0 comments/ 21638 views/ 1 favorites The Black Rose Ecstasy Ch. 01 By: twohot4words Chapter One -- NYC Eagle Discovery The middle of August 2006 found me staying by myself in a student dormitory in New York City for a week of orientation for my new job. In the off-hours I ventured into Manhattan and walked up and down the west side of mid-town, exploring and mapping out all the sights of New York's gay district. At night I would search local newspapers and the Internet for the local of all the gay bars, fetish shops, and shopping districts, and the next afternoon I'd head out on foot to find them. I had heard of The Eagle in New York, but information was sketchy. Apparently the original bar had closed a couple years ago, and it wasn't clear if or where the new incarnation was located. The shopping, though, was pretty good, and at one store I found a pair of hot rubber pants that I just HAD to have. Now I needed to wear them out. That night I found the address of the new Eagle and headed out, in my new gear. The neighborhood was seedy, as I expected it would be, surrounded with empty lots and sketchy looking automobile repair establishments. The first time I walked right past the entrance to The Eagle, not noticing the small red neon sign above the door, or the mural of an eagle on the sidewall of the building. I enter the bar, and am directed up a flight of stairs (the ground floor was apparently closed). The long flight of stairs stopped briefly at a small landing, then proceeded up another flight to the roof deck, which is where I went first. I emerged onto a vast, open area with trees and shrubbery -- not what I was expecting in this neighborhood. The roof deck was arranged in various levels with benches and planters breaking up the vastness of the space. At one end is an outdoor bar, with a few men in shorts and t-shirts gathered around bantering with the friendly bartender (a Canadian, as it turns out!). I make my way back down to the second floor, and enter what is a nearly empty space. I check my watch -- 11 p.m. -- and am left wondering why it's do dead. Within an hour the place begins to pick up slightly, but I'm told (by the bartender) that this is typical for a Thursday in the summer. I venture into the front of the bar and watch a couple men playing poor. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a young man sitting on the bench in a dark corner rubbing his crotch and working his nipples as he watches the pool game proceed. Before long a second guy approaches and stands in front of him, and begins rubbing his own crotch. The guy on the bench opens his pants and pulls out his erect dick, as the man standing in front of him falls to his knees and begins to give head. A third person approaches and pulls his own dick out, and begins jerking himself off; in a few minutes he blows his load all over the man on the bench, and leaves. Another two men approach and join in, as I sit in disbelief -- this is a public bar, and this is completely out in the open! I move to the bar, partly to get another drink and partly to make sure there aren't any police around, then return to the pool table. By now there are groups of men making out and having open sex. In the opposite corner, by the window, a tall black man is standing behind a younger white twink, obviously fucking him. A third man is working the twink's dick. I stand at a close distance and watch. When the third man leaves I move in and take the twink's dick in my hand, stroking it gently; he leans forward and kisses me. A shiver runs through me and a let go of his dick and take off. I make my way to the bathroom, splashing some water in my face. When I look up out of the sink I see someone on his knees in front of the urinal giving two men head. "Fuck! That's hot! What is this place? Shit... " I say to myself as I head for the door. I return to the bench across from the pool table and watch the game unfold, each player completely oblivious to the action that's taking place around them. I feel a mixture of excitement and fear. I start rubbing my crotch as I watch the fucking action still happening across the room in the far corner by the windows. Before long two young men, one in leather are standing next to me, one pulling my t-shirt off and working my nipples, while the other unzips my rubber pants and goes down on my cock. "Fuck! I can't believe this is happening." I nearly cum, but pull him off me, as I jump up and quickly zip up my pants. I head upstairs to the roof deck; I must have been visibly upset because the security man at the door stops me and asks me if I'm okay as I press past him on my way up the stairs. The night is warm and the sky is clear as I make my way to the far end of the deck and peer down to the sidewalk below. Someone approached and tries to start a conversation but I ignore him, feeling flustered and upset... and horny. My head is spinning from a combination of alcohol and the rush of what just happened downstairs. Before long I end up back downstairs, stopping off in the bathroom for a pee. As I stand at the middle urinal a leatherman in full gear approaches and stands off to my right side, watching me, rubbing the cod piece of his jock. I finish my business and drop to my knees, taking the leatherman's dick into my mouth. Someone from behind says, "Hey look, fuck he's hot!' then puts his hand on my head as I work this leather-daddy's dick. I reach around and grab his ass, but it's flat, soft, and mushy. I left go, suddenly not finding this man very attractive anymore. At the same moment security enters the room and tells everyone to clear out. At this point I've had enough and I head for the door. It's about 3:00 a.m. and the streets are quiet, which surprises me for New York City. I walk almost three blocks and don't see a single moving car. As I walk eastward through midtown Manhattan I feel a mix of exhilaration and weirdness, and a funny sense of loneliness. Rather than calming me the quiet of the city makes me feel isolated and cold. The anonymity is at once reassuring and disquieting. It's the fact that I cheated on my partner, that I knew I was going to hide the fact, that I knew how much of a hypocrite I had become, that bothered me more than anything. Why is monogamy so hard to maintain? "No! this happened once, and I won't let it happen again! No one needs to know about tonight," I reassure myself. I've never done this sort of thing before, and as much as the attention made me feel attractive and desired, I feel I've crossed a threshold somehow, opened a door that leads in a direction I know not where. What have I started? The Black Rose Ecstasy Ch. 02 We had begun building a dungeon in the basement of our 1740s townhouse, had used it a few times, and were acquiring a decent collection of toys and equipment. My boyfriend/partner/lover/husband (I'm never sure which term to use) and I were drawn