Rough Trade (18 page)

“I’ve been doing S/M privately for about fifteen years.”

I asked him about his limits, turn-offs, and so forth. He sounded insatiable. I would have to remember to pace myself so I didn’t burn out before he did.

“Usually, I offer a two-hour session; sounds like we can skip the massage—”

“That was the next thing. I’d like to do an all-nighter, if you’re available.”

Wow, this guy was serious. “I’d love to, as long as you can pay my rate. That’s a thousand in, with a two-hundred-dollar deposit up front, nonrefundable in the event of cancellation or a no-show.”

“That’s fine.”

I keep all the deposits in my retirement account. I tapped the kitchen screen to call it up. “I’ve opened my deposit accept screen. You can drop in the hundred by pressing pound-one, star-thirty-seven, and entering the amount plus pound.”

I heard a series of beeps, and my screen rescrolled to acknowledge receipt of a $1,200 deposit. “I think you made a mistake—”

“No mistake. I fully intend to keep this appointment.”

“But what about the extra—”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll earn it.”

“Wait a minute, here. Why are you pulling my chain? I don’t even know you, and here you are, giving me a twenty percent tip before the session, all of it up front; you want an all-nighter before we’ve even met—I mean, I guess you’ve seen my flicks, but still—that’s unusual. And you completely write off my VR playspace, one of the best in San Francisco. What’s really going on here?”

“There’s something more to this. I suppose I should explain—”

“You suppose. Yes, you should explain, and I didn’t hear a ‘Sir’ at the end of that. If you’re paying full-tilt, we might as well start right now.”

The caller groaned appreciatively. “That’s it. That’s
exactly
what I want. That’s
exactly
how I need to be treated. I want to feel something real, I want to be pushed around. I run one of the largest banks in town, I’m totally out in my public and private lives, and still everyone treats me like I’m going to break them in two. They fear my power. No one treats me like a real person.”

“Are you hard right now?”

“God, yes, stiff as a board.”

“Good. I want you to stay that way. Don’t touch your cock until you arrive.”

“No, Sir.”

“Where does the noir fetish fit in? The black trench coat?”

“Well, I do like the old black-and-whites, but what really turns me on about a trench coat is a sense of mystery. And the revealing of that mystery, what’s really behind the curtain. That’s what a trench coat symbolizes to me.”

Finally I noticed something strange. “You don’t have your video on, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” Pause. “Uh, would you mind if I called you ‘Mister’ instead of ‘Sir’?”

I grinned. “More mysterious, huh?” I was beginning to get into this guy’s headspace. “Have you ever seen one of my flicks?” Almost every queen in town owned at least one dub of my gay ones.

“No, I hate video porn.”

It figured.

“Okay. Be at my place at six o’clock sharp. My address is One South Park. Ring the penthouse.”

The doorbell rang exactly at six. I had decided to see him in the library, though we could have used the basement’s dungeon. But, as he would soon learn, the library’s leather furniture was strategically designed for more than just sitting and reading.

I saw him on the closed-circuit TV. “Hi. I’m going to buzz you in. Take the elevator to the top. Stop just outside the door and wait for further instruction.”

I stood in the doorway in nothing but the trench coat and a pair of skintight boots. I did not introduce myself, just took the black leather cap from his head and placed it on mine. The look on his face was priceless, and I swear it made his dick jump. The moment when another guy feels me take control of him is still one of my favorite experiences. I indicated the library. “Go in there. Take off your clothes and leave them on the floor at the foot of the desk. Folded.”

I followed him into the library. When he had complied, I stood over him in the center of the room and said, “Hang up my clothes.” He sported a rock-hard boner that would have been the pride of a man half his age. He also kept himself in stupendous shape. Shit, I would have played with him for free if I’d seen him out cruising. This was going to be fun.

“Wait a moment.” I took two chrome-plated clothespins (okay, bill holders) from the desk and attached them behind his nipples. “That looks much better.”

