Gay Erotic Stories

Take It Or Leave It – Satisfaction When I woke again, it was still dark. The candles had burnt out, and I sensed rather than saw that the sky outside was just beginning to lighten. I was still encased in my leather harness, and as I moved a little, I felt the dried remains of last night’s mind-blowing experience scratchy on my skin. My head was resting against his leg, the supple black leather of his chaps comfortingly masculine against my flesh. Intuitively, I swung my face around and licked at his leathered legs, tasting the hide and the musky residue of the previous evening. He stirred as I nudged at him, shifting his weight and feeling for my body with his strong hands, the same hands that had pierced into my body and held me. He rolled onto his back, his hands behind his head, and sighed deeply. Aroused by his very proximity, I ran my hand across his taut abdomen, feeling the hairy flesh beneath my fingers. He made no protest, and emboldened, I got to my knees and bent my head to his groin, finding his thick weapon already partly erect. I rolled my lips down over him, my tongue tracing the hard steel of his Prince Albert and licking at his large mushroom head. He sprang to full hardness quickly and I slurped at him, coating his mighty cock with saliva. Still he remained laying there, not a sound from him. Taking his silence as encouragement, I lifted my leg over his torso and straddled him, slowly lowering my arse as my hand guided his steel hard prong toward my entrance. Amazingly, my hole was tender and ached a little, but not ripped or painful as I expected. Still loose from last night’s fisting, I easily sat myself down onto him, using my bodyweight to impale myself on his towering masculinity. As I sank onto him, his cock fully encased in my bowel, he moaned quietly, and humped upward. I reached for his chest, found his piercings through his large brown nipples, and pulled at them. With a grunting roar, he bucked and speared upwards into me, but I hung onto him, clenching my weakened muscles around his pole. Bouncing and shaking, I rode him like a bull, holding to his nipple rings and milking his rampant sword with my arse. Bellowing at me, he pumped his essence up and into my gut, flooding me with creamy jism, which leaked back along his thick pole and squelched over the point where we were joined. My own climax was close behind, his meat still shuddering with the last of his eruptions as I spurted a river of cum onto his stomach. Smiling as we eased back down, his hands reached for my sides, and he lifted me from him. “Good morning, boy,” he said warmly, and I hummed a happy reply. Standing up, stretching his limbs, he pulled at the door of the cellar, and soft light streamed in. The raging storm of the previous evening had cleared, and the sky was cloudless. He climbed the stairs with me close behind, and as we reached the front of the cottage, he bent to me. Undoing the harness and lifting it from me, he removed the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, the collar from my neck, and finally, almost reluctantly, the cockring around the base of my shaft. “Go and wash, dog,” he ordered, pointing towards the creek. Happily, I obeyed, sauntering down to the little stream and wading into the clean cool water. I rubbed myself down and lazed in the invigorating pool for half an hour, relaxing and enjoying the freshness of it. Wondering that he had not summoned me to return, I casually clambered out and wandered back to the house. On the verandah were the clothes I had arrived in, folded and clean. He stepped from the living room, his beautiful leather chaps replaced by loose jeans and a ragged t-shirt. Pointing to my clothes, he said gruffly “You better hurry up and get dressed. Your ride back to town will be here soon.” I started to protest, but he cut me off. “A deal’s a deal. Three days as my slave, and I get you safely home. Time’s up, city boy.” His whole demeanour had changed. He was no longer my Master, nor was he the masculine leather stud of my fantasies come alive. He was a grumpy country bear who wanted me off his property. I dressed quickly, and sat myself on the little patio, lost in thought, desperate to understand what I had done to upset him. My reverie was broken by the sound of a vehicle. An ancient truck topped the rise about a kilometre and a half from the house, tooting its horn. A wizened old man climbed from the cabin as the truck rolled to a stop, and looked at me with surprise. My bear man came out to greet his visitor, almost stepping over me. “Hi, Jim,” he called to the driver. “Good to see you again. Found this guy on my doorstep a couple of days ago, says his car is broken down.” Jim walked up to me holding out his hand, which I shook tentatively. “I just wanted a phone to call for help,” I stuttered out by way of explanation. “Well, I can get you back to town. There’s a phone there you can use,” Jim drawled slowly, his curiosity dying with his words. The two of them quickly unloaded the supplies Jim had delivered to my man, speaking little as they did, while I sat and watched, miserable and forlorn, emotions tumbling through my head. Before long the transaction was done, Jim pocketed his payment, and made ready to leave again. I turned to look at the man who had owned me for the last days, who had abused me and given me the most incredible experience of my life. He glanced at me then looked away. “Your lift is leaving,” he said gruffly. “Get moving and don’t get lost around here again. I don’t like being disturbed, and I don’t like company.” Jim laughed conspiratorially. “Give you a hard time did he?” he asked my host. “Oh yeah?