Learning The Ropes
Mischa Laurent


1. The Ultimate One
2. The Ultimate Too
3. Bound to his Wishes
4. Mirror, Mirror
5. Risk
6. Naked
7. Uptown, Downtown


The Ultimate One

It was his dream.  He slept and in sleep, he lived inside it.
The barn doors swung open and Jasper was lead through into the clear space beyond.

His heart was tripping with excitement; a nervous sweat coated his naked flesh as he contemplated this, his final future.

Stumbling over a raised stone on the floor, strong hands held him upright and propelled him forwards, as oblivious as they should be to the sharp pain that raced up his leg from the stubbed toe.

A small distraction, one he easily put aside in favour of the bigger picture.

Before him was that for which he had worked so hard all these years.

Years of a journey begun with small steps; a binding, a whipping, nights in a dungeon, days in a cage.  All tests to be passed in small increments, leading toward this night, in this remote and terrible place.


He had proved himself to them.  Seeking their trust, garnering their admiration for his beauty, his ability to suffer, his desire to serve.  And this was to be his reward.

In his twenty-fifth year, he had achieved his goal.  It was as it should be; all that had gone before was dust at his feet.

His escort came to a halt in the centre of the room, beneath the halogen lamp that swung from the beams of the ceiling.

All around him he could hear them, the bright light cutting him off from vision, he relied on his ears to guide him.

The shuffling of feet in the straw, low voices coming from shadowy figures, heads bent in discussion.

They sounded pleased, an observation that made his heart swell with pride.

Jasper could almost feel their eyes moving across his body, taking in the fine tracery of scars that were his badge of courage and service.

Someone cleared their throat and the occupants of the barn fell silent.

The committee stepped into the light, staring silently at him, checking his mettle.

He raised his eyes to meet their gaze and did not flinch from it.

The tall man in the centre raised his arm slightly and from behind, Jasper heard the sound of a light switch being thrown, the far end of the barn suddenly illuminated.

His breath caught in his throat.  There.  There it was.  His podium, his stage, the centrepiece of his striving.  The cross.

It was a beautiful and hideous thing, the Saltire cross.

Raised upon its crude platform of railway ties, it glistened and beckoned to him.

The polished ebony X of the wood, the metal straps that held it together, had inhabited his waking dreams since the first time he'd seen it in the pages of an old book.

This cross was old; had seen much use.

The polish was sweat and blood, the timber spars echoed with the screams of those who had gone before him.  Jasper's body trembled in anticipation.

There was no ceremony, no chanting, and no words.

His escort led him to the podium and the cool timbers of the cross caressed his arms and legs as he was laid against them.  The metal straps across the join burned cold against the small of his back as he pressed himself into place.

Jasper's arms ached from the position he commanded of them.  His thigh muscles screamed their displeasure at the stretching he subjected them too, but he held.

Now the committee approached, bearing with them the tools of his suffering.

The dark man pressed down on his fingers, flattening them against the wood and the tall man, with his hammer, drove the first nail into place.

Jasper screamed as the iron pierced his flesh.  Bright lights flashed before his eyes as the cramp of agony ran up his arm.  His cock hardened.

A second nail joined the first inside his flesh.  A third and then a fourth in the other palm secured him to the wood.

He screamed and writhed in the pleasure of pain, his taut stomach muscles heaved and the tall man ran an appreciative hand across them.

Chains secured his ankles and he was done.

Sweating, twitching, his chest heaving with effort, beaded with sweat, he hung there for their eyes to enjoy.

The hum of conversation grew and came closer as the crowd moved in.

The dark man lifted his robe before Jasper's face, letting his tear-filled eyes see the promise between his legs.  A big thick cock, rigid and covered in a mesh of spikes.

Jasper trembled, his own cock lifted in greeting.  It was beautiful.
The dark man was behind him now; the circle of observers had thickened and closed, eyes avid, mouths open.

Jasper felt the first kiss of the spikes that would open the passage, in blood and pain, for these others to enjoy. He did not care they might only have come to sate their lust for his body, his blood
and his suffering, that their motives were not pure.

The joy in this was internal, for his gratification, not for theirs.
The journey was the ultimate; the method by which he travelled was incidental.

He had been on this road many times, as his scarred body testified, but always he had been halted before reaching his goal.  This time he would succeed. This time the road would lead to its destination with his footsteps firm upon it.

They would open him with steel, blood and semen.  Fucked.  How he loved the animalistic tones of that most blessed of words.

The simple brutality of it and how well it described this act they perpetrated upon his flesh.

When they were done, when they had each taken their turn, when his life stained the sawdust crimson and his pulse began to fade, they would raise him, nailed to the arms of his lover.

They would retire to their tables and chairs, to drink and eat and glut themselves with casual conversation in the company of brethren.

They would gaze at him with hot, envious eyes; watch him bleed and die; fucked to death, the ultimate journey.

© Mischa Laurent 2001

The Ultimate Too

It was his dream.  He slept and in sleep, he lived inside it.


They dragged him in and threw him down before his overLord, his clothing ripped and torn, his body filthy and bleeding from a myriad of tiny cuts.  He was traitor and to be judged as such, his knees his only support in this hostile hall, his will and his wish dashed to splinters beneath the churning hooves of the inevitable.

Jasper had gambled and he had lost.  Reduced now to nothing more than his Lord's whim, he waited, head bowed for sentence to be pronounced upon him.  He would die for his treachery, of that there was no doubt.  Only the time and the method of his execution was to be decided this night, in this cold hall of flagstones and rushes, where his Lord sat in solitary splendour upon his throne of skulls.

Raising his head, Jasper ventured a glance at the victor.  The thick braids falling across the massive chest, chestnut red and flaming in the torchlight.  Massive thighs and meaty hands that had killed many men without resort to weapon.  The chains of office that crossed his breast, silver and gold; the torque at his brow, all these things were familiar.  It was the eyes he sought.

Cold.  Hard and implacable they watched him.  No pity, no compassion for his broken dream, only sorrow at the waste and the will to impose the penalty.  His overLord nodded and he was pulled to his feet, his arms held tight by the guards.

The lips parted, spreading the beard, teeth glistened in a feral face as the words were spoken.  He did not hear the words with his ears.  Instead his soul took note and his body reacted to the charge.

Between his legs, his manhood rose, stiff and proud, delighted with the sentence.  His nipples stiffened and his breath came faster, the man on the throne noticing these things immediately.

He barked a command and the guards obeyed, tearing the clothes from his body to reveal his tumescence.  Almost, the overLord smiled.  Pleased by his prisoner's reaction, he revised the punishment and Jasper was lead away.


It was night and the guards came to fetch him.  His wounds were washed, but not bandaged or treated.  There was to be no medicine wasted on one so soon to die.

But he was clean and watered, his hair brushed, made fit for what was to come.

Beneath the throne room a chamber waited.

From his cell he was taken, across the narrow hall to the place where the overLord and his generals waited.  As they crossed, his eyes fixed on the door opposite, through which he would make his final walk on the morrow.

But now was not tomorrow, not yet and he must be firm with his emotions, concentrating only on showing his Lord that he was worthy of the punishment offered.

The guards left him inside the door, turning the key from the outside as they departed.

Jasper turned to his new audience.  They watched to see if he would falter, if his pride would deny him the ability to do what he must, to show what he needed to reveal.

He dropped readily to his knees and crawled across the stone floor to where his Lord sat in the only chair.  Upon the wall and tables, in the open drawer were the implements of agony.  They gleamed silver in the light, grinning their deathly smiles, humoured by his abject state.  The generals watched, approval for his actions visible in their black eyes.

The Lord's eyes too, held respect and perhaps a little pride.  That one brought so low could find the courage to serve, as he must, as any common prisoner was bound to do, that was  cause for pride, was it not?

Reaching the chair as the Lord stood, Jasper bowed his head, feeling the huge hand come to rest in his hair.  Testing his resolve.  He endured it.

The hand left his hair and joined its brother on the Lords' hips'.  They waited, suspended in the moment, until Jasper moved.  Hand coming up, unlacing the breeches before his face, and carefully exposing the loins he would service.