He groaned. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I did not say you could speak!” I slapped his cock with a leather glove. His cock throbbed. I kicked over his pile of clothes with my boot. “You are nothing, understand?” He nodded quickly. “You are nothing but what I say you are. And I think you are a pig. All that remains to be seen is whether you’re a stupid pig or a smart pig. I hope for the sake of your worthless nuts that you’re a smart one.” I saw a large drop of pre-cum reaching critical mass. I pointed at his dick. “Okay, pig. Take your finger and scoop your pre-cum into your mouth. Show me how much you love to suck. And keep checking yourself. I don’t want your pig-drool on my boots or on my floor.”

His dick jumped again when he stroked its tip with his finger. “Ummm,” he breathed, sucking the salty wetness into his mouth.

“Down on the floor, pig, where you belong.” He hit the deck. “I thought about collaring you, but I’ve decided you’ll have to earn that privilege.” He looked up at me. “Damn, but you’re a stupid pig! Do not look at me, do not speak to me, do not do anything unless I tell you.” I kicked him in the nuts with my boot tip, and he groaned loudly. “Shut up!” I snarled. “You were trying to look up my trench coat, weren’t you?” He started to protest, then thought better of it. “You will have to learn a lot before you get to look under there. Here, put this on,” I commanded, handing him one of my jockstraps. His dick jumped at that, but he caught the glistening drop of pre-cum before it fell. He was learning. “When you’re done, get on the bench, face down,” I ordered, indicating a leather-covered bench perpendicular to the large window. Once he was in position, I bound his wrists and ankles with leather cuffs. Then I covered his head with a hood, making sure his eyes were covered. I pushed a button on the wall panel, and as the bench started to rise, I could tell he was startled. When I had him at a forty-five-degree angle, I stopped.

“Now, the first thing to teach a stupid pig is obedience. One way I do that is to flog the crap out of you.” I took a soft deerskin flogger from the rack that hung behind me. “We’ll start easy, and work up to rough as quickly as I think you can manage it.”

We progressed rapidly through a series of heavier and heavier floggers, which I used happily on his beautiful back. I used all the technique I could muster. Once he was warmed up, I mixed up sharp and soft strokes at random, playing with his mind so he never knew how the next stroke would feel; then, hypnotically, I alternated sharp and soft strokes. Then cross-handed flogging, where I used two floggers at a time, circling each one in figure eights; after that, some really solid whacks with my heaviest buffalo flogger. I didn’t have to tell him to breathe or give me his back; he responded beautifully to my ministrations and obviously drew great pleasure from the pain. There were quite a few raised, red areas crisscrossing his back when I stopped.

“You’ve done this a lot, obviously.”

He didn’t respond.

“You can speak now. I grant you permission to reply.”

Still no response. He was still tranced out from the flogging. Unseen by him, I took a glass of ice water from a pitcher and poured it down his back. He hollered.

“Hey, pig! I said, you’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir. My lover for several years was quite into flogging.”

“You have a beautiful back. Most guys can’t take the last flogger. We’re going to work your ass next, pig.”

He brightened. “I’d love it, Sir.”

I sneered. “Of course you would. You asked for it, remember?”

I slipped my hands into a pair of form-fitting Sleeveskins, which allow far more sensitivity than those cheap latex gloves (strictly for doctor scenes these days). I put him back on the bench and started playing with his hole. He sort of gurgled and arched his back, and I watched as his sphincter quickly expanded to swallow two, then three, then four of my fingers. He clearly spent a lot of time playing with his hole. Either that, or he was just naturally voracious; just like being born with a big dick, some guys just seem to be blessed with wide-open holes. After five to ten minutes, I pressed my luck a bit, as it were, added more lube, and soon found myself wrist-deep in his hot, undulating flesh.

I had an idea. “I know how much you like authenticity,” I said, “but let’s try something new.” He still wore the hood and had no idea what I was going to do. I took a large, vinyl-sleeved dildo and slid it into place, securing it with a harness. I switched it on with a remote control, and he started thrashing his head back and forth in ecstasy. Then I adjusted the bench so that his ass was higher than his head and positioned a padded chair in front of his head. I poured some water into the glass and made myself comfortable in the chair.