--typical city slicker. Raving on and on about how good it is back in the big smoke, how there’s nothing to do around here. Never stopped talking the whole time. Positively BORING!” he said emphasising the last word, but I took no notice. I was lost in a feeling of depression, now that it was time to go home. “Come on, son,” Jim called to me. “What’s your name?” “Lennie,” I answered morosely, climbing into the passenger seat of the rickety vehicle. As we drove off I turned and looked back at the cottage and its tiny valley. My hunk of man leaned against a post watching us go, but made no sign of farewell or other gesture. The trip back to town was long and quiet. Jim spoke little, and I was immersed in thoughts of my own. “Town” was a stereotypical one-horse affair – a tiny general store, an even tinier church, and a handful of run down cottages. But there was a phone. I rang my boss to report my problems. No sympathy about being stranded for three days, just annoyance that I was still out here and wouldn’t be in for another two, and an admonishment to get my arse back there as fast as I could. Eventually I found a mechanic who towed the car in, and declared it a lost cause. I retrieved my work things and donated the bomb to him for parts. Another begged lift got me to a real town, and a train from there back to Sydney. I did a lot of thinking on the slow trip home, soul searching and musing over ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. But continually my mind returned to that secluded remote vale and the hunk who inhabited it. Images of him, owning me, controlling me, sending me to paradise, constantly filled my memory. Back at my cramped flat, I pondered again the world I had left back there. I replayed that last morning in my head and heard his words to Jim again. ‘Raving on …nothing to do … BORING’. That was it! He’d used our safe word, emphasised it, and I hadn’t noticed! I was sure of it; sure he had been trying to tell me something. My first morning back in the office I was summoned to see my supervisor. I handed over the records from my sales trip, the dismal offerings I had, and waited. Not for long. He exploded, shouting about wasted time and useless trips, rising costs and falling profits. I looked at him disinterestedly, letting him rave. I couldn’t care less anymore. He finished up with a threat that I was close to losing the job if I didn’t start performing a hell of a lot better. I looked through the glass partition at my fellow workers, heads down and toiling away at figures and targets, and made my decision. “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll give my notice now. I’d like to collect whatever’s owing to me tomorrow, and you wont have to worry about my efforts from then on.” He turned red and ordered me out. Happily, I went. The next day I collected my entitlements from the pay mistress, telling her I had decided to take a long trip. I closed my bank account, emptying it and pocketing the cash, more than sufficient for what I had in mind. Then I started doing a little research on the Internet, and sought out some unusual shops in the gay part of town. I was determined, driven, and I knew what I had to do as I remembered everything that had happened in the days I had been no more than a pet. I visited a body-piercing salon, and had both nipples pierced, set through with silver rings that glistened against my chest. A few days later I was back, and had a larger silver ring inserted through the loose skin of my ball sack, at the point where it hung lowest. Another week passed and I was back again, this time for what I considered a major operation, and one I had needed to psyche myself up for. With encouragement from the guy at the salon, I had my cock pierced, a Prince Albert ring almost identical to the one he had worn, inserted through my sensitive flesh. Over the following weeks I bathed and treated the piercings, carefully following the instructions from the salon, ensuring they healed quickly and properly. While I was having myself adorned, I also sought out a few of the leather boutiques, the ones catering for a wide range of fetishes and unusual tastes. I had myself measured and fitted for several harnesses of leather and metal, in differing configurations, all of them designed to wrap and bind me tightly while allowing free access to my rear and at the same time emphasising my nipples. I also made sure they each allowed for a master to grip and hold the straps and use them to pull at with strength. At the same time I had several pairs of chaps tailored for me, shining polished black leather that fit tightly over my legs and framed my butt cheeks, so snug it gripped at me like a second skin. A number of pouches and thongs in soft gleaming black, which accentuated my cock and balls, were also added to my collection. I found and purchased two pairs of leather boots, adorned with chains and metal rings. I bought knee pads, several sets in toughened leather, and a wide leather studded collar with a long silver chain permanently fixed to it. My next find made me grin as I remembered his lament that first day when my hands were cuffed behind my back. Gloves, of a sort that fit over my hands like a sack and tied at the wrists. They looked initially like boxing gloves, but there was no compartment for fingers, simply a sturdy leather case that enveloped the entire hand, making it impossible for the wearer to do anything with his hands or fingers--in strong black leather. I bought three pairs. My final purchases in the leather fetish stores were a masterpiece of good luck, and I found the thought of them quite arousing. The first was a hood, which covered my entire head, except for an open hole over my mouth and slits for my eyes. Made of soft leather, it encased my face in black hide and completely hid my identity. I had looked at a number of hoods, but this one caught my eye because it had fake ears, like dogs’ ears, formed from leather pieces and sewn onto the top of the head. I happily snatched it up, admiring it. As I did, the assistant in the store grinned at me. “If you’re into that kind of thing, we also have this,” he said eagerly. Opening a case, he handed me a butt plug, not very long but with a wide flange. Instead of the usual flattened base, though, this plug had attached to the base a long leather cord, which