He wiggled forward, an abject and needy creature, mouthing at the hardening prick with lips and gums, nuzzling like the most blatant of whores.  He licked it and sucked at it, running his teeth gently along the underside of the shaft, keeping his hands behind his back, showing his unworthiness to touch.

Slurping at it, head bobbing from his exertions, he worked the prick with a wanton's skill.  Only when it was fully hard did he cease his ministrations, opening his mouth to take the head of it in.  He waited.

This time the hands gripping his hair were as harsh as the heavy breathing that came from the massive chest before him.  The heavy musk scent filled his nostrils, the pounding of the blood through the veins throbbed in his mouth.  The hips came forward, filling his throat with the rigid shaft.  The hands held his head steady as the prick rocked back and forth, diving deep into his throat as he fought not to choke.

The floodgates were opened and the generals fell upon him.  The Lord knelt, taking him down.  His knees were wrenched apart, callused hands pressed down on his back, forcing him to tilt his hips and raise his behind into the air.  Fingers probed and opened his passageway, his scream of pain muffled by the meat filling his mouth.

Rough cloth brushed against his cheeks, the red-hot pain of the first impalement shot up his spine and brought stinging wetness to his eyes.

He was rocked to and fro, his knees bled, his bowels screamed their torment and his breath came only in spasms.

The Lord withdrew, not done; merely resting and another took his place.  And another, then another still, until all were serviced.


When they were done, only the Lord had not been fulfilled.  That was yet to come, first he must be prepared; a banquet for the conqueror.

The generals recovered from their exercise, picked him up from the floor and laid him across the rough table in the centre of the room.  Laughing, enjoying the spectacle, they poked and pinched his hard shaft, lying rampant against his belly, while they waited for the instruments to be assembled.

He was not bound.  This was part of the test.  He was beaten.  Now he must show that he knew this and was ready to suffer for his sins.

The Lord sat and watched.  He would enjoy the fruits of their labours; he had no need to participate in their creation.  He was a King.  Selections made, they approached him and lay the tools down where he could see them.

Slivers of steel, sharp at both ends were picked up.  He lay, unresisting as they pinched the first nipple between thumb and forefinger and drew it out, away from his chest.

The slivers were driven through the tender buds and removed, replaced by rings and a chain that joined both together, his screams bounced off the ceiling in testament to his suffering.

The chain was pulled, he was forced to rise and turn.  Commanded to the end of the table facing his Lord, he obeyed the order to place the sacs of his manhood upon the wooden surface and to hold his straining shaft against his belly, out of the way.

Two strong men held him upright, firm hands beneath his arms as his balls were crushed and smashed.  The darkness of the agony claimed him twice, forced back by the application of cool water to his brow and the scent of herbs beneath his nostrils.

They carried him then, admiring of his fortitude, to lay back on the flagstones before the Lord's chair for the final torment.  Raising him up, spreading him out, they pushed his hard penis to the stones and drove sharp nails through.

Each time he weakened, the darkness threatening to overwhelm his vision and his sanity, the cool eyes of the Lord were the focus that kept him present.

Thus he endured it seven times.  Seven steel nails driven through his cock, the entirety of it laced about with barbs of wire, his chest and belly slashed to ribbons by whips, his ruined balls pulled away from his body and wrapped in chains, while his cries and screams were offered up to his Lord's senses as a gift.

So he was prepared.  Beaten and bloody they laid him back, the stones soothing his fevered flesh as his legs were drawn up and out, opening the way for his Lordís pleasure.

The Lord came to kneel between his spread thighs, his hard prick forcing its way inside the ruined hole and brutally battering his insides, while his body further crushed the mangled genitals with its weight.

Slow and hard the Lord fucked him, a King's endurance and his manhood never in question as he brought his will to bear upon his eager cock and made it obey.  Their eyes were locked together, two sets of dark pebbles in silent communication as the grunting savagery went on and on.

As his orgasm came upon him, he bore down with all his might, his mighty cock tearing and ripping.

"I am Lord."  He cried out in his ecstasy.

"Who is your Master?" He demanded.

Jasper bellowed as the royal hands ripped and gouged at his sex and the sharp teeth tore strips of flesh from his chest.

"You are my Lord."  He screamed.  Their eyes met.

"You are my Master, father."  Jasper proclaimed.


The dawn came and with it, the execution.  The doors opened, daylight pouring in on the company assembled in the chamber beneath the throne.

Half-carried up the stairs toward the waiting crowd, Jasper trembled when he saw the reality of his death in the yard beneath the rising sun.  It was a tremble of joy, for the tribute to his courage inherent in the selection of this method of death.  He had earned his right.

The common crowd watched his ruined nakedness as it was assembled for execution.

The spreading of his arms and feet, the locKing of shackles that would raise him up and hold him taut.

Still a splendid sight, this son of a King who had committed treason, as the winches raised him and the pulleys lowered him into position.

The King stepped forward and issued the command.  The executioner stepped up onto his platform and moved the stake between his buttocks.

He felt its wooden kiss against his bloody hole, the slippery slide of blood down its sides as he was lowered and slowly impaled upon its length.

It was exquisite pain, worthy of a treacherous prince.  He would take a long time to die.

© Mischa Laurent 2001

Bound To His Wishes

You know that saying, "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it." And how, when someone says that to you, you wrinkle your nose and think, 'Yeah, but I'm not trying that!'?

Up until a few months ago, I would have done the exact same thing had somebody suggested bondage, but now I wouldn't turn down any new experience just because it sounds a little 'out there'.

I always was the kind of guy who, I guess, liked my lovers to be in control.  Being handled, staying passive while they turned me and arranged me and did with me what they wanted, was always a big turn-on for me.  Sex was never about my own orgasm.  What got me off was the pleasure of service, the way it made my heart beat faster and my temperature rise when a lover would tell me in a gruff voice to, 'Turn over.' or 'Spread your legs.'  The little
fantasy that I had no choice in the matter would play itself out in my head and I'd come, sometimes without even having my cock touched.

But it was never about any of that 'scene'' stuff, which I viewed with distaste whenever I saw it in magazines or on the street.  Guys in leather and chaps, with whips and handcuffs attached to their belts, that's what most people think of when bondage is mentioned.  I know, I was one of them.

But there's more than one sort of bondage and it doesn't have to have that 'Master/Slave' bullshit going on.  And it's not the way it looks, either.  You see a photo or a video of some guy being tied up and you think he likes being immobilized, a prisoner.

Being tied up isn't about being unable to move, to resist.  It's about being free.

There's an incredible freedom that comes when you give over complete control of yourself to someone else.  Someone you trust, of course.  You're not just giving them your body, you're giving them your entire self.  Letting go of more than just motor skills and physical freedom.  It's like a release from... everything.

When it's over, it's not a 'crawl on your knees and kiss his feet' kind of a gratitude that you feel, that's role-playing and not what I'm talking about at all.  You're relaxed, completely relaxed and calm.  Bondage has a soporific effect, it clears and refreshes the mind.   All the dross of the day, all the petty concerns are washed away and you're left feeling mentally energized. Maybe you're physically tired and ready for sleep, but the mind is like crystal sharp and ringing, a thing of beauty.

Let me illustrate:

I'm like most guys, average.  Average to look at, average in height, I work in an office and live alone in a small house with my dog for company.  I'm single and, like I said, I always chose guys to bring home who demonstrated that 'in charge' attitude that I prefer.  No leather, no moustaches and knee-high boots, just men who knew what they wanted and could see that they'd get it from me.

This particular Saturday night, I walked into one of my favourite bars in one of those naturally high moods we all have.  A spring in my step, mentally whistling, feeling on top of the world.  My favourite stool was available, the barman bought my drink immediately, that kind of a night.  Nodding a few greetings to guys I knew, exchanging pleasantries and looking around to see who was there, I spotted a guy leaning on the other end of the bar reading the paper.

