Action in Berlin

Four sets of very interested eyes carefully watched the scene as I nuzzled the bulge in Don's black leather breeches. Like Kurt he was a big guy, heavily muscled with a shaven head and a variety of tattoos on his arms that were exposed by the short sleeved leather tee shirt that clung to his massive chest. He sighed a couple of times at the caress of my lips on the outline of his manhood as it pushed against the tight, confining leather.

I could almost feel the intensity of this guy's desire as my mouth left a small wet patch where my kiss had been. I could tell from the size of the swelling in the leather that this was certainly some guy. My desire to please Don was huge, not least of course because of the story Uwe had told of the reward that Francois had received from the two wealthy Californians for the services rendered at the last BLUF meeting.

Then he grabbed me by the hair once more, pushing me away and ignoring my shrieks of protest at this rough treatment of me as I was dragged down the flight of bare concrete steps that led to...I knew not where. I quickly found out. He lifted the beam that secured the entrance and, using his boot, pushed open the heavy timber door that looked as if it belonged in a medieval castle. We found ourselves in a large underground room, a cellar, but no ordinary cellar.

Apart from the grey stone floor the entire place was painted black. I took in the amazing sights of the place. Three black steel barred holding cells formed the far end of the dungeon, two of the doors hung open. The other appeared to be locked. This one contained a naked man who I assumed to be Zlatan. The guy wore a collar identical to the ones that Uwe and myself wore, clearly part of a uniform worn by sex slaves of the BLUF men. Zlatan was on his knees, and chained by his collar to a metal bolt in the centre of the floor. His arms were strapped behind his back, laced into some kind of leather glove that reached almost to his shoulders.

A length of rope extended from a metal hasp, tied off through an iron tethering ring set into the wall. His tanned body was bent painfully as the short steel links attached to the D ring in his collar held him in a stress position, his arms pulled up high behind him. He emitted the occasional groan that escaped through the leather gag, held tightly in his mouth as part of a head harness whose silver studded straps encircled the laced leather hood that dehumanised him as his tortured muscles kept him in agony.

I wondered just how long he had been kept like that and hoped that I would not suffer the same fate. I knew that Zlatan was the sex slave of Goran the Serb, who unlike the other four guys was of slim build and wore the sort of frameless spectacles which gave him the look of one of the Gestapo interrogators who had occupied this place eighty years ago. I had no doubt looking at the manner in which Zlatan had been bound that Goran was the one guy that it was best to avoid.

The creative bondage that his slave was suffering was a hallmark of this guy's cruelty. Not that I appeared to have any sort of control over this. The manner in which I had been taken by Don seemed to indicate that BLUF worked as some sort of co operative. Slaves appeared to be common property, used by whichever dominant happened to be providing the entertainment at the time.

I briefly took in my surroundings. The spacious dungeon had been fitted out superbly, obviously with absolutely no expense spared. It held all sorts of equipment, most of it expressly designed for the confinement and torture of guys like Uwe, Zlatan and myself who were here to provide the entertainment of the BLUF men. The hook of a hoist was draped from the ceiling at the centre, manually operated by steel chains that hung down from the big iron pulley wheel attached to a ceiling joist.

A padded bench with Y shaped projections at either end had heavy leather straps across its centre and on all four arms, clearly meant for binding the limbs of whatever guy was chosen to receive a whipping or caning. I had very little doubt that once secured in that manner you would be going absolutely nowhere until your punishment was completed to the total satisfaction of whichever sadistic master had bound your body to it. Racks on one wall held a variety of whips and canes as well as various other equipment, spreader bars, hoods, gags. Beside it a glass cabinet contained what appeared to be equipment designed for electro torture.

A square black box, obviously a current generator, metal anal plugs and slim steel sounds for directing the generated shocks directly into the body of the victim. The opposite wall was festooned with many iron rings at various points to allow men to be held there while they awaited their punishment. The gestapo torture chamber had been faithfully recreated to provide fun and excitement, at least for those guys who now stood around the room waiting for the show to commence.

