Cinema Erotica

by Laura Antoniou

  “Get your ass up, boy. Give me a nice target.”

  Exposing himself to the leather was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but Dave raised his ass up in the air and instinctively drew his thighs together. His balls and cock were barely constrained in a white jock.

  The leather belt smacked against his ass with a loud crack! and he jumped, pushing his face nearly off Ron's boot. A line of heat rose where the strap hit, and before he could react, another one was laid down. “Ow!” he cried out, unable to hold it back. In an instant, Ron bent over him and grabbed him by the hair again, pulling him up savagely.

  “What did you think this was about, boy? Did you think I was gonna let you snuggle up with my leather and jerk off until you came? This is about taking the pain and learning the discipline, boy, and if you can't take it, the door is right behind you. Your boyfriend knows the score. Watch him. Get your face back down to my boot, and you finish that job, or you're outta here, got that?” He shook Dave again, and Dave felt actual tears forming. But he swallowed them and took a deep breath, his back tensing in anger. Then he dived for that boot and attacked it with his lips and tongue as Ron got back up to swing the belt again.

  This time, when it landed, Dave was ready. He grunted once, but continued his oral assault on the top man's boot, licking and washing until every square inch was lubricated and shined with his spit. He took the belt rising and falling again until he knew his entire ass was a soft red, the white straps of his jock a sharp contrast. Behind the protective cotton mesh, his dick flagged, then rose again, stiffening in satisfaction as he finished the boot, and had no more embarrassing incidents. Ron dropped the belt onto his chair, and turned to look at Mike.

  Mike had crawled into the bedroom and, when he was out of Ron's line of sight, got up to open the closet door. As promised, there were coils of rope neatly hanging from hooks inside the door. Mike draped them around his neck, feeling their softness and wondering who had coiled them so neatly. Surely, Ron didn't do that himself? Mike imagined a small, hairless youth doing the task. Doing chores for his master.

  The small black bag was on the floor, and the handle fit neatly into Mike's mouth. He closed the closet door and dropped back to his knees to crawl back, the rope around his shoulders and the bag in his teeth, and found himself watching his lover being beaten before his very eyes. He stayed on all fours, transfixed by the image, until Ron was finished and turned his gaze to him.

  “Good fella,” Ron said, pulling his booted leg away from Dave's mouth. “Now, let's see what we can do with you two.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were tied back to back, their hands bound before them and secured to their waists, a rope across their chests holding their shoulders together. They knelt, their legs interlocking. Ron had taken a few strange objects from his little black bag, and now he took his time, stripping off his vest and T-shirt and leaving the room to don a leather harness that crossed and defined his chest. But while he was gone, he also took his jeans off, pulling the smooth leather chaps back on. What had been hinted at under the buttons of a pair of Levi's was displayed in its glory for the two bound men. Both of them felt the same rush of lust and need.

  Ron paused to let the two of them see him, then picked a vaguely familiar red bottle from the bag. He approached Mike first and opened the bottle.

  “Here's a little gift for your tits, boy. It'll warm you up a bit.” He shook the bottle over one nipple, then the other, and Mike recognized the smell. It was Tabasco sauce. Ron rubbed the sauce into the sensitive nipples thoughtfully, and Mike began to feel a slight heat rising in them. He moaned, and Ron splashed some more on. The scent made Mike's eyes sting, so he closed them.

  Ron walked casually around to Dave and harshly tugged the jockstrap down, pulling the man's cock and balls from their covering. Splashing the burning hot sauce onto his palm, Ron rubbed a generous amount all over Dave's hairy balls, working them between his fingers, until Dave cried out.

  Ron carefully wiped his hands on a towel from the bag, and then brought out a handful of clothespins. Mike squirmed against his lover as the Tabasco sauce really began to penetrate, and whimpered as Ron gathered his cock and balls together and hefted them.

  “Well, your boyfriend has his balls on fire. You should have something like it,” Ron said, as he began to pinch loose pieces of flesh. Swiftly, deftly, he fastened four clothespins on Mike's balls, and two right on the ridge of his cockhead. Mike bit back a small scream and bent forward, pulling Dave's head and chest back.