He was big.  Six three or four to my five ten, at least.  Wide shoulders, deep chest, manly thighs; all that romance novel stuff.  Blond hair and tanned skin, he had about him that air of confidence that told me he was my kind of man.  The leader type.  Eventually, he looked up from his paper to take a sip of his drink and our eyes met.  Across a crowded room?  I know, I know, bring on the violins, but it's true, that's how it happened.  He measured me up as I had done him, both of us unsmiling.  Deadly serious, this game of pick-up-pricks.

Soon, he folded the paper and came around the bar to where I was sitting and picked me up.  Not literally, I'm talking about the meandering, pointless conversation that is always a prelude to the real business of getting laid.

When that point was reached it was done in silence.  He finished his drink in one swallow and indicated the door with a tilt of his head.  My reply, of course, was to finish my own drink, pick up my jacket, say goodnight to the barman and head on out, following him.

Cut to my place.  Just inside the closed door, I turned to him.  He reached out and began to unbutton my shirt.  No words had been exchanged since we left the bar.  None were needed, we both knew what we were about.  I watched his deft fingers dealing with then shirt, not his face. When they were all undone, he pushed the shirt from my shoulders and I shrugged, letting it slide down my arms to puddle on the floor.

Already he had moved on to my belt, unfastening the clasp and zip of my pants he eased the material down over my hips and then stopped.  He would not bend to pull them further down; this I had to do myself.  Once to my knees they dropped and I kicked off my shoes as well while I stepped free.  My shorts were also mine to discard and I did so, sinking immediately to my knees and bringing up my hands to work on his jeans, never once making eye contact.

He removed his T-shirt, pulling it over his head with crossed arms, as I completed my task and gently lowered his shorts, freeing his semi-erect cock and his balls from the soft fabric.  Moving in closer, I ran my tongue along the underside of the shaft, taking just the head into my mouth and softly sucking.  His cock twitched with pleasure, immensely gratifying to me, and I continued my ministrations as he brought his hands around to cup my head and began to slowly thrust in and out.

Each movement went deeper down my throat and it became difficult to take him in, but I did not resist. It was his wish and by my actions I intended to show my compliance with them.  He did this several times, finally drawing my head back and walking away, leaving me to follow.

Inspecting my home, his hands on his hips, he looked about him.  Not at the decor, which is basic to say the least. but in a searching manner, finally deciding on the most likely looking door and opening it.

He was correct; it was my bedroom and I followed him inside, finding him standing at the side of my bed, his back turned to me, waiting.  I came and stood in front of him facing the bed and he placed one strong hand on the back of my neck, guiding me forward to kneel upon the covers.  Moving behind me, he pushed me down onto my hands and knees.  He spread my legs apart, pushing with the palms of his hands against my inner thighs, until they could go no further.  My head he bent forward until it touched the bed, turning my face to one side and bringing my arms back, folding my wrists across my spine.

Like this, I waited to service him, my cock hard and pulsing against my belly at the sheer thrill of it all. Abruptly he pushed through the tight ring of muscle, the sudden, sharp pain adding to the delicious torment and then he lunged forward, embedding himself completely inside, filling me with hot, needy flesh.

The feeling of him, pleasuring himself in my body was intoxicating, the deep thrusts as he moved back and forth within made a heavenly rhythm, his grunts of effort and moans of satisfaction were music to my ears.  So too, the harsh cry as he came, pumping rapidly inside me.  I felt him swell and then empty, his hands sweaty and hot against my hips as he ground out the last of his seed.

He rested for a moment and when he had regained his breath, withdrew.  Stroking my flanks in praise he spoke his first word since arriving, 'Stay.' He said and then left the room.

I remained exactly as he had placed me, despite the ache of stretched muscles and cramped neck, even though my own release had not happened, I didn't move, wanting to please and trusting that he would return.

I could hear him moving about in my living room.  His heavy tread upon the floorboards, the sound of the television being turned on, then off, and of books being lifted and pages turned as he made free with my possessions and inspected my home.  He passed the bedroom door on his way to the bathroom.  I saw his denim-clad legs move across my line of sight and heard the light switch, more cupboards open and close and the toilet flush before he returned to the living room..

It was a test of my patience, to see how long or even if I would remain where he had left me and I did so gladly, wanting to impress, marvellously moved by the inexplicable kinship I felt with this stranger.

Eventually, after half an hour or so, he returned to the bedroom but not immediately to my side.

Instead he moved about the room, opening drawers and cupboards. Another test, that I could sense. This time of my tolerance, my obedience to his wishes in light of this most personal invasion of my privacy.  I waited, sore and needy but quietly proud of my strength and the trust I was displaying for him and in him.

He came around behind me at last, his hand measuring the curve of my buttocks, cupping one, his index finger sliding easily inside my still-open hole.  Then he slid the hand between my legs and fondled my ballsac for a moment before running his fingers, like quicksilver, up the length of my rigid shaft.

I heard a quiet laugh as I shivered in reaction, and he said, "Lovely."  My heart swelled with pride because I had pleased him.  He knelt on the bed so he could see my face and asked, "Ready for more?"

I nodded, unwilling to speak and breach the moment, and he took my hands from behind my back and guided me to kneel upright on the bed once more.  My hands he brought round before me, encased in his own.  He took my two hands in one of his and, reaching into the pocket of the jeans he still wore, took out a length of laundry rope that he had retrieved from my bathroom cabinet.

He didn't ask to bind me, simply held the rope coiled in his hand for a moment and, when I made no objection, he held my wrists together and bound them tight, leaving a few inches of slack between.

I sighed happily and rested against his chest for a moment before he pulled me to my feet and led me by the rope out into the living room.

Between the two bay windows that jut out from the side of the house is a recess, an alcove that was once the front entrance.  Now it is blocked off and, while the doorframe remains, I have installed a downlight inside and use it for flowers or to show a painting to best advantage.  It is to this alcove that he took me, stopping beneath the doorframe and reaching up to engage the sliding hook that is hidden above it which I sometimes use to hang potplants.

This time it was I who was displayed as he slipped the rope over the hook, forcing me onto the balls of my feet.  Then he moved around in front of me and decided on his arrangement, spreading my legs apart once more until I was on tiptoe and every muscle was taut and showing to best advantage.  He clicked the switch and the alcove flooded with light, illuminating his living sculpture.

"Beautiful."  he said, running a hand down straining arm muscles and across tightly stretched belly.  He didn't need tell me to stay, I would not have moved for the world.  Fighting to remain in the position he had chosen, difficult as it was, while he returned to the sofa and made himself comfortable.

The light in the living room was off and I could see him only by the faint glow from the television as he turned it back on and settled down to watch the news.   I admired his chiselled features, the firm jawline and straight, Roman nose, heavily muscled hairless chest and those firm thighs; containing such power, as I now knew.  I could see myself too, reflected in the hall mirror, my flesh glowing in the warm light.  Every muscle, from toes to fingertips,  given sculptured form by the strained position.

He watched the newscast and then a portion of another program while I held my self still, ignoring  the cramping and pulling as best I could, encouraged by his occasional glances in my direction and his quick smiles of approval for my suffering.

My erection had subsided somewhat, not proof against the ever-growing pain, but it sprang into hard life once more when he turned his eyes from the television and watched me instead, his flaccid cock rising from where it had rested against his thigh, growing more erect the longer he looked.

Turning the television off, he came and stood before me, his eyes intent upon my face, searching for something.  I met his gaze with my own, radiant with the calm conviction that this was right and proper, to be before him like this, bound for his pleasure.

He smiled then, a smile of recognition and of welcome.  Reaching out with both hands, taking my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers he squeezed and twisted them slightly.  I drew in a hissing breath at this new pain, suddenly outraged that he could think that I would enjoy such a thing.

Then it hit me.  The pain peaked, and a rush, a tingling, sent quivers of pure pleasure from my chest to my cock as if there were a direct connection between them.  A moan left my parted lips and he gathered it into a kiss; our first.  One hand snaked slowly down over my belly, giving me time to shake my head in negation if I wished, and grasped my balls.

Our eyes locked as he quickly twisted his hands; the pain and then the heady rush of pleasure zipped and bounced between my nipple and the tortured sacs.  My entire body convulsed, hips rocking.  Only the bonds stopped me from collapsing to the floor from the incredible endorphin rush.

