The Valentine

Sunday 14th February - early evening

James called round at three this afternoon and he suggested that we get things moving early next week. So I invited him to view the room I'd prepared especially for him and he followed me in. Even then I hadn't thought it right through and planned what happened next - it just seemed obvious and natural.

"I like the look of it," he said, admiring what I'd done. "No sharp edges!"

"I don't want you coming to any harm," I reassured. "I don't want you coming to anything." That was when I decided to go for it.

"Try the seat, if you wish. I've managed to work everything around your measurements but one or two minor adjustments might be needed."

Within a few seconds he was seated and trapped. Fully dressed in denim jeans, a cotton shirt, trainers. Restraints held down his fore-arms and ankle-snaps kept his legs in place. From behind the back of the chair I swung over the head mask within which was attached a soft rubber penis designed to silence and to comfort him in equal measure. He struggled frantically and cursed dramatically but none of his words were audible, muffled as they were by the gag. It worked like a dream.

So it has started and I am sure I have set both of us on an inexorable course. Even from the outset I feel as if I am as much the victim as he is, although he is the one tied up and at my mercy. I am, however, determined to maintain a strict scientific detachment for as long as possible and to treat the whole thing as a vital psychological experiment.

My name, incidentally, is Tomas. I live with my partner Richard and we share our home with our mutual friend Hari who is a Maori lad - dark-eyed, loyal, passionate and intense. I get the odd reply to a Personal Ad I posted several months ago for willing participants in private bondage games. Richard and I are in our late thirties and most of the interest seems to come from guys the same age or older. We rarely bother to follow through these contacts as they are more about teasing and anticipation rather than any actual achievement. Besides, Hari is only 18 and quite enough to handle, even shared between the two of us.

But then I met James, who is about 23 and very intelligent and keen and seems to have his head sorted out with regard to this sort of thing. From the start - about two weeks ago - he has remained insistent upon going ahead with a really hot bondage session and having no limits as to what I should consider inflicting upon him. He's made it very clear that being in a position of total powerlessness is an almost obsessive need and he wants no safeguards in advance - no passwords or anything - just the freedom to be completely under my control.

Naturally, my imagination started to go a little wild at this prospect and I soon began to wonder if I was getting into something I'd not be able to cope with rationally. I have, however, furnished a couple of small secret rooms with just about all that is needed. Neither Richard nor Hari nor anyone else - apart from James himself, now - know of these plans.

***

I have left him alone and retired next door to recover. I am typing this with one hell of a nervous shaky hand. I have never been so hard - it is quite an incredible feeling. Maybe once I've come I'll have had enough. But I doubt it somehow. Perhaps there is a truth waiting to be discovered at the heart of this fantasy, just as there is a pure illusion waiting at the centre of reality.

Sunday - late evening

There is a music track playing: some classical baroque pieces, very soothing. Underneath as a secondary set of sounds, very faint, subliminal, is a special mix of moans and screams - taken from videos mainly - of various men in the agonies and ecstasies of sexual excitement and torment. As time goes on these will become louder but for the moment they are undetectable.

I went back in and unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his belly, softly rubbing his nipples. He moaned gratefully at this. I shall try to note how the timbre of his moans of pleasure change over the following hours. These first seemed to say: OK, I'm here now; start it, I'll play along. I delicately kissed the area around his navel before dripping a dozen or so strands of hot molten wax on to him. He jolted his body and cried out momentarily but soon relaxed on realising what was happening. Maybe he was hard himself. I was again, certainly, and it was barely fifteen minutes since I'd shot my first load. I picked up two ice cubes, one for each hand, and rubbed them over his stomach. Another jolt. The first scream too, though very pleasurably uttered I felt, as if he too were testing his boundaries.

The seat he was in had been constructed very carefully: it could be reclined at several angles; it could be turned and revolved. Now it lay flat. The body that lay there was still largely covered and hidden by manacles and a mask but I knew how beautiful the flesh beneath would be. To the mess of wax and melted ice that lay across his belly I added a few dribbles of my own pre-cum. I was standing naked next to him, my hungry cock ready to burst for a second time. Which it soon did.

