Most of us have an invisible leash. It’s the thing that prevents us from kicking the little ‘ol lady who accidentally steps on our foot, from reaching over the counter at the store and helping ourselves to the money in the cash register, from kneeing somebody in the nuts or cunt when they do something to piss us off. For some, the weight of that leash is so light, they don’t even realize it’s there.
That leash is something I tug against every day of my life. Maybe because I spent most of my early ears on the receiving end of an expertly wielded extension cord. That was my job. Whenever she could, my foster sister Karen talked us out of the beatings, that was her job; whenever she couldn’t, I took them.
The first time I beat someone, I told myself that I was doing it because I was curious. It was just something new and different. It wasn’t that I was getting off on it. There was no way I could be like that.
When I was a little kid, I’d catch the mice and put them outside before the traps could get them. I avoided stepping on ants. I didn’t squash spiders; I wrapped them up in a paper towel and took them outside.
So, the first couple of times I wielded a flogger, I had all kind of reasons as to why it was ok for me to be doing so. Everything except that I wanted to. That I needed to. That it felt good.
Kevin was so small. To beat someone who was so defenseless…not gonna happen.
Then he asked me to.
We were in my apartment and he was exploring. He loved to play with my things. He’d try on my clothes, even wear them sometimes.
He’d pour through the one photo album I have over and over. He’d read every book that I had on my shelves and then ask me what I thought about them and why I had those books in particular. He was still puzzling me out. For some reason, he seemed to find me fascinating.
He’d found a couple of my floggers in the back of my closet. Flushed and breathless, he’d brought them to me, interrupting my preparation of our dinner. I tilted my head and looked at him speculatively.
“You can’t handle it,” I said.
He bristled and said, “Yeah, I can.”
There is something so sensuous about leather. The smell, the texture. On my first trip to a dungeon, when I saw someone flogged for the first time, I was electrified.
It was so erotic, so hot, and so primal. I was shifting in my seat, rock hard, wondering how the people around me were sitting so quietly. Wondering if they were as turned on as I was.
I wanted to be up there. I wanted to have that slave restrained and at my mercy. Striking him, watching him writhe with each lash of the whip, hearing him beg for me to hit him harder.
I left in the middle of the scene. I went home and paced the floor, freaking out because I was so turned on. Eventually, I ended up jerking off, hating myself, feeling guilty and ashamed. I came explosively and copiously, harder than I had ever cum in my life.
Kevin threaded the strands of the flogger through his fingers. He rubbed them across his face, inhaling deeply. He licked his lips and stared at me intently.
He started taking his clothes off. It was seductive even though he didn’t mean it to be so. I knew it was because he was caught up, just like me.
Sometimes, this thing arced between us. It was hunger, a violent, raging hunger. We’d be doing something, anything: talking, listening to music, driving to my apartment, then we’d exchange a glance and it was like a switch was flicked on, a trigger pulled. Heat would flash between us, uncontrollable as wild fire. I watched, unblinking, as each bare slice of skin was unveiled.
We were inside of this thing, this vortex of want and desire. I took the flogger out of his hand and grabbed him by the wrist. We walked into the bedroom in silence. I braided manacles around his wrists, raised his arms above his head, and tied the rope handcuffs to the hook I had installed in the doorway.
I didn’t warm him up.
My first stroke was vicious; sharp and crisp across the tender surface of his back. His back curled towards the ceiling, arching like a cat begging for another caress from a stroking hand.
I delivered another stroke just as wicked as the first. His entire body rippled in a smooth, undulating motion like water pouring out of a glass. Damn.
I flogged him deliberately, with slow, cruel, even strokes. Continuously. Repeatedly. I didn’t even have to look or touch to see if he was hard. I knew his signs by now. He was dorphed to the max. I bet he didn’t even know his own name.
I was almost there with him.
His back was crisscrossed with red stripes from top to bottom. His knees sagged so that he was hanging by his wrists. He was breathing harshly, quick, rapid gulps of air. I could see goose bumps standing out against his skin.
I cut him down and lowered him onto the floor.
“Please,” he begged, voice breaking. He arched his back and spread his legs.
“David, David, please fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”
I grabbed one of his legs in each hand for leverage and thrust into him, balls deep in one forceful plunge. He howled as though I had split him in two. I paused.
“Don’t stop,” he gasped.
