Sunday, May 30, 2010

A New Cell


Long-term players take note! The cell has been finished and is ready for occupants! It's roomy!, about 5 feet wide, 8 feet long, with a ceiling of 4 feet. Plenty of room for you and your pup pals in sleepsacks to spend a week or two! Cell door swings down and padlocks shut with two locks. Total darkness is promised! After 3 orgasms you earn a pillow!

A Small Circle of Life

Back in the 80s and 90s there was a serious comment about our sexuality when we were warned that having sex with a person was in essence like having sex with every person your chosen partner had slept with. It was a good common sense warning to have safe sex. Always.

I've been reminded of that for two reasons. One is the absolutely horrid response I have to seeing all of the profiles looking for barebacking, "seeding", etc. Any justification that is offered for these dangerous activities is just wrong. Completely wrong. Insanely wrong.

The other reminder I had was more on an emotional level. Hubby and I like to play with other men and other couples. And yes, we practice safe sex always. But I'm still reminded that the actual community of real bdsm players, not the flakes, not the voyeurs, not the wannabes, is actually very small. And trust me, we talk. Okay, so some don't "kiss and tell" but most of us do. Maybe it's bragging, maybe it works as foreplay, maybe it's sharing a warning about someone who doesn't play by the rules, or maybe it's a recommendation that he's a "real player." But we DO talk.

Our "circle of life" is incredibly small. Places like RECON and RubberZone and other social sites make it even smaller. It's like playing "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon". I click on a profile and am never surprised to see that we have mutual "friends." Or if we are not directly linked, I usually can click on one of your friends and then look at HIS list of friends, and yup, there's one of my fuck buddy "friends."

Disrespect, dishonesty, outright lying, "no limits" men who can't take a light paddling, pricks who don't show up, etc.? These guys are known to us all. Names are shared, warnings are given, and SURPRISE SURPRISE, your dance card is empty. Meanwhile, those men who truly understand respect, honesty, care, consensual sane acts are equally known in our "circle of life."

Play safely, play honestly, play hard, and grab your opportunities.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Keeping It Fresh










I saw a bondage chair designed and built by majordungeon that aroused my interest. And my "can-do" spirit was aroused.

So about $100 later I've got this new bondage chair for the rapidly improving dungeon space. (OKAY! So it's only about a third as good as the one he built, but this fucker is solid and WORKS! I'll do some sanding and painting later down the road.....LOL) (Oh, and $30 of that was for a new saw for some of the cuts on the legs).

So what's the point? The point is!, hubby went for not one, but two rides in the chair tonight. MAJOR ball torture, some very vulnerable moments for his asshole, and inescapable bondage times two.

So $100 bucks for a wonderful new toy? Helluva lot cheaper than a tired whore is always my justification!

An Amazing Birthday Present




I get this amazing catalogue out of the blue for high level designer Barbie items. (Does belonging to Recon get you this shit?) We are talking big name designers doing some really one of a kind items. But the one that caught my eye was the Barbie Foosball Table. Only ten are being produced, will take 30 weeks for delivery, and at the low, low cost of $25,000.
Now, a lot of men have accused me of making this shit up. Hence the pic. Can't you just see the hair swaying back and forth as you go for a slap shot! Of course every guy I know is talking about making their own version with GI Joe dolls, oops, "action figures."
What I really wanted was a whole different kind of table.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Iowa Farm Boy, Part VI


The next morning when I awoke he was gone from the bed, and gone from the farm. I lay in bed for another hour. It had been months since I’d actually slept anywhere except on my bed of hay. I could smell his scent everywhere and I was fully aroused. Around noon I heard his bike coming up the lane. I rushed downstairs to greet him, fully naked.

He came into the kitchen and gave me a big hug. “Been a busy morning. I called CD and told him we were coming for a visit. I left a sign at the shop we’d be closed until Thursday. I stopped by the realtor and asked him to come out and take a look, if nothing else to get an estimate on how much the property is worth. I filled up the bike with gas and dropped by the neighbors to ask him to take care of the horses for a few days. Now get upstairs, get showered, pack a change of clothes, and get your pink little ass down here! We’re leaving for Omaha in 10 minutes.”

