Looks Good in Black

LOOKS GOOD IN BLACK (Tales from the Net series) by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2001 by the author.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of bondage and domination between consenting adult males.

"Brandt, you're an idiot," Kevin said. We were sitting in comfortable overstuffed chairs by the window of our favorite downtown coffeehouse. Outside, traffic rushed by in the sunny warmth of a late spring afternoon.

"I know it's been rough since Jason left you," he continued. "So I introduce you to a friend of mine. You go out for a while. Things seem to be going great. Now you tell me you're dumping him. What the hell's the matter with you, Rolf?"

"I know, I know," I sighed. There weren't many of my friends who could get away with talking to me like that. Kevin could tell me things I didn't like to hear, but had to admit were true.

"I mean, is there something I don't know about Cary? Is he really a jerk in disguise, or what?"

"No. He's every bit as nice as you said he was."

"Some people are just too fucking picky," Kevin said to the ceiling.

"Well, we can't all be as lucky as you," I retorted, stung.

Kevin had found his soulmate the night he graduated from college. A professor he had always had a crush on had invited him over for dinner, and he had never left. They had been together now for years.

He didn't challenge my statement, just shook his head. "You are a hard case. I thought you guys really hit it off the night of the recital."

He had been after me for months about meeting his friend Cary Walsh. I had finally agreed to go to one of his recitals at the University, even though classical music is not really my thing.

When the lights dimmed, a man appeared, dignified and elegant, his black tails setting off his golden hair. He sat down to play and rich piano tone flowed from his fingers. One piece in particular entranced me. Its melodies seemed to shimmer in the higher reaches of the keyboard, now raptly still, now gently rippling. As the last soft chords died away, I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"What does that mean?" I asked Kevin, pointing to the sheet of paper in my hand, as the applause surrounded us.

He smiled. "Why don't you ask him after?"

Backstage I shook Cary's hand, warm from his exertions. Up close, he was shorter than me, handsome, his face animated.

"Good to meet you, Rolf, thanks so much for coming. Kevin's told me so much about you."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," I replied. I felt a discreet swat on my rear, but refused to reward him with any sign I had noticed. "I really liked that piece you played right after intermission."

"The Debussy?"

I felt awkward, embarrassed. "I--don't know French. What does the title mean?"

"Clair de Lune?' It means moonlight.'"

The silence of new acquaintances fell between us. Cary tried to fill it.

"Some of us are going out. Would you like to come along?"

"He'd love to," Kevin answered before I could say anything. "And so would I." I glared at him. He smiled innocently back. "Wouldn't we?"

A while later we were at a trendy, noisy gay watering hole downtown. To my surprise Cary had kept his tails on, looking like a young butler among the mostly blue-jeaned, T-shirted crowd. Still, he caught plenty of admiring glances from the regulars, unused to seeing such effortless class in their midst. I felt big and stupid next to him, but oddly enough, he seemed to like me.

"We did hit it off," I said to Kevin now, a few months later. "What can I say? Things change."

He wouldn't let it go. "You guys are great together."

"I don't know what it is. I feel like he's too good for me."

Kevin snorted with disbelief. "An inferiority complex? You? Please." He added, darkly, "Just be gentle when you do it, or you'll answer to me."

I wasn't being honest with him, of course. I was looking for something else. Being the tall stud with the German name, the top, wasn't enough anymore. I had enthralled and intimidated smaller men with ease, and fucked them silly in bed. Now I longed for one to turn the tables and give me a taste of my own medicine.

What I also didn't tell Kevin was that I'd found a man who I thought could give me what I wanted.

It happened one night online, in the "Dungeon M4M" chatroom. His screen name leaped to my eye: LitlTopMn. Little top man. I quickly scanned his profile--he lived in town. My breath quickened as I read what he had written as his occupation: "Bringing bigger men than me to their knees."

I sent him a message, asking permission to address--it was granted. Before long I realized I had found the genuine article. LitlTopMn was not a dimwitted brute, but a master manipulator. He was cagey, telling me little about himself other than his name: Claude. Yet, I sensed an intelligence about him that enticed me into more and more self-revelation. Over the next few weeks, I laid my deepest desires bare in front of my master, who promised to fulfill them--in good time.

