Written: Oct 2011
If you’re new here, you should know that this blog contains BDSM, kink, poly and gender explorations, and explicit Sadiomasochistic content. All sex and kink acts depicted are between enthusiastically consenting adults.
Sitting on the couch, my boy tucked up against me, we both watched as people played before us in the basement. I’d come to find out that watching was not as good as doing. You can’t feel the “energy” if it’s in a sphere between two people across the room.
A boy sat down in a chair next to us, looking around, interested, but still mildly bored. Seemed we were in the same boat. He had a tight little body, muscular, not just fit. I made the introduction.
“Hi, my name is E. This is my boy, C.”
“My name is J.” He replied,a unique mix of accents coming through.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you here, are you finding it to be all you thought it was?” A hint of sarcasm in my voice can’t be helped. Young guys come in with kink on their mind, then find out that it isn’t a world of porn stars after all.
“Yeah…” He replied quietly, looking around again. “um… All the people here are much older than me.”
“Well, I think younger people are just happy with sex and after they get their fill, they start realizing they need more than that. Doesn’t happen till at least their 30′s, most of the time.” I respond. I follow up with, “I think.” Don’t want to sound like a know it all. It’s just a theory. “What are you looking for?”
At this point, my boy interrupts to give a kiss and to go up stairs to hang out upstairs with a friend we brought over. Alone, we pick up where we left off.
“I am interested in SM, I don’t really have any experience.”
Striving forward despite the short answer, I ask. “What’s your ideal?”
“I enjoy the abuse, but not the the extent that others might. I like being tied up and hand cuffed and whipped and bitten and stuff.” He animatedly replies. Nothing like asking about someone’s fantasies to get them to be descriptive.
He continued. “Maybe candle wax but that might be a bit too far for me. I also would like something sexual but I’m not really expecting it.” He smiles and laughs a little.
Goodness, that accent is cute. He sounds a lot like a bottom in the bedroom type. Until this person, I felt mentally bored with that type. Maybe the accent was getting to me?
“So, you really just want someone to explore with when it comes to some kinky sex, maybe some light whipping?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m looking for, I just know what I’m looking for is in this general direction. I usually go with the flow of things, what ever life throws at me, I’ll go with.”
Well, accent or not, I’m a sadist with thirst to quench. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. He’s curious about his masochism with no knowledge of his limits. Let’s make these fun possibilities work for us.
“Are you interested in playing with me?”
“I need to practice hurting in a good way. If you don’t like it, we can stop
“Sounds fun.” He made a cute happy face.
“The only rule is, don’t touch me.” He accepted this easily enough.
I dug around for some hand cuffs, encircled one of his wrists. He merely watched, silent, and I felt a smile tugging at my lips. I honestly wondered if this would be fun, hitting a near total stranger. and led him by the one cuff over to the wall. Dragging a boy behind me by hand always gave me a little thrill.
I shall lead and you will follow.
I made a bee line through the couples for a bare spot on the wall upon which a large metal circlet had been fixed. I manuevered him into position, putting the empty cuff through the loop; listened to it click into place around his other wrist. In this position, his arms were up, but not tautly stretched, and I could turn him either way.
“So.” I started. “What is your safe word?”
“Umm. I don’t know.”
Wicked idea popped in my head and I smiled as I said, “I’ll stop when you sound like a cat.”
He made a small sound of amusement in response. I grabbed his shoulders and firmly turned him about, and watched as his fingers idly grasped around the short chain. I inhaled, taking in the vision of pale unmarred flesh. Was this the feeling painters got with an empty canvas before them?
Keeping in mind the tips I’d gotten during some of the co topping sessions I’d experienced, I pointedly started on his bare ass cheeks. Hit where the meat is.And this boy didn’t have a lot of meat to start with.
Right handed, I aimed for his left cheek, then his right, not very hard but they weren’t pats either. I paused, briefly, to check for reaction. Not much, if any, had escaped my senses. I continued, harder, left, right, left, right. Just a minor intake of breath on that last one. Ok. Time to up the ante. Positioning myself, I wondered if I’d be ending the fun before it truly began, aiming carefully. I didn’t care, my ornery personality kicking in. My hand was only mildly warm at this point. I brought my arm back…
“Aahhhh….” His breathing was harder than his previous calm acceptance. And I knew, suddenly, that I could let loose.
My eyes, transfixed from my own actions, saw, more than my body felt, my hand reaching up to just beneath his neck, the fingers curving into claws. I dug in and scratched quite very painfully all the way down to the very curve before his bottom. My gaze followed the red welts that immediately raised up on his skin even as I neared the finish. And, oh… how he squirmed, pressing his face into the wall, small noises escaping, as if choking on a much louder sound. His muscled arms flexed, pulling against the slight chain between cuffs.