I made it with three minutes to spare and 2 hours later we were pulling off the interstate into downtown Omaha. One quick turn and we were in an older warehouse district. Over the rumble of the motorcycle Steve shouted “The Old Market. Might be fun to live here!” Two blocks later he took a right, climbed a small hill, then took a left on 16th Street. He slowed and came to a stop, the motorcycle still rumbling. The bar was a squat little dump with a variety of neon signs advertising various beer companies. Three cycles were parked out front. Next door was a three story building, narrow and deep, built probably around 1920 or maybe even earlier. On the first floor was a huge plate glass window and next to the entry was the red and white barber pole. “That’s the leather bar, and that’s the barbershop for sale. We’ll come back later to talk to the owner. First, let’s get our stuff over to Nasti and CD’s place. We can clean the bugs out of our teeth there.”

We made a retreat back to the Old Market area and at one far end of the neighborhood he pulled up to an old storage building. He parked next to Nasti and CD’s bikes and pulled me along with him up some fire escape stairs. On the third floor, the top floor of the building, he pulled open the fire escape door and entered a small vestibule. I could hear music rocking the walls. Steve pounded on the steel door at the end of the little hallway and I could hear the music being turned down.

“Who the fuck is it?” I could hear CD’s voice from the other side.

“Building inspector!”

“Go fuck yourself!” And the door opened. CD was standing there completely naked with a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth, a coffee cup in the other hand. He waved us in. The place they lived was incredible. It was wall to wall windows, one side taking in the Omaha downtown skyscrapers, the other looking at the Missouri River wandering through the city. There were probably 30 columns that ran floor to ceiling evenly spaced about. I estimated it was somewhere around 6000 square feet. All the windows were wide open but it was pretty steamy inside. Off in one corner was a small area that served as a kitchen. Behind the kitchen was a small area that must have served as the bathroom. Diagonal from it I could see several tools used for woodworking along with a variety of pieces of furniture in disrepair. The other two corners held mattresses thrown on the floor. And throughout the middle of the space were a variety of objects, some of which I now recognized, others which I could only guess at their function. In one area was a sling hanging from the ceiling. Between two of the columns a spider-web of chains had been created. Between two of the other columns a huge X had been built out of 2 x 12 lumber and painted black. Several steel rings were attached. I wandered into the middle of the room, slowly turning, trying to take it all in.

From behind me I heard a squeal and I turned just in time to have Nastibear grab me in a bear hug and lift me off my feet. He yelled over to Steve, “How sweet of you! How did you ever remember my birthday. And what a nice gift!!!! But I didn’t get you anything, darling....” He was smothering me with kisses by now and I was laughing.

Nastibear swatted my ass, and between the spanking from the previous afternoon and the two hour ride on Steve’s bike I knew my gasp was a little over the top. Nasti picked up on it right away. With deftness only a gay man can know he had undone my pants and turned me around to expose my red and somewhat bruised ass. He looked inquiringly at Steve who nodded, and then he grabbed me in yet another breath-taking hug. “Welcome to the family, darling, welcome to the family.”

ChromeDome was at the refrigerator. “This calls for a celebration. Champagne or something like that.” He pulled four cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and tossed one to each of us. “Cheers, baby.” And the three men toasted me on my S/M coming out.

From one corner I heard a rustling of sheets and a little voice, “I want one of those.” Nastibear looked a little sheepish and went over to the corner. He started digging through piles of leather and denim until he found what he felt sure were the clothes of the bed’s occupant. He threw them to the kid in the bed, muttered something to the kid in the bed, and found his way back to us.

“I made a little mistake, just a little mistake. He’ll be gone soon.” The ‘little mistake’ was dressing in the corner, tight jeans and a pink polo shirt, disco platform shoes, and made his way past us to the bathroom.

Nastibear was not looking happy. The kid came out of the bathroom pulling his zipper up and came up and gave Nastibear a big kiss. “I gotta go, sweetie, but you be sure to call me. I mean that.” And a whiff of cologne trailed him as he headed for the door.

When we was gone, Nastibear gave each of us a dirty look and said, “Not one word you son of a bitches, not one word. He said he was really into toys. Who knew it meant Barbie dolls?” With that he pulled me over to one little area that obviously served as a living room in the huge space. Pulling me down on the sofa next to him and holding me close, he asked “Now just how many times did that mean man hit you? It’s okay. You can tell your Auntie Nasti. And just how hard did you get when he hit you? It’s okay. You can tell your Auntie Nasti.” Steve and CD were standing at the kitchen counter just laughing. “Now, when you came, what exactly was happening? It’s okay, honey. You can tell your Auntie everything......”

