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I left his house and headed back to my hotel. It was late afternoon. I boarded the train and went to sit down when I realized just how sore my ass felt. My head was still reeling from the experience. When I got to my room, I wanted to I'd lie down, though I doubted my mind would let me sleep. I don't remember my head hitting the pillow. When I woke, it was Monday morning. I had slept for twelve hours.
Monday dragged by as I played over and over again in my mind the events of the previous afternoon. Wondering what the evening would bring helped pass the time as I sat on my used, but empty ass, in the class I was attending. When I returned to the hotel, I found I had a whole series of messages that needed response. I'd have to hurry to if I was going to make it to his house by 6:30. As I boarded the train, I knew I was going to be late. I hate to be late for anything, never mind knowing I was due for punishment anyway.
When I got to my stop, I dashed to the street and ran the several blocks I needed to go. I arrived at his door, flushed and sweaty. I paused for a moment to catch my breath and pushed the button. Again, after confirming it was me outside his door, he opened the door slowly and asked me in. Tonight, the leather was gone but for his boots; jeans and a wifebeater instead hugged his frame. As I launched into apologies for my tardiness, he smiled, brushed off my attempts with an excuse about not knowing the city, pulled me close and found my lips. There in his arms, my wariness waned, and the trust established yesterday affirmed.
We moved upstairs to the living room, and sat for awhile. Our conversation is easier tonight, exploring each other perhaps only superficially, but meaningfully in terms of our increasing willingness to share. By now, my breathing has quieted and I recognized a sense of anticipation in the air. Wordlessly, he extended his hand to me and we moved down the hall to his bedroom dungeon.
Again the room was warm and full of candlelight, music played in the background. Minutes passed as we stood there, kissing, smelling, stroking, licking, hugging and groping; each lost in our own fantasies. Leaning down a bit to be close to my ear, he whispered, "get undressed, boy." He sat on the bed and watched me peel out of my clothes. He was ready with the leather thong to bind my cock and balls. I dropped to my knees, knowing full well what is expected next of me. With his clothes now gone, time passed as we continued the exploration of each other we had begun the night before. Only tonight, he had some toys for me to sample. After rolling my nipples in his fingers until they were nicely sensitized, I felt the bite of a tit clamp on first one, then the other nipple. And there they remained as he assaulted my body with every sensation he could imagine that his tongue, mouth, hair, and hands could provide until I arched in orgasm.
Finally, the time came for me to experience the feel of his flogger. He produced heavy leather cuffs for my ankles and wrists and securely chained them out of his way. A blindfold slid over my head and into place over my eyes. With that, he turned up the music and dragged the flogger across my back, ass and legs. The rhythm and intensity of his strokes increased as did my breathing and gasps as my skin began to glow. He concluded the experience with slower and lighter strokes, and finally set the flogger aside. Though spent, he laid down on top of me and wrapped me tightly in his arms. He held me that way, reassuring me until my gasps subsided and my breathing returned to normal. I have never felt so cared for in my life. I said, "thank you, Sir," and he replied, "your welcome, boy."
With that exchange, he moves off of me and releases me from my bonds, and we talk for awhile about what I have experienced. All the while, our conversation is intermittently enhanced with a kiss, a touch, a stroke or a squeeze. I remember two things in particular about the conversation. First, he recommended that I read Urban Aboriginals, by Geoff Mains and secondly, he observed that I was sensual and erotic, for a "straight" man. I remember thinking, at this point, I'm guessing maybe I'm not so straight.
After cleaning up, we realized we were hungry and he said he knew of a good place to eat not far away. We headed out, he leading the way. As we walked the few short blocks to the restaurant, I had a chance to fall back a step or two. I admired his confident walk, his ass, and his shoulders in his black leather jacket. I realized I was again, as hard as a rock.
We entered the restaurant, where we were greeted and seated by a waiter, who I would term a twink. He certainly was younger than either of us, and he eyed my companion critically as he sat down. All the waiter could manage to say to him was, "I like your jacket." I'm sure my growing distaste for this fellow had nothing to do with what I later realized I was experiencing, I was fucking jealous!
Our food came and we took our time enjoying it as well as the company of each other. All too soon, the meal was over and I realized, our time together as well. We stepped out onto the sidewalk. It had grown cooler while we were inside. He zipped his jacket, turned toward me, brushed his hand across my head and said, "take care boy, you are a special man." Of no notice to those who passed us by, we kissed, held each other for a moment, and with a smile, he was gone.