Stepping back, he waited for me to recover.  When my shuddering breaths subsided a little, he whipped his hand out and slapped my cock with the flat of his palm.  Again and again he did this thing.  Slowly at first, with a pause between each blow that allowed me to feel the pain crest and subside, then faster and faster until it peaked, the pleasure and the agony mingling together in one mind-destroying rush that sent my orgasm shooting from my balls and out from the head of my cock in explosive spurts.

Exhausted, I hung in my bonds, mind clear and empty of everything except what really mattered; who I was and what I wanted.  Moving behind my limp, sweaty body, he entered me roughly.  His thrusts were brutal, asserting his dominance, the male of the species at his most animalistic.  He held my hips in an iron grip, allowing no movement, and pistoned in and out of my hole, twisting to change the angle of penetration, withdrawing fully to plunge back inside with pitiless force.

Grinding against me, breathing heavily in my ear, he came, his final thrusts ferocious in their intensity as he ploughed my channel.

Finished, he leaned against me until he regained his breath.  "Do you want more?"  He asked.  I nodded.

"I'll write down my address."  He said, kissing the back of my neck.  "Come to me there next weekend.  For the entire weekend.  Don't come if you don't mean it."

With that, he released me, allowing me to place my still-bound hands about his neck for support until my shaking legs and protesting muscles recovered enough that I could stand unaided.

He untied my hands and we walked together to the door where I once again dropped to my knees and, kissing the head of his cock, tucked it away and zipped his jeans while he put on his T-shirt.

Handing me the scrap of paper with the all-important address on it, he kissed me once more, deeply and thoroughly, and then left.

I slid down the wall just inside the door, exhausted but content, clutching the precious paper to my chest.

Finally I knew, completely and without doubt, just what it was I liked, what I wanted and, most of all, what I needed above  all else, and it was a freeing revelation.

I had given all I had to a stranger and he had taken my trust and not abused it, but rather had held my soul in his hands,  allowing my mind to fly, before returning it, whole and unharmed.  Until the next time.

Then I realised... I didn't know his name.  And, that it didn't matter.

© Mischa Laurent 2000

Mirror, Mirror

The party was over. The beer consumed, the pizza devoured. Ethan carted the remains into the kitchen and disposed of them into the bin while the tape rewound. He took a damp cloth with him back into the living room to wipe the stains from the coffee table; the sound of voices from the front patio telling him that Nathan was still involved in bidding farewell to the last of their buddies.

The blue movie in the VCR whirred to a halt. Ethan looked at the static hissing across the flat screen of the television and sat himself down, dropping the wet cloth onto the table and picking up the remote control.

The voices out front faded from his conciousness as he forwarded the tape to his favourite place and settled back to watch it oncemore. In the dimmed light of the living room the action on the screen loomed large and he felt his erection begin to stir again.

The two handsome men on the screen were once again joined together in a flurry of caresses and thrusts, the blond boy looked so ecstatic as he tested the boundaries of his rope restraints against the rhythm of his master's fuck.

Ethan didn't hear the front door shut or his brother's footsteps as he crossed the carpet to drop soundlessly into the seat beside him.

Nathan touched him on the shoulder and he jumped, turning his head from the screen to look directly into the face that was the exact copy of his own.

"You like this bit, huh?" Nate softly questioned.

"You know I do." Ethans' reply was breathless, his heart thumping in anticipation. Hoping that Nate would quench his need.

The television screen was forgotten as he lost himself in examination of his brother's features. Just like he always did. There was something so... erotic about seeing himself as others saw him.

From looking at Nate, he knew how he himself moved, how each expression appeared to strangers, how they would interpret each glance, every movement.

"You're staring again." Ethan watched the perfect lips form the words, the sensuous appeal of each motion.

He looked like that when he spoke. It was almost too spooky to contemplate, the complete absence of even the slightest difference between them.

One person, split into two parts. Duplicated.

Undeniably uniform, right down to the smallest physical detail, only the personality traits to separate them at all and never to the uninitiated. Friends and family could tell them apart, but only with greatest difficulty.

Nathan was extrovert, strong and forthright; Ethan quiet, contemplative and reserved. Nathan the leader, Ethan the follower; it had always been that way.

From childhood to the present, inseparable from birth, with Nathan the first to achieve and Ethan following in his footsteps, right down to the move to this city, this apartment that they shared and the firm they both worked for.

"I know." Ethan scarcely managing to form the reply. Too late. Nathan raised an eyebrow at his tardiness, his eyes dropping to his brother's crotch where evidence of his excitement brought a knowing smile to Nate's face.

Nate hit the mute button on the remote, his eyes raising briefly to the set, where the crescendo of passion was playing itself out.

As he watched, his arm resting across the back of the couch dropped slowly, the fingers finding their way, unguided, into the open front of Ethan's shirt.

The hand splayed out, fingers trailing down Ethan's chest until they encountered the tight bud of his nipple. The fingers spread around the prize, trapping it between the knuckles to squeeze tightly and then release.

Nate turned his gaze from the set and watched instead the movement of his fingers beneath the cloth. The unseen capture of the nipple between the forefinger and thumb brought a tiny moan from Ethan as the dark flesh was pinched harder and harder, then twisted.

Ethan did not look down, he watched the television with blind eyes, his thighs spreading apart in unconcious reaction to the tease, his breath coming ever faster as his imagination contemplated what was to come.

Nate's other hand joined the first, sliding under the other side of his shirt, pulling the material apart to bare his chest. Both nipples were targets, with fingers and then with teeth and tongue they were assaulted, as Nate bent his head to nip and tug.

Ethan's pants were damp with his arousal. Nate reached down and tugged at them.

He pulled to the side at the same time, indicating that he wanted Ethan to turn in the seat, to lay sideways across the sofa.  As Ethan lay back, Nate pushed the silk shirt from his shoulders, binding his arms in place. His pants and underwear were pushed down to his knees as he laid himself down with his head on the armrest, Nate sitting on the edge of the cushion, turned to face him.

The marvellous hands now had free rein. They moved across taut muscle on belly and chest, testing the resistance, pummelling the coiled muscle beneath the satin skin. Ethan's cock danced upward in pleading need, but Ethan already knew that Nate would ignore its wanting until he was ready for it.

His thighs were swept over with firm, sure hands; seeking fault and finding none. Sharp teeth nipped at his flesh; on his belly, hips and thighs before Nate was satisfied.

"Sit up." He commanded and Ethan obeyed. He pulled himself upright into the centre of the sofa, raising his legs for Nate to pull his pants down over his bare feet, then the same action for his arms as the shirt was discarded.

Naked he sat on the cushions, sliding his ass forward, his knees drawn up on either side and spread out. Arms at his side, flat against the sofa, he waited, his cock pulsing and hitting gently against his belly.

He loved to be so exposed before his brother; this was his favourite position and, as such, was not often allowed. Tilted back by the hips he knew that Nate could see and had full access to his most private parts. But nothing between them was private.

It was like looking at himself, seeing the rude lust reflected on his brother's face, knowing it was a mirror of his own.

Nate's hand came around his balls and began to crush and twist. He hissed against the pain, only to lift himself up and invite more.

The rhythm of the pain was a dance he loved.

He almost cried his pleasure when he saw Nate reach for the lubricant beneath the sofa and slick some over his fingers. Now the crushing of his ballsac had a sweet accompaniment in the thumb that penetrated his hole, twisting and widening the passage as he danced upon it.

His groans and cries of joy were background to the scent of sweat from effort and pain combined, his cock ached and throbbed, used to being ignored in this dance, but never accepting its neglect.

The hand left his balls and sought the lube before two thumbs plumbed his hole, side by side. His head thrashed unknowingly as the opening continued, sweat making the tender flesh of his asshole flash with stinging pain.

Fingers penetrated, dived and delved, pushing and pulsing inside him, an almost-satisfaction that drove him wild wanting more.

Through misted eyes he watched his brother's face as he worked his will upon the self-flesh. The intensity of his gaze which never left its mission as he prodded and fingered the widening hole, the sweat that beaded his brow and upper lip.