together in part because of our sexual preferences and predilections; finally I'd found someone who was comfortable walking around in his "kinky boots," someone who was comfortable sexually and shared my interest in bdsm. The whole "alternative community" had thrilled me for many years, although previous partners were, for the most part, uncomfortable with it. Although we agreed up to this point to maintain an exclusive, monogamous relationship with each other, it was clear pretty early on that that commitment would be tested as we began to explore our kinky sides together. We'd been going to the leather bars, sometimes alone and sometimes together, and we'd both attracted the attention of other men -- TEMPTATION! It was exciting being noticed and the flirting whipped up our hormones. We'd both begun to spend more and more time and energy cruising and flirting in online gay chat rooms, something harmless enough, to be sure. My lack of experience and insecurity over my technical skills (as opposed to what I perceived as my boyfriend's expertise) made it uncomfortable for me to contribute much about the sorts of 'scenes" I was interested in exploring -- and it wasn't for want of him asking me, either, I have to admit. Admittedly, I would have preferred at that point in time that my boyfriend take the reins entirely and simply submerge me in the possibilities of bdsm, something that, looking back, was unfair and interest-deadening for him. At any rate, there was a period of frustration that we both felt: me wanting more kink, he wanting more input and involvement. It was a Friday night, in the midst of this mutual frustration, and my boyfriend was working nights at Jefferson ER. Although I knew my partner was fine with me going out alone to the local leather bar I still found it an exciting, almost forbidden, pleasure going there alone, knowing that the attention would be less curtailed than it is when you're there with another person, even just another friend. The lust of the hunt! the instinctual craving for sex, the thirst for more, the taste for variety, even though I wasn't at a place where I could admit that to myself without feeling guilty, I knew what I wanted, and it was in the Pit Stop (basement) of the local gay leather bar known as "The Bike Stop." The Bike Stop is a four-level leather bar tucked discreetly away down a side street in Philadelphia's "gayborhood" district. Close to the other bars, close to the gay shopping district, close to a decent residential area, close to the gay baths. As bars go, it's nothing special, really. Each floor has a different "theme" of feel. The top floor has a bar and a rarely-used danced floor that plays boppy gay disco music and has a lonesome looking bar that few people bother with. The third floor is the "sports bar" replete with pool table, and large-screen television flanking a large horseshoe shaped bar. Unpretentious (and FAR too brightly lit), the "Back Stop" is still a friendly place to talk and relax away from the more intense "meat hunting" in the lower two floors. The ground level floor has a long bar, plays rock music and is more of a hub and crossroad for people cruising from the basement (the "Pit Stop") and the upper floors. The Pit Stop, with its low ceilings and barely lit décor of black walls and sparse red light bulbs, is pure sexual energy. And don't wear any cologne, either, because they'll turn you back at the stairs. The drinks are poured particularly strong, the corners are completely dark and inviting, the toilet as a swinging door or it, and there's a small shop that sells bsdm equipment (and will do demonstrations for you if you hold your head just right when you ask!). The Pit Stop is my kind of bar! My outfit is simple -- wear as little as legally possible! Practicality has its place, and boots do keep you from getting splinters, so I decided to wear my black Boulet cowboy boots, which look so nice with my snug leather pants. My 2" ball stretcher casts a great profile through my leather pants so they were on the menu tonight, too. I took a leather jacket but with the intention of ditching it at the coat check as soon as I got there -- and taking it off in the bar is part of the fun, too! A red handkerchief in the rear right pocket sends just the right message, and I'm off with cash and driver's license tucked out of sight in the tiny "drugs pocket" of my leather pants. I am bold today, and my weight is down to 152 pounds, so I feel comfortable with my flat hard tummy and firm pectorals being on display. I'm no gym bunny, but my body is smooth and hard, on the slender side but definitely not skinny. My disproportionately broad shoulders and long arms could use a little more meat on them, but even there I cast a nice profile in skin. I take a cab to the bar because it's already pressing midnight, and I know the place will be packed. I enter the bar, my favorite cowboy boots giving me a confidence in my stride as the heels thud noisily on the hardwood floors. I stand tall, pass the bouncer, and stride swiftly into the main floor bar thrusting my hips forward and squeezing my ass cheeks tight against my leather pants. I can feel my cock swell as my ball stretcher presses through the leather of my right leg. New meat -- everyone turns to watch any newcomer, so I take advantage of the moment and smoothly slide my leather bike jacket off my oiled shoulders, swing it up and over my shoulder, and walk toward the coat check as I flinch my oiled pectorals. I glance around to see if anyone is watching, and smile flirtatiously at a few men who are staring intently at me. As I approach the coat check the attendant, a leather daddy in full garb, smiles, reaches out across the counter, and lands a firm slap on both pecks with his hands. "Very nice," he says, smiling confidently at me, "you work out. Good for you." "Thanks," I say coyly, although I'm not going to be a dork and point out how much I hate gyms, how I have never sustained a workout regime for more than a week in my life. If he wants to think a bench press did this, so be it, it's not as though he likes me for my mind or the witty conversation, anyway. Details like that are lost in a place like this -- it doesn't matter why you look good as long as feel like you look good, it's a man's confidence that draws men in places like this like flies drawn to a burning torch. Okay, time to go before he asks me how many reps I do and spoils the moment. I turn to the bar, leaning over a chair that is strategically in my way, so as to give the crowd behind me a good view, squeezing my ass gently to make sure the shine of my leather pants catches the light of the spot lights above, showing the curve of my butt. It works, in a few seconds a couple of passers-by slide their hands over my ass as they walk past. "Tall Tom Collins, please, easy on the ice," I ask the bartender, also known as "hit me hard with the hard stuff, would ya?" A smile and a wink on my part seals the deal -- I'm such a shameless flirt. However, the drink is now so strong I can barely manage to swallow without wincing at the biting sting of the alcohol. You have to love the American "free-pour" mentality when it comes to mixing cocktails. Speaking of cocks, the place is full of them tonight, all ages, sizes, and tastes (pardon the pun). I make my way down the back stairs to the Pit Stop and lean back so as not to hit my head on the low ceiling of the bottom landing, making a deliberate thrust-and-twist to my hips as I spin on the heel of my boot and stride into the crowded room. It's way dark in here! and it's very hot! The humid aura of musty basement and sweaty men fills the space. Many men are wearing leather gear, and I can catch the occasional whiff of tanned leather. The sexual energy is intense, I can feel the eyes careening over me, and I lick my lips slowly, drawing heavily on the straw of my drink. I can feel my heart beating faster, and my nervousness increasing as I venture into this den of iniquity. "I know I'm going to be faithful to my man, I'm not going to do anything to hurt him tonight," I think to myself. After hastily finishing off another two Tom Collins I seek refuge in a dark corner to play the role of voyeur for a while. The attention and cruising is a little too intense, and it's making me uncomfortable, nervous somehow, too much under scrutiny. I sit on a stool in the corner just next to the "Gear Box," the tiny leather store in the corner of the basement. Before long an attractive, older man approaches and starts a friendly conversation, but when I don't show any reaction when he rubs my leg, he quickly moves on, saying, "Well, good luck tonight!" "I don't need luck, you fucker, just because I'm not into YOU." Still, what he said bothers me a bit, twitches my insecurity -- I finish off my fourth Tom Collins, just now beginning to feel a light-headedness, and just now beginning to feel really bold. In the back of my mind I consider this could be bad, that I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I seek out the dark corner by the door to the storeroom, and find a stool to sit on. I lean back, suck in my tummy, and adjust my balls. Within a couple of minutes a stalky man in jeans and a tight white t-shirt approaches and stands next to me, pressing his shoulders into me. The bartender approaches and pushes past to get into the storeroom the beefy man turns to get out of the way, and is now standing directly in front of me, his chest inches from my face. 'Hey, having a good time tonight?" he asks. "So far," I reply, with a flirtatious grin. Checkmate. He lifts me off the stool then slides both of his big hands onto my ass and pulls me against him as he grinds his crotch into mine. I can feel his hard dick rubbing back and forth against my ball stretcher. He moves his right hand forward, unbuttons my pants, and slides it down my crotch. "What's this?" he asks, as be explored my steel ball stretcher, "mm, that's hot!" We start kissing, but he's very rough and aggressive. He opens his mouth wide and forces his tongue into mine. He sucks hard, his whiskers rubbing roughly on my lips. It feels like he's going to tear my lips off. He grabs my hair and pulls me backwards, slaps my face with his left hand, then forces me to my knees. "You're gonna be my boy tonight? You gonna do what I say! Yeah? Fuck yeah! Now work my crotch, boy," as he thrusts his hips against my face, his jeans rubbing hard on my face, nearly suffocating me. I put my teeth around the outline of his dick, and suck. A bouncer approaches and I'm quickly pulled to my feet. "It's alright, we're good, no problem here," the tall man says. As the bouncer leaves I lift his white t-shirt and pull it off. He's about my height, but his chest is broad and thick, hairless, not the rippled body of a gym-bunny, more like the hard body of a construction worker. He raises his arms and grabs the back of my head with his big hand, pushes me into his armpit. "Suck, boy! Clean that pit." The odor is intoxicating, like a drug that drives me crazy. I more I inhale the harder my heart beats, the pheromones overtaking my senses. I feel tingling in my spine as I clench my back and shoulder muscles. I lick and suck wildly, inhaling the heady smell of his sweat. He grabs my nipples and twists them so hard I cry out in pain, but he holds on. for several seconds. I drop to my knees, it feels like he's going to tear the skin, and I try to pry his fingers away. Unable to free my nipples I stand up again and take his left nipple in my mouth, and bite hard. Instead of making him let go he grabs my hair with his left hand and pushes my face into his chest. My nose and mouth are sealed against the skin of his chest and I can't breathe. I bite and bite, harder and harder, but it only makes him more aroused. My hands explore his body, taking in the hard mounds and curves of his chest. "Hot fucker! I wanna take you home, share you with my friends. You like that?" "YES SIR!, please SIR!" I reply. "Yeah, you're gonna be my play toy, by fuckhole. We're gonna have fun with you tonight." He pushes away slightly and asks, "You smoke?" "No, sir, Thanks' "You stay here, I'll be back in a few minutes... I'm going to go out for a smoke, get my friends, THEN we'll start the party, boy!" I'm left alone standing in the corner, but I feel alarmed, and I realize I'm having trouble standing. As soon as I see that bare-chested man leave up the stairs I head to the back of the bar and up the rear stairs to the main floor. I have an urgent sense I need to get out, a feeling of panic starting to set in. I'm aware that my mouth hurts, and people are watching me stagger up the stairs. As I head for the front door I suddenly freeze as I end up face-to-face with the stalky man, who introduces me to some friends of his. "Time to go, boy!" he replies. "Hang on, I have to get my jacket from the coat check," I reply. I'm trapped. I can't get out of the bar without passing him, and I just want to get home now. I retrieve my jacket and hang out near the back of the main floor by the DJ booth, buying some time to sober up a bit and to think. Twice I see Him walking past, looking for me. Eventually I gather my nerve and bolt for the door, and find myself outside, alone, walking quickly towards home. When I get home I undress and climb into the shower, feeling disconcerted and frightened. The hot water spills over my naked body as I lean my head against the wall and cry. "Fucking idiot" I mutter repeatedly to myself. As I get out of the shower and dry off I am stunned by my reflection in the mirror. My nipples are badly bruised, and my lips are black and blue all around my lips. The inside of my mouth is raw from my teeth having cut into the gums. My face is swollen and sore. "Oh