  “Hold that position!” Ron said, stepping around to Dave. He quickly snapped one clothespin on each of Dave's nipples, to complete the set-up. “Good boy. Let him back now.”

  Now, the two men were in erotic agony. Each of them had both his chest and his crotch in burning pain, either from the crushing constriction of the pins or the slow burning of the Tabasco sauce. Sweat dripped down both of their backs as they rubbed themselves against each other. The rampant state of their cocks made it clear that they were indeed taking pleasure from the leatherman's attentions. Ron smiled and dipped into the small bag again, this time to bring out a rolled condom. He opened the package and walked in front of Mike, holding the rubber over the head of his cock.

  “Get this scumbag over my dick, little boy. Use your hot mouth to work it down, all the way.” Ron planted his boots firmly down, making Mike reach for his task, and his reward. Pulling against a squirming and moaning Dave, Mike managed to wrap his lips around the condom and begin to push it back, unrolling it over Ron's endowment. He used his tongue to push the edges back, and his tightly closed lips to smooth it over the hard piece of man flesh that was so well framed by the black leather chaps. As he leaned forward, he felt the warmth of Dave's ass against his, and a drop of moisture escaped from his cock, even through the clothespins. He moaned around the thick cock in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” Ron sighed. “That's good, that's nice. You'll get the rest of that later, boy.” He pulled his latex-sheathed cock from Mike's mouth, then walked around to Dave, who was now literally shaking with the pain on his balls.

  “Please…” Dave shuddered, even as the object of his dreams was aimed at his mouth. “Please!”

  “Please what? You want me to take that shit off your nuts?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Dave nodded, and shook again. “I mean, sir, yes sir, please sir!”

  “Okay. But first, you'll take me right down to the root. And you're gonna suck me like you're sucking to save your fucking life…even though it's just your nuts. Swallow this, dickface.” With a low growl, Ron slammed into Dave's mouth, giving him no chance to breathe. Dave felt the smooth intrusion sliding right over his tongue and banging into his tight throat, and fought to accept it. The pain in his tits and balls seemed almost forgettable now. There was nothing better than the steady, firm battering of his mouth, face, and throat. He was not going down on Ron, he wasn't sucking his cock. He was being face-fucked, used for Ron's own pleasure. His whole body responded, and he threw himself forward, eager to receive what Ron was forcing him to take.

  In what seemed like too short a time, Ron finally drew back, his cock dripping with Dave's spit. Smiling, the top man took a white cream and rubbed it all over Dave's burning nuts, and the intense heat began to ease. The two bound men sagged together, and Ron reached for the knots in the ropes. Within a minute, they were both bound together again, this time facing each other in a sixty-nine position. Ron reached between them and pulled the clothespins off of Mike's cock and balls and off Dave's reddened nipples, and the two men gasped as blood flew to the places that had been clipped for so long.

  “Now for my good little boy,” Ron said, dropping to the floor. He pulled and pushed at the two men until Mike was on top, his cock hanging stiffly near Dave's face, his own mouth over Dave's cock. “You get to take me right up the ass, boy. What do you have to say for that?”

  “Sir, thank you sir, please fuck me, sir!” Mike raised his ass as much as he could, realizing that the harder
Ron fucked him, the more likely he would be mashing his crotch down into Dave's face. But he didn't care. He needed this, needed it so bad! He felt Ron's hands on his ass, opening him, and squeezing cold lube into that hole that hadn't been fucked in so long. He realized Dave could see this, was probably feeling droplets of sweat and lube on his face, and Mike's cock felt stiff enough to burst.

  Ron's cock slid into him, riding the cool lube, until the man was in all the way to his pubic hairs. Mike moaned and cried out and invited the top man to take him, fuck him, sweep him away, and as Ron began to thrust, Mike began to feel like there was nothing in the world that could make him give this up, ever again. He dimly heard Ron order Dave to lick his balls, then heard Ron strongly order both of them to contain their come.