“Uuuuuunnnngh,” I groaned harshly, everything I was feeling captured in the sound. God, he was blazing hot, so goddamn tight, so slick and juicy and wet. Little by little, I corkscrewed my dick into him, pushing into him, deeper and deeper, trying to reach the innermost depths of his being.
I grasped his hands and entwined his fingers with mine. Looking down into his eyes, I thought that maybe I could find the answers to the deepest, most dark of mysteries there. And then it didn’t matter. Because we were in that place again and because wherever we were, we were there together.
I pulled back. I had to do it slowly, because the pleasure of it almost immobilized me. The friction of his velvet lined ass tugging against my cock as I backed up was agonizing and delicious. I closed my eyes and held myself still.
I blinked my eyes open, ignoring the rivulets of sweat dripping down my face. I pushed into him again. He whimpered. His fingers tightened their grip against mine.
His teeth were embedded in his bottom lip. His eyes were silver and glittering like star shine in a midnight sky. When he lifted his ass I slid into him even deeper. He wrapped his legs around my back and tightened his sphincter muscles around my aching dick.
I could feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head and then I was short circuiting in his arms, nerves sparking and firing crazily, thrusting into him mindlessly, insane and out of control. I collapsed onto him, seeking and finding his mouth.
I devoured his mouth, sucking at his lips, his tongue, twisting and turning my head, kissing him voraciously. The grip he had on my fingers became impossibly tighter then seconds later I could feel his cock pulsing between us and the warm, viscous eruption of his semen as he came explosively. He screamed into my mouth and that was all it took for me to go down with him.
I froze for a few impossible seconds, every muscle contracted and flooded with crazy pleasure. My muscles tensed and released convulsively, matching the rhythm of my cock’s sizzling, violent ejaculation in Kevin’s tight hole.
I collapsed on him, unable to move.
When I woke up, we were laying in my bed. One day, I’m gonna figure out how he moves me around when I’m unconscious. My head was on his chest and his fingers were threading through my hair. If I was a cat, I would’ve been purring.
“I love your hair,” he whispered.
I twisted in his arms so that we were face to face.
“I love your big brown eyes,” he said. “I love your skin. It’s so warm and soft. I love your nose. I love your lips. I love you,” he said softly, looking into my eyes and tracing the curve of my lips with a fingertip.
Can love be bottled and poured onto someone? Can love be soaked up and absorbed like a sponge sops up a spill? That’s what I felt like.
In all of my life, no one had ever told me they loved me. I had no idea that those three words held such power.
I’m not good with words and there was a long silence that must have been interminable to him.
“Don’t trip,” he said wryly, uttering a phrase that I use way too often. “I had to tell you,” he said softly. “No pressure, ok?” he added.
I placed my hand on his cheek. He gently covered it with his own and kissed the inside of my wrist.
I cleared my throat. “I really don’t know what love is,” I said.
He nodded his head. His eyes held no surprise; I’d told him more than I’d ever told anyone else about the way I’d grown up. But I could tell that he was steeling himself for the rest of what I had to say.
“But if love is…liking and respecting someone, wanting to be with them all of the time, and feeling like your intestines are shredded when they aren’t around, then I am so in love with you, I’m crazy with it,” I said.
For a moment, his skill with words seem to desert him. He just stared at me. Any other time, it might have been funny because his mouth was moving but nothing was coming out.
His eyes closed and his body went limp.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “David, God, I was so scared,” he said in a low voice I could barely hear.
“I just couldn’t stop myself from telling you. I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.”
His eyes opened and they were a brilliant, sparkling silver. Shining stars, full of the most amazing joy. Because I love him.
“You love me,” he said. He opened his mouth again, and there was a really, really mischievous look on his face. This must be what he looked like at age six.
“Don’t say it,” I warned.
“You REALLY, REALLY love me.” He started giggling at the look of horror on my face. I couldn’t resist him though and I started laughing too. Yeah, we find the same dumb things funny. It’s that fucked up biorhythm thing in action again.
We were discreet. At least we thought we were. A couple of weeks later, right after there was a massive power outage that practically shut the entire east coast down, Kevin moved in. We didn’t tell anyone except his parents and my foster sister Karen.
On the next slow day in the ER, one of the other nurses idly wondered why they didn’t just plug me and Kevin into the grid. She thought that would have restored power immediately. Everyone else in the vicinity thoughtfully added their two cents and agreed with her.
Mmmm. Maybe that would’ve worked.
I hope you love my boys as much as I do. Peace and Blessings…Sol.
SOLCORAZON STORIES ©SOLCORAZON2003