God! What am I going to tell everyone at school tomorrow? What am I going to tell my boyfriend? Fucking idiot!" But I'm home alone, and safe. It could have gone much worse, although this is already bad. The only thing that huts more than my face is my conscience as I hear a voice inside me continually deriding me with more and more ferocity as the effect of the alcohol wears off. And so the lies built and built. "Some asshole turned around and hit my arm as I was drinking from my glass," I say, trying to explain the circular bruise that encompasses my entire mouth. "Yeah, and some asshole tugged my nipple as I was walking around the bar last night!" My explanation is met with an odd reaction, a combination of trusting acceptance, and an expression of sadness mixed with discomfort. But no questions. He trusts me, which makes me feel all the worse. It won't happen again, I tell myself. Telling him the truth will only hurt him. I don't want to say anything that will cause trouble between us -- and so I rationalize all the reasons why keeping secrets and telling lies is okay. But it isn't okay, I don't like living like this, and so the frustration builds. In time the truth has a way of coming out - we'd both initiated contact with other men, and had posted sexually explicit adds (looking for sex partners) that the other partner new nothing about; the key ingredient here isn't that we'd done it, rather that it was all deliberately done in secret. There was certainly sexual encounters on my part, but in the end that matters little because the big issue was that we'd grown comfortable in a pattern of lies and deception with each other. The lies had begun, and we both could sense that the other was up to something, although the other kept the details closely guarded, and the increasing losses of trust were beginning to poison other aspects of our relationship. How far did the lies go? Who knows, and ultimately it doesn't matter. What really matters is that the two of us drew each other close, and found the courage to face the reasons why we were being dishonest. The Black Rose Ecstasy Ch. 03 Preparations have to be made first. The sling is up, the bondage table cleared and cleaned, the various toys and equipment assembled and checked out. The gear is the first and, for me, one of the most important considerations -- leather is BY FAR the preferred choice. Maybe it's the act of putting on clothing that is so overtly sexual, or the fact that I am donning the skin of an animal ... maybe it's the intoxicating smell of the tannins used to cure the hide. Whatever the reason the excitement and intensity of the sex is intensified when the act takes place when I (and preferably my partner, as well) are wearing leather clothing. The intense craving I have to be wearing leather is quite separate from the kinds of games and activities associated with the gay "leather lifestyle" or kink. For me, leather has nothing to do with kink, and kink has nothing to do with leather -- it's just great that two of my favorite things co-exist to nicely, thank you very much! I remember, at the age of 6, sneaking my mother's leather gloves, my father's heavy leather coat, and my brother's leather cowboy boots or his baseball mitt, holding them, feeling them, and smelling them... and I remember the tingling pleasure that reached right to my very spine, long before I thought of leather as sexual (or was even capable of having an erection yet). For me, leather is very primal, pleasurable, very arousing, very much a part of the core of my being, of my needs. Given the choice I would wear leather every day, all day and all night, and not because I see myself as a kinky gay bottom that is obsessed with being a leather queen... if anything it's in spite of all those reasons (and I don't deny that I might be a kinky gay bottom that is obsessed with being a leather queen, at least some of the time, either). I could go further, but that's not what I want to talk about any further at this point. So here's how a see a possible scenario playing out, in my mind, where everything is possible and all things always fall neatly into place (getting enough sleep, not being sick, being in the mood, having the time and place, and of course, the necessary ingredient: another person who's in the same place as I). In real life things aren't that neat and tidy, or predictable; the best-laid plans are easily nixed by any one of endless possible and valid reasons, including but not limited to, "Not tonight, honey, I have a headache." Alright, so in my make-believe world, this is what my lust craves.... I am wearing a pair skin-tight, very smooth, VERY shiny black low-rise leather pants with a zipper that opens from the fly, all the way down past the scrotum and back up to the top of my ass at the back. Designed for hot play and easy access, they look and feel hot! I'm wearing a knee-high pair of shiny policeman's patrol boots, tight at the calves and leg. I have a wide, padded collar on my neck, and wide, padded wrist and ankle cuffs that have a slip-buckle and padlock to fit just right, while the soft calf-leather lining prevents serious injury during the extremely rough play I hope will follow later tonight. I'm wearing an old, almost threadbare white Calvin Klein t-shirt so thin you can see the redness of my erect nipples underneath, and the ripple of muscle across my chest and abdomen (okay, this is MY fantasy, allow me my delusions, alright?!); the black outline of my eagle tattoo is clearly visible through the faded fabric, a shirt just begging to be violently torn from my body. I am wearing a shiny steel armband on my right arm, and a red hanky from my right back pocket. A bulge shows prominently through the shiny leather of my pants; you can clearly make out the outline of the 2 ½" steel ball stretcher, and the chastity clamp padlocked to my dick. I reach behind with my gloved hands and gently caress my ass, feeling the base of a large, wide butt plug, it's tapered black latex probing, stretching my ass, making me tingle deep inside. I raise my hand to my face, and inhale deeply, enjoying the intense smell of leather mingled with other man-smells from previous play scenes. It's nearly 10:00 and Sir is getting ready, too. I watch furtively from the corner of my eye as he pulls on the tight leather pants I bought him for his birthday, sliding the animal skin over his muscular calves and thighs, slowly working the tight leather over his naked skin as the pants form to his lower body like a finely-tailored pair of gloves. As he turns his back to me to snap the fly the leather pulls tightly across the back of his thighs and his ass -- what a HOT sight to behold. He pulls on his 15" Nazi-style jackboots, which barely fit over his massive calves, even after he lets out the adjustable buckle. My dick swells and presses against the chastity clamp, throbbing, as