The way I figure it, whether he was right or wrong, he wore his leathers like he was born in them. And never all shiny and gaudy with studs, like every Mr. Leather Whatever who figures he’s big and tough. No, Ron dressed plainly but with style. Black chaps that were custom made a long time ago. Black T-shirts when he wore shirts, skin tight over his nicely developed chest. The man had pecs that would knock your eyes out! Levi 501’s, always. A plain bar vest with no colors or club pins on it, and maybe an armband across his left bicep. Black motorcycle boots, no chains and no spurs or shit like that. And when it was cool enough, his leather jacket.
Some guys called him plain. What he was, though, was austere. Dignified. He didn’t need twenty pounds of silver studs to let you know he was a top man. When I asked him if I could buy him a drink, the line I had used to some success on other men, he declined. I was a little confused then, because they always took a free drink, so I tried to think of something else I could offer. Finally, I said, “Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Sure,” he said back. “Your ass, over that barstool.”
I guess I fell in love with him that minute. It was so hot, getting spanked by him in that crowded bar, other man laughing and making comments, or just standing around watching intently. And when he pulled me up to face him and breathed smoke in my face, I realized that I had actually cried. He gripped the front of my shirt tight in one hand, and told me that if I wanted more, I’d have to get down and kiss his boots and follow him out without another word.
It was a long way to the door on my hands and knees. I lost sight of his legs in a sea of black leather, and men parted for me so I could catch up. The bouncer laughed as I passed him, but I didn’t care. When I got out onto the sidewalk, he pulled me up again and said, softly, “Piss.”
And without thinking, I let go, and my hot piss streamed down my pants legs, covering the tops of my boots and dripping gradually onto the ground.
That was the first time I saw him smile. “You’ve got potential, boy,” he said. And then, he dragged me home and fucked me silly.
Now, I didn’t move in with him or anything. I had a full time job, and I was taking civil service exams, and I had a life I just couldn’t leave behind. But that was OK, because Ron had a lot of other boys he played with, and one special one that I guess was his favorite, so he didn’t need me around day and night. But any chance I could, I’d see him and he’d put me through my paces. He was the one who insisted that I join a gym, and he was the one who pierced my nipples. That was an incredible thing, let me tell you. I screamed like a drag queen who missed a sale at Bloomingdale’s! But he liked the way they looked, so I kept them. In time, the pain went away, and now, they’re just hot decorations. A lot of men like them.
One of Ron’s friends thought I had a good chance to win this leather contest, and started telling me about them. It seemed like a great deal. You strut around in sexy clothes, make a speech and wave your dick at the judges, and if you win, they send you on trips to bigger contests, and lots of guys want to fuck you. If you lose, at least a couple of hundred guys saw you on stage and got to check out the goods. So, I signed up to be a contestant.
As far as Ron went, that was a big mistake. When he heard that, the first thing he did was call me up and tell me to get out of it. I wanted to know why. What was the big deal? Well, Ron had this thing about leather contests. He thought they were full of what he called ‘Naugahyde Nellies,’ guys who dressed up in new or borrowed leather and faked their interest and dedication to the leather lifestyle. The way Ron saw it, he was living a leather lifestyle, not these guys in fancy sashes, and he resented their automatic role as community leaders.
Well, I have to admit I didn’t see it that way. To me, that was all just politics. I figured that Ron just had something against contests or contestants, and that he was trying to pull his top man stuff on me in something he thought mattered to me just to see if I would listen to him. So I argued with him. I told him I was just doing it for fun, and that the world wouldn’t end if I just danced around in my underwear a little bit. And then, he told me that if I competed, I could never be his boy.
Now, you gotta understand that I thought I was his boy. Sort of. I mean, we never made it formal or anything, but I called him sir, and he was my man, and I thought of myself as his boy. So I got real hurt, and we yelled at each other, and then he just hung up on me. I was so pissed, I didn’t call back. And I entered the damn contest and I came in second place.
That night, it seemed that every guy who didn’t sleep with the winner wanted to sleep with me. For weeks, I had my pick. But they were never what I really needed. They weren’t tough enough, or top enough, or caring enough. I would go home with them, even spend a weekend with them, and then not miss them when the next weekend came around.
I floated around like that for a while, and even dated another woman for a few months. I found two guys I thought I could call master, but neither one of them worked out. One of them wanted a slave who was more of a muscle-guy, and the other was really a bottom himself, and he hoped he could bring out my top side. Then, I heard about another contest, and signed up for that one. I hadn’t talked to Ron in almost a year. I avoided The Shaft on nights when he used to go.
During the second contest I competed in, suddenly I knew I wasn’t going to win this time either. First of all, there were only four contestants. One was sponsored by this local gym, and he was a walking statue, man, just perfect. Muscles on his muscles, and a jock that was so stuffed with meat, you could have sliced it for lunch. The other guy was all hairy, and kind of older looking and short, but the last guy, the only other contestant, was the producer’s lover, or boy, or whatever. And two of the judges had just spent the week sightseeing with the guy. I mean, what a set-up. I went through it feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. When I came in third, I wanted to shove the cheap plastic trophy up the producer’s nose, and the long-stemmed leather rose up his boy’s ass, and get the hell out of the contest world, the scene, and the leather life.