And always that expression of blind lust that moulded his features into a stranger's. Frightening yet familiar; seen reflected in dark windows and mirrors in bright rooms, but never so clearly as now.

"Please." He whispered, panting, his face contorted with desire.

Nate came back to himself; to them. "Bed." He said, his tone dark.

Ethan shivered and went quickly to the room they shared.  Nate followed more slowly, in greater control and Ethan was correctly positioned on the bed when he arrived; in the centre of the quilt, his head facing the base, arms above, his legs thrown up and back, ready to receive.

Nate brought with him the thin ropes and looped the strands around Ethan's hands and feet, tying hands together above his head, ankles fastened to the posts.

Only then did he disrobe, revealing a body twinned to the one that spread beneath him, climbing onto the bed for a better assessment.

Sharp fingernails scraped across the hole he had widened. Whatever it was he searched for, it seemed he found it, for he nodded, satisfied.

"Wide enough, I think," he hissed "to take two tonight."

Ethan felt the shudder those words engendered richocet through his body as he watched Nate reach into the bedside table, retrieving the hard rubber cock he kept there.

Nate made no further comment, merely coming to rest upon his knees between his twin's outstretched legs, his cock held in one hand for guidance, the rubber one held poised ready in the other.

His penetration was brutal and complete, splitting open the last of the resistance to embed himself fully inside his brother'sasshole.

Ethan heaved against the pain, leg muscles tensing as he fought to take him in.  The muscles in his ass relaxed as he pushed, feeling the hot cock come to rest against his prostate, rubbing as it twitched, sending electric pulses of pleasure thoughout his entire system.

Nate withdrew until only the head of his prick was inside.  Bringing to bear the object in his other hand, he slotted it in beside his own cock, ignoring Ethan's cry of pain.

"Right." He whispered.

Not so much a question as a statement, but Ethan nodded through tear-stained eyes just the same.

Then the delicious fucking began. Push and pull, one in, one out, as Nate's free hand left his hips and took to his cock. Stretching, scratching and tugging, his cock pulled, his hole under twin assault, Ethan groaned and raised himself up and down, using the tight ropes as counterpoint to his struggles. Faster and deeper, sweat pouring from his face, running down his cheeks to pool at the base of his throat. Specks of blood stained the ropes at wrist and ankle, Nate's perspiration dripping down from above to join his own in stinging harmony that stained his cockhead with pain and brought it to screaming orgasm.

Nate spasmed within him and shot his pearly load deep inside his brother's bowels.

Exhausted, bound, he cleaned the rubber brought to his lips with a tongue coated in blood from his bitten lip. Then he washed and laved away the last of the coating from his brother's cock when it too, was pressed against his open mouth.

Released, from bondage and from need, he collapsed in Nate's arms, laying with him upon their shared bed and staring with him, into the mirror against the wall.

The same. Identical. Wet blond hair and eyes drooping with fatigue, the bond stronger than rope, deeper than genes.

Bound together in blood, sweat and semen, lust and loved combined; they slept, together.

© Mischa Laurent 2001


I'm a risk taker. Always have been.

I am the kid who rode his bike down the hill with his legs on the handlebars, refusing to use the brakes, not even with Dead Man's Curve coming up fast.  The teenager who drove too fast, teased the cops and laughed when he lost them in the sidestreets.

As an adult, things haven't changed much. I still take risks, in business I'm a real tiger, stealing clients from other companies and making deals in my sleep.

In private I take a different kind of risk.  Mike is a risk taker too.  He's my other half and, where I am a leader at work and in public, in the privacy of our home, it's the other way around.

I follow where he leads. Do what he says. Without argument, without question.

He says to me, "Joe, take off your clothes."  I do it.  It doesn't matter where we are or whether we're alone or not, I obey him.

I love it.  Tell the truth, I revel in it and I'm always ready for more, for new, for unique.

Our sex life is pretty exciting as a result. In fact, it was Mike who introduced me to the delights of sex in public as a form of risk. We've done it everywhere from on the beach, the bus or the train, to at home, in front of the fire with our friends watching and jacking off while he fucks me.

There's a crowd of us, Mike's friends mostly with a few of mine who've been recruited by my enthusiasm for the whole deal.  We go out on Saturday nights, finding new places, new ways to
get the buzz that only comes from the danger of sex in public.

One night, as we were getting ready to go out, Mike turned and told me that I'd be going with Roger and Chris, not with him.  For a second, I was dismayed and thought that he was tiring of me.  It was an appalling thought.  Then I saw the flush in his cheeks and that secret glint in his eye and I knew it was all right.  I nodded and went with them, noticing, just as the door closed, that Mike remained unpaired.  That's when I knew he was going to follow us.

They took me to the park, a popular cruising place that was fairly safe.  The thought of having sex with both of them while Mike watched from a distance was so arousing that I was achingly hard long before we even arrived.  Into the centre of the park they lead me, to the area we call the Pleasure Zone.  It's a distant section of the whole, huge parkway, fairly remote from the paths and signposted as 'Natural Bushland; indigenous to this area.'   What this grand signage really amounts to is a slight incline, a small 'forest' of halfgrown trees and bushes that circle around a small clearing with a park bench slapped in the centre of it.  Not very appetising for the usual park goer and therefore ignored by them and claimed by us.

We went to the centre and immediately Chris ordered me to strip.  He's a big, dominant kind of guy, dark-haired and muscular, as is Roger, and just hearing the words fall from his full lips made my cock twitch.  I'm slim and tall and blond and, sandwiched between the two of them, I feel like a doll.

I had my clothes off as quickly as I could manage without stumbling in the darkness.  I threw them across the park bench and waited, expecting further orders.  They took an arm each and lead me away from the clearing to the first of the trees, some decent sized saplings.

There, Chris produced some thin rope and began attaching it to my wrists.  This was different and I wasn't sure I liked it.  But, as if anticipating my reservations, Roger came close into my left side and, caressing my chest and nipples, began whispering in my ear.

"New thrill tonight, Joe.  One we know you're gonna like.  See, Mike thought you'd like something a little different.  So we arranged this."

Chris moved to tie my other wrist, the first rope biting into the flesh of my arm, loose coils hanging from it and trailing down to the ground.  Roger's voice went on, raising goosebumps of excitement on my naked flesh.

"We told a few friends that there was gonna be a free fuck here tonight.  You're it.  We're gonna tie you to these trees and then go join your lover in the bushes.  You?  You get to stand here and take whatever's dished out to you.  Understand?"

I nodded, powerfully excited.  His last words almost causing me to come right then.

"You take it like a good, obedient boy.  And, while you are, imagine the three of us, over there in the trees, watching and enjoying it."

With that, he stepped away.  Chris had finished his binding, adding rope to my ankles and now the two of them took the loose ends and fixed me in place.

My arms were stretched out to either side and a little elevated and tied to the branches of the trees they had selected.  Chris pulled on one ankle rope and Roger the other; spreading my legs wide and tying the rope around the treetrunk, tugging to test that there was no slack.

Tied taut and helpless, my chest heaving with the excitement, they left me.  But not before Chris stepped close, running one hand down my back and across my spread buttocks and breathed, "Do everything you're told, Joe.  Absolute obedience."

And they left me.

I felt safe, knowing they were there.  The cool breeze played over my hot skin and the trees danced in it.  I felt so free, being tied like this; choiceless and aroused.

It wasn't long before I heard voices coming in my direction.  Four men appeared on the other side of the clearing, their shadows sliding over the ground between us, covering me in a dark cloak as they drew close.  I stood as tall as I could, my head flung back proudly, displaying my body to its best advantage, for them and for the watcher in the trees.

The moon was behind them, highlighting my naked skin but leaving their faces in darkness until they were right upon me.  They were all strangers and one of them stepped boldly up, cupping my face in his hand and said,

"Well.  Roger was right.  There is a free fuck in the forest tonight.  You look more like a sacrifical offering than a free fuck though.  Am I right?"  He squeezed my chin.

"I am,  " I replied,  "Anything you want me to be."

He nodded, satisfied with my answer.  Turning to one of his friends, he said,

"Did you bring the drinks?"  The sound of cans hitting the dirt gave him his reply.