I raised the mask from his face and he spluttered a little, gasping for air and blinking in the semi-darkness.

"You're an evil bastard," he groaned, after a few more seconds. "My throat is parched - I need water. And when are you getting to MY dick, man?"

"Soon," I said. "Are you sure you want to continue? Do you want to agree a password now?"

"You know what I want," he growled. "This is too good to spoil, so just shut up and get on with the...OWW!!"

I'd struck him across the face with the back of my hand. My fingers tingled.

"Don't tell me what to do!" I calmly muttered close to his ear. "Now - last chance - do you want a password?"

"Fuck off!!" He almost spat the words. I was obviously dealing with someone who had something to prove to himself.

"I'm a devious little devil," I said, putting the upper part of the mask back over his face to cover his eyes. "I'll give you another chance later but just remember how devious I am. Meanwhile I'll mix you a drink."

I scooped the remains of the melted ice, wax and semen from his stomach and into a glass. Raising him to a seated position I released his left arm and handed him the drink.

"What the hell!!" he spat a mouthful of the mixture out, back on to his belly and jeans.

"Not to your taste? I'd drink it up in one nice little swallow if I were you - there's a nice cold beer to follow if you do. Otherwise - sorry, the bar's closed!"

And bless him, he did. One quick shot back and the glass was drained. I opened a screw-top bottle and poured a full glass of the ice-cold beverage.

"I'll leave it on the side table just to your right while I go for a pee," I told him. "Help yourself."

From the doorway I watched as he reached over with his left hand and groped carefully to locate the table and the glass. With extreme caution he carried the slippery beaker to his lips and I left the room.

Three seconds later there was an enormous yell of rage and then a smash of glass against a wall.

Once he'd got one arm free it was a simple job for him to unclasp the other and then to free his legs. On my return from the toilet, therefore, he was leaning against the far wall with his arms folded, shirt neatly tucked in and looking daggers at me.

"I know, I know!" I stopped him from interrupting me with a quickly raised hand. "Come through into next door and I'll explain. Or just leave now, if you wish." I gestured to the open door. "Your choice. For the moment."

"I thought you were supposed to get my rocks off. That's what I wanted. This is just plain stupid." He sighed with half resignation, half hopefulness. "Just make it quick because I feel like packing it in. I shouldn't be here anyway, not tonight: I've got work tomorrow."

When we walked into the room next door he found a table laid ready for a dinner for two. I handed him a real glass of cool beer - "No trick - go on, enjoy!" - and took a quick sip myself to prove it. Softer light music was playing. Romantic lighting. The warm re-assuring scent of bread mingled with spices from the meal cooking in the oven in the corner.

The daggers had disappeared. A wide smile filled his face then turned to a sudden frown.

"Look, Tomas, you know I'm not gay. I mean that and I think you know I mean it. It's not a game I'm playing to pretend that I'm not gay but I am really. I do want the sex with you but ...Well, I'm not sure I fancy this seduction scene."

"Relax and sit down," I re-assured him. "All I want to do is explain a few things and make one hundred percent sure that you want to submit to me. That's all. Forget St Valentine's Day - that's pure coincidence."

He sat and drank some beer. I fetched the food over and we began to eat. About halfway through the meal I got to the point. I looked straight into his eyes.

"Listen, James, the simple truth is that I desperately want to tease and torture you and turn-on your mind and body so badly that your brain has the equivalent of a total melt-down. I mean that. I want to have you writhing in your bonds and babbling, whimpering, begging, screaming, crying and moaning uncontrollably all at the same time because you're so desperate to cum...."

He looked away from me, squirmed in his chair and groaned slightly.

"And I know you want that too."

"Too right. Too damn right," he murmured.

The tune now playing was That Old Black Magic. Down and down I go, round and round I go.

"All I need to know is - is it still no limits? No password? No escape?"

He put down his fork and looked directly at me. I knew we were both rock hard. So did he.

"No boundaries, no nothing - I'm all yours - just get to the basics a bit quicker, that's all. Get my pants off. You know!" he laughed. "I trust you. I want you to take me wherever."

"What if I don't know, though?" I asked, genuinely. "What if I get us both into something I can't handle?"

