As stupid as it sounds, I had memorized the telephone number scrawled on the stall wall in the bathroom at K-Mart. Now, I was dropping a quarter into the pay phone and dialing the number.
"Yes?"
I hesitated.
"I found this number at K-Mart," I finally stammered.
"Ohhhh," came his response, "so you're looking for some head?"
I hesitated a moment.
"Well?"
"Yeah," God my throat was feeling so dry. The nerves were raging. My brain kept warning me, "what the fuck are you thinking?"
He gave me an address and instructions. It wasn't too far, just south of the beltway, in a large town home community. His place was at the back of the neighborhood. Still very new, and very nervous, I parked two blocks away and walked down to his place.
I rang the door bell. The door opened, he pushed open the storm door and said, "come on in."
He turned and immediately headed down a nearby stairway. I followed. He opened a door and walked into a bedroom with a king-sized four poster bed.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable," he instructed.
I pushed off my shoes and undressed. I didn't remove my black bikini briefs. From my few experiences, I knew that guys like the whole process of unveiling a cock that they were going to suck.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"You'd be more comfortable if you laid down," he proposed.
I turned and stretched out on the bed, my head resting on a fairly comfortable, soft pillow. He was still dressed and showed no sign of planning to undress. That isn't so unusual for guys that give head, but there is that subtle difference in relationships when one person is fully clothed and the other isn't.
He got on the bed, kneeling between my knees.
He ran his hands over my bikinis and got the response he was looking for.
"Hello there!" he exclaimed.
"Does this feel good," he asked as his hands teased my small mount. Occasionally, his fingertips teased along the seams of the briefs, first circling my waist, then following the seam inward and under my balls.
I moaned my affirmative.
"Good, good," he replied.
"I'm awful small," I apologized, "sorry about that."
"Nah, man," he retorted, "you're very thick, and you look like you would make a good mouthful."
He leaned forward and, at the same time, he began sliding his fingertips inside the waistband of my bikinis.
I gasped with pleasure.
Then he pulled the waistband down and out sprung my boner.
"Nice!"
He re positioned himself so that he was laying on his stomach and could comfortable suck my cock. He began right in, licking and sucking my boner.
And he did something else.
He rubbed his hand up my belly and across my chest. He found my left nipple. His fingertips were electricity to the nipple as they played across it. And then it happened.
He pinched my nipple, and elicited a deep throated moan from me.
"You like that, baby," he growled.
I mewed my response.
He tweaked my nipple harder and I moaned louder.
He stopped sucking, and looking me in the eye, "are you game to try something more?"
"Well, I might be," I answered, "what do you have in mind?"
He stood up. He walked to the wall on the opposite side of the room from the bed.
For the first time, I noticed that there was a large sheet hanging on the wall, held in place by thumbtacks. He grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it off the wall, revealing an extensive collection of toys, whips, collars, dildos, and other devices. My cock throbbed.
"I thought so," he stated flatly. "You married guys are so predictable. Are you willing to submit? I promise not to leave any marks or to hurt you in anyway that you don't like."
My throat was feeling so dry again. I'd seen this scene played out so many times in videos and porn stories.
"Yes, Sir," I intoned.
"Yes, Sir, what?"
"Yes, Sir, I'll submit. Use me however you want!"
He walked back over to the bed. He knelt on the side of the bed. He was reaching for something. That something was cuffs, not fur lined cuffs and not toys. He kept cuffs attached to the bedposts. Hand cuffs and leg cuffs. I didn't resist as he stretched me out like an iron eagle.
He went back to the wall and grabbed a small chain, heavier than a necklace. At each end of the chain were rubber coated alligator clamps. He attached a clamp to each of my nipples. Next came a ball gag, which he put in my mouth and around my head. After that, he took down a flogger made with suede leather and a riding crop, along with a blindfold. He also grabbed a serrated pattern tracing wheel, which looked exactly like the tool my mom used when she was cutting out patterns while making skirts for my sisters.
He laid the tools on the bed, then picked up the blindfold and sat on the side of the bed to slip the blindfold on me.
"How much time do you have, boy?" he barked.
"An hour," my voice trembled, "Sir."
"Good boy," he intoned. "We are going to help you find your limits and part of that exercise is learning to trust."
The blindfold slipped over my eyes. I got so rigid from the helplessness and his authority.
"First things, first, boy," he spoke in a measured tone, "I need you to be sensitized to EVERYTHING, so I'm going to use the tracing wheel."
He shifted on the bed and then I felt the points of the wheel at the base of my cock. He slowly rolled the wheel up my boner, stopping just at the glans. Then he rolled it back down. He repeated this over and over. Up the penis and down again.
While he worked, he kept up a running monologue.
"You see, it's not just about pain, it's about sensations," he explained, he now began rolling the tool around the tip of my cock and pre-cum was flowing from his attention.
He shifted again. This time, he began using the tracing wheel around my areolas, and, at the same time, he tugged on the chain connecting the alligator clamps on my nipples. His right knee was pressing uncomfortably up between my thighs, and the more he worked my nipples, the more I could feel him squishing my ball sack with his knee.
"Okay," he announced, "let's see how you handle the flog."
He got off the bed. Now I was really blind, because with him off the bed, I couldn't sense his next move.
SMACK!
He struck my cock with the sueded leather flog. Not very hard, but enough to elicit a gasp of surprise from me.
"You see boy," he was in a teaching mood, "even though I just hit you, your pathetic little dicklet is raging hard. You were born to be used!"
He struck again.
And again and again.
He stopped, gripped my penis with one hand and pulled it toward my stomach. The effect lifted my ball sack, and he immediately struck it with the riding crop. My stomach felt sick. I've had my balls racked a few times, particularly when I was sparring during karate class.
I pulled against the handcuffs and the ankle cuffs, trying to move away from him, and trying to shield my balls. The effort failed, and angered him.