I consciously suck my nuts in and up against the ball stretcher. The muscles of his upper back and shoulders flinch as he does final adjustments, working his semi-hard 7 ½ cut dick down the pant of his right leg. His muscular, broad shoulders taper in a triangle down to the waist of his powerful, lower back. At 6'1" he is truly a masculine sight to behold, his confident, dominant sexuality seething from his every move, filling the room with a tense sexual energy. I tingle rush down my spine, as I crave to fall to my knees right now, take his entire cock deeply down my throat, worship the body, the man I both so love and so lust for. But we can't right now. Lashing the leather flogger to his belt he turns towards me. "Let's go, BOY! You're making us late. I want to make my entrance with you when the Bike Stop is it's busiest! Move your ass, NOW!" He throws on that hot, stretchy white Puma t-shirt and his matching bike jacket. "Yes, Sir! I'm ready. You look fucking hot, Sir!" With an evil grin you approach me, grab me by the collar and pull me toward you, holding me in front of your lips, but just far enough away that my tongue can't quite reach. Teasingly you gently blow onto my lips, giving my head a shake, grabbing my hair with your left hand. Then you pull my head back and probe my mouth with your tongue. "Now, I'm ready." Slowly Sir ambles over towards me, the heel of his boots making a loud footfall as his tight leathers squeak, showing the prominent bulge down his right leg. Sir comes to an abrupt stop directly in front of me, I can feel the energy built in the room, tension increases. "Are you my boy? Are you, huh? You gonna make me proud tonight? Proud to be my boy?" You grab the bulge in my pants and pull downward, and I wince in pain. "Yessir! .. uhh.." I manage to say between clenched teeth, the pain making me see spots, but I'm stubborn, I will NOT ask him to stop, or use "popcorn," our safe word. I will NOT be defeated by him, not this easily, not without a good fight, not yet, that comes MUCH later, later when there's a crowd that can watch me! The ride to the Bike Stop is quiet, the silence only adding to the sexual tension. The cab driver is visibly nervous, casting quick glances back at us, shifting in his seat. The silence is deafening. Finally we arrive at Quince Street and, without a word, Sir shoves several dollar bills into the hand of the cab driver, who replies with a little too much interest, "Have a fun night!' Sir replies with a with a gruff grunt, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of the cab. As we approach the doors to the bar, you holding my hand, you grunt under your breath, "Your ass is MINE." We step into the Bike Stop, the bouncer casts a flirtatious smile over me, as Sir grabs my collar and leads me to the left and into the main floor. The place is crowded, but heads turn to cruise this leather-clad couple. Sir carries himself tall and proud, confidently striding through the crowd as people turn to look, then step out of the way. Now that I have an audience, I stiffen my back, hold my head high, thrust my hips forward and squeeze the butt plug in my ass, making my ass-cheeks bulge out against the leather of my pants. My eyes meet with those of an older leather daddy, he narrow shis eyes, looks me over, and nods his head at me. Flirtatiously I take the zipper fly of my pants, lower it at the crotch about two inches, and slowly raise it back up again, to the smiles of some of the men sitting on stools at the bar. Sir, too, is being intently looked over by a twink at the bar, some college preppy who looks really out of place but is obviously very interested in the bulge down your right pant leg. You leave to get us drinks and the leather daddy makes his move, comes over, tugs my right nipple really hard, trying to force me onto my knees, throwing me off-balance. Just as I catch my fall the daddy loses his grip, and you approach with a mixed look of annoyance and pride. Setting the drink down, you turn and face the leather daddy and ask, "You like it?" He older man nods his head, reaches to grab my nipples again, just as you thrust your hand into the collar of my shirt, and with a single thrust, tear the worn t-shirt nearly in two, exposing one breast and most of my right side. My skin, freshly shaved and smoothed with generous amounts of baby oil, glistens in the dim light. You put the torn piece of shirt in your left pocket, as you rip the rest of my shirt off and stuff it in my mouth. You turn to the leather daddy and say, "Nice, huh? .... and it's mine!" to the cheers of some of the younger guys sitting around us at the bar. I tilt my head sideways, glance at the men at the bar, shrug my shoulders and lick my lips with my tongue, as you lead me town to the Pit Stop in the basement. As we descend the stairs you pull me unexpectedly into the Gear Box, a disappointingly small leather "store" in the basement. The sudden bright light, and the smell of poppers, makes me cringe. Someone reaches out and gently puts the palm of their hand on my right nipple, caressing it, and says, "Awww.. poor nip, looks like it's had a workout already tonight!" I glance over and just smile, as you lead me to the back of the store. You're looking for something, there is too much purpose to the way you so quickly head in what seems a specific direction. It's those suspension cuffs we tried on once before here, the ones with a steel bar, the ones Sir used to briefly hang me from the ceiling rafters a few months back. The salesman obligingly suggests, "There's a sturdy hook, right there, specifically for trying those one. Go ahead! Give us a show!" Others in the store mumble, "Fuck yeah, I wanna see this!" An obviously straight couple, who must be wandering through the Stop so they can brag to their friends how avante garde they are, stop at the door as the young woman says, "Omigod! S & M! I have to see THIS!" I smile at her, give a wink, and stick my tongue out at her is a sexual way. She blushes, then winks back, her interest piqued. Her boyfriend is very uncomfortable, but could leave, either. Suddenly you cinched the cuffs tighter than I'd expected, pulling my arms high above me. I realize this isn't JUST for show anymore. slowly you run your hands over my torso, then with a hard, forceful smack you slap my ass with your hand. Looking around you notice a small crowd of attentive onlookers of about a dozen or so. "Fuck this, let's do this right!" you whisper in my ear." Releasing me from the cuffs you throw a twenty on the counter and lead me into the main part of the Pitt Stop, against the wall opposite the bar, where there are chains draped across the wall. Taking the now-soaked piece of t-shirt out of my mouth you tear it in two, using each piece to tie my wrist restraints to the chains, my arms wide apart, my back facing the crowd. You order me to sit down on the