What I didn’t know when I stomped off to get my clothes was that this guy named Paul saw me from the audience. He came looking for me afterwards. While I was pulling on jeans and thinking of how soon I could move out of New York, he asked me if I was seeing anyone right now. I thought he was just another star fucker, so I figured, maybe I’ll get laid tonight and feel better in the morning. So I told him I was single. And then he smiled. He told me that he knew what I needed, and that if I did, I could find him outside where the air was cleaner.
He reminded me of Ron, even though he was smaller, older, and had a beard. I didn’t have anything to lose, so I met him outside. He had a motorcycle and a spare helmet, and I went back to his place with him.
I guess I sound easy. I’m not, really. It’s just that some kinds of men make me ready to give up everything for them. And Paul, like Ron, was real. I had enough of prancing around in my underwear. I lost Ron, and I didn’t intend to lose Paul.
What I didn’t know about Paul was that he was a spotter, or an agent, I guess, for the Marketplace. He told me that he was personally responsible for over thirty people entering the system. He had no slaves of his own, at least not in the apartment he was living in when he met me, and he wasn’t interested in them. What he liked, he told me, was finding good merchandise, testing it out, and sending it on. Would I like to be tested?
At that point, I was so hot, I would have agreed to be sold away, lock, stock and barrel! And so for a couple of weeks, he beat me, tied me up, trained me to talk in certain ways, and fucked me standing, kneeling, sitting, bent over, upside down, on my belly, on my back, and every which way but out the door. And he told me he liked what he saw. But if I was serious, he said, I’d need to quit my job and move in with him, to see if I could live it full time.
It took a lot of thought, but I decided I’d give it a try. And those weeks were the best weeks I ever had in my entire life. I was his total slave. He used me any way h
e wanted to, any time he wanted to. He stopped dealing with me like a human being and made sure I could take it. And I kept on doing my best to please him. Once I made the commitment to leave my job, I had to. I had no where else to go. So I kept asking him when I could go to the Marketplace. Over and over again, until he finally said I was probably as ready as I’d ever be, and he called his old pal Grendel. And that is how I ended up here.
Chapter Twenty
It took several days for Sharon to really recover, but her work still had to be done, or they all suffered. Whatever she couldn’t do, they chipped in to help with, warning her that they couldn’t keep up that kind of pace forever. Sharon wisely held her tongue and tried to do as much as she could, and no one had to be beaten much more than usual.
It was disturbing, however, when Robert was called out to the field behind the paddock, and ordered to do something that just didn’t compute. Sharon was laying back on the grass, still damp from the hosing that Jack gave her before she went back to the house. Alexandra was there, waiting for Jack to bring out her favorite horse, and she just pointed at Sharon and told Robert to “Fuck her.”
“Ma’am?” Robert said, hesitantly. He had just bid farewell to his sensei, and his jockstrap was knotted into a little ball in one hand.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Robert. Just do it. I want to watch. Do you need some help?”
Robert swallowed hard and looked down. He certainly did. Sharon was told to get to work, and when her now-familiar lips caressed him, he sighed and moaned until she drew back from a healthy erection. She affixed a condom neatly on him, covering it with her mouth in one smooth motion. She was so good, he barely noticed what she was doing. With a nod from Alex, she lay back down, gingerly, because of the bruises still on her rear.
“Please, ma’am,” Robert said, kneeling down, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but shall we try another position? I don’t want to hurt her.”
“How considerate,” Alex agreed. “Very well, try it spoon fashion.”
Facing each other, Robert helped her wrap one leg up around his hip. Like animals in the field, he suddenly flashed, the image burning through his soul.
“Oh, yeah,” Sharon sighed, as he slipped into her. “Oh, yeah, fill me up!”
Robert closed his eyes. The fantasy of being a beast mating before an amused owner, a performing animal doing tricks out in the field, slaves together, wrestling for mistress’s amusement and titillation...
He trembled and began to stroke back and forth, holding onto Sharon, holding her up at one point. He heard Alexandra call out to him, lift her up, and he did, turning onto his own back, keeping himself inside her and giving her time to adjust her balance on him. As she rose above him, he closed his eyes again, and remembered how this was the way his mistress used him, and with several long, shuddering thrusts upward, came close to coming.
“Ma’am!” He cried out. “Oh, ma’am, please, please, I’m... shall I hold it, ma’am?” He barely knew if he could. The heat of the sun, the sensuous feel of the grass, and the steady, hungry rocking of the woman above him were overwhelming. He groaned, almost drowning our Alex’s reply.
“No, don’t hold it, Robert,” Alex said, smiling. “Finish well. And then get back to work.” She took the reins from Jack and mounted her horse, and watched Robert and Sharon rock and thrust their way to pleasure.
It was all preparation for a very special entertainment coming up soon.
