The Valentine

It was more than enough: the dam was about to burst. His hot spunk was ready to fire out in spurts that would probably have shot more than two feet across the room.

But I had to get to work! I had at least half-an-hour's drive across the city.

So I took my hand away, picked the feather from the floor and made to leave with it lying on the chair next to him.

"Huh!?" he groaned, realising I'd stopped. "What are you doing??"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I said, turning back. "I need to do something. You don't mind, do you?"

I left the room to the sound of a series of vicious savage screams.

Monday - afternoon

He was still and silent when I returned from lunch.

"I'm going to give you the same treatment as earlier," I announced as naturally as I could, "With one or two variations. Are you OK with that?"

"Variations?" he asked.

"A couple, yes," I confirmed, "I'll skip the feet bit, for one. There's a few other things too but the main one you need to remember is that you'll get some time at the end with your own hand freed from the strap, if you need it."

There were neither questions nor complaints and so I set to work. This time I needed him gagged and blindfolded - that was the first job and soon done. Then I tied his arms in a different position so that they were above his head rather than at his side as before. I made one more adjustment to his right hand and then kissed him gently on the under-arm, on each nipple, on his neck, on the back of his legs - wherever it was soft and warm.

On my trip across town I'd stopped off at a hardware store for some tightly sprung clothes pegs. I began to attach these to his body, hanging them from his nipples, under-arms, neck, back of the legs, anywhere that the flesh was soft enough to hold them in place: anywhere that I'd just kissed him. I'd also got a selection of bulldog clips. These fastened more or less anywhere with a real tight pinch. By the time I'd got to putting them on him, there were real cries of pain coming from behind his gag.

The next variation was the camcorder, which I proceeded to set up so that it was focused directly on his groin area and set to record.

His cock was incredibly hard and it's perhaps time to describe it in a little more detail: it was well over six inches tall, its pink column soaring up out of the curly black hair of his naked crotch, terminating in a cleanly circumcised head now dripping tears of pre-cum. Without even making an intentional decision, I found myself advancing with my mouth.

I started with my tongue at the base of his cock, licking in long slow lazy swipes up its entire as though licking an ice-cream. I noticed his legs were quivering and tensing up. James was chock full of juice and it could not be long before he lost it, bearing in mind he'd been in my power for nearly 24 hours by now. My own groin was aching with a familiar desperate feeling.

I parted my lips to let them and my tongue enfold his cock-head and heard James moan. I was resting my hands on his thighs and as I slowly gobbled my way down his penis I felt his trembling increase. He tried to gasp out words between his moans but they were muted by the mouth-gag. I pulled back from his crotch again but continued to caress him manually, enjoying how my spittle made his head glisten when it twitched under my nuzzling fingers. The noise he was making now was more of a submissive groan. I let my fingers trail up to the wet cock-head and teased the sensitive area directly under his piss-slit and he jumped violently. I formed my fingers into a loose fist and stroked slowly but dexterously up and down his rod. Every time my hand got to the head of his cock I caressed the fleshy tip and made him groan again. His cries were almost screams, suggesting that the pleasure he was experiencing was distressingly unbearable.

The head of his cock was now very wet, covered with a mixture of my spit and his pre-cum, and I went back to concentrating on it, sliding my fingers up and down over the swollen red-purple flesh in a rhythm slow enough to create sensations of sexual agony. James squirmed madly, opening and closing his fingers spasmodically above his head. At this point I imagined how it might be if Richard or Hari were with me, perhaps working on James in another area or two...

Now I stepped up the pace of my stroking just a fraction, moving my mouth in close to fan his cock with my hot breath. I could see Hari on the other side of our victim, his face buried in the crack of James's ass; in my mind's eye Hari's tongue was becoming pointed and darting deep inside the private opening there. I moved my mouth even closer to where my fingers were tormenting his cock.

I plunged my mouth around his twitching cock and unleashed my ruthless tongue upon it. James gave a primeval yell as his thighs stiffened into twin columns of marble, and I knew he was as close to climax as I dared go.

I pulled away and began to release his gag and mask. Once that was free I had a split second to finish untying his right hand.