A little later that afternoon Steve and I walked from the loft back over to the barbershop. Steve opened the door catching a little bell hung near the top of the door frame. We entered the shop and I felt like I had been transported to another time. The shop was good sized and was filled with all of the wonderful aromas I associate with barbershops: the talcum powder, the bayrum aftershave, and the rich cigar smoke that had wrapped itself around everything. Everything in the shop had to be close to 60 years old, including the grizzled old guy occupying one of the chairs. The two matching chairs were classic white porcelain with chrome trim and leather seats. Behind the chairs were pedestal sinks and running the entire length of the wall, framing the sinks, was an incredible mantle that ran floor to ceiling and wall to wall. There were built-in cupboards and cubby holes, large mirrors, shelves with mirror backing. It looked dusty and dryed out but it was the most magnificent piece of furniture I’d ever laid eyes upon. Along the other wall was a row of heavy chairs, mahogany wood with carved feet and arms, the seats and backs covered in horsehair upholstery. Large school-room type lights hung from the ceiling over each chair. The floor was narrow oak boards heavily scarred with a patina of burns and spills. The only other item in the room was a large pot-belly stove in the back corner. It looked like it was still working.

The chair’s occupant made a slow, almost tortured exit from the chair and met Steve in the middle of the room, the men exchanging a warm hug. Steve introduced me as Jack, his barberboy.

“This is Master Barber Louis.” Then man shook my hand and I was struck at how large his hands were and how weak his grip was. Even this weak shaking of hands produced a wince in his face. His knuckles looked like huge steel balls had been surgically implanted. He pulled me close and looked my haircut over closely, running his hands across my whitewalls and bare neck. I could smell fresh cigar smoke on his clean smock.

Letting me go he returned to his chair while Steve took a seat in the other barber chair. “Nice razor work. I taught you well, huh?”

Steve smiled at the compliment. “You know you did, you old goat.”

They chit-chatted for a few minutes before Steve turned the discussion toward the reason for our visit. “So what’s this crap CD and Nastibear tell me about you wanting to sell the shop?”

“Not want to. Got to.” Steve frowned. “It’s the arthritis. I can’t barely hold a pair of scissors or the clippers anymore. And its also in my hips, so standing up all day long, well, I just can’t do it.” He started to laugh. “Thank God I got a fat dick. I don’t think I could get my hand to close around some skinny ass pencil dick anymore.

“If I can sell the shop, actually the whole building, I’ll have enough to move to this little area down by Pensacola. I don’t think I can survive another winter. Doc says warmer weather will be better for me. I can sit in a boat and fish. I guess....”

“How much you asking?” Steve asked.

“This fancy pants realtor tells me I can get fifty thousand for the whole property. Knows a guy who would tear it down and put in a parking lot. I’d sell it to you for thirty-five just to keep it out of that asshole’s hands.”

“I’ll pay you the fifty.” Steve was blunt and to the point.

“You ain’t got it.”

“I’ll figure out a way.”

“Well, before you decide how much money you want to invest you better take a look at the whole thing. C’mon, boys. Let’s go upstairs.”

He led us down a small hallway that started just behind the pot belly stove. A small office was tucked in under a set of stairs that led to the other floors. A back entrance was also located down that hallway. We climbed the stairs one flight and Louis opened the door to a tidy one bedroom apartment. “It ain’t much, but it’s better than commuting to work. Upstairs is an identical apartment. Haven’t rented it in a couple of years and it’ll take some work to get ‘er fixed up. But would provide a little income if you did. There’s also a ladder-like set of stairs that’ll take you to the roof. You two go on up. I already know what it looks like. Take your time. I’ll be back down to the shop.”

Steve and I climbed to the third floor. The door to the apartment was wide open and, unlike the spaces below, this place was in dire need of help. Peeling wallpaper, broken plaster, and piles of garbage made the place look like a tornado had gone through it. We climbed over the crap that was everywhere and found in the bedroom the ladder that led to the roof. Steve climbed up first and opened a hatch-like door. Fresh air and sunlight filled the room. He disappeared through the hatch and I scrambled up the ladder and climbed up on the roof with him.

The view was stunning. Not unlike the views from the loft, but being up a hill and having a 360 degree view it was even better.

“Whatcha think?”

I didn’t have to think. “How soon can we move?”

We went back down to the shop. Louis was back in his chair. I could see just the one flight of stairs had taken a lot out of him.

“Here’s the deal. I won’t take a penny over forty-five. And if that’s too much let me know. One other thing, and this is a deal-breaker if you say no.”

“Name it.” Steve was curious. So was I.

“You gotta give me a haircut and a shave right now. I ain’t had a decent shave in months.”

Steve was laughing as he crossed over to the sink and washed his hands. Louis pulled a big cigar from the pocket of his uniform, lit up, and got comfortable in the chair. Steve located all the instruments he’d need and went to work.

