"Does that arouse you?"
"That excites me," I answered.
The leather sex club was on a narrow street in Limassol, on the southern coast of Cyprus. The room wasn't large. It was dark and smokey. An X-frame was positioned in the center of a stage, lit up by a spotlight. A young blond man hung from the frame, facing it, and a leather-clad, dark, big bruiser of a gladiator was applying the whip to his bare back, buttocks, and thighs. The submissive twisted and turned, writhing under the snap of the whip. The lashes were teasing rather than lethal, but red welts were starting to appear. The muscular gladiator, wearing a black mask, black leather harnessing, and tight black leather chaps above black leather boots, the crotch exposed to show beefy balls and an erection, moved this way and that behind the youth, giving the men in the audience glimpses of the willowy white body of tender youth as he writhed on the X-frame. Men in the audience called out the cadence of the lashes.
I was held in the embrace of another hirsute, muscular, dark gladiator at the bar on the other end of the room, dressed as the big bruiser with the whip on the stage was. He held me in his lap. My torso and arms were stretched up, my wrists bound behind his neck. His finger moved down my chest, unbuttoning my black mess shirt, flaring it open. His hands snaked into the opening and closed over my pecs, squeezing. I gasped as he twisted my nipples. The hands glided down my chest, unzipped my fly, and pulled me out. I panted and writhed under his searching hands.
I looked around to see if anyone was watching. I wanted someone to be watching, but the scene on the platform for too compelling for those in the audience.
"
Uspokoit'sya
--Settle down," my gladiator growled and I gasped again as a hand closed around my balls and he squeezed. My eyes watered and I let out a sob. "Settle down," he commanded again, and he released my balls as I did so. A strong hand palmed my belly and the other one grasped and stroked my exposed cock. I was sitting in his lap, his huge erection pressing into my still-clothed buttocks.
I had drunk what had been given me. It had been drugged so that, although every sensation was heightened, my control was hindered. I was putty in the hands of my leather-clad gladiator--and I didn't care. I wanted him to use and abuse me as the young man on the cross was being used and abused.
It was too dark in the room to determine how many were there, but, despite my little cries at the abusive working of my body, no one was paying attention to my captor and me. They were either watching the performance or engaged with each other. Looking over the space between bar and stage, my sense was one of undulating bodies, men doing the same with other men that my gladiator was doing with me and the monster on the stage was going with the young blond hanging on the X-frame.
I knew this was an extreme leather bar when I entered it.
The hand left my belly, moved up my chest again, gripped my chin, and turned my face to his. He took my lips roughly with his, pushing his tongue in, and taking me in a deep kiss that ended with him biting my lip and me giving a little yelp. The hand returned to my belly.
We were both watching the youth being whipped in a desultory fashion. I took in my breath and began to pant, feeling the cum rising in me. I moved within the embrace of my gladiator, but he was strong and held me fast.
Yes, yes, make me come. Punish me, I thought.
The big brute on the stage let the whip fall. He placed his hands between the thighs of the blond youth and lifted his legs straight out from his body. At the same time he pulled the young man's hips back from the X-frame. The blond youth who had been hanging from the cross cried out as his captor saddled up behind him, penetrated, and began to pump, his plump bare buttocks moving forward and back, the cheeks contracting and expanding in the rhythm of the fuck.
My gladiator, his shaft pressing into my crack, held me close and stroked my cock in the same rhythm as the taking on the stage.
"Please, please, bring me off," I begged my man in a hoarse whisper. With a cry, I came, my exclamation matching that of the youth on the stage, and I collapsed in my gladiator's embrace.
"They have chambers here. Private chambers," my gladiator whispered in my ears. "You came here for what I can give you."
"Yes," I answered.
"I will use you."
"Yes"
"And abuse you."
"Yes."
He gathered me up in his arms, slung me, belly down, over his shoulder, and carried me through a beaded-curtain-covered doorway, down a dark corridor, to a chamber with stone walls and a stone floor. He stripped me and hung me by my still-bound wrists from chains hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the chamber. He trapped my cock in a cock cage and weighed my balls down with weights. Clips attached to a chain were attached to my nipples. I screamed as he pulled on the chain. He laughed.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No," I answered.
"I would not have stopped anyway," he said--and laughed.
