Best Gay Bondage Erotica, page 14
I entered the dressing room, mirrored on three sides, and the knee-to-chest-high door swung shut behind me. Ned smiled from across the aisle. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Sure enough.” I grinned back. He retreated to the rear of the store.
I undressed, and my cock sprang forth. The side mirrors were angled at forty-five degrees, so I could examine my butt full view. Not bad for an old fart. I removed the codpiece, loosened the shoulder, waist, and side straps, slithered into the harness, and pushed and tugged my dick and balls through the opening in the front piece. This feels great, and I haven’t even tightened anything. I leisurely rotated a full turn, not simply to inspect the total package, but to feel the harness grasping me. I stopped, closed my eyes, and sank into my self-imposed bondage. Ironic, the Top imposes bondage upon himself to accentuate his authority. I adjusted the shoulder straps and waistband, but the torso buckles proved elusive. Damn! I fiddled with them.
“How’s it going in there?” Ned asked.
“Er…uh…” I stammered.
“So, you do need help,” he offered over the top of the door.
How long’s he been watching me?
“Yes, please,” I said.
“ ‘Please’ is not necessary,” he said as he stepped into my booth and looked at my boner. “Nice, very, very nice.” He adjusted the torso buckles, stepping close enough that the tip of my dick grazed his crotch.
“I’ll let you adjust the leg straps,” he said.
As I tightened them, he asked, “Feel good?”
“You know damn well it does!” Encased in thick, tight leather straps, but totally free. I put my hands on my hips and stared at Ned.
“You’ll never get the pouch on over that monster dick,” he said.
“I know. I’ll have to take for granted that it fits.”
“Perhaps not,” he offered. He sank to his knees and looked up. “Okay?” he asked as his warm breath floated over my dick.
A slight pause. “Yeah, boy,” I said.
Then I grabbed his head with both hands and shoved my dick into his mouth. He didn’t gag.
I pumped. He didn’t retch.
I relaxed, pulled my cock partway out, and stroked his head. “Good boy,” I whispered.
He looked up. Tears crept down his cheeks. He reached up and fondled my nipples.
“Oh, yeah,” I gasped. “You can’t hurt them. Try, boy, try.”
Ned dug his fingernails in and yanked as his tongue slid back and forth along my shaft.
“Fuck, yes. Someone’s trained you well, boy.”
Ned tongued my piss slit and stared into the distance. His tears were very real. “Yes, Sir, someone has. Come in me, Sir.”
My eyebrows arched.
“Please, Sir, please.” I thought his fingernails would meet through the rough skin of my nipples.
I nodded.
Ned buried his head in my crotch. I felt his tears through my pubic hair. I teetered at the edge of orgasm. He grabbed the ass straps of the harness and the leather tightened against my perineum.
I exploded. I spurted. I spasmed.
I emptied myself into him.
I pushed my palms against the walls to steady myself as my convulsions subsided.
I softened as he laved the end of my dick with his tongue and leaned back on his haunches. He brushed the tears from his cheeks, dropped his head, and looked up abruptly. “Thank you,” he sighed.
“Thank you,” I answered between gulps of air.
“No, thank you very much, more than you’ll ever know.”
I ran my hand over his head.
“I’ll help you get out of the harness.”
We began to undress me. “They don’t make harnesses like this anymore,” I said. “It’s very old, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s vintage San Francisco,” Ned answered. “Shall I put it in a bag for you?”
“Please.” I didn’t ask the price.
Ned left the booth, and I dressed and wandered over to the solitary counter. He watched me approach, and a smile crossed his lips. He slid a large, shiny black bag toward me.
“How much,” I asked as I tugged my wallet from my pocket.
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“I…I…I can’t do that,” I stammered.
Ned reached across the counter and rested his index finger on my lips. “It belonged to my partner,” he said. “I want you to have it. I want this harness to have a good home. You deserve each other. I can tell.”
Again we stared at each other. It was my turn to cry. Ned walked around the counter and held me. We both sobbed. He thrust the bag into my arms and walked me to the door.