When Steve was finished with haircut and shave Louis looked about ten years younger. He admired himself in the mirror. “Damn, you’re good.” Steve didn’t answer, but I could see he was pleased by compliment. “If I could get you to shave me like that everyday I’d let you have this fucking place for free.”

We parted company, Steve telling Louis to come over to the loft later that night. Nasti and CD were throwing a little party for us while we were there and Steve wanted Louis to join them. We walked slowly back down the hill toward the Old Market area. As we neared the loft we saw CD and Nasti struggling to get a keg up the fire escape.

“Bout fucking time!” roared CD. “Where the fuck you two been. I need some real help. This ol’ queen is worse than no help at all.” Nasti dropped his end of the keg and took three steps down the stairs.

“So what’s the news? You gonna buy it? C’mon, I’m dying to know!”

Steve nodded a yes. I was grinning ear to ear.

“Yeehaw! C’mon, let’s get this beer iced down so we can start the celebration!” And with renewed vigor Nasti threw the keg on his shoulder and climbed the remaining stairs.

Once inside we put the keg in the bathtub. Several bags of ice were poured in with it and some salt sprinkled over the ice. We sat at the kitchen table drinking cans of beer while we waited for the keg to cool off.

“So how much?” CD asked.

“Forty-five. And it’s probably gonna take another ten to do some remodeling, fix the roof, get a new hot water heater.” Steve answered.

“Can you swing it?”

“If I sell the farm I should clear about twenty-five. I’d have to get a loan for the other thirty. I’m not sure if anybody is gonna give me a loan for that amount, but hopefully so.”

CD and Nastibear were grinning at each other. Nastibear broke the tension, “You wanna tell him or should I?”

CD swatted Nastibear’s chest. “My bottom, my story.” He turned to Steve and me. “I got this ‘straight’ banker who likes to have me fist him once or twice a month. He’s a hot little fucker. Last week when I heard about the shop being up for sale I got him in the sling over there. When my arm was buried almost up to the elbow I asked him if he could help a friend of mine. I can basically ask him for anything at that point. Between moans he sort of pretends he can’t help me out. A few minutes later I think I could have gotten a half a million in cash on the spot. I don’t think you’ll have any problems getting a loan from him.” He grinned. “ Besides that he’s a little crew cut boy who would probably like your services just as much as he likes mine.”

We ordered in a bunch of pizzas, tapped the keg, and around 9:00 several guys started arriving. It was the most interesting menagerie of men I’d ever seen. They ran the full gamut of ages and sizes, from another kid who looked to be 18 like me, to a guy who might have been Louis’ father. The other 18 year old was probably 30 pounds lighter than me, a real featherweight, while one of the middle-aged guys had to be close to 350 pounds. Most had on some sort of leather whether it was chaps, jeans or a vest. Many wore motorcycle caps made of leather. Louis arrived around 10:00. He wore blue jeans covered by chaps, and a well-worn leather vest. Like CD’s and Nastibear’s the vest was covered with a rainbow of patches describing a variety of groups and events he had participated in. The haircut and shave had been a real tonic for him. He’d made it up the three flights of stairs with no problem and he spent the night with a pretty big smile on his face.

The one thing that bonded this group was their masculinity. Despite their wide variety of ages, sizes, body types–they were clearly all testosterone driven.

Around midnight another man joined the party. Just his arrival took my breath away. The man had on tight black jeans and a leather shirt that had been laced on the sides and down the arms, making the suit a tight second skin on him. The body that suit was covering was a tight and lean one. He wore a motorcycle cap with a chain running across the brim. His boots were knee high and shone brilliantly. Peeking from under the brim of the cap was a dark, Italian face, with deeply set eyes, dark bushy eyebrows, and a thick moustache. When he removed his cap he revealed the thickest, tallest black flattop I had ever seen. I guessed that he was around 45, the lines around his eyes being the only clue to his age.

The response to his arrival was an interesting mix. Several called out his name, Tony, other’s added his title, Master. Some turned their backs inconspicuously.

I was alone at this time, Steve being pulled away countless times by old friends who wanted the whole story of his buying the barbershop. CD and Nasti were trying to play “hosts” of the party, and the only other person I knew, Louis, was pretty busy talking to a group of older men who’d gathered off in one corner.

