys I knew. Ron, one of them, paused in the middle of telling us a joke. A moment later I felt a leather-clad crotch pressed up against my ass. I was pretty sure I knew who it was; I'd seen Dave, the leather shop guy, making his way around the dance floor in our direction. Just to be sure I reached behind me and felt around. Sure enough, I felt a smooth chest and the elastic waistband I'd seen at a distance.
As I said, "Go on. You were telling us about the priest and the rabbi...," I moved my hand lower and felt Dave's crotch through the pants. After playing around through the leather, I soon moved my hand upward, then slipped it inside Dave's pants. We were close to one wall and kind of in an alcove, so no one, save Greg and the guys we were talking with, hand any idea what was going on.
Dave wasn't wearing underwear. Nor had he shaved his crotch; I guess he was saving that pleasure for me in a couple of days. My hand slid over and around Dave's cock, which starting growing. I slid my hand downward, reaching for his balls. Dave spread his legs slightly, to make it easier for me to get a good grip.
And grip I did--Dave gave a groan as I squeezed and kneaded his nuts in my fist. Luckily the music had started so no one but I heard him. No, wait-Greg did, also; his eyes got a little bit wider as he realized what was going on behind my back.
Soon I felt something sticky on my wrist. I kept working on Dave's balls, trying to squeeze, um, coax, more stickiness out. I started sliding my hand up and down Dave's cock, and then starting tickling his well-lubricated head, working my fingers around and around his PA. I heard his panting go up a notch, and knew he was getting close. I kept working on Dave's cock and balls. I felt his balls pull up, so I knew he was close, very close.
Just before Dave could get off I gave his balls one final squeeze and withdrew my hand. Then I turned around. "Oh, hello Dave," I said. Dave looked at me, eagerly. "I'll continue where I just left off on Tuesday," I added.
I held out my arm to him, my wrist and hand sticky with his slime. "But first, I want you to clean off my hand." Dave grinned, then licked his lips.
He took hold of my hand and tried to bend my arm up to his lips. I kept my arm straight. Finally he got the hint and knelt at my feet. He bent forward and started licking off my hand, making a good show of sucking on each finger individually.
When Dave was done, he stood up and looked at me, then bowed his eyes down, waiting for my next command. I surprised him by saying, "Greg, come here."
Greg moved to my side. "Take hold of Dave's tit rings." Greg reached out his hands and tentatively clasped a ring between each thumb and index finger.
"Get a GOOD grip," I ordered. Greg gripped harder. "Now twist them," I said. Again Greg was tentative until I took hold of one of his wrists and gave it a twist. Dave's tit ring and tit also twisted. Dave opened his mouth to say something, then closed it when he realized he was in no position to complain.
"Now, I want you to keep Dave under control while I go and wash my hands," I said. "Make sure he behaves," I added, and then headed off to the men's room. The scene that confronted me was about what I expected.
Two drag queens were hogging the sinks and mirrors as they redid their makeup. A youngish guy was trying to see the mirror between them so he could put something on his face. He caught me watching him (well, he WAS kind of cute in a twinky sort of way), and then started blushing. I realized then that he'd been spreading some kind of ointment on his face to cover up a pimple (Oh, vanity...)
A jeans-clad but shirtless guy was standing along one wall with his head bowed. Massive tit clamps ground into his tits. Scrawled on his chest was "Please abuse me" in lipstick that I guess his master had borrowed from one of the queens. Guys had taken him up on his request-his pants were soaked in piss. Someone had pulled the slave's cock out of his pants and hung a can of beer from the slave's PA. And then had proceeded to try to fill the beer can with HIS piss. Another friendly soul had stuck a cigarette butt in one of the slave's ears.
Looking further, I saw that either someone in one of the stalls had four legs or else there were two guys there. I decided that the slave's master was probably having a little bit of fun while his slave waited. Having seen enough, I went over towards one of the urinals.
I was about to do my business; I'd pulled my cock out, when another youngish guy came over to me hold a mostly-empty beer bottle. "You're not going to waste that, are you, Sir?" I looked at him. "Would you mind, Sir, filling my beer bottle?" Like I said, it was just an ordinary men's room, like you'd find anyplace-in an office building, in a church, well, maybe a church in West Hollywood.
Now, I don't mind the occasional water sports scene, but I'm not really into public displays of piss, so I looked back at the guy and said, "Fuck off." The guy looked a little unhappy, but moved off, waiting for some other generous soul to piss into his bottle.
I finished pissing, shook off my cock and put it away. I went over to use one of the sinks. The drag queen in front of it, still doing his lips, started to protest. I gave him my best steely stare, and he moved away. I CAN look a bit intimidating when I have to.
I washed my hands, then deliberately reached for one of the towels the drag queen had been using. Again he started to protest. "Stow it, sugar," I growled. The queen shut up, and even said "Thank you" when I handed the towel back to him. I walked out of the men's room, leaving the tableau of gay life behind me.
When I got back to where I'd left Greg and Dave, I could hardly believe what I saw. Greg was standing, chatting to a couple of my friends. Dave was on his knees, body perfectly upright, like a dog at Greg's side. Dave's hands were CUFFED behind him. A leather thong was tied to one of his tit rings. The other end of the thong was clenched tightly in Greg's hand. Whenever Dave started to relax, Greg pulled the thong tighter, or barked at him to behave.
I smiled to myself as I went over to them. "How far my boy has come in the last couple of days!" I thought to myself. I joined them and started chatting as though nothing unusual had happened.
During a pause in the conversation, Greg made to hand me the thong. "Here, Sir," he said. "Do you want him? He's behaving." Greg grinned at me as he said this, very pleased with himself, as well he should be. I took hold of the thong. Dave looked up at me and grinned, like a puppy who was eager to see his master, then looked down, as though he knew his master would find out he'd been bad.
Later on, on the way home, Greg told me what had happened...