To another he said,"What about that flashlight?"

The  man to whom he had spoken, wordlessly handed him what he asked for and the glow of the beam hit the grass beneath my feet.

"Let's see what we have here?"  He said,chuckling.

Directing the beam up my body, he focused on my groin.  I saw one of his big hands come out and felt it circle my cock in a vice-like grip.  "Nice cock."  He commented.  The others murmered their agreement, more hands coming out of the darkness to stroke and probe.

Next, the beam rose to my chest, lighting a nipple in a golden circle of light.  "Ah, good." He  sounded happy. "I love dark titties."  With that, his head bent to my chest and he bit down on the bud briefly, nibbling at it, a quick gust of his hot breath hitting the sore flesh when he laughed at my hiss of pain.

He moved  then and another mouth took his place; another hand on my cock, tugging on my balls.
I had never been so turned on before in my life. Mike knew me so well.

My chief tormentor ducked under my arm and the fourth man did likewise.  Someone parted my asscheeks and I could almost feel the heat from the flashlight as they focused it on my puckered hole.

"Delicious."  Someone said in a throaty voice. "We're gonna enjoy ploughing this nice little fuckchannel."

The hands left my body as a group and I felt myself to be the focus of four lustfilled gazes.

"Anyone want a drink before we start?"  It was my tormentor.

"Nah.  I'm too horny.  Let's all fuck him now, one after the other.  We can play with him later." said another.  Voices rose in murmered agreement.

"Okay.  Good idea.  Let's put him on his knees so we can fuck both his holes, eh?"

Again I thought that words alone would drive me to orgasm.  This dispassionate talk about their intent, as if I were just an object to be posed and used and played with was just incredible and my head was swimming with it.  When they loosened the arm ropes I dropped to my knees without any need for a command, my mouth open and waiting, as they refastened my bonds.

Two dark shapes detached themselves, one going behind me to drop to his knees, the other coming to stand before my face, his hand dropping to open his fly.  The rough kiss of denim pressing against my asscheeks as he manouvered into position was the only warning I got.

Parting my buttocks roughly with his thumbs, he drove his rigid cock right through the tight ring of muscle and deep into my bowels without ceremony.  My scream was cut off by the cock that thrust down my throat, embedding in my mouth as its owner grabbed my hair for traction.  At least the man in my ass was lubed, that much I could feel.  The slickness of the gel as he withdrew and thrust again into my behind, his hand slapping my asscheek, he groaned,

"Oh, that's so good.  Real tight, guys." Speaking to his friends.

Then to me, "Grind that ass, fuck. I want to feel that pussy dance!"

With my screams swallowed, the man in my mouth pulled out.  In the vague moonlight his cock looked enormous, swollen red, mushroom shaped head, dripping with my saliva and his juice as he waved it at me with one thick, meaty hand.  He scratched his coarse black bush for a moment, then grabbed my hair again, speaking roughly,

"No licking.  No sucking.  You're a fuckhole.  That's all."

He began to plough my throat, using it, as he'd said, as a hole to fuck.  My behind was being fucked hard and deep and I made my hips dance as ordered, my own cock, rigid and slapping against my belly as it bounced.  I fought to relax my throat, to allow him as deep as he wished, but he didn't give me time to adjust, taking what he wanted without regard for my discomfort.

I gagged and he belted the side of my head. "Take it, fuck."

And I did.  My ass dancing, my face being driven into his crotch, I wondered at the picture I must present to the other two waiting their turn and to my lover and his friends, hidden in the trees.

Wanting to come so badly, but unable to stimulate myself that little bit more that was required, I serviced them both, sweat breaking out on my face and chest, my knees aching from the hard ground and happier than I had ever been before in my life.

The man behind me came in an explosion of grunts and swearing.  I felt his juice burning my insides, caustic and wonderful, trickling down my thighs as he withdrew with a final slap to my asscheeks.  Expecting another lover to mount me, I cocked my ass in the air but, it seemed they had decided to wait.  My hole gaped open, empty and needy while the man using my mouth finished pumping his seed down my throat.

When he withdrew the support his hands had given me, I collapsed, my weight fully on the ropes that held me upright, gasping for breath and shaking with want.  There was no rest for me, however.  No sooner had they stepped back than I felt new hands come under my arms and raise me back up.  The ropes slackened at wrist and ankle and then I was unceremoniously turned onto my back, my arms drawn above my head.  They were taken up and held by my previous lovers and my ankles lifted and my legs tied once again to the trees, spreadeagled in the air.

The strain on my inner thighs was almost intolerable, so widely was I spread.  My leg muscles trembled and shook as they adjusted my body into a position most pleasing to them; my ass in the air and my legs elevated and pulled back, almost to the hip joint.

The one who had first tormented me dropped to his knees between my thighs, a wolfish grin on his face.  "Enjoying yourself, fuck?" He asked.  "Yes."  I replied, and I was, I truly was.  This was just wonderful.  I was a parcel of meat, to be displayed and arranged.  I was, as they continually referred to me, nothing more than a fuck.

He stroked his big hand down across my sweaty chest, pinching a nipple and continuing down across my tight belly to my crotch where he grabbed my balls and gave them a light twist.  Then the other hand joined the first and together they made free with my body, running wherever they pleased, pinching, twisting and caressing.  "Like that?"  He asked me as both his hands roughly fondled my gentitalia, "Like being a helpless... thing?"

The excited glint in my eyes must have given him my answer, because he laughed and slapped my cock once, hard.  "Time to fuck."  He said, and I fought to raise my hips, to invite him.

Opening his fly, he drew out his prick and pushed it inside me.  His hands on either side of my body holding him up as he ground himself against my asshole, his face inches above my own.

"You love it, don't you?"  He said, conversationally.  "You love being used like this.  It's even better than the other stuff you and Mike do together, isn't it?   You're a fuckslut, that's all.  The more degrading and hard, the better you like it.  Isn't that true?"

These words did not really require an answer, he was speaking rhetorically as he fucked my chute, enjoying himself immensely.  But the words hit home.  They were all true.  No matter what these men did to me, with me, I would love it and want more.  More degredation, more willing slavery.  I had to tell him so.

"Yes.  I love it."  I whispered, tilting my hips as best I could to accept his prick deep in me.  "Do it to me."

Dropping down lower, he brought his mouth to my ear. "Do what?"  He said softly.

"Anything."  I moaned.  "Anything you want."


"Yes.  God, yes.  Anything at all."  I couldn't stop the words escaping.  They needed to be released, to be admitted.

His tongue circled the shell of my ear, licking and creating a delicious coolness.  "I want to hurt you."  He said.  " Can I do that?"

Twisting my head, I captured his mouth with my own, giving him a deep kiss with my mouth open obscenely wide to invite his tongue to penetrate my throat.  He drove his tongue into me, even as his cock thrust completely inside my bowels and I was filled at both ends, sucking on his tongue in worship, my ass clenching tight against his shaft.  He raised his head and looked into my eyes.

I kept my lips parted, wetting them with my moist tongue, "Hurt me."  I invited him.  "Bring Mike over, and the others if you like.  Let them watch.  Let them hurt me too.  I want it.  I want you all."

He screamed and came inside me, filling me and making me a possession.  Levering himself upright, he looked down upon my prone, begging body.  "We're going to use you," He promised.
"Use you all night."  I nodded, eager for it to begin.  "All of us, fucking you and making you do things.  Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes.  More than anything."

"Mike."  He called out, his voice ringing through the trees.  "Come down. He's ready."

I was.  I was ready to be their pawn, not even caring that Mike had set this up for his own purposes.  There was a rustle of the grasses and then Mike dropped down beside my bound body, lying full length against me, his head propped on his hand.

"I knew this was you."  He said quietly.  "But I needed them to make you realise.  Forgive me?"

I kissed him, planting my lips against his cheek.  When we broke apart the men were assembled around us, five dark shapes in the moonlight.  The flashlight came on again, its narrow beam illuminating my nakedness for their avaricious gazes'.    Another joined it in playing up and down my frame, showing them my rock hard cock.  In abject need I twitched my hips and let my tongue play across my open lips, moaning softly as I felt their hot eyes upon my body.