It took probably less than 3 minutes before Master Tony found me alone in the middle of the room. I hadn’t taken my eyes off him that entire time. He walked directly up to me, perhaps sensing my curiosity and attraction, and placed one hand on a shoulder, the other on my chin.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” I didn’t know how to respond.
Even though I couldn’t find a voice, the rest of my body was definitely beginning to respond. I could feel a flush on my cheeks, a twist in my stomach, and a grumble in my gonads. This man oozed danger and sexuality, a potent combination on me.

“I don’t really care who the fuck you are, what your name is, or anything else. I just know we should leave this party now so I can take you home with me. I know you want to be my slave boy. I can tell just the way you’re looking at me.”

I felt almost like I was being hypnotized. The voice coming from this man was as sexually charged as his body. I’d only had three beers over the last few hours but felt like I’d drunk the entire keg. The trance was broken when an arm went over my shoulder and I heard Steve.

“I see you’ve met my boy, Jack”

Tony moved back a step immediately. “Steve. Good to see you. So this is Jack. Your “boy.” He said it almost with a sneer. Gone was the hypnotic voice, now replaced by an arrogant one. “Jack. Like jack off. I should be able to remember that. Sorry, I didn’t know he was yours, and since I didn’t see a collar I just assumed he was fresh and free meat.” He gave my face a little pat. “You got a nice one Steve, better keep him a little closer to you, just to be safe.” He laughed and moved over to another gathering of people in the loft.

I could feel an anger coming off of Steve. I was really scared that I had pissed him off. He took me further under his arm. “Go get us a couple of beers and meet me outside on the fire escape.” I pumped two plastic glasses of beer and headed outside.

Steve was sitting a ways down the stairs. I made my way down slowly, stepping around and below him. “Here, Sir.”

He patted the stair next to him. “Have a seat.”

“We need to clear up a few things,” he said, after clearly thinking about how to approach me on this. “First off, even though I don’t have the authority to do so, I’m telling you to stay away from that man. Tony is scum, through and through. The three concepts I began teaching you that day out at the creek, respect, trust, and consensual partners, are not a part of his vocabulary. Tony embodies everything that is wrong with the leather community. He is only worried about Tony. He’s a selfish prick who has hurt many young boys like you, dumped them, and never looked back. Tony also mixes a lot of drugs and alcohol with his sex. He gets most of his money dealing in drugs, and he pumps boys full of them before he ties them up and rapes them.”

He relaxed a little bit and looked directly at me. “He sees a good looking boy like you, and fuck the rest of the world, he decides that you’re his next conquest, the next notch on his belt. And a naive little boy like you is rarely able to escape that man’s sexual draw.”

We sat silently for a few minutes. I finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“For what?” Steve was genuinely curious.

“For....for....” I didn’t know how to put it into words.

“For being a hot little boy that everybody wants? For not being able to turn your nuts off and on at your own command? You don’t understand. That man has had 20 years to perfect his little routine of picking up cute young boys. I don’t blame you for not knowing how to see the whole picture, to see him for the phony he is. I blame me.”

I was surprised by that statement and looked up sharply at him.

“I was one of the first boys he raped. Oh, we didn’t call it that back then. But after some pretty serious soul-searching I realized that was exactly what had happened. He was about 27 or 28 and I was 17. He smelled my innocence and took advantage of my stupidity. He hurt me pretty bad and then kicked me out. I was really lucky because Louis took me in. I actually lived in that third floor apartment over the barbershop for a while. I owe Louis my life.”

Again we sat in silence. Steve seemed a long way off, remembering the bad days with Tony, or the good ones with Louis? I wasn’t sure.

“Sir?”

“Yes, boy?”

“What did he mean about there being no collar on me?”

“Damn you ask tough questions.” He laughed. “A collar can mean several things to both the person who wears it, and the person who has locked the collar on. For some, the collar is a sign that a relationship of Master/slave has been entered. The slave is owned completely by the Master. Everything the slave does is to benefit the Master. Everything is under the control of the Master, from what food goes in the body of the slave, to when and how the slave will perform sexually. For others, the collar is a sign of a different type of relationship, a Daddy and son, for instance may use the collar. Here, instead of total control, the Daddy takes on the role of mentor, to educate, to shape the life of the boy he has collared. The boy belongs to the Daddy; in fact the Daddy may collar more than one boy at a time, all pledging their loyalty to him.” He paused for a minute, unsure if he should continue.

“I wore the collar as barberboy for Louis for three years. It was my honor to do so. As I said, I owe him my life. After three years Louis was wise enough to take the collar off of me. He knew that I had outgrown the role and also knew that someday I would be a Daddy myself. During the time we were together he frequently gave me permission to explore my sexuality with other men. He frequently had sex with other men. We never attempted to model our relationship after heterosexuals and their codes. At the end of the day though, I would be with him, in his arms, in his care.”