"When?" I asked, frantic for an actual meeting.

"When your master decides the time is right," he typed back. I could almost hear him chuckling at my frustration.

I could think of nothing but Claude, and the ecstatic torments he dangled tantalizingly before me. Cary's charm and even his piano playing paled in comparison. Things came to a head over dinner, a few days after my conversation with Kevin.

"Look," I finally said after the uncomfortable meal, "Maybe we should, you know, put things on hold for a while."

As insensitive as I was, I imagined Cary felt exactly as I did. I was dismayed to find his eyes brimming.

"Why, Rolf?" he managed after a long moment. "I like you a lot. I thought you liked me, too."

I floundered, mouthing cliches that sounded hollow even to me. "You're a great guy, Cary. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not the one for you."

"Bullshit," he said flatly. "There's someone else, isn't there."

"Well--there is." I tried, clumsily, to tell him the truth. "Look--I'm not what you think I am. There's stuff going on inside of me you don't want to know about."

"And you won't even give me a chance and tell me about it." Then he was up and gone.

I dialed Cary's number several times over the next few days to apologize and ask for another chance. But I always cut the connection before the call went through.

Then one night when I logged on there was an e-mail waiting from LitlTopMan:

Rolf: You say you want to experience total submission. You say you're ready to put yourself in my hands. The time has come. Meet me in Bull Creek Park this coming Friday night just before closing time. Get out of your car and walk toward the creek. I'll be waiting for you. Claude.

All thoughts of Cary flew out of my mind. I remember very little about the next few days except the feverish anticipation. Finally Friday night arrived. I drove to the park Claude had mentioned, situated on the banks of a creek in the northern outskirts of the city. Green and pleasant during the day, it was notoriously cruisy by night.

The parking lot was shaded by trees. It was almost empty, except for a U-Haul truck parked facing out at the far end. Manuevering my own car into a space, I stepped out and began to walk into the woods, toward the creek, as instructed.

I passed by the public restrooms, dark and silent. As I continued to move toward the water I sensed movement behind me. Wheeling around, I saw that someone had emerged from the men's room and was watching me.

I stared at the stranger, a slim and compact silhouette in the dim light. A thrill ran through me as I was able to make out how he was dressed: a loose black vest that left his chest bare, black chaps, black boots. Through the gap in the front, I saw the swelling pouch he wore underneath. His head was covered by a hood that completely obscured his face other than openings for his eyes, mouth, and nostrils. I was face to face with Claude at last.

He tossed his head back, indicating that I was to follow him, then turned toward the parking lot. I walked after him without hesitation. Although Claude didn't have a weapon, or any way to compel obedience, I was completely under the spell of this faceless figure in black leather.

Staying in the shadows underneath the trees, we approached the truck I had seen earlier. Finally we were there and Claude grasped the handle on the back hatch of the U-Haul. He jerked upward and the door slid open with a loud, protesting rattle.

Claude turned back toward me and gestured, commanding me to enter the compartment. My breathing was fast and shallow, my heart pounding. After a moment's hesitation I placed my foot on the bumper and hoisted myself into the shadows. I heard him following me inside. A moment later I froze as the door rattled downward and thumped shut, leaving us in utter darkness. Panicking, I opened my mouth to shout for help, but an arm encircled my chest and a hand clamped down on my face with crushing force. All that emerged from my throat was a muffled squeak.

A whisper sounded in my ear, gentle and chilling. "You said you trusted me. Are you willing to prove it?"

My mind was racing. Wasn't this exactly what I had told Claude I wanted? Despite my fear, I realized I was aroused to fever pitch, my cock pressing painfully against the front of my jeans. In a split second I made my decision and nodded, relaxing my body to indicate acquiescence.

There was a click and the compartment was filled with dim red light. It was larger than it appeared from the outside, sufficient to hold the two of us and one other object. In the center of the metal floor stood what looked like a sawhorse, except that its sloping sides were built of solid wood, and the top was wide and seemed to be padded. Two loops of some dark material were attached to the side I could see.

Slowly my captor relaxed his grip, but stayed close. I tried to look at him but a firm hand prevented me from turning my head.

"Keep your eyes front. Strip and mount the bench, face down."