* * * *
“What?” Robert was so flustered that he lost control of his role. But Alex was pleased to note that his voice remained consistent with his normal one. He no longer scaled it up when he was surprised or in pain.
“Claudia has asked for you to be her first male partner in typical heterosexual style intercourse,” Alex repeated. “And, after a consultation with her mistress and several days of making sure that you could serve properly, and that she was not really that much afraid of the process, we’ve decided to allow her this boon. We’re doing it tomorrow night.”
“Um, ma’am?” Robert said. “Please... we are doing it tomorrow night?”
“Yep.” Alex leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Grendel had an idea that he’d like to watch. I agree, it’s something we don’t have a chance to witness every day. So we will be present when the deed is done, and we expect a certain amount of entertainment from it. When Sharon asks if you’d like a blow job tomorrow, I think you should turn her down, save yourself for Claudia. In fact,” she leaned back forward and jotted down a note, “I’ll tell Claudia the same thing. Sharon will think she’s getting a day off! Well, that’s it for tonight, Robert. You may go now.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” In a daze, Robert stood, bowed, and left.
* * * *
“Are you sure?” Robert whispered. He and Claudia were alone in the bathroom, but he felt a foolish compulsion to keep his voice down, if only for her modesty. “You can do so much better! Surely Grendel...”
Claudia shook her head firmly. “He doesn’t really want to, Robert, and... well, he’s very nice, and I’m sure he would be gentle, but... I like you. You’re kind, and smart, and you’re always nice to everyone. Even to Sharon, who calls you names and makes fun of you all the time. If we weren’t slaves, I’d, um...” She blushed. “I’d like to be your friend. I think you could be a lot of fun. And I know you’ll try to make me happy.”
Robert was taken aback by her simple honesty, and he had to sit on the only seat available. He clasped his hands together and sighed, and looked so comical that Claudia giggled. When he realized what she was laughing at, he stood back up and faced her.
“I’d never want to hurt you,” he said firmly. “And if this is what you want, I’ll do it. I hope I’m good enough for you, Claudia. I’ll... I’ll be the best I can.”
She ran to him and hugged him, the first hug he’d felt in months. Together, they stood on the cool tile, breathing into each other and relaxing in each other’s arms.
* * * *
It was truly an event. Claudia and Robert were even sent to different ends of the house to clean up after dinner, and Sharon was told to prepare herself for some use. Neither Brian nor Sharon was told exactly what was happening.
Brian was summoned to Alexandra’s playroom slightly ahead of time, where he was met by Chris. Chris examined him, and then buckled restraints on his wrists and ankles.
“I didn’t realize that I was going to be part of what’s happening tonight,” Brian said.
“You’re not, really,” Chris replied. “And sadly, you still talk too much. Open.” A gag was stuffed into Brian’s mouth, and buckled around his head. A half-hood, with a blindfold, followed it, and then Brian was pressed down onto all fours. He grunted into the gag as a butt plug invaded his asshole.
His ankles were linked together, and something pushed under his belly. It felt like a block of some kind. He bent over it perfectly, his hands and knees touching the carpet on either side. Chris attached the wrist cuffs, and the wrapped lengths of leather strap around his forearms, running the straps alongside the box to wrap around Brian’s upper thighs. Straps buckled over his shoulders and waist. As Chris checked each binding, Brian tested them, trying not to move much. It wasn’t difficult. The arrangement held him immobile, half kneeling, half supported, bound to the box that supported him and strapped into a position he could not stretch in.
He breathed slowly, through his nose, and wondered when the torture would begin. Would he be beaten? His ass was exposed. Would it be hot wax? Yes, he could hear the hiss of a match! He tensed, but nothing fell on him. Instead, he heard matches being lit further away from him. Maybe the whole room was going to be lit by candles. Very romantic, but I can’t tell, not with this blindfold on.
Then, something did touch his back. He tried to figure out what it was. It wasn’t hot or cool, and it just rested, right between his shoulder blades. And then another something joined it, and he could feel more straps going around him. And
he was left alone again.
Jeeze, he thought, shifting just a little bit. You’d think I was just a...
I’m a table, he realized. He tied me up tight so I could stay here for a long time, and he strapped things onto my back to keep them in place. I’m a table. The realization sent a shiver through his body, and he resisted the urge to fight the bondage. It’s OK, he tried to tell himself. It’s OK. I can handle this. It’s not that bad. Maybe it’s just for a little while. And in the darkness and silence, he waited for the rest to show up.
He didn’t know that Sharon was also being blindfolded and bound in the same room. But instead of binding her to something, Chris just cuffed her hands loosely in front of her. He positioned her a few feet away from Brian, kneeling, and put a leash onto her collar, letting it trail between her breasts.
This way, neither of Grendel’s slaves saw the owners enter, dressed in loose robes and carrying drinks. The cushions that Chris had arranged in front of Brian were there for the owners’ comfort. They sank down on them with accustomed ease, rearranging them for convenience. Their drinks went onto the coasters thoughtfully secured on Brian’s back.
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