He started to laugh again, caught in his own memories. “Damn, we had some hot sex in those barber chairs!”

I laughed too, as it was something I’d been imagining since we’d first walked in the shop. He stood up and pulled me up with him. He embraced me strongly and I held on for dear life. He held me close the rest of the night, from watching the party die down, to observing some fairly mild sex in various corners of the loft, to when we finally crashed on one of the mattresses in the loft. I felt truly safe in his arms.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

A Short One




While I prefer a good long scene with 90% of the toys in use, multiple boys bound together, long butt-pounding, back-thrashing scenes, sometimes all you have time for is a few pieces of rope,
a piece of bamboo,
one good gag,
and the ever-willing hubby.

And his exposed feet.

And his exposed tits.

And his exposed butt.

Iowa Farm Boy, Part V


“Rise and shine, barberboy!” The blanket had been yanked off me and a bushy beard was shoved against my ass biting playfully. I was rolled over to my back by NastiBear who pinned my arms down and gave me a huge sloppy kiss. Dressed only in jeans his belly was pushing down on my morning hard-on. Keeping my arms pinned he lowered his head and swallowed my dick whole. Just one simple swallow. “Yum. Boycock.”

“Now get your sorry ass up and make me some breakfast! I understand you’re chief cook and bottle washer–and I’m fucking hungry, boy.” He laughed heartily and climbed down the ladder. I watched him go seeing the red welts on his back disguised only barely by the Brillo pad of hair that covered him. I scrambled down the ladder, put on my jeans and t-shirt and boots and headed for the kitchen.

Just inside the kitchen door CD was sitting, his back to me. He and Steve were wearing blue jeans only and on CD’s back I could see multiple stripes from Steve’s whipping. It looked like lightning strikes of red on the mountaintop. Steve was watching me closely for my response but I lowered my head and went straight for the stove.

A dozen eggs later along with a pound of bacon, a pound of sausages, several fried potatoes, and two big pots of coffee the guys seemed sated. I was washing dishes while CD and Nastibear gathered up their gear and got dressed for their ride back to Omaha. Both guys gave me big hugs before turning their attention to Steve. Nastibear kept muttering “I gotta get me one of those. I just gotta get me one of those.”

As they climbed on their bikes CD shouted out to Steve. “Think about the offer. It’s a good one and we’ll do anything we can to help. Let us know. And thanks for a great weekend. See ya’ soon!” And the engines were kick-started and with great thunder these two gods set off down the lane.

We walked back in the house where I set about drying the dishes. Steve sat at the table behind me. I could feel him watching me. When I turned he said very quietly and simply,

“How much did you see?”

I wouldn’t lie to him. I couldn’t lie to him. “A couple hours probably. I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Sir.” It came tumbling out of me. “I thought someone was hurt, honestly I did. And I ran to help.....”

He stopped me by simply raising his hand. “It’s okay. Finish up. Let’s go for a ride before it gets too hot.”

He left the kitchen to get finished dressing and I dried the last of the dishes and headed to the barn to saddle up the horses. He met me there and we trotted through a wooded area that led to the back of the property where the creek first entered his land. We tied the horses next to the creek so they could drink and rest. Steve found a huge flat rock at the creek’s edge to sit on and pulled me down to where I sat between his legs, my head and back cradled against his warm chest. He wrapped his arms around me. The closeness between us made me feel very secure.

“Did it scare you? What you saw?”

“No, Sir! Well, a little, because it was so....”

“Intense?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ve known ChromeDome and Nastibear for almost 15 years now, since about the time I was your age. Their real names are Roy and Donnie. Nobody could ask for better friends. And for the last 15 years we’ve grown up and come out and developed our lives in the leather community. All three of us have come to be tops, but every once in a while even a top needs to be reminded of where he came from, to remember what it feels like to take the sting of the whip rather than to give it. They respect me and I respect them.

Roy is a fister. Unlike the single finger I stuck up your ass yesterday, Roy sticks entire fists up some willing boys’ asses. Donnie is first and foremost a sadist. Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head slightly. Steve chose his words carefully.

“Donnie is aroused by inflicting pain in others. A sadist is aroused by inflicting pain; a masochist enjoys having pain inflicted upon him. Donnie will use what ever tool he has at his disposal to make another man scream out in pain. With one man it might be hot candle wax, with another it might be strings of clothes pins pinching sensitive areas of a bottom’s body, with yet another bottom it might be the paddling of his ass.

