GAY SEX STORY
"Domination"

The bar is nearly full of leathermen. Among them are a few masters and slaves with their S/M toys – riding crops, handcuffs, and leather restraints – that announce or invite domination or submission. As I order a beer, I notice a big man sitting at a table at the back. He’s bald, with a trim, dark-brown beard, plus a moustache. At the top of his solid torso, a heavy, silver, chain-link collar and padlock hangs around his neck. But his size and age (I’m guessing forty) don’t fit my image of slave.

I’m wearing leather shorts with heavy-duty suspenders – friends tell me that my muscular body looks good like this – and over the next half hour, several guys come on to me. One hairy hunk in particular sends interesting vibes, but my mind is on the slave. Eventually, I manoeuver my way through the crowd, until I’m about ten feet away. He’s still by himself, and now I can see see fleshy nipples and a coating of light brown hair on his belly. He looks at me, but I’m not sure if his expression indicates challenge or curiosity.

I hold his gaze for a few moments, then move and sit on the other side of his table. We continue surveying each other. His fetish outfit – the leather strap around his right bicep, the chain neck collar, leather gloves and gauntlets – is self-explanatory. But I’m not convinced.

“Are you shopping?” he asks.

“That depends,” I reply.

“On ...?”

“I’m curious. Where’s your master?”

“Who knows? He might be here, if he’s got what it takes.”

“And that neck chain and other gear ...?”

“Does it bother you?”

“Without it, you’d have a line-up of eager slaves. You’ve certainly got the body for it.”

“Thanks, but looks can be deceiving. Speaking of which, I’m guessing you’re a top.”

“Usually, but probably not up to your standards.” I pause then add, “My name’s Mike.”

“Call me Rolio, and I’m curious. You said ‘usually.’ So let me ask: Would you be tempted to sample a little discipline – to test your limits?”

“I’m not sure ... maybe ... I’d need to trust you.”

“Ask Al, the bartender. He knows me.”

“There’d have to be boundaries.”

“Of course, but while you’re thinking about it, stand in front of me.”

I’m wondering what I’m letting myself in for, but I follow his instructions. He spreads his knees and motions me closer. Then he fixes his dark eyes on mine and slowly raises his hands, in their leather gloves, to my chest, and brushes his thumbs over my nipples.

They instantly stiffen, and my chest juts forward, seeking more. Rolio pauses then repeats the action, slightly varying the rhythm and pressure and then switching to stroke my arms and clutch my biceps. “Great body,” he says. “Now, close your eyes and imagine yourself standing naked and spread-eagled. You’re looking into a mirror and watching me, behind you, doing this.” He caresses my nipples with his knuckles, then rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers. He has an expert touch. When he starts squeezing and twisting them, he increases the pressure little by little. After a while, the pain and pleasure merge into a single sensation. I gasp and writhe, trying to hold out, but finally my arms shoot up to break his grip.

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