had been intentionally frayed and split, so that it looked like short hairs along an erect length. A tail! My heart beat with excitement, my cock twitched, and I grabbed it. It was perfect. I added ten bottles of amyl to my order, and left the place delighted with my purchases. Time was passing. It had been more than two months since I had broken down on the deserted back road that fateful day, and every spare moment of my time my thoughts drifted back to the little valley and its beefy masculine inhabitant. I had pretty well sorted out my affairs in the city. I had cut my ties to anyone who would want to look for me (not that difficult) and was running up a huge credit card debt, but I didn’t care – I intended to disappear, and no one would be able to trace me. I gave all of my furniture to charity, dumped all but a single outfit of denim jeans, t-shirt and jacket in a re-cycle bin, and spent my last night alone in my now empty flat, dreaming of the man out in the remote west. The next day, I bought a second hand motorbike, paying cash and giving the disinterested seller a false name and address. Loading up the carry bag with my cargo of special equipment, I locked my flat, and closed the door on my old life. I headed west, riding all that day and the next, stopping overnight at cheap motels where they didn’t even bother to ask for identification. At noon on the third day, I turned off the deserted bitumen onto the dusty track that led to his home. Riding slowly, I came to remembered landmarks about a kilometre from the house around 3.00 pm, and stopped, settling down to rest from the heat under a large tree. As night fell and the temperature eased, I prepared for the final stage of my journey. I stripped off the street clothes, and buckled the most elaborate of my harnesses around my torso, framing my pierced tits and sliding the attached cockring over my manhood. I donned a tiny leather posing thong that cupped my nuts tightly, and squeezed myself into a pair of tight bright chaps, knee pads fastened over them, the scent of new leather strong in the air. Pulling on my boots, and fixing the leather hood down over my head, making it sure it sat snugly and squarely over my face, I concealed the bike in some long grass, and picked up the carrier containing all my worldly possessions. Setting off, I walked cautiously the last few hundred metres. In the moonlight, I looked down to the house, the river sparkling beyond it. There was no light within, and I silently wished him to be soundly asleep. Creeping up to the front steps, I settled the carry bag right in front of the door, taking a pre-written note from it and placing the paper on top. I carefully, quietly fitted the collar around my neck and snapped the free end to a hook on the verandah post. I pulled on one of the hand gloves, tying the wrist cords with fingers and teeth, and struggled in silence to get the other over my free hand. Disappointed, I left the second untied, as I had no way of doing it up, and lay down on the grass. I tried to sleep, but my mind raced with what I was doing, what I had done. After all this, what if I had misread his words when I left? What if he really would not want me back? What if he sent me away again? Dawn came and the sky lightened. Even with the hood over my head, my ears were primed for the slightest noise from within, and soon enough I heard him walking around the living area. I sat up on the ground, looking intently at the door. When it opened he stood there naked and beautiful. A momentary flicker of surprise crossed his face, and I swore I saw a trace of a smile at his lips, and then he stood as if he had expected to find me there, as if I were there every morning. He bent down and picked up the note on the carrier bag, reading slowly. “This poor dog has lost it’s home and needs a new owner. There is no trace of how it got here, and no way anyone can know where it is. In the bag accompanying it are some items that may be useful, as well as money it had access to, to pay for its keep. Some way back along the track is a motorbike you may find useful. It cannot be linked to the dog in any way. The dog is reasonably broken in, but could do with more training. If you can find it in your heart, please consider yourself its Master from now on. Take it or leave it.” He breathed a long contented sigh as he finished reading, and looked at me with smiling eyes. Noticing the loose glove over my right hand, he bent and tied the strings at my wrist firmly in place, and scratched at the leather hood, behind the ears adorning it. “Better get yourself a drink, dog. There’s a bowl of water next to your kennel,” he said evenly, quietly, undoing the leash where it joined the post. On my hands and knees I crawled away from him, smiling to myself, around the side of the building to my kennel. It was exactly as I had remembered, except for a carefully painted sign over the low door hole. ‘LENNIE’. I looked at it in amazement, and tears formed in my eyes. Five minutes later, I heard a long whistle from the front of the cottage, followed by a low call. “Lennie, here boy,” he said loudly. My heart pounded and my emotions somersaulted with joy. I scurried around to answer him, and he was standing on the verandah, his arms crossed on his chest and legs apart, dressed in shining tight leather chaps, heavy boots, a simple black leather harness, armbands and police cap. His large pierced cock swung between his powerful legs, thick and beginning to harden. As I crawled up to him, I licked at his thigh and closed my lips over his cockhead, tasting a long missed musk. He smiled down at me. “About time you finally showed up again,” he said. “There’s an empty dungeon around here just waiting for me and you to put it to proper use. We don’t want to waste another minute. Oh, and Lennie – I’m happy to have a new pet. It does get lonely around here sometimes, but not any more. I’ll take it!” The End Comments, complaints or compliments? Contact me at iainlthr@hotmail.com