tall stool, and with the piece of torn shirt you'd stuffed in your left pocket, you secure my ankle restraints to the rails of the stool. You take the red hanky out of my left pocket and use it to gag me. People step away and watch you swiftly and purposefully tie me down, waiting to see the drama unfold. Sir takes an ice cube from his drink, walks in front of me (in full view of the crowd) and seductively sucks the cube into his mouth, crunching purposefully. Then he takes a large piece out of his mouth and slowly rubs the ice all over my chest, my nipples, my shoulders, the water drizzling down the small of my back and the crack of my ass as it quickly melts in the steamy heat of the bar. So gently and seductively, your fingers moving slowly I twinge at the cold of the ice on my skin, the water beading on the oil of my skin. Sir then reaches over to the bar, takes a large red candle from the bartender, and holds it high above me. The hot red was drips all over my chest and nipples, my shoulders, down my neck as I writhe in pain and pleasure. For several minutes you alternate using the candle and the ice, sending my skin into raptures of confusion, pain, lusty pleasure. You stop briefly, and I relax, thinking you've had enough then SMACK, the leather straps of the flogger stoke me across the shoulders, the stinging pain smarts, and I feel pieces of wax sliding down my back. SMACK, this time harder, and the crack of the flogger brings momentary silence as there is a collective gasp ... but I will NOT flinch, I will NOT tell you to stop, I will NOT submit to you -- I am stronger than you think and I can take more than you know -- and not just in the amount I can suspend from my nuts. I can control my body's response, dampen the pain response, allowing the rush of adrenaline to send shivers of pleasure through my back and down my legs to my toes. Harder and harder you flog me, faster, the sound of the leather lashes whishing past my ear. My whole back tingles now, and I can feel the pins-and-needles from my shoulders to my ass. I feel a hand, a gloved hand, slowly caressing me now, and you lean over and whisper, "Have you had enough yet, BOY?! Who's your daddy? Who owns that ass?" I try to spit a defiant "You, you bastard" but the gag prevents me. You laugh and say, I win, you're trapped, and I own you. And now everyone knows you're my boy!" You untie the cuffs and release me, and the crowd whoops it up in cheers, having enjoyed an unexpected show. Several people come up to have a look at my red back, to touch the welts that are forming from the was and leather flogger. Sir then, with a smile, looks over to me and grabs my hair, pulling him close, and kisses me passionately for several minutes. It's closing, the Pit Stop is emptying upstairs, and there's much whispering about the two hot men that performed downstairs. Some are overheard mentioning the baths, which is where we're headed now... The Black Rose Ecstasy Ch. 04 We pick up our jackets form the Bike Stop coat check, banter with the attendant who reaches out and tugs my nipples hard, then head for the door. As we pass the main floor bar a tall, muscled boy in leather chaps and harness reaches out and gropes me, smiling at Sir, who smiles back. Taking that as an invitation he grabs my collar and slides his tongue into my mouth. Taken aback with a combination of surprise and pleasure, I find myself being pulled backwards, over this young hunk's knee. Holding me there by my hair this leather-boy takes his pint of beer and swallows hard; then he grabs my jaw with his left hand and, prying my mouth open, spurts beer through his pursed lips directly into my gaping mouth. I choke and cough on the beer, as he leans forward and sucks the beer back out of my mouth again. As he pushes me back up on my feet he plants a hard smack on my ass, nods at Sir and watches us walk away. Sir grabs me and pulls me outside to the cheering of some of the other men. We linger on the sidewalk for a few minutes, flirting and making out with some of the men who, too shy earlier, are now made more bold by the exceptionally strong, free-pour drinks they'd consumed tonight. The smell of leather and sweat is intoxicating as leather-clad bodies grope and slither against each other, tongues exploring other tongues, armpits, nipples. The sexual tension is palpable, hungers are awakened, there is anticipation and excitement. Before long five of us are making our way in the same direction, the direction of the baths. Two of the others, a hairy bear-type couple, like the unpretentious nature of the baths and are regulars there. They're friendly and relaxed in their jeans and black leather boots. The third man is a small black man with an almost feminine physique, wearing an outfit of nothing more than a thong under head-to-toe see-through black netting; he has a very sensual, erotic quality about him, something that turns heads, even in a leather bar. If a male counterpart to Madonna were ever possible, this hot, sexual young man would be it. Before long our group reaches the baths, only 2 or 3 blocks from the Bike Stop. Without a word everyone quietly turns and walks up the stairs to the entrance. This is it, the point of no return -- beyond those doors you're going drop your pants for all the world to see. There is probably no greater sexually charged place than a gay bathhouse. The premise is simple -- you pay your entry fee, don a towel, and circulate through the facility until you find some mutual interest -- then you have sex. That's it. That's the only reason anyone is there. Simple, not complicated, definitely not marriage material. It's all about sex. Sir takes me by the collar and pulls my head into his chest, and whispers, "You're mine, boy, this is my ass," as he slaps my buttocks hard, "mine to play with, mine to command. You'll do as I say, boy!" With a gruff shove Sir pushes me ahead of him. I lose my balance and fall, on my knees, and find myself staring into the crotch of someone in chaps, ... and a harness.... and someone who smells of spilled beer. I look up to see who it is -- sure enough, it's the muscled boy in leather that spit beer into my mouth at the Bike Stop. "Good place for you, fuck-hole!" Laughing, he grabs my hair and pushed my face hard into his crotch, grinding my mouth against the hard, swollen cock I can feel stuffed down the right leg of his jeans. The smell of leather, of sweat, of beer, the masculine smell of his crotch make me roll my eyes back into my head. I open my mouth, suck on the outline of his dick that stands out so clearly through his jeans, feeling his width, imagining what it would be like to take him down my throat. A hard slap stings across my left cheek, then the other, and again another across the my right cheek again. The muscle boy pulls me up to my feet by my hair, saying, "Bad fucker! I never gave you permission! Know