"I'm whacked, James," I confessed. "You'll have to finish the job yourself, I'm afraid. Never mind, I'll keep my promise. Is a minute long enough?"

He made sounds to indicate that one minute would be fine. I let the strap free from its buckle and his hand shot straight down to his crotch.

What he and I both knew was that he was wearing something tied to his right hand: he thought it was a large mitten-type glove and must have reckoned that even that would help him reach orgasm if played properly.

What he discovered only now was that it was actually an old boxing glove.

And, yes, it might have worked and he knew it and began to rub at his swollen cock with the palm of the glove.

"Fifty seconds," I informed him.

He found the rubbing was ineffective and began to hit himself right on the end of his penis with the glove.

"Forty seconds."

"I need more time - please, Tomas, just another minute, please!!" He was hitting as furiously as he dared. There was a chance he'd make it.

"Thirty seconds."

I was now busy with the camcorder, rewinding the tape and getting ready to play it back through the TV monitor about three yards away.

"Twenty seconds."

He was rubbing again, as best as he could manage. Maybe another ten seconds, maybe another minute.

"Ten seconds."

"No! Tomas! Please! Listen - just another minute, that's all. Just another minute. PLEASE!!!"

There is an eternity in a minute, especially in a last minute, but this was not to be it.

"Time's up. Sorry." I grabbed his arm with both hands and struggled to re-fasten it back into its bond. "Never mind, there'll be another chance soon enough."

"PLEASE - YOU CAN'T STOP NOW - LET ME CUM! FOR GOD'S SAKE LET ME CUM!!!" he screamed into my ear.

I set the video to play and got ready to leave the room for half-an-hour while he had the opportunity to watch an action re-play of the match I'd just played against his cock - in full colour with sound. What more could a man want?

Monday - late evening

Erotic literature - both the reading of it and the writing of it - is eventually quite wearying and something of a blind alley. I am coming to realise that this documented account of my time spent with James is turning in that direction and am wondering what to do next. For example, I went back in to see him after the half-an-hour was up and continued the process: but how am I to best record it? As a factual description? As pure eroticism? As a psychological inquiry? Whom do I write for and whom do I alienate by writing in the wrong way? More interestingly, whom do I attract by the way in which I finally choose?

As a factual description, what happened next was very simple: I returned to the room fully clothed; I changed the video so that a vast filmed montage of cum-shots was played; then I sat down in an armchair at the side of the room and watched in silence, ignoring everything James said or shouted or screamed at me. Once the video had run its course - about an hour later - I switched the machine off and went to eat an evening meal. As eroticism, I would need to go into detail regarding the video and the hundred or so scenes of stimulated and spurted cocks that flickered across the screen; I would perhaps write about James' torment and tease that out still further, giving a rounded version of all that he said to me and of how his body responded; I would need to emphasize the pure vulnerability of this youth in my grasp but I would also have to indicate the clear desire he kept expressing to have the situation continue; perhaps I should even throw in an account of my own masturbation in the arm-chair - though that would have to be pure fiction, to be honest, as that was then the last thing I wanted.

The truth is that I am beginning to feel strangely depressed. A part of me wants to end this game with him; another wants it to continue indefinitely; another wants it to take a totally different course. Much of my unease comes from the knowledge that he is trapped by me, in my control, loving it and wanting it to go on - and I am reluctant to leave the game myself because it is so unlike anything I've ever been in before and maybe it might provide something truly amazing. So I suppose the psychological inquiry is inevitable. Anything else would not have my heart in it.

I wonder if I am falling in love with him: there is certainly an obsession that I have never known before; and I do so want him to feel the same about me....

Tuesday - early morning

I went in and freed him from the post. It was after midnight and he was spitting blood, metaphorically. One by one I removed the pegs and clips from his body and would have lovingly kissed each mark on his flesh. He wasn't too impressed generally, however, and I knew it would have been a half-hearted attempt on my part anyhow and probably unwise.

"Look! Don't leave me on my own for so long!!" he protested. "I don't mind the rest of the stuff you're doing, but don't leave me on my own - it's so ..pointless!!"