"Like drinking piss? Hell - why not? It's just that it was a surprise and a new experience." He paused. "But on reflection - it's quite a horny memory!"

I would give him one last chance.

"What if I just got completely carried away and ended up hurting you by accident?"

He frowned, but more in thought than in fear.

"Accidents happen."

Then he said: "Look, Tom, I've thought this through too. I want to feel scared and humiliated. I want so I'll get angry. So I'll scream. So I'll smash glasses against a wall. But...I want that and..." - he punctuated the next three words with a jab of his finger - "I...mean...that." He drained the last drops of beer from his glass. "I'm a runaway, remember. In here, I've stopped running."

"I enjoyed hitting you," I added. This had to be the last question. "What if I want to do it again?"

"Pain. Fear. Expanded limits. My mind expanded. My body stretched..." - He paused and then he stood up and unzipped his denims to display his proud erection nestled within his briefs - "...and all within your power. No limits, for either of us!"

He walked back into the other room and left me rubbing my groin in anticipation.

"Tomas!" he shouted a few seconds later, "I've got both my legs and one arm fastened - I need you to finish me off..."

***

I went in and secured the other arm restraint, lowered the seat to its fully reclined position and placed a pillow under his head. I patted him gently on the bulge that was now safely tucked within his pants and kissed him on the forehead. The classical music tape was playing softly but one or two erotic groans were already audible in the background. The tape was set to play for another two hours and would increase in sexual intensity by each minute.

I turned the lights to barely lit and left the room. He didn't speak though he could have done: the mask was unattached. Perhaps he thought I was coming straight back.

I locked everything behind me and went up to my bedroom. Richard was undressed and reading in bed. Hari was watching TV.

"Either of you in the mood?" I queried, slipping naked between the sheets.

Monday - morning

I awoke early with a raging hard-on after a particularly restless night. I slipped out of bed to wash and dress as quickly as possible, anxious to get things really moving today and to show him what kind of business I meant.

Entering the room as quietly as possible I found him asleep and it took no more than a couple of seconds to draw the mask over his head and slip the gag into his mouth. He spluttered and tried to speak to me, shaking his arms violently within their restraints. I could make out my name being spoken, the words 'wait' and 'stop', and then ignored it and just heard noise.

For the next fifteen minutes I simply massaged the area around his feet, kneading his calf muscles, stroking his legs, before untying his trainers and getting to work on his feet. I'd read a story the week before in which a spy was tortured on his feet with matches, feathers and rubber-bands and I wanted to try out some of the ideas.

Beginning with the ordeal by fire I lit a match and held it close to the heel of James's left foot. He wriggled a little and moved his foot away from the source of heat. Whichever direction he moved, I followed until the match was burnt out. Then to be fair and symmetrical I inflicted the same on his right foot. I repeated that process twice.

He has beautiful feet, it must be said. Long, tanned, handsome and smooth. I licked them in turn, from heel to toe. What sounds of anger emitting from his mask a short while ago were now contented murmurs. My tongue played around and over his feet and toes for several minutes and then I couldn't help but suck and nibble at each toe in turn. Lots more contentment. I reached a hand to his crotch and confirmed the existence of a rigid member.

He didn't seem to be too ticklish on his feet but I guessed I should test him all the same. The feathers danced around but nothing much happened, so they were quickly discarded. There would be other areas to test out later.

I sat back and pulled out a large rubber-band. Using it like a pea-shooter I stretched it back with my right hand, gripping the other end with my left and aiming straight at his in-step which I reckoned would be the most sensitive place. The band snapped and smacked dead centre and his foot jerked back.

It made a loud slapping noise when it made contact and James gave a muffled cry in agony from the stinging pain. I pulled back the band just under the toes of his right foot and let it go again. He screamed again. I considered how easy it was to enjoy being as sadistic as this as I began rapidly and incessantly stinging his feet at random spots, reveling in his agony. His left foot then received the same treatment. Then I rubbed oil into both feet for him, slipping my hands as far up his legs as the clamps would permit.

I had some work to do out of town, however, so time was pressing.

