It was the first time I'd been to his house. Dan had invited me over for dinner on Saturday, asking me to bring a bottle of wine. He was going to have pork roast, and suggested a nice pinot noir.
We had worked together in the same office for a couple of months now, and had collaborated on a few projects. He was one of the brighter guys in the department, and we had talked about getting together after work a couple of times. We met for a beer last week, to celebrate the completion of a big project. He certainly had a bigger sense of humor when he was out of the office, and I had looked forward to the dinner all week.
I rang the doorbell, and he pulled open the door, wearing a tight fitting polo shirt, which showed off his deeply chiseled chest, tufts of curly hair pouring out of the open collar. A gold chain draped through his thick chest hair, at least the part exposed by the unbuttoned front of the shirt. His blue eyes sparkled, and his thick moustache was framed by his unshaven, day old stubble across his cheeks and jaw, the whiskers thicker across his dimpled chin.
"Come on in, Joe," he said. "The roast has about another half hour, so we can relax and taste a little of that wine you have in your hand."
We relaxed on the couch in the living room, after Dan had quickly opened the wine, deftly removing the cork with a practiced twist of his wrist and thick forearm. I could see his shoulder and chest muscles rippling under the tight shirt as he opened the bottle and poured us both a large glass.
Before the roast was ready, we were well into our second glass of wine. Dan sliced the roast, and filled the dining room table with a feast of the succulent, juicy meat, vegetables, potatoes and a fresh green salad. We dove into the meal and ate like starving vagabonds. Draining the last of the wine from his glass, Dan promised coffee and a bit of brandy with dessert.
We had continued our conversation from the living room, hashing over the politics of the office, the prospects of the local college team, and my vacation last summer to Yellowstone. I became pretty relaxed, from the wine, but also from Dan's relaxed, "at home" attitude, and we began to speak of our college days and our hobbies and friends.
The brandy, coffee, and chocolate truffle cake soon hit my palate, and I settled in to the big leather couch, after Dan had built a fire.
"What do you like to do for fun, Dan?" I asked, as I swirled my brandy, sniffing its sweet, nutty aroma, feeling the glass warm in my hands, the "legs" of the liquid clinging to the sides of the glass.
"Oh, I have a few hobbies. I'm hoping you'd help me with one of my projects tonight, in fact," he said, a big smile appearing under his moustache. "In fact, you're just about the right size for what I have in mind."
Puzzled, my curiosity rose at what sort of hobby would require a person to be a particular size. We had talked about hiking, fishing, sports, and Dan's love for cooking a great meal, of which I had already become a benefactor and avid fan.
"If you'll come with me, I'll show you what I want," he said, setting down his own drained brandy snifter and pulling me up from the couch, his large hand firmly gripping my hand.
We walked down the hall, and he opened a bedroom door, pushing me into the pitch black room, quickly shutting the door behind us and leaving us in the dark.
Suddenly, my head was encased in what felt like a rough sack, and I felt cords pulling against cloth around my neck, until the cloth and cords were tight against my skin. I could feel his hands move to the bottom of my shirt, and roughly pull the cloth up my back and belly and over my chest and shoulders, and over my hooded face, until, in a flash; I was stripped to the waist. The cool air of the room hit my bare chest.
"Dan, what the..." I shouted, my voice bouncing off the walls of the blackened room, as I began to panic, still too stunned to move.
Thick leather cuffs suddenly attached to my wrists, and I heard metal chains moving, clanking, and then the snap of metal against the leather around my wrists. With a whirling sound, chains were being pulled through pulleys above me, hauling my wrists towards the ceiling, until my feet were barely on the ground, my arms hoisted high above me.
Gasping for breath through the cloth of the bag, I felt the cool air of the room against my now wet armpits and my naked chest and shoulders. I realized I was suddenly a captive, blind and hanging helplessly in this black room, with a man I was just figuring out that I didn't really know.
"If you make any noise, I'll gag you," Dan whispered in my ear. "And, if you fight me, you'll just get hurt."
Cold sweat ran from my armpits, my stomach in a knot, my mind whirring, trying to think of a way to escape. I pulled a bit on one arm, realizing that the chains and the leather cuffs meant business. I wasn't going anywhere, unless Dan wanted it. I'd seen him carve that roast with a big sharp knife, and I was starting to believe I could be the next hunk of meat he was going to slice.
I heard him moving about the room, moving things, and doing God knows what. My mind raced with fears of what lay in store for me before the night was over, and whether I'd make it out of here alive.