As I pulled off my T-shirt, the hooded figure behind me bent down, untied my sneakers and pulled them off, tossing them across the floor of the truck. Next, my socks were removed. Caressing hands moved up my legs and across my crotch as Claude stood. He raked his fingers lightly across my bare stomach and chest, tickling my nipples. My breathing deepened at the pleasurable sensations and I leaned back against him, only to jump with a startled cry as he pinched one hard enough to hurt.

Quickly Claude unbuttoned the fly of my jeans and pushed them down my thighs. My hard cock sprang free as it was exposed. Stripping them off of my legs, he pushed me forward with a hand on the back of my neck, compelling me to climb onto the strange bench. It was tall enough that my feet barely touched the floor when I was on top of it.

"Hold onto the front with your hands," came the whisper. I obeyed, and just as I realized what the loops on the sides were for, they were fastened around my wrists, pinioning me to the apparatus. Then my ankles were lifted off the floor and bound to the sides as well, forcing me into a crouching position with my knees bent and legs spread wide apart, as if I were riding a horse bareback.

There was a pause, as if Claude were examining his handiwork. Then, he moved toward the side wall. Daring to look up, for the first time I saw a bag hung there from a hook. I saw Claude extract a hood similar to what he was wearing, then what looked like a small stick with a loose rope hanging from the end. Claude bent close to me and grabbed the hair on my head, none too gently, as he whispered again in my ear.

"You've told me all about what you wanted, Rolf. You should have been more careful what you wished for." A soft chuckle. "We'll see if you're man enough to take it."

He raised the stick in front of my face. "My best rawhide quirt." He must have seen my eyes widen, for he added, "Time to put this on," and slipped the hood over my head. I realized there were no eyeholes, and began to struggle and shout. This was a mistake, as Claude slipped a thick cylindrical object between my open lips--a short dildo attached to the lower flap of the hood, making an effective gag when he pulled it tight and fastened it across the lower part of my face. Now my muffled protests were inaudible to anyone but my tormentor.

Claude let me struggle until I realized it was useless. My breathing was hampered by the gag and I was exhausting myself as well. Finally I stopped and hung my head downward, my chest heaving.

"Let's begin."

I held myself absolutely still. The hood was partly blocking my hearing, and I strained for some clue as to what he was going to do. After a moment I felt the light touch of the quirt on my backside, moving slowly across my cheeks.

"Nice ass," Claude said. Suddenly I shrieked into the gag, my head snapping up, as the whip struck my butt sharply.

"Nice."

He continued, keeping me off balance, lightly stroking my nipples, butt cheeks, or my cock and balls hanging down between my spread legs, for long moments, using either the quirt or his hands. Every time I began to give in to the pleasure, the crack of the rawhide on my back or ass jerked me back. Several times he aimed a series of strokes at the same spot on my butt as I screamed uselessly for him to stop. Just as I thought I could no longer bear the pain he would desist, stroking the very place he had assaulted as I whimpered into the gag, tears starting from my eyes.

Finally the rain of caresses and blows stopped. My ass was on fire. Harsh breaths whistled through my nose, spit was running out of my mouth around the gag, and my cheeks were wet with tears of pain. My cock was straining against the back of the bench, harder than I could ever remember it being.

I felt a moist, probing finger in the crack between my cheeks. It found my asshole and slipped in. It was withdrawn and I felt a larger, blunter object push against the opening. Soon new fires were searing my insides as Claude fucked me, drilling my hole with such force that I grasped the front of the bench with my hands for dear life.

I felt heat welling from within, then cum dribbling from my cock. His assault had forced an unwilling climax out of my body. Claude's thrusts increased to a frenzied pace and I heard, or rather sensed, a low, animal growl rise from his throat. He bent down and gripped me around my chest with his arms, squeezing the breath out of me. I felt his hot breath on my neck. The scent of leather, mixed with sweat and a faint, incongruous hint of aftershave filled my nostrils.

I don't know how long we remained locked together in this position, conqueror and conquered. The compartment was hot and close, and I was dizzy from lack of oxygen. Just as I thought I might pass out, Claude rose and pulled himself out of me. I heard him moving toward the back of the truck. The light was snapped off, and the hatch rattled partway open, letting in a welcome blast of cool fresh air. Was he going to release me now?