“Till we meet again,” he said.
“Again,” I answered, as the door closed behind me.
I blinked into the sunlight. I stepped right, turned left, and finally continued in my original direction. I reached Civic Center, watched as healthy straight folks—mothers with their babies, kids on bikes and roller skates, and teenagers necking—acted out their lives. A few gay couples trundled past.
My car and a possible parking ticket beckoned many blocks away. I retraced my steps, but on the opposite side of the street. I slowed and stopped when I came to the leather store. I looked through the traffic, and started to wave and blow a kiss.
The store was closed.
NORCEUIL’S GARDEN
Andrew Warburton
The door opened as I approached and a handsome, middle-aged man in pin-striped trousers and a black tailcoat ushered me inside. The checked marble slabs sparkled beneath his feet, as did the polished tips of his shoes, and from the bright chandelier above our heads, thousands of tiny lights exploded, covering the banisters, the walls, and the floor. Beside the stand where the butler draped my coat, I caught my reflection in a wall-length mirror: I could see the fine white hairs at my temples, the sagging skin around my neck, and something like regret rose insidiously in my chest.
The butler coughed gently. “If you’d like to follow me into the garden, sir.”
We walked through the hall and out through a pair of doors into a courtyard, which opened onto a garden. That morning, when I received the invitation from Norceuil, I knew to expect something rich and sumptuous, surpassing my expectations—but this was something else entirely. Row upon row of trees stretched endlessly into darkness, with giant cobwebs hanging like nets between the branches. I could hear the breeze whispering in the leaves, and somewhere not too far away, the sound of people laughing and moaning. As I made my way toward them, I had to slash the cobwebs with my hands and watch the tiny spiders scuttle away.
The wood opened up then and I found myself in a clearing where the air itself seemed to shimmer with silver. The moon was not quite full but it shone brightly, making everything glitter, from the smallest blade of grass to the heaviest branch spangled with leaves. A group of elderly men were standing on the other side of the clearing. They were dressed in smart suits and carried cocktail glasses with misted sides. I could see the ice sparkling in the liquid, which they sipped with their wrinkled lips, and as I walked across the grass toward them, a waiter glided past me bearing a tray on which glass after glass was lined up. He handed one to me and quickly glided away.
The men didn’t turn as I approached. They were transfixed by something on the nearest tree trunk. Some of them were laughing; others were wincing, covering their eyes. What on earth are they looking at? I thought, as I stood on the tips of my toes.
What I saw surprised me. A young man was strapped to the tree, totally naked but for thick leather bonds that pulled his arms and legs agonizingly far apart. He was peering through a mop of blond hair at a group of three or four gentlemen who were poking and prodding his muscular thighs and calves. “Stop it, stop it,” he groaned, shaking at his bonds, but the old men ignored him and continued manhandling his cock.
“What’s going on here?” I said to the man beside me, who was watching it all through a monocle.
“Didn’t you get the invite? Rare specimens, it said, in the first flush of youth. And that’s exactly what Norceuil’s got!” The man laughed, turning to the others. “Gentlemen, we have a latecomer!”
All at once the crowd turned to face me. I could see the glee in their eyes, the flush of arousal in their cheeks.
“Come, come!” said a craggy-faced old man, ushering me toward the tree. “Taste of the fruits of paradise! ’Tis manna for the likes of us!”
I stopped at the foot of the tree and looked up at the young man who was spread before me in all his glory. His cock was swollen and red, his balls knotted at the base. He looked at me with pleading eyes, as if to say, Save me, sir, from these barbarians!
“Quickly,” said the old man, who still had hold of my arm. “Don’t keep us waiting. There’re plenty of us here and we’d all like a go with him!”
The young man’s face fell as I reached up and took his enormous, bloated cock in my hands. I brought it to my lips. The crowd cheered and the young man groaned as I slid the cock across my tongue. Gosh, I thought, how long has it been since I’ve taken a cock in my mouth and sucked this greedily?
