Part 1: Sounding
My angel was taking me to the darker side, introducing me to new sensations and passions, higher levels of arousal than I had ever known before in my heretofore vanilla sex life. He was an addiction, a dangerous habit to feed, I fully realized, and I had come back to his den willingly, wanting to know what more there was, what new heights my passion could reach. My head kept saying no or at least go slow, but my body yearned for his touch, for his domination, for reaching new heights of body awareness and pleasure under his guidance.
I had returned voluntarily to his basement room, as he knew I would. My hands were handcuffed to the brass headboard welded to the wall, and I was kneeling, facing the wall, on a stained mattress. We were beyond the spankings and light lashings that had made my tender ass, inner thighs, and cock and balls red swollen and ultrasensitive to the touch. We were even beyond the soothing and arousing attention his lips and tongue had paid to my swollen thighs, tender kissings that had crescendoed to bitings that had me screaming for mercy and then to the rimming and invasion of my asshole with his searching tongue with its tantalizing knobbed stud.
We were now on to a new phase. He was knelt between my thighs, very close into me now, the studs of the leather harness criss-crossing his bulging chest rubbing against my shoulder blades, his rock-hard cock, with its Prince Albert pierced head ring rubbing between my swollen thighs. He had one hand firmly palmed on my lower belly, holding my ass into his pelvis, and he held a purple silicone ribbed and nubbed dildo in his other hand, pressing it between my lips. I took it in as I would have willingly taken in his cock—as I, indeed, already had taken in his cock before I'd been handcuffed to the wall—and I made love to it as I knew he wanted me to, taking in its measure, knowing that it soon would be working its thick eight inches or more into my puckered hole.
The dark angel was humming. He had done this before when he was engrossed in what he was doing and when, it seemed, that he was being especially aroused by the activity. I had learned in our earlier session that this marked his being in a zone of his own while he worked my body and that as long as he was humming, it made no difference what I might feel or want—he was going to pursue what he felt and he wanted.
He pulled the moistened dildo from between my lips and sat back on his haunches briefly, lathering the tool up with lube, all the time telling me how nice my body was and how he was going to play me like a violin. No, he said, not like a violin. That was too refined. He was going to work me like a factory machine, roughly and strongly, one that worked with a punching rod, pistoning the rod inside it endlessly and forcefully. I moaned at the image he was providing and longed for him to cover me once again, to hold me close and dominate me.
And then he was covering me again, and I felt the bulbous-capped end of the silicone dildo against my throbbing asshole. He told me not to hold back in voicing my responses, which he hardly needed to have done, because I lurched and arched my back and cried out my mixed pain and ecstasy from the moment the slick dildo entered me, until it had screwed in all the way to the hilt. I screamed out the stretching and rubbing and rough digging it was doing as I felt each ripple and nub working the walls of my canal.
All the time he was telling me how the dildo was nothing as a take-no-prisoners invader as his own cock would be, and he soon was proving that. He made me stand up on the mattress, my legs spread wide, and my torso slanted down to where my hands were cuffed to the wall, and exchanged the swirling rotation of the dildo for his own thicker and longer cock. I groaned and grunted and screamed out again in both fear and welcome as his heavily veined cock, with that ring in the tip—thinly sheathed with a condom that didn't interfer with the sensations provided by stroking of the ring and rippling of the veins as he plowed up into me.
When I felt the studs of the cock ring at his root attack the rim of my hole, he covered my nipples with both his hands and started to worry them with his pinching fingers and nails. Then he leaned his lips up to my ear and asked me if I was ready for the piston machine to be turned on.
I moaned back my desire for him to take me long and hard and furiously, and then I cried out once more as he bit my ear lobe and continued chewing lightly on that as he began to pump me hard, in long strokes, punishing my ass walls with that twirling cock ring of his.
My knees gave up to the onslaught of his vigorous fucking, and I collapsed down onto the mattress, the dark angel coming down with me, without losing purchase on my hole. He covered me close from on top and kept pistoning his rod into me. I was pushing my ass back at him with each stroke, which caused my engorged dick to slide across the mattress, and, at length I added my own cum stain to the mattress to join that of so many who had preceded me there.
With a lurch and a cry of victory, the dark angel also spent himself within me, and we lay there panting and sighing until we had regained a regular pattern of breathing.
While he was uncuffing me and leading me off to the shower, he said, "Dress after we've showered and then I want to take you somewhere."
I was mildly disappointed, because in our previous session, it had been after we had showered that he had really shown me what I had been missing for so long in arousal and a fantastic fuck. But he was the boss, and I was the slave in our relationship.
After we showered, he fed me, telling me that I'd want to build up all the strength I could for his surprise and then we were on his motorcycle and moving into an even more "iffy" part of the city than where his digs were located.
He pulled up in a warehouse district and we entered a nondescript door in a blank wall and followed the stairs to the basement. We were in a low-ceilinged, smoke-filled room that was teeming with men in various stages of undress, arousal, and release activity. There were bars set up on three sides and small tables, with chairs, most occupied, not all by a single person, all circling around a center platform, with a spotlight shining down.
Two men were performing on the platform. There was a wedge-like cushion in the center of the platform, with arm and leg restraints at each corner. A youngish, lithe red-headed guy, with a flowing mane of hair, was reclining on the wedge, ass tilted up on the higher end of the slant, and torso draped back toward the lower end, with head propped up on a slightly elevated end. His arms were bent up and his wrists were cuffed in the restraints on the sides of the wedge beside his head. His torso was stretched out fully to show off his fine musculature. His ankles were cuffed at the sides of the other end of the wedge, although there were lines attached to the wedge that permitted the wide spreading of the young man's legs. A burlier, muscle-bound, completely hairless man, wearing a headsman-style mask that covered his head and came down to below his eyes was hovering between the young man's legs. I could tell the young man was both beleaguered and enjoying himself by the screaming he was doing.