“Pain is an incredible aphrodisiac for some people. The body can stir up powerful chemicals that take your mind on the most incredible flights, and as those chemicals build up the pain becomes a freeing thing.

“Like an athlete who pushes himself to his limits, masochists cross thresholds and catch a second wind. Once pushed past that level where it ceases to hurt, an athlete and a true bottom cross over to a exceptional place where there is no longer pain, only a sort of agonizing pleasure.

“We add elements to this–clothing made of leather, dungeon-like settings, blindfolds, hoods, bondage, humiliation, or whatever else the top or bottom might want to enhance his fantasies. Ultimately though it comes down to trust, an exchange of power, and taking a partner to new levels of being.”

I held on to his massive forearms trying to make sense of all this. His steady breathing showed he was in no hurry, allowing me all the time in the world to absorb this new knowledge.

Finally he spoke again.

“There is one other element that is absolutely critical for you to understand. What happens must always occur between consenting partners. I whipped those men because they wanted me to.” He held me a little tighter. “I will never do that to you unless you tell me you want it done. Even then I promise to stop the split second you say I should. Willing, consensual, bonded partners in a black dance. That is the way it has to be.”

I nodded my understanding. It took me a long time to build up my courage to speak. My voice was a raspy whisper.

“I want to try, Sir.”

He stood up on top of the flat rock and pulled me to him, my face now tight against his shoulder. He stuck his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “Let’s go to the shed.”

As the day had gotten much hotter we rode back slowly sticking to the shade when we could. Back at the barn Steve told me to take care of the horses and to hose myself down as well then come to the shed with nothing but my boots on.

I finished the chores and arrived at the open door of the shed. Steve had showered and was standing in the middle of the room. He’d put on tight leather chaps that framed his butt and dick. Two thick bands of leather encircled his biceps. His shiny black engineer boots peeked out from below the chaps. His physique was breathtaking. I shivered at the door even though it had to be at least 90 degrees outside.

“Get over here. NOW.” he growled.

I moved quickly to him. He sat in a big straight-back chair. “I want you over my knees and I want you there now. You are going to punished for disobeying me last night.”

I started to object. “But I thought you weren’t mad about that....”

“Shut up! In this shed you do not speak unless I give you permission to speak. If you ever want to end what is happening just say my name, not my title, and I will stop immediately. Otherwise you will only speak when I allow it. Is that clear? Answer me barberboy, is that clear?

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now bend over my lap.” I did slowly and he threw me the rest of the way on to his lap. His right hand hit my right buttock.

Smack!

“Ouch!”

“What the fuck did you say?”

“I’m sorry, Sir”

Smack!

I bit my tongue to keep from opening my mouth.

“Better. Now count them.”

Smack! He hit the right cheek!

“One, Sir!”

Smack! Now the left cheek!

“Two, Sir!”

I was screaming the numbers out by the time he reached twenty. My butt was stinging. I could feel its heat. He rubbed his right hand over my ass massaging the tissue and muscle and skin. I was on fire from the spanking and more so from his touch.

“Good boy, now let’s start over.” He grabbed a leather paddle that was sitting next to the straight-back chair.

Smack!

“One, Sir””

Smack!

“Two, Sir!”

In a slow and steady rhythm we went through five sets of twenty before he relented. Each time he reached numbers nineteen and twenty I thought I would have to call out his name to make it stop. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do that. And as promised, by the time we started the fifth set I was somehow floating above the pain. Somewhere in my head I still recognized it as pain, but now I was finding myself wanting that next hit, anticipating it, needing it. It was like the first time I had had two beers–I was fully conscious but I wasn’t fully coherent. I liked this new place I had reached and I was intoxicated by it, by every bit of it–the sound, the feel of his hand against my ass, the smell of leather and sweat, the feel of my chest and stomach and dick against the leather chaps. And I heard myself sobbing,

“Thank you, Sir, thank you, Sir, thank you, Sir.”

Without a word he lifted me back to standing. He stood and squatted in front of me, grabbed me around my waist, threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the corner of the shed. Hanging from four chains was a small hammock of leather, a sling he later told me. He eased me onto it from his shoulder and I gasped as my hot buttocks touched the cool leather. He laid me back in the sling and lifted each foot to fit in a sort of stirrup. At this angle my butthole was gaping open and completely vulnerable. He took my wrists and attached belts around them. The belts had D rings applied to them and to these he attached short chains. He lifted my hands above me and attached them to the chains coming down from the ceiling.