I sensed he was now in front of me, and I could hear his breathing, the warmth from his body near the hairs on my chest.
"I'm going to take off the sack over your head now, Joe," Dan said in a quiet voice. "It's always more interesting if you can see what we're going to be doing now, you and me. Any noise, though, and I'll gag you and make you wish you'd never disobeyed me."
"Do you understand?"
I nodded, feeling the rough sack around my head move downward with the nod of my head.
His fingers gripped the cords tied around my neck, and I felt the knot loosening, and the sack slowly being pulled over my head. I breathed deeply, seeking fresher air than the thick air inside the sack, now heavy with fear and the flop sweat that had soaked my hair and ran across my clean shaven face.
My eyes blinked, stunned by now being in the light, from what I was soon to discover was several candles burning from sconces on the walls. Dan stood in front of me, his face several inches away. I could tell that he, too, was now shirtless, and I could smell his own sweat, not thick with fear like my own now-soaking armpits, but laced with a musty, spicy aroma, and, perhaps, was it a bit of excitement, even lust?
He moved closer to me, taking my face in his hands, and kissed me firmly on my lips, his moustache and whiskery chin coarse against my skin, his curly whiskers pushing into my own shaven jaws and chin, my five o'clock shadow a bit sandpapery against his whiskers, as he tasted my lips. His breath was hot, heavy against my nose, as he took his time, as the kiss grew long and hard.
"I've wanted this evening for a long time, Joe. And, so have you, from what I've gathered reading your e-mails to your friend in Atlanta," Dan whispered. "Seems like you've been fantasizing about a night with me for quite a while."
I blushed, my heart racing, as I recalled what I'd written to my friend Mike the last several months, about how I'd lusted after Dan, about how I'd wanted to fuck him. It was just a fantasy and I'd never thought that Dan was gay, or even wanted me. Oh, God, why did I tell Mike all of that? And, now, Dan knew. He knew everything about me.
"No need to be embarrassed about that, Joe," Dan whispered. "Fantasy is a good thing. And, now, tonight, just you and me, we're going to bring those dreams to life."
I nodded, not out of any agreement, not even knowing what he had in mind. Tears of shame spilled out of my eyes, dripping down my cheeks, falling onto my bare chest, burning my skin with my sense of shame, of being exposed to be what I really was.
"Mike's a friend of mine, too. He used to work for the company before you came. And, well, he's kind of a matchmaker," Dan chuckled. "Sure was nice of him to forward me what you'd been writing."
I gulped. I was dead meat. Those e-mails told Mike, and Dan, everything I'd been thinking about what I wanted from Dan. I blushed again, my face red, as shame and embarrassment poured over me.
"You want it," Dan whispered. "And now you're going to get everything you've always wanted. And, so am I."
I moaned again, sighing with my sense of shame, and another tear fell down my cheek, dampening my already sweaty chest.
My captor ran his hands over my face, feeling the stubble across my cheeks and jaw
"One thing that's going to change, Joe, is that you're going to grow a full beard. I like my lovers to be real hairy. And, when you're sucking on my cock or licking out my ass, or tasting my balls, I want your tongue to be surrounded by a thick, curly beard. I want to rub my cum deep into your beard, until you're soaking in my jism, until it drips down and drenches your hairy chest."
I nodded, whimpering my acquiescence in his wish, his directive. He knew, he must know, about my fantasy to grow a beard. I'd told that to Mike. I'd just never had the guts to grow a beard before; I was always worried about being teased, laughed at. And, he was right about the cum, about how I dreamed about taking his cum on my face, on my chest. I'd beat off every night, thinking of what that would be like, how I wanted it, needed it. Now, Dan knew everything about me. I had no secrets, not anymore.
"The only thing you're shaving from now on is your balls. I like 'em bare, naked. Easier to feel bouncing under your cock when you're bent over the couch, when I'm takin' you up the ass."
Here I was, my arms cuffed, hanging half naked, helpless, with this half naked man who has just made me his captive. He's telling me he's going to have me suck his balls, lick his ass, and suck his cock, and I know we've just gotten started. Tears are streaming down my face, and, yet, I feel my cock twitch, feeling a little horny, as I'm realizing I'm getting what I've wanted for a long time.
"Think you're up to a little lovin' tonight, stud?" Dan growls. "Think you can make me a happy man?"
He gropes my balls, my cock, feeling the half hardness of my cock, now rising against the thin cloth of my jeans. He feels my heat, my lust, and he knows I want him, that I am loving what he is doing to me. I have no secrets.
