This story is generalized fiction with elements of real scenes included. Contains strong references to incest, ws, authoritarian behavior. DO NOT READ if you are not permitted to read such material. Constructive comments appreciated. FLAMES will be IGNORED.
Email author at leathernvanillany@yahoo.com
I decided not to let Jeff get off at dungeon night at Joe's after I'd had my way with him in the sling before an appreciative audience of hot guys. I spent the rest of the night with him at my feet, naked except for his rubber hood, collar, and leash. He licked my boots while I put down a few beers and chatted up some buddies--and ignored Jeff, except for some yanks on his leash.
Then I decided our public play time was over for the night. When we entered the washroom, we really dropped our master/slave roles, almost instantly, almost instinctively. Maybe it was a son (me) finally finding the respect he had for his father (Jeff). I admired how he had gotten away from an abusive relationship with my mother, the classic bitch. He'd gone through two coming outs--first as a gay man in his early thirties and then as a gay man into rough s&m as bottom boy five years later. Now he, and I, were breaking the ultimate taboo, together, indulging in pleasures most people only fantasize about in their wildest imaginations.
So after a scene, I always help him clean up, feeling his amazing body, feeling an almost disbelief in the sensations at hand. My eyes no longer wander for others. Since Jeff reentered my life it's only him. We can have the roughest sex, the most brutal scenes, and yet each of us will be deeply satisfied. And right as we stand here naked, cleaning up after a public exposition of fucking, pissing, rimming, and more, I can tenderly caress his tight body and deep kiss him. With just one or two hocks of spit sent down his throat--for fun and a reminder of who's in charge.
Out on the street, we were two prepped up guys out for a stroll late on Friday night. Both over 6', 200, me with close-cropped brown hair and Jeff now shaved bald (my choice), we were guys you wouldn't want to mess with if you got a look at our biceps. When we walked into our favorite diner for a late night meal, women and men turned their heads. (Who were these lookers? Or who were these lookalikes?) By being so comfortable with each other, we deflected all stares. We'd sometimes talk about our days, sometimes about the scenes just finished. (We'd get real close to talk about those.) Sometimes we'd talk about my straight kid brother, or my mother and have some real good laughs. We were really two buddies, as relaxed and comfortable as could be.
I nudged Jeff as our waiter served us. Two gay guys had been staring at us from across the next booth. Had they been at the club? Two young guys, with hungry eyes, both wearing enough leather to show their kinky side. We were definitely getting cruised and I said to Jeff, "Let's have some fun. Order up some beers, with glasses."
As soon as the bottles came, I made sure our neighbors saw me pour the beers into the glasses. Then Jeff and I toasted and drained our glasses. With the beer left in me from Joe's place, I soon had to take a wicked piss. But I held the empty glass in the air and looked over and back several times at our voyeurs. I placed the glass on the table and made sure they followed my hands as I undid my 501 button fly. I stroked my cock before taking the glass and positioning it under my now dangling penis. I let go into the glass, spilling a little piss, making some noise, but making sure those guys knew for sure what was happening. Their faces were riveted on the scene. But the best was yet to come.
Since piss is a great beer imitation, when I pulled my glass from under the table and rebuttoned my fly, Jeff and I could truly say "Everything's fine," when the waiter breezed by. As I nodded and laughed to Jeff, on cue he picked up my glass of still-warm piss and chugged it down. Even left a little bit at the bottom of the glass to tease the waiter.
We enjoyed showing off for our interested guests. We got our check, finished our meal, and smiled our way out into the early morning air. I wasn't finished with our Friday night by any means and that meant back to our apartment...
I pinched Jeff's luscious butt as we got into our building lobby and walked up the three flights of stairs. We had a spacious (for New York) old apartment downtown that suited us just fine. The first room to the left was our playroom/workout room. I'd carefully planned it to suit our fetish needs, down to the soundproofing to allow us to get wild any time of the day or night. So at 2:30 am on a Saturday, I wanted to end the night with a flourish.
"Strip, put your dog collar on, and line up on the cross." Our wonderful St. Andrew's cross, on which I'd learned, by being a bottom, how to top years ago.
I took my time in the kitchen, peeling off my clothes, admiring my buffed, waxed chest as I made myself a cup of coffee and schemed out the final scene of our day. I grabbed my gear bag and put on my harness, cod piece, sunglasses, and boots.
After twenty minutes or so, I strolled into the room, lit with a red light, turned my favorite hip hop sex background sound and went to work again on Jeff. He was such a good bottom, standing there so helpless, wanting it so bad.
I put on my leather gloves and fastened him, arms and legs, to the cross. Next a metal cockring with extra sharp teeth went around his ultra smooth cock and balls. I loved how he winced and then settled in. I held his face as he gritted his teeth to get used to the pain. When it took a little longer than I thought, I reached for the poppers bottle.
"Here, take two short hits, bud."
Then since this was going to be cock and ball torture time, I reached across for our cock and ball parachute. But I'd forgotten the hood.
"You don't want to spoil the fun too much, eh?"
I quickly fastened the rubber hood over his shaved head and clipped on the blindfold. Then I reached for the parachute and deftly fastened and clipped it around his balls. I reached for the weights.
"Three pounds is easy, right Jeffy?" as I fastened a 3 lb. lead weight to the ring under the 'chute.
Seeing no problem there. I added another pound. He moved around slightly.
"Having trouble?"
No answer.
"OK, one more and I'll give you some medicine," I said, as I pumped a hit of poppers through the tubing that ran through his nose.
I knew Jeff was in heaven--that this was one of his favorite scenes. So I stood back and admired. But I wanted more.
I reached for the flogger and began with an ever-so-slight brushing of his tortured cock and balls. I worked up to his arms and torso, introducing him to the feel of the flogger that night.
Then a little harder. A little harder still.
"You like it rough, don't you, boy? I grunted into Jeff's face before I tongued kissed him and spat down his throat. I gave him a hit from the poppers delivery machine on his hood, paced back two steps and let loose.
I wailed the flogger as hard as I could all over, chest, legs, and brutalizing his already tortured cock and balls. The crack of the flogger in the air and then again on his body. His body's reactions. The steadily increasing sounds, from soft "Ahhhs"...to ever higher screeches. After a few minutes, I could tell he was spent.
I took off his cock torture toys as I walk over to him.
"You're a good boy. You've had enough. But you need to come and I need to piss. So when I release you, you fall on the floor. I'm gonna piss all over. You lie in my piss until I say anything and then start jerking off. And don't cum until I do."
I rained my piss all over Jeff. I stopped at one point, pulled off his hood and drenched his head and faced. On cue, when I told him to open his mouth, I aimed my line into his mouth and down his throat.
We timed our jack offs to perfection and when I was done, I fell to the floor, in bliss.
"Thanks, Dad, er, bud, er, Jeffy."