Pointless? Or maybe that's what really scared him - being left alone, losing the attention, getting bored.

"Do you want to pack it in?" I asked. I was ready to. I would have been pleased to, just at that moment.

"For fuck's sake, Tomas, that's not the question you should be asking!! You should be telling me I can't leave, if anything!!!" He was getting his annoyance with me out into the open. "I'm not the one in charge, remember. I don't want to miss this chance. Just think! Think!!" It was the familiar annoyance that came with being dependent on another human being.

With all his restraints loosened and still naked and stretching to get the circulation in his limbs going he looked quite beautiful and much more vulnerable than before, much more than when he was tied down even. I wanted to confess - there and then - about how I was starting to feel about him. Lust. Tenderness. Yearning.

"James?"

"Yes?"

I hesitated and it was very clear that I didn't know what to say and do.

"What!?" he snapped; annoyed, tired, grubby.

"I want you to wash in my shower. I'm going to watch you. If you touch your dick, that's it - you're out of here - it's finished!"

As he washed I wracked my brains for a bright idea. The things I'd got ready - the chair, the post, the videos, even the soundtracks which I'd spent hours editing - they all seemed...the word 'pointless' seemed to apply to them, too. I just wanted to join him in the shower and hold him tight and look into his deep brown eyes and tell him.....

There was a bed in the room next door. I decided to use that. Then I changed my mind and thought the reclining chair would work better. Then I had another idea for the bed. Then I remembered that there were no ties or straps in that room (it was where I retreated for some privacy) and went back to thinking about the chair. Confusion was the keynote with panic creeping in close behind. All the time I kept watch through the clear glass screen into the shower as the soap lather slipped down his torso and legs. His hair was wet and shiny. I felt suddenly felt very angry at him. Angry that he was so young and so beautiful and so desperate for his wayward pleasures and about to slip through my fingers. Angry that he might be gone soon and wouldn't think of me again. Angry at being used and at being useless.

This curious mixture of anger - bred of fear - went straight to my libido and almost at once I felt quite refreshed, my specific desire for him transformed into a greater arousal. With it came a surge of animal love and a huge longing to please him, to satisfy his need for being mastered and for being freed from having to make any choice.

We sat down at the table together while he ate a simple supper of soup and bread. He wore my blue dressing gown.

"James," I said, finding my voice with confidence and clarity. "I think we should both get some sleep. You can have the bed next door provided you let me fit a special belt around your waist to stop you playing with yourself. Otherwise....."

I paused. (I was about to say "...it's back to the chair and tied up again," but didn't want to let him hear me give him that choice.)

"...there'll be real trouble."

"OK. I agree," he demurred. "What about my job, by the way? Did you contact them earlier today to say I'm ill or something?"

I knew he had temporary and poorly-paid employment at some sort of outdoor leisure complex. I hadn't contacted anyone to let them know he couldn't get there. But I had an answer.

"You work for me now, boy," I growled, half menace and half affection.

"Oh?" he smiled back. "That's nice."

Tuesday - evening

Let's just say that it has been a day full of interesting developments.

No. Let's not.

Let's spend time going over some of them in greater detail.

Let's linger. Let's get warm and close. Let's spend time with our hearts beating faster, our pulses racing a little. For while I am sure that some erotic encounters might be limited and limiting both in the actual act and in the re-telling of the act there can also be liberating elements present too.

***

I awoke with another painful erection but resisted the temptation to beat off. I had plans for the way in which I would reach orgasm later on and didn't want to diminish its power in any way. By ten o'clock Hari and Richard had left for work and I was alone again. I'd slept alone anyway in the guest room. There was nothing unusual in that.

I fixed a light healthy breakfast - wholemeal toast, fresh orange juice - for James and me and took it through to his bedroom. He was awake and reading the first chapter from a novel. Everything had a different feel, all of a sudden, and we both seemed to sense it. The game of pretense that has to exist between a master and slave had ended and a far deeper game was about to begin.

"I'm impressed by your taste in literature," he remarked, smiling directly at me.

Without having to ask him I knew that he'd slept well. His body language was of one relaxed and alert.