I lower my head, murmuring my answer, agreeing that what my captor wants. I can, I want to deliver. I want to please him. Anything he wants.
His fingers comb through the thatches of curls across my chest, deep into my armpits, my belly. Tugging, pulling, caressing. His calloused fingers rough against my damp, sweaty, hungry skin. Then, fingers on my belt, pulling open the leather, pushing against the brass of the buckle, pulling, yanking. Slow, careful. Slowly, the belt falls from one loop, then another, and another, until the long thin belt is held in his hands, until he loops it around my naked, exposed neck, pushing the end through the buckle, and pulling, pulling, until it is tight again, around my neck, the end dangling against my sweaty, hairy chest. Leashed, held, secured. I am again his. In so many ways.
His hand gropes me again, ooze from my now stiff cock soaking into my jeans. He rubs the cloth against my cockhead. I moan. More ooze. His thumb and finger find the button on my waist, and release it. The jeans slide down a bit, and I feel cool air at the top of my butt crack, and a bit more of my belly now open, naked. He yanks down on my pants, a bit more of my ass showing. Fingers now find my zipper, and the only sound in the room is metal teeth slowly opening, the zipper soon all the way down. I gasp, feeling his hand cup my balls through my shorts, now damp with sweat, with lust. I feel my cockhead wet against my shorts, pushing them out. I look down, seeing the lump, seeing the wet, seeing his hand touch me. I am helpless. I want this. Badly.
More. I want more.
He pulls my shorts down, pushing my cock sideways, pushing the wet cloth down. My cock springs back, hard now, hard, wet, aching for his touch, for release. But, not yet. No. Not yet. I want to feel him more. More.
He stoops down, pulling my shorts down my legs, and I see the muscles in his naked back flex, his skin thick, pushed out by his muscles. I catch a glimpse of the fur under his arms, filling his pits, dark against his skin in the dim light from the candles. My tongue wants to taste him, lick him, know him.
Shoes fly off, socks too. Jeans and damp shorts slide over bare feet, all thrown to the corner. My feet now bare, stripped, touching cool floor. I am his now. Nothing left to strip, nothing left to uncover. Nowhere to hide. I hang from the chains; hear them jangle, as I move when my shoes are stripped away. A good ache in my shoulders, hanging, tight, bound, hard. Hard like everything else in my world. Hard and good.
He looks at me now, his bearded face split by his grin; white teeth, black beard. Thick moustache, curly thick goatee. I want him now. I want his beard on my cock, eating me, tasting me, having me. I ache for that. I want him bad. He looks down at my cock, hard, wet, eager. He grins, licks his lips. One finger reaches out, touches me, feels my hardness, rubs my wet across my piss slit. I nearly cum, but can't. I want to wait. My balls ache, wanting to cum, wanting to wait. My heart races. I forget to breathe, again. Sweat runs from my pits, stinky sweat now, lust mixed with horniness, mixed with fear, fear that I will cum too soon, fear that he will leave me before I can cum in his mouth.
He pulls out a large clip, holding it close to my face. I see the tiny teeth on the edge of the clip. There's a big spring. He grips it between his thumb and fingers, opening it, and then closing it slowly. He moves it to my cheek, so I can feel its cold, its steel hard against my flesh. He pulls it away, moves it down over my jaw, down to my chest, circling my nipple, so I feel its cold against my tit. I hear and see him open it, the tiny sharp teeth glinting a bit in the candlelight. He moves it over, against the nub of my tit, closes it. Hard, pain, cold. I moan. My cock jumps, throbs, grows. My balls rise, hard, hungry for more.
A second clip appears. The same dance, the same cold, hard, strong. He moves it down my chest, finding my other already hard, already needy tit. Again. Hard, cold, pain. Again, it is good. Again, my balls twinge. More, please.
More. My balls ache, my cock throbs, wetting my balls, dripping down, down my hard thigh. Hot.
Sweat pours down from my pits, from my chest. My heart beats. Hard. Hard into my cock, straining against whatever keeps me from cumming, wanting to be free, to be sucked, to spurt my seed, to show him how much I want. How much I need.
Only this exists now. Only him and me. Only my cock wanting this. Needing this. This is all, all that I want, all that I care about.
He moves back, slowly stripping his jeans, slowly unzipping, slowly letting out his fat snake, its head wet, shiny in the golden light, pink head against black pelts of thick, wet hair. Big balls, heavy with his cum, full of his seed. I smell his crotch now. His damp balls, his sweaty crotch, his oozing cockhead, his damp, musty ass.