Two of them fell upon me - Roger and Chris.  Roger lanced my asshole with his swollen cock, its thickness greater than any of those that had gone before, spreading my gaping hole open with his thrusts.  Chris opened his pants and dropped down to sit on my chest.  Leaning forward and resting on his arms at either side of my head, his legs running down the outside of my body, he shoved his cock into my waiting mouth and began to fuck into it.

All the while these two beautiful big men were using my orifices for their pleasure, Mike remained my my side, his free hand caressing my chest and organ while he talked into my ear, telling me how much he loved me and how he enjoyed watching them fucking me.

His hands never lingered long enough on my shaft to bring me off, but I no longer cared.  I was lost in a delirium of pleasure and sensation, being fucked at both ends while the sound of Mike's voice breathlessly describing what he was watching washed over me.

When those two men were done with me and had risen, leaving me gaping and dripping with their seed, their usage of me finally took the step that I had been promised.

The last of the strangers knelt between my legs.  He was a massive man, broad across the shoulders with a dark hairy face and long lank hair.  Huge, thick thighs like treetrunks rested against my buttcheeks and the camouflage pants he wore had bulging pockets that offered me new pleasures.

As he delved into those pockets, Mike began talking to me again, this time in a louder voice so that the assembled men could hear his words from where they rested in a circle about us.  I could see no one but the man whose turn it was, the glare of the narrow flash beam threw even Mike, who was the closest to me, into shadow.

"Frank has lots of ways to bring pleasure." Mike began.  "That's pleasure for us, not for you.  Your pain is our pleasure, Joe, you know that, don't you?"  He kissed my cheek as I nodded.

"We have your torture all planned out, sweetheart.  We came up here so no one can hear you if you cry out, so don't worry about that.  Frank's going to start off small.  Ah, look.  See."

I looked as Frank took a pair of clamps from his pocket.  Glinting with silver teeth in the light, they looked formidable and I shuddered involuntarily.

"It's okay. Don't be afraid."  Mike soothed me, stroking my flanks.  "We're going to hurt your pretty little titties now. "  He nodded and Frank bent down.  I watched as he grabbed my nipple between thumb and forefinger, pulling it out and away from my chest.  I hissed as I felt the bite, dropping my head back and biting the inside of my cheek to stifle the cry. "Good."  Mike said. " Now the other."  Again I bit my cheek until I felt a trickle of blood inside my mouth.

"Ahh.  You look so beautiful, Joe.  Look at them."  He enjoined and I raised my head to see.  The twin clamps had bitten deep into the flesh around my nipples.  No, my titties; I had to remember their new name.  One or two of the sharp points had drawn blood but they did indeed look beautiful as Mike had promised.  "Thank you." I whispered.

This pleased him and he kissed me again, thrusting his tongue deep inside my mouth and licking up the blood he found there.  "Now."  He began again,  "Now its time for your cock and balls to suffer.  No more little pains.  Straight to the good stuff now.  Frank is going to drive a needle through your ballsac and you're going to beg him to do it and scream for us when he does.  Do you understand, fuck?"  He asked in a pleasant voice.  "Yes, Mike."  I answered, my body on fire with wanting. "Your fuck understands."

"Good."  Again he rewarded me with a kiss and then nodded at Frank when he was done.

I raised my head again, looking to where Frank knelt between my legs.  Forcing my aching hips into action I lifted my lower body from the ground, offering it to him.  "Hurt me, Frank.  Please."  I begged.

Frank drew out the needle, a silver hatpin with a crystal for a head and showed it to me.

"Hurt what?"  He asked in a low voice.

"My cock.  Hurt my cock."  I entreated him, thrusting my genitals at him.

"How?"  He asked.

"Stick the pin in me."  I begged him, then revised.  "Stick the pin in my cock. Hurt me. Make me scream."

Frank took the pin and ran the sharp end the full length of my straining shaft.  Mike's ragged breathing was a benediction to my ears, his arousal, pressed firmly against my thighs was a celebration of my passiveness and my degredation.

"You want it me to shove it through your foreskin or down your pisshole, fuckboy?"  Frank asked, grinning.  His own erection was straining, pushing up over the top of his pants and, in the darkness, I could hear the sounds of heavy breathing and moans.  My lovers were pleased with me; a heady feeling, that I could be used to bring such pleasure.

"Pierce me."  I asked breathlessly, the strain of fighting to hold my abject position only adding to my arousal.  "Do my foreskin.  If it pleases you, I could wear a ring there."

They liked that, I could tell, especially Mike who had decided that I should be the one who vocalised my wishes.  He even gave my clamped nipples a tug in appreciation of my offer.

Frank took my foreskin in his fingers as I watched him and stretched it out, driving the pin through the folds without further ceremony.  My head dropped back and I surrendered my scream to the sky, my body jerking and heaving with the sharp pain.  Heart thundering and tears of gratitude welling in my eyes, I allowed my body to drop back to the earth to await its next torment while the assembly moved closer to finger and pull my new decoration.

"Look at yourself."  Mike commanded me and I did, the silver pin holding my long foreskin closed over the head of my cock as it pushed against it, the most exciting sight I had ever witnessed.

Again, I thanked him and was rewarded.  This time, all my lovers took turns kissing my mouth and pulling my titties before they returned to their places in the darkness.

"Now your balls, Joe.  Pins for your balls and then we'll play with your asshole for a while before we fuck you again."  Mike told me.   "Then, we'll leave the pins in you while we fuck your ass and Roger is going to video it for us."

And that is precisely what my lovers did.  They gathered around me in a circle of dark shadows and watched as Frank pushed things up inside my body and photographed my degredation while I writhed on the ground before them.  They released my ropes and had me pose, fucking myself on their fingers, their cocks, while Roger videoed.

When they were done I was as limp as a wet rag and supremely happy.  They left without speaking to me, wandering off into the night while Mike lay beside me on the ground toying with my new accoutrements.  Long after they'd left, I could hear Roger and Chris discussing the video camera, arguing amiably about the editing.

In the silence that fell, Mike moved across my body, positioning himself, he thrust up into my abused anus and began a slow fucking that seemed to go on forever.  Dawn was threatening to break when he finally shuddered out his satisfaction, grinding his pelvis heavily against my buttocks as he strained to release the last of his seed.  Sated he collapsed across me, lazy hands untying my knots and tinkering with my tit clamps and the needle that still stitched my foreskin across my prick, denying it the orgasm it craved.

It didn't matter.  Nothing did except what I had learned and enjoyed here on the rough ground tonight.  Mike knew me so well, better than I knew myself.  A tiger in the boardroom, a pussy in the bedroom; that was me then, and it still is, even to this day.

© Mischa Laurent 2001


In the darkness, a muted conversation, footsteps sounding, the crackle of the fire.

From beyond the pool of light where he knew the chairs rested against the walls, the beloved voice wafted, deep and throaty, soft with praise,

"Next."  It said.

He knelt on the carpet, naked, his arms stretched out on the floor in front of him and slowly spread his thighs until he was almost prone.  The wooden floor beneath vibrated as the body behind him dropped into position. Hands clasped his hips for guidance as the heat of the invading shaft sent shivers of ecstasy up his spine.

He could feel the softness of the denim covering the legs that leaned against the back of his thighs, the quick bite of the open zipper as it pinched his ass-crack with each thrust and the delicious feeling of his nipples chafing hard on the persian rug against the rhythmn of the fuck.

Concentrating on pleasing, he worked his behind in complement, his trained ass muscles milking the shaft buried inside him and he sought to ignore the rigid pulse of his own prick, beating its racing heart against his belly.

His eyes remained unfocused, looking at but not seeing the delicate pattern of woven flowers and ivy on the rug beneath him or the sharp delination of the boundaries of light and dark that cut the floor in two where the light carved a circle and shone down on his sweating back.

The thrusts came harder and the moans from behind him came louder and more often.  He employed all his skill, grinding his hips and rocking back and forth, contracting the ring of muscle that held safe the cock which pounded at him.  His nipples became sore from contact with the weave and his ass was stinging from the assault, electric twins of pain and brutal pleasure.