The young man struggled like a madman, shouting till he was red in the face. His cock grew harder all the time and his balls screwed up tight. Reaching up, I flicked them and listened to the cry of pain.
“He’s coming!” someone shouted. “Look at him! He’s coming in an old man’s mouth!”
I looked up, and for a moment, between slurps, I caught his eye, and there was nothing but hatred there—and shame. Grasping hold of his cock, I sucked ferociously. His chest rose and fell, faster and faster, and he hurled abuse at me, telling me he’d find me and kill me if I didn’t stop what I was doing. I merely took the end, licked it before his very eyes and resumed the sucking. He fell silent then. His whole body tensed. The way his cock bucked and bounced on my tongue, it was as if it had become a living thing, quite separate from the rest of him, and I had to suck harder just to keep it in place.
All of a sudden, the tension went out from the shaft, into the head. Again and again it sprayed on my tongue, and that bitterness I knew so well washed through me, and I swallowed it down. His cock went limp and I carried on sucking; now his whole body fell limp against the bark, and his legs brushed against me, his skin wet and burning.
I stepped back from the tree and wiped the saliva from my mouth. The men around me cheered and slapped my back. The young man put his head to the side and shut his eyes. His chest was heaving. I reached up and pinched his ass. He didn’t stir. I could see the delicate black lashes around his eyes, the pale skin. I tweaked his nipples, but still he didn’t move. He was exhausted, poor thing, the strength drained out of him: I could taste it on my tongue.
The trees stood in rows that seemed to go on forever, masses of leaves falling around them like great shaggy manes. The wood was less dense now, but traces of silver still floated between the branches. The men led me through the silent aisles, discussing the subjects that were dear to their hearts: politics, medicine, and law. I found I had nothing interesting to say and fell silent. I kept thinking of that young man’s cock, the look of fury in his eyes as the cum sprayed out of him. I wanted to relive it again and again.
Through the trees I saw the edge of a white tent. Tiny blue stars on the walls kept fading in and out, and there were groups of old men inside, drinking and laughing merrily. I took a crystal flute from a handsome waiter and sipped the bubbly, fruity wine.
A bell rang then and a hush fell around the room. As if from nowhere, Norceuil appeared. He was standing on a platform at the front of the tent, looking every inch the fop. I’d always found Norceuil rather fetching. He was handsome in a fine-boned, arty sort of way, and gifted with a keen intelligence that often left me feeling inadequate. With a gentle cough, he introduced himself to the crowd: “Gentleman, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. We’ve spared no expense to bring you the finest wines, the finest meats, the finest youths. I want you to relax and be merry. We have all night!”
The tent exploded with cheers.
Norceuil smiled, making a quietening gesture with his hands, “Hush, gentlemen, hush. That only leaves me to introduce dessert!”
To the merriment of the men, two waiters carrying an enormous tray appeared at the side of the stage. A young man was tied to the four corners of the tray in such a way that his ass was pushed out and up in the air—and what a full, ripe ass it was! The man had a swimmer’s body, with broad shoulders and thighs, and arms so muscular they veritably rippled. I watched now as the waiters placed the tray at Norceuil’s feet.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” he said, hushing the room, “You may recognize this boy. That’s right, gentleman. It’s the vice president’s son! Ivy League Football Rookie of the Year! We promised you men in the first flush of youth—rare specimens, we said, and that’s exactly what we’ve brought you. Kidnapped from his father’s mansion, no less. Take him! He’s all yours! His ass and his mouth! Do with him what you will!”
With a flourish, Norceuil backed away to watch the proceedings from the side of the stage. The men cheered, pressing closer.
Holding my glass safely against my chest, I inched forward. There were so many of the men pressed around the young man I had to stand on the tips of my toes and peer over their shoulders just to get a look. What I saw made it all worthwhile and caused my cock to swell immediately. The boy was sobbing, pressing his face against the tray, and the men were all over him, running their hands over his ass and his long muscular thighs, or slipping their fingers around his heavy balls and giving them a good squeeze. One had stuck his thumb in the boy’s ass and was rigorously moving it in and out, fascinated by the motion. Another had prized the boy’s lips apart and was pushing the head of his cock against the boy’s teeth, which stubbornly refused to open.