Behind me now, he holds me close. My back now against his hard, damp chest. I smell him, strong, my nose full of him now. I smell his lust, his desire, his manhood, ready for me now, I hope. He must smell me, my stink, my lust, my now ripe pits, sweat dripping down, heart pounding for release, for not cumming, for holding on until I can't stand it anymore. More. Please. Don't stop.
He runs his thick, calloused hand over my chest, finding my nipples, finding the clamps, toying with them, pulling on my tits, now numb, aching, and hot. Lower, his hand feels my belly, my groin, gropes my cock, my balls, pulling on hair, rubbing the thin skin of my cock, gasoline on flame achy, and I almost cum again. Wait, stop. He moves away, sensing I will cum if he strokes me, just once. I want it, but I want him to wait. Not yet. More.
I feel his cock, hot, wet, dripping, pushed into my crack. His hands grab my cheeks, pushing them wide, air hitting my hole, sweaty. His thick shaft hard against me, almost to me, almost inside of me. His hips push, and I push back, swinging now from my arms. Chain rattles, pulls on my arms. Good pain. Sweat now, more, from my pits, down my side, soaking my crotch, my balls.
His chest hair hard against my back, rubbing, coarse, curly, rough. The way I like it. The way I dreamed about it. The way it felt in my mind when I jacked off, every night, dreaming of this time, this place, this man. Ache, good ache. More.
His cock pushed again, his head now at my door, pushing. Skin starting to stretch, to open, to take him. Wanting him deep, wanting him hard, pushing, pushing.
Hands move up to my tits. Metal opening, teeth released. Fire now, again. Blood rushes in, tender and aching and full and hot, all at once. I forget my cock for a moment, as the fire rushes in, nerves coming alive. All my lust and more now, at the tip of my nipples. My chest on fire, wanting more. More.
Hand moves to my balls, then my cock, holding it, feeling it, running up and down it, sending me fire, sending me to the edge. My balls rise even higher. Up to my throat. Cum builds. About to flood, about to explode. I teeter on the edge. In pain, but divine pain. Closer to God. God, yes, God. I am about to become God, with one more stroke, one more touch.
Hand on cock and cock in my ass. And, all at once, hand on cock and cock in hole, pushing inside, pushing the gate, pushing, pushing. Climbing, climbing, and falling, falling. My head is all white light and my cock is on fire and my ass is full and torrents of cum explode and explode. I become God because there is nothing left to feel but this, this all. It is all. It is everything. I have no words. And, again and again there is God and there is nothing else.
He holds me, and he is in me and I have become all that is God and all that he who has me would ever want. There is nothing left of me. I have given it all; everything inside of me has gone. I am drained and I am full and it all makes sense. Now. Empty, yet Full.
He holds me, pushing into me. Hips pushing, pulling, pushing. My cock, drained, exploded; now limp, still in his hot hand. I feel my cum, thick, filling his hand. One finger runs along my cock, along the bottom, and the last of my jism drains into his hand. I can feel his hand, full of my cum, warm, sticky. My nose now smells my cum, yeasty, wet. My essence, my seed, spilled for him, with him. Just like my dream, each time I came for him, thinking of him, wanting him, wanting this moment.
He brought his hand up to me, my eyes seeing my jism, filling his hand with white globs of cum, warm, freshly shot from my balls, and I breathe deep. Taking in my own smell, my own cum. He pulls me back, my head now hard against his sweaty chest. His other hand, filled with my cum, now over my face. Cum pouring down, across my face, over my nose, my mouth, my chin, and dripping down into my chest. Fingers rubbing, slipping across my skin, sweat and cum and stubble all together, coating my face with my goo, my seed.
Thick gobs falling into my chest, still heaving from my new birth with God, gobs of cum mixing with sweat, with hair, with my aching, red nipples, all mixed as one.
I breathe deep, taking in the stench, my own stench, my own seed, as he explodes deep inside of me, my own thrashings and climax raising him to the edge of his cliff and sending him over, until Dan had emptied his own balls deep inside of me, his cock exploding again and again inside of me, his jism buried deep. At last.
Chains clank and pulleys whine and we fall, together, still one sweaty, cum covered tangle of arms and legs and cocks, onto the floor, gasping and sweating and moaning, Dan's strong arms holding me tight to his chest. His heart beating strong against my back, until his breath came back, until his heart grows quiet, until his cock slowly slides from my hole. I move around, until we could hold each other, hard against each other, sweaty, cum covered chest to chest. His eyes open, at last, and I look deep into my lover.