  “If either of you two comes before me, it's over!” Ron snarled, his hips pressing into Mike's upraised butt. “You come when I tell you to! Understand?”

  Their answers were unintelligible, but they both understood. Finally, Ron pulled out of Mike's ass and pulled the condom off. He got up, holding his dick in one hand, and said, “Okay! Grab your dicks. Get ready, you cocksuckers, ‘cause I'm gonna come all over you. And when I'm finished, I want you to shoot off into each other's faces, you got that?” He worked his cock harder and harder as the two men got their bound hands over their cocks, relieved and in ecstasy that they were finally able to handle them. Ron's back stiffened, and he aimed. “Here it comes, you fuckers! Here it comes!”

  Thick white come splashed against their backs and down their sides as Dave and Mike rolled together, pumping their own cocks furiously. Dave came first, splattering Mike's cheek, then Mike, with a harsh groan, finally shot his load, right across Dave's chin and throat. They collapsed into each other, panting, and waited until Ron had cleaned himself off, stripped off his chaps, and put his jeans back on.

  Then the top man bent down to free them, and gave them a towel to clean themselves off. He vanished into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer and a bowl.

  “So that's your introduction to leather sex,” he said to Dave, as Dave pulled on his own pants. “How'd you like it?”

  “It's intense,” Dave said, grinning. “But I think I'd like to do what you do. I mean, this was great. I never came so much in my entire life. But it must be hot to be a top.”

  “It is,” Ron admitted. “But the best tops come from the bottom. You got potential. I'd teach you.” He drank deeply from one of the beers. “But your boyfriend there…” He pointed at Mike, who was still undressed. “He's a bottom. Probably always will be. You'd make him happy if you were his top.”

  Dave tried to object, but when he turned to look at Mike, he began to realize what Ron had said was true. Mike was sitting on the floor, his eyes lowered, his face and neck flushed with embarrassment, but there was no doubt he had not only taken well to Ron's treatment, but simply being gazed at like this was getting him excited again.

  Dave looked back at Ron, who sat down and placed the bowl on the floor. He then offered the second bottle of beer to Dave, and carefully poured some of his own beer into the bowl on the floor.

  “Let's drink to a new friendship,” Ron said, his dark eyes laughing. And as he and Dave clinked their bottles together, Mike wordlessly crawled over to the bowl and began to drink.

  Chapter Five:

  Maid to Get Off

  Roxanne Ciccio was a woman with priorities. While other high school girlfriends were going steady and dealing with STDs, pregnancy, and prom night, she was getting good grades and holding hands with Richard Sarage, captain of the debate team. When they went to separate colleges, she avoided heavy romantic entanglements and had a short but satisfying succession of male friends whom she would never let get too attached to her, and spoil her chances for getting a good job. Now, working in the financial district of lower Manhattan, she had a gang of girlfriends whom she went to movies and street fairs with, and a few men whom she occasionally went out with for dinner, temporary romance, and hot sex. The sex part was okay, except for one thing.

  She usually got bored after the third time.

  It wasn't that they were bad lovers, as far as she could tell. And there certainly wasn't anything wrong with her. But somehow the usual dinner, dancing, and screwing combination often left her wondering if men really had any other speeds. So she listened to the stories of her friends in steady relationships and cheerfully received their comments about how wonderful it must be to be able to play the field, and didn't try too hard to look for Mr. Right.

  It had been Gina's idea to go see that movie everyone was talking about. Girls’ night out, she had said with a wink. We'll get to see it before the guys drag us to it and try to get us into all that kinky stuff! The idea spread like wildfire, and their gang hit the theatre after an early dinner at an over-decorated and overpriced pizza joint. They had to stifle laughs and snickers during different parts, and Jennifer threw popcorn at Margaret when Margaret was staring so intently at the screen, but all in all, they'd had more fun at other movies. Giggles aside, there wasn't much discussion after they left the theatre and headed toward their homes, boarding different trains and hailing cabs with admonishments to do lunch sometime next week.

