The Blac Rose Ecstasy

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...