For a moment I felt a wave of sympathy for this bright young star from his Ivy League university. He was innocent, after all, and these men were beasts—fat, egotistical monsters. I looked at them now and felt slightly queasy. How many chins did they have between them? And those stomachs—like pot-bellied pigs! As they bent over the boy to reach for some extremity or limb, their stomachs pressed his tender flesh, and no matter how small he tried to make himself, he couldn’t escape their bulging fat.
One of the men, a renowned lawyer from Boston, unzipped his fly and let his trousers and pants fall down around his ankles. He positioned himself at the boy’s ass and held his flaccid penis in his hands. The other men watched eagerly. It didn’t seem to have occurred to the lawyer that the athlete was as tight as a drum, because what he did next had me in stitches of laughter. He put his cock against the boy’s hole and tried to squeeze the head inside, but because it was so soft it just kept slipping out, wiping precum over the boy’s ass.
The boy looked terrified, as if he’d been stabbed. He bucked his legs and waved his ass in the air, trying to escape his restraints, trying to get away from the lawyer’s cock.
The lawyer’s face reddened. He was evidently frustrated now, which merely seemed to make him more determined. He grasped hold of the boy’s hips and thrust his cock towards the boy’s ass. Again his cock slipped everywhere. The boy tried desperately to move his ass away, but the lawyer had hold of him now and wasn’t letting go. Eventually the lawyer’s cock began to harden. He shoved it up to the hilt in the boy’s ass and started rocking backward and forward on his heels, a look of intense satisfaction on his face. It was just at this moment, as the boy groaned and threw back his head, that another gentleman decided to shove his cock in the boy’s mouth. He slid it in as far as it would go, till the boy’s lips were buried in the thick hairs around his balls. The man pulled his cock out and thrust it in again. The boy spluttered, his eyes widened and saliva leaked from the corners of his mouth.
“I’m coming,” said the lawyer in a deep, gravelly voice as he continued to slide in and out. “I’m coming inside you, stud!”
The gentleman at the other end (whose balls were squashed against the young man’s lips) yelled, “Me too, kiddo! Get ready!”
The lawyer’s eyes rolled back in his head. He tightened his grip around the boy’s waist and slammed his hips into the boy’s ass. Convulsions ran through his entire body. He threw himself forward across the boy’s back and kissed him everywhere, squeezing his cock. The other gentleman groaned and his cock exploded against the boy’s face. The boy grimaced as cum dripped the length of his nose onto his lips.
Norceuil sprang forward to the edge of the stage. He smiled broadly, clapping his hands above his head. “Good show! A roasting from both ends!”
The crowd watched with some admiration as the two men zipped up their trousers and walked away from the stage.
“My fellow men,” said Norceuil, “I wish you a stupendous evening. Please feel free to explore, and do sample whatever takes your fancy.”
To the cheers of the audience, he bowed and dismounted from the stage.
Now the amusements were over, I walked to the door and looked out. The sight that confronted me was very different from the one I’d left upon entering the tent. Everywhere I looked young men were strapped to the trees—each one a beauty to behold, with ripe, muscular bodies, enormous cocks, and classically handsome features. The best thing of all was the dismay on their faces. Not only did they look terrified, but also deeply ashamed. As I moved through the glistening trees, I saw men sucking on the young men’s cocks, pinching their thighs and ample backsides, or picking things up off the forest floor and sticking them into every orifice they could find. The crying and shouting that went up from the boys formed a terrible din, so earth-shatteringly noisy one could almost believe that Hell had opened in this very wood!
Taking a flute from a passing waiter, I sipped the bubbly wine. Already it had gone to my head, filling me with the strange sensation of floating. As I swam happily between the trees, I thought nothing of slapping a cock here, tugging one there, or slipping my hands around a slim boy’s waist and licking the end of his cock. But soon I found that I was quite, quite lost, with no idea which direction to take.