Don released his grip on my hair and pushed me down hard onto the floor, the bare stone cold against my chest. His Dehner boot roughly kicked me over onto my back. He then placed it in the centre of my chest, applying sufficient pressure to ensure that I was unable to move an inch as he put enough weight on that foot to cause me to briefly cry out in pain. The four other guys had now spread out around us, intently watching the display as Don proceeded to provide the show. Claus had Uwe, holding a leather leash attached to his boi's collar. He knelt between his master's long black leather clad legs to watch whatever Don was about to do to me. I was quite fearful now looking up at his grinning face as he stared down the shaft of his boot at me. I squirmed beneath it's heavy sole like some kind of trapped insect. Don had no intention of letting his prey escape. I shook with fear, wondering now exactly what I had let myself in for.

"You're going to serve me boi in every way I desire. And I'm warning you boi some of my desires are way beyond anything that your wildest nightmares might hold. Stay exactly where you are!"

Don crossed to the wall rack and selected a steel spreader bar and a pair of very substantial looking leather cuffs. He weighed the bar briefly in his gloved hands, feeling its substantial weight before kneeling to buckle the cuffs around my ankles. They had more buckles that strapped across the soles of my feet. He pulled hard on them, pulling the buckles up good and tight. When he connected them to the steel bar I realised that they were in fact suspension cuffs, designed specifically so that the wearer could be hung upside down in a manner that would render him totally vulnerable to whatever activities his master had in mind.

He lifted the steel bar with one big arm effortlessly, taking my legs with them and connected the it to the hook of the hoist that hung from the ceiling. He hauled on the chain and slowly my whole body began to be pulled upwards. Suddenly my head was clear of the floor, the world was upside down and I was hanging helplessly from the ceiling. I went higher and higher into the air as Don hauled on the chain. I watched as his Dehners and breeches disappeared from view as I turned lazily in mid air, first one way, then the other as I hung dangling from the hoist.

Then I felt my arms being bound across my back as he strapped them together, binding me in what I knew was called a box tie, leather straps tied to the opposite elbows. Another, longer strap was threaded around my upper arms. Don tightened it with alI his considerable strength, I cried out in pain as I turned slowly again, first one way then the other. I could see the other four leathermen as well as Uwe all watching what was playing out as they took in the unfolding scene before them. As I swung round in the other direction I could see Don standing by the rack of whips as he pondered his selection. The next time my body swung that way I saw the fearsome image of Don holding a braided black bullwhip.

As he came closer my eyes focused on the whip that he held. It was around five feet in length, tapered with a cracker at the tip of its single tail, it looked fearsome and I guessed that in the right hands it could do real damage. I had little doubt that Don's were the right hands. He teased it through his fingers, the black leather Highway Patrol gloves taut around his long, tapered fingers that seemed almost delicate for such a strong, heavily built guy.. He moved in towards me and I noticed that the height at which I was suspended above the floor meant that my mouth was exactly at the level of his crotch. He stood, legs apart and gave my body a gentle push, enough to set me swinging. Every time I swung towards him I was able to place a kiss on his leather bulge.

"Oh I do like that boi, I can tell that you are going to be very good at that. But first we have a little unfinished business, don't we?"

The next time I swung towards him he had placed the braided whip in front of him.

"You may kiss the whip boi." He extended a hand and held me in position as I felt the leather braiding, cool under my lips. I kissed it as ordered by my new master and he let me go as my body began to recommence its gentle pendulum like swinging. I noticed that Don's partner Gene held a small camera in his hand. My whipping was going to be filmed. I wondered if this might end up doing the rounds of the internet at some point in the future, not that I was particularly bothered, especially if it meant me driving home in a new Mercedes. And in a way I rather relished the thought of other guys watching what was happening. Knowing that they would be furiously wanking as they watched the action in which I was a passive participant.

The first stroke though came as a bolt out of the blue. I heard the crack of the whip and felt the impact of the leather tail across my buttocks. A fraction of a second later the pain registered in my brain. An intense, searing, burning pain that struck deep into my psyche and caused me the embarrassment of screaming out. My cry reverberating around the dungeon sounded shrill, like that of a teenage girl. It was pain the like of which I had not experienced before and my whole body rocked back and forth causing the chains of the hoist to rattle.