He strapped me with a leather strap--on the back and the belly, on the buttocks and on the thighs. And on the cock and balls. He did not put the power of his beefy musculature in the strikes. They were more of a tease--except when they weren't. I cried out in surprise and pain-passion periodically as he put more power into the strike--and laughed.
"Do you want me to stop now?"
"No," I sobbed.
"Good. You take it good. I fuck you soon."
Embracing me close from behind, he glided his hands all over my body. His erection pressed into the small of my back and he pressed it down to between my thighs under my buttocks, moving it in and out, dry humping me as he prodded and pinch the flesh of my body. I was breathing heavily and giving exclamations whenever there were quick, sharp flashes of pain at what he was doing with my body.
I'd never felt so alive and so aroused. "Fuck me. Put it in me," I pleaded. He laughed.
He cupped my chin from behind and turned my face to his, taking my mouth with his. A hand went to my cock and grasped it, and he jacked me off again while he was brutally kissing me on the mouth and the cheek and in the hollow of my throat. I ejaculated again out over the stone floor.
Holding me close to him still he stroked my flanks with his fingers. "Such a beautiful body. I will enjoy using you. I will do whatever I want with you."
"Yes," I whimpered. "Fuck me. Do me."
He ran his hands up inside my thighs, gripped them high up with his hands. He raised my legs straight out from my body and pulled my hips back, arching my back. And then he mounted and penetrated me, filling, stretching, and possessing me.
He fucked the hell out of me.
* * * *
"And this is Nikolai Kirov, director of the Russian Cultural Centre on Alasias Street. Nikolai, this is the new, at least temporary, addition as associate director of the American Center, Neal Ramsey." The man who took my hand in his big paw and gave me a smirky smile was my gladiator at the sex club in Limassol three nights earlier.
"And Francois Godot of the Institut Français de Chypre, Costa Saveros of the Cyprus Tourist Organization, and I believe you know Marco from the Foreign Ministry." The introductions by the director of the British Council, Gillian Upton, at the open-air meze restaurant in the square of the old town of Strovolos, which had been swallowed up the Nicosia, Cyprus's capital, were quick and smooth enough that I didn't have time to give a reaction to my captor and sexual torturer from my visit to the leather sex club.
The 10:00 p.m. Saturday Night dinner party, the traditional supper time in Cyprus, was being held to welcome me to Cyprus and the cultural affairs office of the American Embassy. In addition to those I'd just been introduced to, all of whom were attached to the cultural outreach programs of their respective countries, including the two from Cyprus itself, the dinner guests included the American cultural attaché, and director of the American Center, Karen Barton, and her husband, Peter Prentis, who I worked with in the other half of my temporary assignment to the American Embassy in Nicosia.
I didn't have longer to think on the director of the Russian Culture Centre having been the leather-clad muscleman who had hung me in a dungeon and used and abused me before we were all seated at the table and passing around the bottles of Carlsberg beer and the never-ending plates of bits of this and that that made up a Cypriot meze meal. Kirov was seated across from me, with Francois Godot beside me and Gillian Upton beside Kirov. The others were at the other end of the table and essentially beyond the discussion between the four of us--or, mainly the British and French women and me, as Kirov spent most of the time glowering at me with a little knowing smile and acting as if he didn't speak English well. I knew for a fact, though, that he spoke it adequately enough to give commands on sexual obedience.
I had readily recognized him without his mask, and he knew who I was too. The hard toe of his black leather boots kept pressing painfully into the shin of one or the other of my legs under the table. In recognition of who he had been three nights before and his domination, I didn't move my legs away.
"Have you settled into a routine yet?" Gillian asked me. "You've been here now for what, three, four weeks?"
"Four," I said. "And yes, my schedule is busy and spread over the day, but it includes attending cultural events and venues in the evening, so I manage to get a workday in."
"You have found some interesting
kluby
--what you, say, clubs--have you?" Kirov asked, giving me a little smile.
"Yes, they have interesting clubs here in Cyprus. I've already joined the Eleon tennis and swim club," I answered breezily, not taking that further.
"I understand you are working at the American Center only part of the time and that you are here only temporarily," Francois said.
"Yes. I'm really only here to act as executive director of a NATO foreign ministers conference being held at the Ledra Palace Hotel. That includes effort by both the American Center and the embassy itself, so I split my time in preparation for the conference between those two. When the conference is over, I'll move on."
"Pity," Kirov said. "You seem to be someone who would really enjoy what Cyprus had to offer--so many exotic experiences to be had here."