  On her way to Queens, Roxanne switched trains at Forty-Second Street instead of further downtown, as usual. She just couldn't get those images and thoughts out of her mind. That slender man dressed in a skimpy costume trimmed with lace with a big bow tied around his waist, holding the apron on. His unsteady steps in those high heels, and the delightful blush that ran across his features every time he had to bend over—

  You are sick, Rox concluded, although she stayed on the train. Here you are, with thousands of nice, macho guys available, and you want to see some stud in an apron and frilly panties.

  But the image stayed in her mind, and she quickly got off the train and found her way above ground, where the sleaziest of New York's porn parlors advertised their wares in garish neon. Hesitating for a moment, she toured the notorious three blocks which made up the most concentrated collection of smut in the city, and chose one place that seemed at least halfway welcoming. Taking a deep breath, she walked in, past the guard at the door and the metal detector, and glanced hurriedly at the helpful signs draped across each row of materials. Video tapes abounded, and a wall of sex toys extended way into the rear of the store. Men wandered and looked, and seemed to do their best to ignore her. She rapidly found the magazine section and browsed through it, her back straight, and all her senses on alert.

  I have every right to be here, she thought, as her eyes passed huge glossy magazines covered with photos of tits and pussies. I am an adult woman. One or two of the men began to watch her, but she soon found what she wanted. It wasn't glossy, but a tabloid paper called Mistress Monthly. The picture on the front showed a man in the type of dress she had just been imagining, but with a collar around his neck and something strapped into his mouth as well. He looked sad. But what she was really looking for was the banner across the top of the page that said, “Hundreds of Personal Ads!”

  It cost five dollars. She brought it to the counter, paid for it, and the clerk stapled it into a plain brown paper bag. With no further delay, she left the store, and the block, and got onto the train that would take her home.

  All the way home, as she calmed down, the bag sat in her lap. I want to open it on the train, Rox thought mischievously. Imagine what the other people would think if I just slid it out and nonchalantly unfolded it and started reading. But she kept the newspaper in the bag all the way home, and even took care to hang up her coat, sort through her mail, and make a cup of tea before she sat down and opened the bag.

  The newspaper was revealing in many ways. Rox read it all, from cover to cover, amazed at the contents. Why, there were really hundreds, maybe thousands of men who wanted to be dominated by women. To be made to dress in silly clothes and do humiliating things like licking boots or cleaning things with their mouths. And the ads! “Willing, able
sissy maid seeks mistress to serve” and “Submissive gent wants to be your private servant” and “Naughty boy seeks corporal chastisement.” There were even ads from women, asking for some things that Rox had to imagine. Like, what exactly was a toilet slave? Did he clean them, or was he one? Was that the scene with the bathtub?

  As she scanned the ads and drank her tea, she kept coming back to one in particular.

  “Novice servitor seeks goddess. Will perform all chores and domestic duties. Ask only to be permitted into your presence and to receive the reward of a job well done. Use me to entertain your friends. Call: 212-.”

  Enterprising guy, Rox thought, circling the ad. He puts a phone number instead of a P.O. box. P.O. boxes take so long sometimes.

  She looked around her house for a moment, then back at the ad. Between her hours at work, and out with the girls, and at the gym and everything else, her home was a mess. It could definitely use some sprucing up, maybe some vacuuming, a little dusting--and it would definitely be a hoot to see some guy prancing around in silky nothings, calling her “mistress” or something. If she didn't like it, she could just not invite him back. And if he was cute, she could get some more fun out of it.

  It took almost an hour before she dialed the number and listened to the voice mail message. The guy's voice sounded nice, and his message was polite but general. She said, “This is in response to your personal ad in MM. Be available at this number tomorrow at nine a.m..” She giggled when she hung up. God, she thought, I hope that sounds dominant enough! She reread some parts of the newspaper again, and masturbated furiously before going to sleep. Visions of dancing boys in diaphanous pajamas wove their way into her dreams.

  * * * *

  On Saturday morning, at five minutes after nine, she dialed the number again, a few notes scrawled on a piece of paper in front of her. This time, the phone was picked up.