Releasing him without reason was all part of the fun. He would become unable to predict it and expect it to happen at random which would add to the excitement. He might even expect it as a matter of course if I released him at some point each day. One day, though, I knew that it would be much more stimulating to deny that release and delay it for....well, for quite a time.

"Grab a wash, get a bite to eat," I instructed him. "I need breakfast myself anyway. And afterwards, we'll try the post...."

He got up silently and went towards the door to wash and toilet. I wondered if he might now decide to pack it in and leave.

"...I'll need you to strip for that!"

***

The post was just that - a thick wooden post running from floor to ceiling - but comfortably padded all round and furnished with a selection of different sized straps to hold down the neck, the waist and individual arms and legs. He was smiling and eager and anticipating great pleasure - which he would receive. He virtually tied himself in again, which was getting to be a disturbing habit. The difference this time was that he remained silent, as he had been all through breakfast, saying nothing but shooting me dark, brooding, pleading looks.

The feather that had failed to thrill his feet now began to be worked along the shaft of his already erect penis, running around the sensitive glans area and flicking over the tip, tickling him violently. This time it really worked wonders! It capered over his testicles, explored between his legs, and teased between the buttocks as far as I could reach. But always it returned to the stiff, now leaking young cock.

His need for orgasm was compelling. I was fascinated by the whole process and extremely aroused myself. Focusing clearly, I worked especially on his penis. I didn't even consider flicking the feather elsewhere over his body, happy to just tickle and tease his rock-hard tool, watching it twitch and lurch as James involuntarily began the prolonged climb towards consummation. I began again at the base of the shaft and slowly - and so very, very carefully - worked up towards the tip. I was very tempted to reach out and kiss it with my lips, but suppressed the instinct knowing that it would be an altogether sweeter kiss if delayed. The soft feather fondled his cock with a kiss of silk - hardly in contact with it but every movement sending ecstatic charges through the young body. The scent of his washed body mingled with fresh sweat was also intoxicating. Gradually, millimetre by millimetre, the feather reached upwards towards the tender tip of James's penis, its cunningly slow advance calculated precisely to cause the eventual orgasm to be of the most heart-breaking intensity possible.

James's mouth was open, his eyes closed, and he was whimpering in pure sexual frustration. As the plume progressed along the shaft, getting nearer and nearer to the tip of his cock, and the pressure of the semen in his balls grew, he was now at the point where a single determined stroke on his cock would make him ejaculate at once. He was powerless to control it - either to make himself cum or to prevent his nearing the point of orgasm.

The feather was now well past half way up his cock and I made the soft tip play round and round the rigid pole. Pre-cum was dripping down from the end in long pearly strands. James was oblivious to them, however, lost as he was in his private world of ecstasy. His entire universe consisted of that feather and what it was doing to his aching, horny cock. In many respects, it was my universe too, entranced as I was by the same thing: the only difference was the amount of responsibility I held. He was out of it; I was in the midst of it and able to direct it either way.

As the feather reached the base of the glans, a shudder ran through him. This was now pure torture - he so desperately needed to cum. He couldn't stop himself from pleading, "Oh Christ - please make me cum, Tomas, PLEASE!!"

"Oh, you shall cum, James - you shall cum," I promised.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," he almost sobbed with gratitude. I noted how little it had taken to get him to this point. The pleasure he was receiving from me was an immense weapon.

More and more often now his hips were escaping his control and his pelvic thrusts became powerful and more insistent. The feather was now working on the sensitive glans itself and he was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. I imagine that he could feel the onset of orgasm approaching and, as before, realising that he was incapable either of delaying it or forcing it to happen his mind must have observed and responded to every movement on his cock, willing me to deliver the final blow. I lingered on the cock-head for a long time, caressing, tormenting and tickling fiendishly.

I sensed that he was dangling on the very margin of orgasm. It would take little more than a sigh on the tip of his cock to push him over the edge and release all his pent-up sexual energy in one blast. I withdrew the feather, paused dramatically and then gently rubbed my moist fingers over the whole length of his straining cock. The moan that came from between his lips was worth everything I'd spent so far in time, money and effort: it was a moan of complete surrender, gratitude and acceptance of fate.