To my horror, Claude jumped out and the hatch slammed shut, leaving me in blackness. I renewed my struggles to no avail. In front of me, I heard the cab door open and Claude climb in. A moment later it was banged shut, the engine roared to life and we began to move. I had no idea what was going to happen to me.

After the longest ride of my life we slowed and came to a stop. The engine was shut off. A moment later the rear hatch slid open once more, and someone stepped up into the cargo hold. I braced myself for new, unknown torments but couldn't keep from flinching as a hand fell on my bare shoulder. However, all my captor did was lean forward until his head was close by my right ear.

"I'm going to untie you now. We've traveled a bit, as you can tell. If you do exactly what I say, I'll take you back and release you, unharmed. Any trouble, and I'll throw you out and leave you here, just as you are. Got it?"

I had no idea how far we had come, not to mention where my clothes were. I nodded quickly.

"Good. Now hold still."

I felt a strip of some material being placed around my neck. Claude pulled on it and drew it tight, fastening it in place. Then I heard rattling and felt the touch of cold metal on my back as he attached a chain to the collar. A moment later I grunted as my head was pulled up by a hard tug on the leash. Holding me in this position with one hand, he pulled at the restraints that held my wrists and ankles one by one. Soon I sensed that my limbs were free, and let my cramped arms and legs dangle, shaking them slightly. Other than that I kept still, remembering his threat.

"Up on your feet. We're going for a walk."

Motivated by another sharp pull on the chain, I slid backward off the bench to which I had been strapped, dropped to the floor of the van, and crawled backwards toward the opening, being careful to keep my head down. Moments later I was standing shakily on what felt like asphalt, still naked and hooded, the night air cool on my inflamed skin.

"Hands behind your back. I'm fastening your leash to the bumper, so don't try anything funny."

I obeyed, and my wrists were bound. I heard the rear hatch being slammed shut, then felt a tug as Claude grasped the chain again. Abruptly he began walking, causing me to stumble and almost fall as I struggled to keep up with him. My heart pounded as I was forced to march, completely dependent on my master for guidance. After a while Claude's hand on my chest stopped my progress. I sensed that we were next to some structure, a building. I heard more rattling of metal, then a sound which I recognized as a key turning in a lock, followed by the groaning squeak of metal hinges. We were passing through what was obviously a heavy door. I heard it fall shut behind me. Where on earth were we going?

Claude continued to walk rapidly, giving me no chance to collect myself. A minute later he said a single word: "Stairs." My feet touched cold metal and we began to ascend. My breathing became labored from our rapid pace. I stumbled again, and a strong arm caught me.

"Please," I said into the gag, my chest heaving. I felt a hand caress my cheek.

"Hang on. We're almost there."

Disoriented by this gesture of mercy, I struggled once more to my feet. Sure enough, a few more icy steps and we were on level ground again, on what seemed now to be a wooden floor. We stopped, and I heard Claude pull one more door open, easily this time. He pushed me through the opening. All I could tell about where we were was that it was a large, even cavernous space. Behind me, I heard him fasten the chain to the handle.

"Stay here and don't move."

Then he was gone. I stood, knees trembling, trying to get a grip on myself. I was exhausted, and freezing.

Suddenly I sensed light trickling underneath my hood. I realized that whatever space I was standing in had previously been dark, and was now brightly illuminated. I heard footsteps some distance away. They stopped, and there was dead silence. Just as I felt I could no longer stand the suspense, it was broken.

I heard music fill the air. Sweet music. Piano music.

After a moment I recognized it--"Clair de Lune."

What had been a welter of blurry thoughts began to come into focus. I was on a stage, and that had to be Cary playing. He and the mysterious Claude were in cahoots, playing some insane trick on me. Anger rose, and I began to struggle and twist against my bonds, trying to shout, succeeding only in making strangled noises into the gag.

The music broke off and footsteps came rapidly toward me. Strong arms caught hold of my writhing body. "Easy, easy," a familiar voice said. "I thought you liked Debussy."

I stopped struggling and held still, daring him to release me.

"I can tell you'd love to take a swing at me," Cary said, suppressed laughter in his voice. "Better take the hood and gag off first, don't you think?" he said, and I realized there must be a third person nearby. Let me at them, I raged.