Don stepped forward and grabbed the chains to steady me before taking a step back and unleashing a second stroke. I heard the swish of leather cutting the air and then the pain came once more, a stunning impact of leather on soft flesh. I screamed again, fighting my bonds, an unequal contest between sinews and muscles pitted against steel and leather, a contest in which there was only ever likely to be one winner.

The trouble with sadists I was to discover is that once they start to hurt you and you react to the pain in the way that I now was, with loud, pathetic screams that only encourages them on to further action. Don was to be no exception and the strokes of his heavy braided leather whip now began to fall thick and fast, all of them tightly grouped across my now bruised buttocks. Distinct red weals that with the further application of the whip quickly darkened to purple-black.

Watching Goran's film later I could see the tiny droplets of blood that oozed up through the skin. I lost count of the number of strokes that I had received at the time. I learned from the film that it was twenty four. My screams died away as I felt the effects of subspace begin to take over, like some magic alchemy transforming my perception of pain. I became lost in a haze of endorphins, the body's natural painkillers.

Then the whipping ceased and Don was crossing the dungeon towards the rack that held the various accoutrements before coming back across to my suspended body. Now he held a device that I knew to be a head harness. This was a rather more sophisticated one than that which Kurt had used on me. Once he had strapped it around my skull and fitted the hooked steel arms inside my mouth he turned a screw. Slowly my mouth was forced open wider and wider until my jaw was at full stretch, held painfully open to the fullest extent possible.

He stood back for a moment as he admired his handiwork, a boi, naked and suspended and completely ready for him to take his pleasure. Now the zipper at the front of his breeches was down and protruding from them, standing out horizontally was the most massive cock I had ever seen. It was uncut and must have been all of eight inches long. But what was most was remarkable was its girth. He carefully drew back the foreskin behind the huge purple ridge of his helmet. Pre cum was pooling on the head and I stared directly at the jap's eye that seemed to be winking at me, mocking my situation. I took it into my mouth just long enough to lick it clean.

His cock stood there threateningly as he withdrew it briefly, his black leather glove stroking the heavily veined shaft that had now been joined by a massive pair of balls that I guessed contained a full load of hot jiss that was soon to be heading my way. The cock moved closer and I felt its firm flesh inside my mouth. Now a firm thrust of his leather clad hips pushed it into the entrance to my throat and I felt my airways immediately blocked as his heavy meat entered me to the fullest, deepest extent. I heard my pathetic gurgling in my head. That was all I could manage by way of protest.

With my jaws clamped wide apart and Don's rampant weapon reaming its way deep inside me there was nothing for me to do but hope that he reached his climax before I was suffocated. Time and again his massive cock drove down hard into his helpless victim. I knew enough to realise that it was this very vulnerability and helplessness that drove the sadist on, stiffened his cock and made him commit still more acts of humiliation.

Luckily Don was so turned on by what was effectively this sadistic foreplay that he was unable to hold his orgasm back for long. Now it was his turn to fill the dungeon with noise as he made one final, desperate lunge of his hips his whole load launched itself into my throat. Don's loud shout was one of both pleasure and triumph that celebrated his victory over a bound and helpless boi whose one function now was to be a receptacle for the thick, creamy juices that pumped like a fountain into my throat.

Unable to swallow due to the fact that my mouth was held in a full rictus by the steel clamps of the gag I could do no more than feebly cough to clear my airways. No sooner had Don withdrew his cock his partner Gene was there. He handed the camera to his friend with instructions to keep filming. Gene's cock was much smaller than Don's but nevertheless it was still a challenge as it too was enough to fill my throat. Fortunately the show had been enough to take Gene almost to the brink and soon his screams too filled the dungeon as more sperm pumped into my throat. A ripple of applause echoed around the dungeon as the other three guys showed their appreciation of what they all agreed had been a terrific show.