An open can of Crisco sat on a shelf near the sling. Steve reached into it and spread it liberally over the middle finger of his right hand. With this greasy probe he began to first massage my rectum then enter it. With my body at this angle, I was amazed at how easily that finger had gone in. Unlike yesterday in the creek this greasy finger had slid in quickly and comfortably, like a long lost friend come for a visit. I could see Steve’s grin.

“Ah yes, barberboy, you’ve got a hungry hole.”

He pulled out and now applied more grease to the index, middle and ring fingers of his right hand. Again, the middle finger slipped in easily and after a couple of thrusts it was joined by its neighbor, the index finger. I was beginning to groan. I was squirming in the sling, hungry for more fingers, more lube, more depth, more anything. He pulled out again.

“Easy, barberboy, easy. We’ve got all afternoon.”

For the next half hour he alternated between one, two, and three fingers. Sometimes there were slow thrusts, other times he would jab. The only predictable thing was my moaning. It was continually growing more insistent.

“Do you want me inside you, boy? Do you? Can you take me inside you, barberboy?”

“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” I was begging.

A big glob of Crisco was massaged onto his already hard dick and I watched him step closer to me. He grabbed the chains supporting my legs and the sling, and I could feel the tip of his dick right at the edge of my anus.

“Fuck me, Sir. Please fuck me, Sir!”

It was the only encouragement he needed. He slowly eased his dick into me and began thrusting his hips. I could feel all the muscles in my lower body trying to reach out and hold onto that dick. I wanted it inside me, all the way, deep inside me.

As he began to fuck me faster and harder he put his greasy right hand on my dick and began to jerk on it, timing his jerks in rhythm with his thrusts. The leather of his chaps was slapping against my tender butt cheeks. The chains were rattling, we were both breathing in raspy short breaths, and finally I felt his hot load fill my insides, wave after wave of liquid fire released, and I screamed as my own cock shot a huge load onto my chest.

He slowed his pace and eventually pulled his now softening dick from my butt. A thwack on my butt brought me back to my senses.

He released my wrists from their bondage and helped me stand. I was shaky and he pulled me close to him, our sweat, cum, and the grease blending into one. I could hear his heart pounding, or was it mine?

He put his hands on my face and lifted my head to where we were looking at each other. “My little barberboy,” he whispered and then he kissed me long and hard.

Smack! He hit my ass and I jumped. He laughed. “Let’s go make some dinner.”

Again we sat at the picnic table outside enjoying our dinner and watching the sunset. No words were exchanged. Finally, as both of us were cleaning our plates of the last scraps of food he spoke,

“There’s a barbershop for sale in Omaha. It’s next door to the Diamond Lounge and Bar, a hangout for the gay leathermen crowd there. They want me to come down and take a look and maybe get me to put an offer in on the place.....”

The words hung in the air. Only 120 miles away, I’d been to Omaha only twice. It seemed huge to me, overwhelming. And then I realized I might not be included in the future plans. A panic overtook me.

“It would mean selling the farm, the horses, pretty much everything I’ve got here. But it also would mean I could ‘come out’ fully. I’d be buzzing gay leathermen every day rather than 60 year old straight farmers.” I nodded my understanding, even though I didn’t understand. Wasn’t it enough for the two of us to stay together on the farm.

“I’d get a chance to spend more time with Nasti and CD. This weekend reminded me how much I miss them......”

I was horror struck. He was leaving me. Alone. I began to take shallow breaths, trying to overcome the panic that was setting in.

“I’d like you to go with me.” He looked at me with those deep brown eyes and I was transfixed. He continued, “But I don’t want to be in control of your life. You could go to college, get a degree, and really go somewhere with your life. That pathway is one you could choose, and I would respect your decision one-hundred-percent.

“You’ve got what is called a ‘fetish,’ I think. You’re turned on by barbers, barbershops, barber chairs, and everything related. And whenever touched by those elements you’re aroused. Fetishes, however, can shift in life. Or, if overly indulged, can wear out. Submerge a man twenty-four hours a day in his fetish and he can lose interest. I would hate to see that happen to you.

“I also think you have the seed of masochism in you. We peeked below the surface today when I spanked you. What I saw was depths you can’t begin to imagine. It can be a frightening place to go, but the journey could also be amazing.”

I knew the depths he was speaking of. I’d felt them, even if only for a moment.

“I want to go with you.” There was nothing to decide. “I want to be with you.”

That night was the first night I was invited to share his bed. He held my hand as we climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor of the old farm house. He held me close to him all night long and only in the early morning hours was I finally willing to give myself over to sleep.