your place, you cunt!" "Yes SIR!" I reply, instinctively falling at the knees of my Sir, my Master, having been put back in my place. "Good boy, you did good for me, boy! You know your place, you're my ass, my meat, and you always come back to ME. You do what I tell you to do, and if you don't, these boots are gonna be up your ass, and your head is gonna stay on the floor, licking my steps behind me, Boy! Say 'Yes SIR!' you worthless piss-hole! Keep your head down! I'll tell you when you can look up at your Master!" "Yes SIR! I'm sorry sir. My ass is your's SIR!" An overly-heavy, chain-type leash is clipped to my collar, and sir leads us past the front desk, towards the back stairs that lead to the rooms on the upper three floors. We stop on the second floor and do the circuit through the corridors. The baths are busy tonight, and even though I am consciously trying to keep my head lowered, I can still recognize many men from the Stop. As we pass the rooms, all dimly lit, several men are reclined on their beds, some with towels wrapped around them, others nude, and others wearing leather and other fetish items, most of them rubbing themselves and smiling flirtatiously as we pass. By the time we reach the stairs to the third floor we've lost the other three people in our group. We climb to the third floor. At the landing a large, beefy black man in a towel reaches out and puts his big hand on Sir's shoulder, turns him around sharply, with a little too much force, and kisses him. I keep back, not being sure how my Master will react to this overtly aggressive cruising. They embrace is a mass of arms and moans as Sir violently pulls the towel from the black stud's waist, revealing a 6'3" lean, broad-shouldered stud with a tiny waste... and a HUGE dick. Sir strokes the black cock with his right hand and massages the black hunk's scrotum with the other, pressing firmly against the hidden base of his shaft. The black beefcake leans against the wall, moaning. It's so hot watching my Master work over another man! I open the zipper on my tight leathers and my swollen dick pops out, hard and red, ready for stroking. I work my dick, my eyes glued to the action in front of me. Watching Sirs hands expertly driving that hot man wild reminds me of the many times he's worked me over the same way; I KNOW how good it feels, and I know how close that black stud must be to cumming. Before long I blow my load all over the floor, fall to me knees and lean back in pleasure. Sir smiles at me, and pressed his leather boots hard against my dick. "Yeah, fucker, you like that, don't ya? Mmm hmmm.. I know how to make you feel good, make you feel hot... Sir knows how to make you cum, don't I BOY!!" sneers my Sir. "Yes! UHH!! Oh shit!! Owe! Fuck AHH! Yes, okay okay OKAY!!!!.... alright, yes you do, yes... yes, ... sir..." cries the black man, in a tone of defeat and total submission. Sir leans forward, whispers with a harsh, threatening growl, "Next you grab hold of ME, without my PERMISSION!, you'd better be prepared to play my game, 'cuz I play for keeps, fucker!" Pressing hard with his left hand Sir digs his fingers deeply into the black man's scrotum, then suddenly grabs the black man's low-banger balls, squeezes them hard. In a fit of ecstasy, pain, and excitement, the black man blows a huge load of cum all over sir's jacket; when he was finally spent, the black man falls to his knees, exhausted. Sir takes the towel he'd been holding and stuffs one end in the black man's mouth. "Now clean your cum off my leathers, BOY!" Slapping the black man on the face, the big stud starts wiping the cum off Sir's leathers, using nothing but the towel in his mouth, his hands held firmly behind his head by Sir. When he finishes, Sir gives him a shove and pushes him against the wall. As Sir walks past me he grabs me leash and tugs be to heel behind him, the smell of fresh cum thick in the air. Other men have emerged from their rooms to watch the scene play out, all of them stroking their hard cocks; they slowly press out of the way as my Master and I press forward down the hallway, and climb the stairs to the fourth floor. It's clear now that this facility was originally two small houses joined by a common wall, now removed. The staircases are the only features that remain of those domestic days. My mind wanders for a moment to consider what the families that once lived here would think if they knew what happens now within these same brick walls .... who cares! I decide, as I am snapped back from my reverie by the passing of a tall blonde man with enormous pecs. (men are SO shallow, we really do think with our dicks). The Fourth floor is crammed under the sloping roofline of the original building, making it treacherous to walk around for really tall men who constantly run the risk of banging their heads. The hallway, too, is narrower -- people meeting in opposite directions have to turn sideways to let each other pass. I, of course, turn my face to the wall and push my ass out as the tall blond man slides past me. My leather-clad ass brushes against the towel, nearly pulling it off. He quickly lowers his hand to catch the towel, his hand now planted firmly on my right cheek. Slowly he thrusts his crotch against my ass and lowers his left hand onto my left cheek and begins to thrust against me. I can feel his dick pressing against me as it grows under the towel, probing the crack of my leather pants. "Mmmm... nice piece of ass, boy," he whispers in my ear. He nods at Sir, who smiles back, then tousles my hair and walks away, discreetly adjusting his dick under the towel as he goes. We turn the corner and enter an open area at the end of the narrow corridor. The room is surrounded with benches on 3 sides, and has a large television playing what I think is exceptionally explicit porn on the far side -- "Jesus Christ! is that shit even legal in the USA?" I think to myself. It's completely black in here, except for the light from the television. Most are simply watching the show, some rubbing themselves, cruising the room for interest as they do. Sir sits on the bench and signals me to sit on the floor at his feet. Sir pulls his dick out and begins to stroke it with one hand, pulling my head backwards by my hair with the other. I moan in pleasure, the sensation tingling down my spine. Harder and harder he squeezes my hair with his fist, my scalp wrinkling and bunching up in his hand. For several minutes this goes on. The porn movie is getting more intense, a take-down scene where several men corner, restrain, then take turns forcing their "straight" victim to have sex. It's frightening, in a way, and extremely erotic and exciting in another. NO one can take their eyes of the movie as the tension and excitement builds. The "victim" in the movie is now being worked over by a police officer, who rapes his ass with his night stick, probing it deeper