A moment later the hood was unsnapped and lifted off my head, the gag pulled out of my mouth. I flinched and lowered my head at the blaze of unaccustomed light. After a few moments I raised my eyes--and gaped, stunned at the sight in front of me.

It was Cary, his blond hair tousled, looking hot in black leather vest, chaps, thong, and construction boots. In his hand he held the hood he had just taken off of me. My eyes flashed over his shoulder to the grand piano he had been playing, on top of which rested another, discarded hood--the one he had been wearing tonight until a few minutes ago.

I turned, looking for the person Cary had addressed, and got another shock as I saw Kevin, dressed normally, standing on the floor of the large auditorium we were in. In one hand he held a bundle which I recognized as the clothes and shoes that had been stripped from me, at the beginning of this escapade that I still hadn't fully figured out. He smiled blandly, betraying nothing.

Cary spoke again. His voice, though still lighthearted, betrayed a hint of uneasiness. "I guess this is where I say, surprise! Eh, Rolf?"

I stared at him, still speechless.

"I'll release you and explain everything. But only if you promise not to get violent, okay? Even though you have every right to."

Another beat, then I nodded. Cary undid my wrists, and removed the collar from around my neck. Finally I found my voice.

"When did you know it was me?" I demanded hoarsely.

"Pretty soon after we started chatting. I should have let you know it was me, too. But--"

"Why the fuck didn't you?"

Cary shifted his weight uneasily, looking at the floor. "I don't know, Rolf. At first, I was amazed that we were into the same secret scene--kind of tickled, actually. The thought of a hunk like you wanting to be dominated--that was hot. It was fun playing along.

"Then you told me you wanted us to stop seeing each other. From the hints you dropped I realized you were dumping me for, well, me. Things had got out of hand and I didn't know what to do. I went crying to Kevin and ended up spilling the beans about what was going on between us online. Kevin cracked up. He cooked up this little scheme and offered to help."

I looked over at Kevin. "I might have known."

Kevin shrugged. "I warned you. Fuck with Cary and you answer to me."

Cary said, "I guess I was mad enough at you to go along with it." His voice dropped. "I won't lie, Rolf. I enjoyed it. A lot."

I looked at him, remembering the thrill that had run through me when the dark, lithe figure had emerged from the shadows, how my heart had pounded as I let myself be bound to the wooden bench inside the truck. I felt again the stinging pain of the quirt as it descended on my butt, and the driving heat of Claude's, no, Cary's cock as he took me.

"Looks like he enjoyed it too," Kevin said. He had mounted the stage and was coming toward us, pointing a finger at the rising evidence between my legs.

"Fuck you," I said. I turned to Cary, gazing anxiously at me. "And I thought you were too classy for a lowlife like me." I looked him in the eye. "I guess this changes things--Claude."

I saw the dawning comprehension in his eyes, the smile forming on his lips.

"I just hope," I added, deadpan, "you don't use that whip on your piano students."

Cary laughed. A moment later his arms were around me, and I was drinking in the aroma of sweat and leather once more as we kissed.

"Very touching," Kevin said, thrusting my clothes at me, "but University security makes rounds of this building at night. Get decent and let's blow this joint before they bust us."

We rode back to the park, Kevin driving and Cary and me snuggled shotgun. Kevin had, of course, been along for the entire ride. He had been sitting at the wheel of the U-Haul while Cary worked me over in the back, ready to drive off had anyone gotten suspicious.

"Damn truck was shaking like an earthquake hit it," he grinned at Cary, who ducked his head bashfully.

He dropped us off and went to return the U-Haul with its cargo--I never did find out to whom. I forgave him eventually. After all, he did bring Cary and me together--twice. As for Cary, I gave him some more grief for setting me up and playing me for a fool. But my body hadn't lied in the back of the truck that night, and we both knew it.

It's been years since all this happened. Living with Cary, I've heard a lot of classical piano music. "Clair de Lune" is still one of my favorites. He sometimes plays it as an encore when I am in the audience. Sitting in the dark, I smile. Cary still cuts a fine figure in his white tie and black tails.

But I know what's underneath the formal concert wear. That's for later, when the audience is gone and I have him all to myself.

The man I love looks good in black. Whatever the material.

END