I ran the dildo through its full repertoire of sensations, watching in delight as he reacted to each change. Finally I switched off the dildo. “Hold still, now,” I told him, “I’m going to take you down.” A couple minutes later, I had the dildo out of his butt and unstrapped him from the bench. I lowered a bar from the ceiling and told him to hold on to it no matter what I did. Once he was holding on, I yanked the steel pins off his nipples. He screamed and started swinging on the bar. I halted him and started slapping his nipples
very
hard with my open palms. Once he realized he was going to live, I stopped and removed his blindfold. He had that disoriented look that bottoms usually get when they’ve had their sight removed for an extended length of time. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Come back here when you’re done.”

When he returned, I was seated in the large leather recliner. “Let’s get you out of that hood. Come here.” I had him kneel so I could remove it. “Good boy. Now come around the front and put your head in my lap.” I stroked his hair. “How’s your ass?” I asked.

“It feels great, Sir,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind some more ass play, if it would please you.”

“Oh, good,” I replied. “I thought I’d reward you for being such a hot bottom.” I reached for the hugest dildo I owned, as thick as a forearm with a wide base that could sit on the floor. His eyes widened hungrily. “This is Mr. Jesus. Now squat so I can work him into place.”

After a bit of effort, I had him squatting on the floor in front of me with about a third of Mr. Jesus up his enormous ass-cunt. “You really are such a good little pig. Now put your snout under my trench coat and see what you can find.”

Of course, I had a jockstrap on. “Oh, Sir,” he murmured, and nosed hungrily around my bulging pouch, inhaling in a possessed fashion. He began chewing on the jock. I took my low-hangers out of the pouch and fed them to him.

“Yeah, good pig. That’s it, yeah, suck my balls, you hungry cockslave. Hot little pig-slut, slurp ’em, that’s right,” I moaned. He was good with his mouth, too. “Yeah, I want to hear some slurping sounds. Oh, yeah, noisy little pig, suck ’em good. And ride that big rubber dick.

“Hot little pig almost never gets enough dick, does he? Bet you love crawling around on your knees, don’t you, pig? Go to a sex club and suck off all the dick you can find. Spend hours on your knees taking dick in your mouth, up the butt, through the glory holes, everywhere you can…” He groaned around my hard-on. “Suck my balls, yeah, clean ’em off real good.” I took a leather crop, called, appropriately enough, a “pig slapper,” and started to slap him with one hand while I took my cramped cock out of its confinement and finally started to jack off with the other. The sound crackled through the air. He sank his butt further onto Mr. Jesus and sucked a bit harder on my nuts. It felt great. “Slobber on my hand, pig, yeah, give me some jack-off juice.” After a while, I put down the slapper and started jacking in earnest with both hands. He had me so turned on, though, that I was worried I’d shoot too quickly. Finally, I started slapping my rigid monster against his lips and slowly fed it down his waiting throat.

I played with my nipples while he sucked me; my dick felt like stone. “Oh, yesss, cock slave; suck me, suck my hard fucking meat.” I held his head and fucked his mouth. “This big dick’s gonna fill your throat; yeah, gonna pump your mouth full of cock. Got a big deposit here for Mr. Bank Executive!” I raised my booted feet above his head and rested them, crossed, on his back. His groans told me that he loved it. “Yeah, Mr. Bank Executive, look at you now, down on your knees, sucking some whore’s cock like he’s your master, huh? Well, looks like he is. Guess it takes a whore to put you in your place, don’t it?” The muscles in his back rippled from the triple effort of bobbing his neck up and down on my shaft and sustaining the weight of my boots as he continued to shove larger and larger amounts of Mr. Jesus up his butt.

I had to stop him. Reluctantly I pulled out of his throat and stood above him. “Take out your dick, pig-slut,” I growled. It was more as though he unstuck it; threads of stickiness clung to it as he wrenched it from the jock. “Now beat it off, with that huge dick up your butt. I want to see that entire thing up your hole, and then I want to see you shoot an enormous load on the floor in front of me.”