Scarlet men share the darkest fantasies. Simon reveals his love of kinky man-on-man
My boyfriend, Marco, was very, very good. Perfect, even. He put the same diligent care into sex games as he did into everything else he turned his hand to. He knew how to obey rules. In fact, he elevated such obedience to a strange, obsessive art form.
But, somehow, all the stoic perfection which resulted, the tortured grace with which he bore the worst I could give him, only made my treatment harsher. Only made me lie awake at night, dreaming up ways of hurting and humiliating Marco even more.
Tonight, resting on my dresser were Marco’s neatly folded jacket, his trousers and his polished spectacles. He had no need of spectacles right now, not when his eyes were bound into darkness with pretty red velvet. His hair was damp and stuck to his face with perspiration. His lips were swollen and aching from the tight ball gag that had been deep in his mouth for frustrating hours. And his nipples were gripped tightly in angry metal teeth.
He was tied to a chair, still half dressed in his underpants and shirt, limbs stretched, aching and taut, from the stringent bindings: his arms were drawn tightly behind him, bound at wrist and, for added discomfort, elbow. His legs were forced apart, roped to the outside of the chair, displaying his hard, aching cock, cloaked in white cotton. A slow spreading damp stain on the fabric betrayed his level of arousal.
I had never bound Marco so tightly, or so strictly, as I had done this particular session, but he clearly appreciated the additional control. As I had drawn the final rope tight, Marco had caressed my shoulder with the side of his head and whispered, “Oh, thank you.” He’d been gagged as a reward for his deference. The better Marco was, the harsher I got. We had both learned that rule by now.
I smiled, knowing the extra stringency was not for Marco’s benefit, but my own, simply because tonight I meant to torture and torment my lover more than I had ever done before. Reaching out, I prodded the tight little bud of one of Marco’s nipples, held tightly in the (particularly vicious) pair of nipple clamps. Marco moaned a little and tried to wriggle away from the touch.
“Does that hurt?” I hissed, pressing my lips up close to Marco’s ear. Helpless, Marco whimpered into the gag. Spittle leaked constantly from his stoppered mouth and was running now onto his chin.
Craving more reaction, I reached out and removed the gag. It fell out of Marco’s limp mouth and he sucked in air desperately, gasping and spluttering.
“Well,” I said again, “does this hurt?” I pinched Marco’s clamp-tortured flesh. Hard this time.
Marco screamed out loud and then said, with a gratifying note of real panic, “Please, oh God, please, please take them off.”
I laughed softly. “Take them off? Why on earth should I do that? They look so pretty.” I ran my finger along the chain that connected the clamps until I reached the centre, where the chain was weighted. I pulled gently on the metal ball and Marco yelped, struggling as far as his bondage would allow.
“Please. Please, I can’t stand it.”
“Well.” I paused to swallow, taking my time weighing up the options. “I suppose I could consider it. What will you do for me? If I take them off?”
“Anything!” The answer came without a moment’s pause.
“Really? Anything?” Thoughtfully, I placed each hand on one of the metal clamps, poised to remove them. “You do realise, how much it is going to hurt when these come off, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Yes I do.” Marco nodded, desperate.
“And you still insist you want them off?” As I spoke I played around with the clamps in my hands, twisting and tugging them a little, watching the reactions.
“Yes.”
“And in return you will do anything?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Okay then, say when.”
Marco was silent for a moment then, letting my words sink into his blatantly endorphin-fuzzed brain.
I smiled. Oh yes my darling, if you want them off, you are going to have to tell me exactly when to hurt you.
A few more moments passed and then Marco’s lips moved. Slowly at first. I could almost see the strain of his will to obey wrestling with his better judgement; could almost see him begin to form his safe word with that swollen red mouth, until eventually he said, “Now.”
I squeezed both clamps simultaneously, and they came off, falling into his slim fingers. Almost immediately Marco screamed, bucking forward, forestalled by the ropes that chafed at his chest and belly.
I reached forward and removed Marco’s blindfold. Marco looked up, biting his lip, but timidly triumphant. Again, I smiled. <Oh yes, my darling, you bore that rather well, didn’t you, but I have a little something up my sleeve.
“You said you’d do anything.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I held up the clamps, letting them dangle in front of Marco’s face for a moment, weight and all. “I want you to beg me to put these back on…”