and deeper as the "frightened" man screams louder and louder; the scene closes with all 6 actors blowing their loads onto the face of the "victim" who eventually submits and agrees to be their sex toy. I am suddenly aware of something warm slowly sliding down the nape of my neck, down the small of my back, and smell the familiar scent of Sir's cum. Sir wipes the cum from my back with his gloved hand and works it into my hair as though it were a rich, thick lather of shampoo. Suddenly he shoves my head forward, throws the chain of my leash to the floor, and leaves the room. The other men watch him go, then turn their eyes to me. I keep my head lowered, but I grow increasingly uncomfortable as I can feel their eyes working me over. My nipples harden and my crotch bulges from the attention, but I'm nervous, too. Why did my Master suddenly leave me here. Some of the men grew bold; one older man in his 60s moves in first, his aging body unabashedly spilling over his towel, the full effect of gravity and time apparent even in what is the near darkness of this room. He begins by touching my hair, and I cringe in disinterest, and pull away. Suddenly impatient he grabs a handful of hair and pulls me towards him, forcing my head down low to the floor. He is amazingly strong for his age and condition and I struggle, for real this time, to get away, my erection quickly disappearing. "Hey!" someone shouts. There is a thud as I feel my hair released from the firm hold. I look up to find a tall man wearing only leather chaps and a harness holding the old man at arm's length from me. "You! Come with me, BOY!" he calls gently to me, pulling me by my arm to my feet. "Your Master sent me to fetch you." As I get up I realize that the man that just came to my rescue is the man from the Bike Stop, the hot man that spit his bear into my mouth then sucked it out passionately. Bewildered, relieved, and a bit uncertain about following him, I follow anyway. I am led down the hall to a room mid-way to the stairs; it is a large room with a large bed, and a window opening onto the hallway. The small black man in netting is there in the corner, as is the tall blond man I passed not long ago in the hall. A few moments later the black man that SIR had worked over and forced to submit swaggers into the room and slowly closes the door; he's holding thick leather wrist and ankle restraints. "Get on the bed, NOW!" orders the tall black man. The others slowly move towards me as I feel the hair on the back of my neck rising up. "No, please, don't do this... I can't do this... I belong to someone, someone owns me, you don't understand! No, NO NO PLEASE, don't!" I beg. I am ignored as the black man throws the restraints to the tall blond. With one firm thrust to my chest the black man lands me flat on my back on the bed, pulls my legs apart, and rests his knees across my thighs, pinning my arms down with his huge hands. He slowly leans forward and tries to kiss me, but I am really pissed off now and fight as hard as I can. I struggle and struggle, and although I throw him off balance several times, he's able to keep me pinned to the bed. I can feel the others putting the restraints on me, laughing quietly, as someone pulls the red hanky out of my right pocket and stuffs it in my mouth. "He likes getting fisted, huh? Let's find out!" shouts the blond. My legs are clipped to chains from the ceiling and my arms are pulled apart high above the bed. I'm almost suspended over the mattress, my ass precariously open for inspection, except for my leather pants. The small black twink in the black netting body-suit walks up, slides his hands over my things and calves, then slowly unzips my pants from my ass, slowly, opening the zipper from the back to the front. All the while he's cooing softly, his eyes never leaving mine (which are by now terrified and panicky). I try to roll free, but the other men hold me still. My ass, dick and balls are now all fully exposed; gently he slides his fingers over my balls, tugging gently on the steel ball stretcher, softly whispering reassurances that I'll be okay. My breathing is hard and fast, by heart is pounding as the pulse throbs in my temples with a combination of rage and terror. My submissive side might otherwise enjoy this if my dominant side wasn't so indignant and absolutely enraged, my dominant side now having taken over my psyche. I was focused, on surviving, on getting out of this, on getting revenge! I violently thrust my whole body against the men holding me down and for a moment am able to flip myself over in spite of the restraints, but the weight of my body eventually forces me to roll back again, my ass fully exposed. Then there is a new sound, a knock at the door, and everyone falls quiet, as the blond man puts his hand over my gag to help keep me silent. The tall black man opens the door, then falls to his knees and says, "We're ready for you, SIR!" My Master ambles in, smiling, nods at the other men who back away. He's wearing only a leather cod piece and his tall leather boots, and gauntlet gloves. There are chuckles and smirks cast around the room as my Sir approaches, thrusts the pouch of his cod piece against my exposed ass. He leans forward, tugs my nipples hard, and announces to the room, "Men, this is my Boy. He's mine, and I'm proud to own him." He looks down at me and says, "Good boy, you put up a good fight, you did me proud. You've proven yourself worthy of my love, and now I'm going to reward you with what you want most, right here, right now, and I want everyone to see." The baths are not what I would call a romantic spot to take your boyfriend. Or at least that's what I used to think. There is an honesty in the refreshing openness and complete acceptance that exists there between the men that go to the baths. It's another world, ruled by different rules, where natural instincts and human lust are accepted and honored. Ironically that night at the baths was one of the most fulfilling sexual memories I've had, not only for the excitement and pleasure that it brought, but for the deeper connection and appreciation that grew between myself and my Master. It was possible to explore our appetites, and it was also possible to be brought closer together for it, as well. It was an intense night of passion, of longing, and of release ... and of acceptance and growth. From such a shallow surround came much depth of meaning and understanding, much freedom and peace. Good sex is like a good conversation; sometimes connecting with others in new ways can profoundly transform the very nature of your soul. I feel fortunate for having had the opportunity to explore a part of my identity that is denied to so many who are trapped by the snarl of "morality." What was in a physical sense shallow, was at once spiritually deep and profound. I changed that night. I would never be the same again.