Immediate glee when I realized that no words had been called. My hand lay still as I took in the delicious red marks on his pale skin. My hand had relax ed, resting on his lower back. Stepping closer, my breath most likely warming the skin, I got a closer look. Fascination, I raised my fingers up to trail the tips softly over the red marks leading to his buttocks. At the end, I grabbed one little cheek and dug my nails in, hard. Softer noises than before.
I hit his bottom again, my new goal to make each cheek as red as the welts now angrily pouting at their creation. Giggles escaped my lips, but I held back as much as I could; something in me was drinking the sound and sight of his reactions. A drought I was now in love with, addicted to. Back and forth, I hit and then I paused, stroking his skin as I did, his back. Reaching around to his chest, pressing my body against him, I dug my nails in again, front to sides. In this way, I felt his body respond, and I pressed into it, to feel it, to trap him. My head folded forward into his shoulder, breathed hot into his ear, then bit, hard, just below it.
Oh… these sounds are music…
My breath caught on the beauty, and then I sighed happily as I played his body even further. I stepped back. Scratch, stroke, smack. His body, my instrument. His skin, my canvas.
Playing, painting, the white now a criss cross of red.
Not finished. Paint it all. I breathed, intent.
Starting at the shoulders, a lioness, both sets claws dug in. Down, down, more choking sounds, past the curve of his back, the curve of each cheek, a gasp as I was cruel to such already sore red flesh. I continued down each leg, near kneeling to ensure that he was marked, quite properly, from top to bottom.
His breathing was loud and harsh, his shoulders moving quickly. I grabbed his hips, and flipped quite roughly around as the chain twisted round itself.
I drank in the sight of his face, wet with perspiration or tears, I did not know or care. He was totally gone, it seemed to me; his eyelids near closed, breathing hard as if he had been running.
My hand grasped his jaw firmly, and I turned his head from left to right. There was no resistance to such a movement, and all the while, his eyes followed, even slitted as they were, as I moved him as I pleased.
“Is this too much? Do I need to stop?” I purred, with no intention of actually doing so.
“No. No…Please hurt me.” He said, his accent coming through very strongly, in a ragged breath. It was a thrill to my ears.
My fingers slid up his cheek and into his hair, grasping a large swath. I jerked his head harshly to one side, his body wanting to follow even as the cuffs kept him my trapped and willing victim. I dipped my head forward and sank my teeth in, titillated by the moan of pain that escaped his lips. I licked the spot in farewell.
I stepped slightly away again, my hand sliding down from his hair to his chest and excitedly realized there remained still more canvas to leave my mark on. Lazily, I dragged the pad of my thumb over the small nub of his nipple and enjoyed the pleasure noise that this elicited.
“You like that?” I asked, as I repeated the gesture.
“Yes,” He huffed, his body shifting in reaction, my thumb flicking, then fingers pinching. He flinched. “My nipples are sensitive.”
My eyes lit up. “Oh, really?” My eyes scanned nearby for my bag. Moments later, my nipple clamps in hand, I carefully applied them to the little nubs on his chest. His face grimaced at the initial pain.
Leaving them there to do their work, I kneaded his abdominal muscles, not aiming for anything near a massage and mostly discomfort. When I pushed in particularly hard, the breath came out hard. And down my knuckles and pinching fingers went, scratching occasionally.
Pausing from my sadistic play, I reached down, bending a finger around the waistband of the jock strap, as if I would dip in to touch the obvious arousal hidden from sight beneath the small cloth. Dipping back out, curious fingers grazed against the outline of his cock, and he moaned. Reward enough for being my victim.
My hand came up to play with the chain between the two clamps. I pressed up against him, lying my head on his shoulder, my mouth against his ear and whispered,”This is going to hurt.”
With no time for him to react to my words, I nearly jumped back with the clamps now ripped off and dangling in hand. He cried out and choked back near sobs. I watched his face gasping with pain, flushed, inarticulate noises continuing to come out of his mouth. He was hyperventilating and looked as if he would break. Were those tears?
I came close, feeling his shaking body against mine. Still, he was hard.
I stroked, and scratched, stroked, scratched again, softer and softer. Whispering dirty words, describing his reactions to him until I had had enough
When I stopped, and let him down, he was shaking. He was totally high on endorphins. We both were, although my face was far more calm, I was sure. He looked shocked. I felt the same. He looked at me with wonder and I felt satisfied in a way I’d never known. I sat with him for a while, petting him down, as well as myself, from the high, murmuring how well he did.
When I was ready to disconnect, I pulled away. He looked lonely and put on his best puppy dog eyes. I smiled and walked out, nonetheless, joining my boy upstairs.
After the party, he found me and walked me out to my car.
“That was fun.” I said, “We should do it again sometime.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” He replied, shivering slightly in the cold, waiting.
I got in my car and drove away, smiling all the while.