"What's that, then?" I queried, nodding at the book he'd chosen.

He held up the hardback folio edition of an obscure but interesting modern novel.

"If you're good today I may read you one or two excerpts, later," I offered.

He smiled again and closed the book, putting it down carefully at the side of the bed.

"I was able to pee with this on!" he admitted with pride, peeling back the sheet to reveal the belt around his waist.

"But it's murder if you get hard?" I asked.

"Yep!" And another smile.

It was time to create the mood for the rest of the day. I had decided to go for broke and take all the chances I dared within the next twenty-four hours or so. Kill or cure. All or nothing at all.

"Once you've finished breakfast we'll go next door, I'll take it off and give you a really good massage," I told him. "Today's the day, I think."

***

I had the craziest dream last night

Yes, I did

I never dreamt it could be

Yet there you were

In love with me

I started by gently fondling his testicles with my fingers. This soon got him hard. Whether from the actual physical contact upon this most private part of his body or from the anticipation of things to come I don't know, and the thought intrigued me. I then started playing gently with his cock. He was tied down again, face-up on the fully reclined chair, but no gag nor mask. He smelt musky, adorable. I decided that during the course of today I would find out what it was he'd run away from back in England.

"I'm just going to lubricate you a little," I explained.

I held the base of his cock and wrapped another gel-filled hand around the shaft and began stroking it up and down. The gel was slippery and it obviously amplified the sensations to his already deprived cock. I caressed it up and down from the base to the head. The feelings for me were extraordinary. I imagine they were for him also. This wasn't the real massage I had in mind but it would do as a start: a firm, warm cock-massage. His stiffness throbbed between my fingers. He began to wriggle in his bonds. I had tied down his legs and arms again, with arms outstretched above his head to reveal the soft tantalising pockets of arm-pits. I was exhilarated by the scent of his sweat, his body odor, the smell of his hair.

There was music playing again today but nothing I'd prepared specially. Just some of my own favourites, old romantic songs from old singers. There were no objections from James.

Here I go again

I hear those trumpets blow again

All aglow again

Taking a chance on love

I released the base of his penis and started feeling his chest and worked at getting his nipples hard with my finger-tips and - unable to resist - a few nibbles with my teeth. I ran a hand up and down his sides. He laughed and I continued roaming his chest and sides. His sides were extremely sensitive and I just started tickling him. He started bouncing up and down, trying to get away from my hands. I poured more of the gel into my hand and held the base of his cock again and went back to work. This time I took really long slow strokes up and down the shaft.

"Have you ever stroked yourself as slowly as this?" I questioned him.

"No, not this slow. This could kill me," he breathed.

"Good. I'm going to drain you. I want to see you shake and moan."

I then started to massage the taut purple tip of his penis with my thumb and two fingers. At this he wriggled in his bonds. I was intoxicated by the sense of power and the luscious combination of beauty and strength - literally at my finger-tips. I firmly held the base of his cock with my left hand and carried on fondling the wet head with my fingers. While I was doing that, I said: "Remember - your job is to cum. I won't be happy until you do!"

He was really squirming now. He couldn't escape. I really knew how to get him going, I congratulated myself, and I continued to work his glans, keeping him in ecstasy for a while. I paused to anoint his cock again. I held the base and started stroking him off slowly again. He was sweating. His chest glistened. He was moaning because he wanted to cum so bad. I was moaning for exactly the same reason.

"You look so good right now." I told him. "You are beautiful." I wanted to say loads more. "You probably want me to speed up a little, eh?"

He nodded yes.

"Well, I like to take things slow. I want to keep you on this level for a long, long time."

He was wet all over himself by now. He looked like he just came out from a bath. I wondered if he was trying to make himself cum. Was he was thinking about something that would push him over the edge? A girlfriend? Me? His own cock? The sexual high he was experiencing must certainly be very intense. My slow strokes kept urging him to cum but he wouldn't. It was as if he wanted to cum but was denying himself the relief. My skillful stroking kept him on the very edge. He was on this roller-coaster for a little while longer. All the time he was half-sobbing, half-groaning with tension and desire.