The darkness of the room beyond was reduced to the circle of light in which he laboured, the scent of sweat and effort, the sensation of the crisp curls of pubic hair grinding against his spread asscheeks and the soft banging of heavy balls against his crack.

The grip tightened and the rhythmn spread and quickened its beat.  Groans and curses sounded and his knees were driven across the carpet by the violence of the thrusts as he felt the hot cream spurt up into his bowels before all movement ceased.

He did not move as the space behind him emptied.  Sweat dripped from his brow and onto the violet birds stitched to the warp and weft.  It runnelled down his throat, across the dip of his collarbone and down to sting the tender flesh of his chest.  His cock ached with unfullfilled desire and his asshole gaped open, stretched and needy as he pleaded silently for the words he most wanted to hear.

In the darkness, a muted conversation; footsteps sounding, the crackle of the fire.

From beyond the pool of light where he knew the chairs rested against the walls, the beloved voice wafted, deep and throaty, soft with praise,

"Next."  It said.

He knelt on the carpet, naked, his arms stretched out on the floor in front of him...

© Mischa Laurent 2001

Uptown, Downtown

What I notice first, under the bright foyer lights, is how much he looks like me. Same dark hair and eyes, about the same height, even our builds are similar.  But where I'm dressed in my usual uniform, denim, boots, T-shirt and leather jacket, he's all decked out in Gucci, Pucci and Fiorucci. Uptown to the core.  Short hair, neatly combed, standing before the receptionist's desk with his briefcase at his feet, reading off a list to the sixties reject with the beehive, who is avidly hanging on to his every word.

As I walk toward them, she shoots me a look that's supposed to freeze me to the spot.

He, on the other hand, looks startled, surprised to see someone dressed like me strolling across the marble floor in his building, I suppose.  I tend to have that effect on people whenever I venture uptown.  I like it.  I like the look that comes over their faces.  Some of 'em look as if they've smelled something bad while others; a quiet excitement grows in the back of their eyes.  It's easy to spot and even easier to reel them in.

Could he tell me where I could find this place?  I asked so polite and all and showed him the slip of paper.   He began shaking his head, looking nervous, before I'd even finished the question.

I turned on my heel and headed back toward the door.  Before I'd gotten halfway, he was hailing me, calling after me to wait.
Lucky he didn't see the evil grin that flashed across my face right before I turned around.

A few words with the old girl behind the desk; she takes his briefcase over the counter and he's coming toward me.  On second thought, he's decided he might have an idea where this place is.  If I could follow him? Of course I can, no problem.

Down toward the bank of elevators, then right past them to where a narrow door, built into the wall, opens onto a corridor.

Along the long, dark passage to another door, this one opens into a small yard at the rear of the building.  It looks just the same size as a regular backyard in the 'burbs.  Strange thing to find in this neck of the woods, but that's uptown for you, full of surprises.

There's about twenty garbage bins scattered around, each and every one of them all shiny clean and smelling like roses.  Nice to have staff.  And here too, is a gate that opens onto the alley.  My escort informs me that through it and down the end of the alley, I'll find what I'm looking for.  I doubt it.  I think I've got what I came for right here.

So I stand there, looking at him.  Looking him up and down, actually.  And he sees it and he knows.

This is what he came out here for.  Not to play good citizen, but to be bad with a guy from downtown.

I lean back against the wall, making myself comfy and open the zip on my jacket.  The t-shirt is two sizes too small, displaying the assets and he stares.  He can't help himself.

A step, then another and he's close enough to grab.  So I do. I slip a hand around the back of his head and tell him to start sucking.  His head goes down with my hand still entangled in that neat hair and he's sucking on my nipple through the tight material, making it wet.  Making me wet as my cock wets the front of my pants.

It feels good; he's got a talent for this and I let him go for a while, looking up at the tall buildings around us through the gathering darkness, seeing a tiny glimpse of sky and stars, all the time enjoying the sensation of this uptown dude who looks like me, sucking and licking at my chest through my t-shirt.
My cock's getting real interested by now and I put him to work on the other nipple and bend my head a little so I can whisper in his ear.

I tell him what I'm gonna do to him, how I'm gonna make him drop his pants down to his ankles and turn around.

How he'll look when he bends over and spreads his legs as wide as he can and how it'll feel when I ram in my big, hot cock and fuck him in the ass.  He loves it, this dirty talk and sucks all the harder.

My dick is telling me it's time to move on.  Takes some doing to detach him from my nipple, he's enjoying himself so much, but when I do, he's pleased that it's because I want him to get on his knees.

Time for some sucking action down there, fella.  That's what I tell him and he nods so eagerly.

Quick flick of the button, two fingers on the zip and he's in 'cause I'm out; my cock standing up to salute the night air as he opens his lips and takes the head into his mouth.  Oh yeah, he's got a real sweet sucking action going there, swallowing me down, sucking hard and then letting me out again so he can slurp down on the underside and give the thick vein beneath a little slice of heaven.

Trouble is, this is all so good, and it's making me eager for the main event.  The lube's in my pocket, along with the condom and when he sees me reef 'em out he's practically panting like a puppy.  I do my stuff myself, prefer it that way, truth be told.  I can get the rubber on, get greased up quicker than anyone can do it for me.

Get up, I tell him.  Get those pants down and those asscheeks spread.  He fumbles in his hurry, the Gucci's or the Pucci's or whatever the hell they are, hit the cobblestones and he turns around and bends over.  The light from above the door is enough to see by and I tell him to spread it more.  And again.  I want him spread real wide.  He's almost squatting and I tell him one last time, to grab those asscheeks and invite me in.  I'm fingering my pole, stroking it, waiting for him to be ready and finally the light lets me see that rosy little pucker.

Christ, he looks good like this.  Still in his jacket and tie, his shirttails hanging. Head down, ass up and open wide.  That floppy little fringe falling down across his face as he looks around at me, mouth open and panting.  Let him watch as I step up to bat, grabbing his bony hips with my hands and feeling the tremors running through his leg muscles.  I rub my cock against his hole, giving him a taste of what's coming and then I push, hard.  He gasps and brings up his hand to bite down on the palm, muffling the cry of pain as I go straight for the home run, shafting him full and completely and coming to rest with my balls up against his ass.

Just a minute to rest, to let him accommodate me and then I'm off, holding him steady with my hands, reaming out his channel with deep, hard strokes.  Each one makes him bite down harder on the hand until he gets used to it.
When he has, I run my hands up his back, over his jacket to his shoulders and I follow them down, bending my body over his so that I can talk to him.  Jerking my hips back and forth, steadily fucking his ass and speaking, telling him how good it feels, how hot and tight he is inside, how much I'm enjoying fucking into his bowels.

Oh, he likes to hear that.  I tell him about how good he looked when he spread for me and his breath is coming in great heaves, his free hand working his dick faster and faster and I know he's gonna come any second now.

Pull back, pull out and start fucking him deep.  Pulling and twisting, watching my cock go in and out of his fuckhole.

Add a little spice to the arrangement, I know he can take it, and slide a finger down to join my dick almost making him scream.  I can feel my cock, slick and hot through the rubber, creating its own friction as it pounds his asshole next to my invading finger.

I can feel my balls swell and start pumping my juice up through the stem and out and my head is looking up at the sky again, the stars swirling at dizzying speed, while my sperm explodes out of me.  His hips are working too and he's coming, but he's looking down at the cobblestones where his juices have spilt and added to the stains already there.

Now we're done and he rolls down my condom and removes it.  Kisses the head of my cock before he tucks it back into my jeans and zips me up.   He pulls down my t-shirt and kisses the side of my throat.

I don't reciprocate; we're done now.  My trip uptown is over for tonight.
I back up while he adjusts his fancy pants and turn to go out through the alley door, but he calls me back.

Do me a favour, he asks, this guy that looks like me.  Tell mom I'll come see her on Saturday.

© Mischa Laurent 2001

For more exquisite erotica visit :

the dark voice



Shadow of the Marquis


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