Ben is Bitten by the Big Apple Ch. 02

As I looked around at all the smart opera goers filing into the Grand Lobby of the Met, I felt acutely uncomfortable and embarrassed. Since this was a matinee performance there weren't a lot of long dresses or tuxedos, but still, most of the men were conservatively dressed in suits or sports coats, and as far as I could see there was no one else in black leather and boots!

But with no other option, I followed along behind them, trying to avoid people's eyes, aware of standing out like a sore thumb in the crowd of mostly elderly or middle-aged straight couples milling around the lobby. But then, hearing Robert point out two guys he remembered from the Ramrod last night to Ian, I lifted my head up and recognised not only them but another guy that Javier and I had lusted over at the Eagle!

Looking round me, it was obvious that the crowd was full of men on their own, in couples or in groups. Gay men are always over-represented at the opera and that was particularly true that day, since we were at a performance of "Death in Venice", a modern opera in English about an older man's obsession for a beautiful teenage boy.

It was surprisingly controversial subject matter for the stuffy old Metropolitan Opera back then, but it meant an even higher percentage of the audience than normal shared my sexual orientation; judging from the stares and surreptitious glances the three of us got as we walked through the Grand Lobby. The two well-dressed, handsome men I was with attracted plenty of attention to themselves as it was; but having a much younger man in black leather trail along after them, meant they got stared at from all directions.

They'd treated themselves to expensive seats half-way to the stage on the main floor and got me a standing room ticket at the back of the auditorium. They told me to wait for them at the intermission and as they began making their way up the aisle towards me, I could see them chatting to a man who'd been sitting in their vicinity, All three got stuck behind some very slow, very elderly audience members tottering up the aisle and by the time they reached me, they were deep into a serious conversation about the opera.

When they got to the bar, the three of them sat down at a table and Robert handed me some money, telling me to get a bottle of champagne and four glasses. The bar was busy and I had to wait a long time; so by the time I got back with the drinks they'd already moved onto other subjects, including me, to judge from the appraising looks I was getting from their new acquaintance, Arturo.

Even though I was usually attracted to older men, I took a real dislike to him. He was physically unattractive, with a pudgy body, thinning hair in a greasy combover and a sallow complexion. But that wasn't what I disliked about him; after all I'd had lots of fun over the years with guys you wouldn't take a second look at. What was upsetting was how he either deliberately ignored me or dismissed everything I said, making it clear he regarded me as some dumb young airhead.

Ian and Robert ignored the contemptuous way he treated me and seemed to be very impressed by his thorough knowledge of opera and opera singers. Since "Death in Venice" was in two acts rather than the usual three, the only intermission was extra long, giving them lots of time to bond over their mutual interest. In later years I became an opera fan myself, and I'd really liked this first exposure to it, but at that time I couldn't make much sense of their conversation.

Feeling bored and excluded, I excused myself to go to the toilet, and was disappointed when Arturo jumped up, saying that with a long second act coming up, he'd better go too. He stood behind me in the line for the men's room and when there was no one behind us for a few moments, he took the opportunity to fondle my backside and bring his hand around to squeeze my cock. It was humiliating enough to have this unattractive and unpleasant man do that, but what made it worse was his dismissive chuckle when he felt my cock get hard.

To say I was disappointed when Ian and Robert agreed to got to his place afterwards for drinks and listen to opera recordings would be a massive understatement. However, after the opera, I found myself following them up Columbus Avenue to his building, which was just a short walking distance from Lincoln Center.

The minute we entered his apartment, the guys went over to the far wall to inspect his record collection. Arturo began mixing martinis and I stood awkwardly at the edge of the sitting room, uncertain about what to do or where to sit. Soon however, they all looked directly at me and when Arturo spoke I realised I'd been a topic of discussion on the walk over.

"OK, guys, please feel free to play whatever you like. I promise I won't take too many liberties with your boy."

Then he turned to me with a leer and said,

"Come on, what's your name, the bedroom's over there and I don't have all evening. From what I've been told about you, you should enjoy this."

On the way over to his apartment, I'd been thinking that maybe the four of us might get involved in some sort of play, but I hadn't imagined I'd just be handed over to him while they sat listening to opera! I hesitated to obey him for a moment, but when I got a blank look from Robert in return for my despairing glance, I shrugged and followed Arturo into his bedroom. As I stood uncertainly by a massive four poster bed with the sounds of a Wagnerian overture booming out from the living room speakers, he snapped at me.

"Come on, lad, get with the program, what the fuck are you waiting for? You know what you're here for, so get those clothes off."

With no alternative and little enthusiasm, I stripped off quickly and stood naked in front of him, with my arms behind my back. He looked me up and down, sizing me up with a smirk on his face.

"Ian tells me you're into all this BDSM shit, which is just what I like in a boy. The body's not bad, but it's a shame about that tiny dick of yours. No matter, I won't be touching it anyway. Now, turn around so we can get started."

Glancing down I saw what he meant about my cock; it had shrivelled up to nothing in response to my intense dislike for him and my unhappiness about being abandoned by the other guys. Still, I was determined to behave and submissively turned my back to him, ready for him to do his worst.

He opened a drawer in his bedside table and picked out some lengths of rope. He used a couple of them to quickly and skillfully tie my wrists to the opposite elbows behind my back and wound another tightly around my upper arms and chest.

Then he stuffed one of my own boot socks in my mouth and secured it by winding a long strip of sticky tape around my head. I'd been wearing the same socks since I boarded the bus for New York forty-eight hours before, so they smelt and tasted rank. But that didn't matter; I loved being bound and gagged and looking down at my crotch now, I could see that my cock had reached its full, stiff length!

He stared at me for a few moments, then grabbed my balls and squeezed them so hard that tears welled up in my eyes.

"The reason for that gag in your mouth is because I don't want to hear anything out of you, not even moaning or groaning. Make any kind of noise and these'll get hurt, OK?"

He waited until I nodded furiously in agreement, then turned me around and pushed me down onto the bed on my stomach, with my feet still touching the floor. He picked out a thin cane from the same drawer as the ropes and stood over me, immediately shoving my head into the mattress with one hand and scoring my ass cheeks with the other.

Since most of his considerable weight was pressing my head into the mattress, I couldn't squirm away from the beating as he piled on the cane strokes hard and fast. He was totally silent during the beating; there was no build up or formality about the punishment and no gaps between the strokes to increase the tension; all he wanted was to hurt me, quickly and efficiently.

In less than a minute he stopped, leaving me a slobbering mess, with tears flowing, nose running and an ass throbbing with pain. I'd closed my eyes half-way through the beating and when I reopened them, he was staring directly into my face with an evil grin on his own.

"I've been waiting to do that all afternoon, you surly little whore. I love making punks like you cry and if you don't behave, you'll get more. Though it might take your mind off what I'm going to do with that hole of yours."

Having frightened me even more, he moved directly behind me and pushed a greasy finger into me, following up quickly with a second and then a third. They all felt good and my ass accepted them easily, along with the medium sized dildo that followed.

I was actually wriggling around on the mattress, enjoying myself, when I felt him start to rub something else up and down my crack, next to the dildo that was pleasuring me. He began to withdraw the latter and before my sphincter muscles could close up, shoved something far thicker and longer into me, making me groan loudly while I tried to squirm away from it.

Making a loud noise earnt me the threatened response. He gave me a half dozen painful strokes on my upper thighs with the cane, then reached between my legs to squeeze my balls so hard that the tears started flowing again.

"I said no noise! And stop wriggling around or I'll squeeze these so fucking hard you'll really have something to scream about."

I managed to keep still for the next few minutes while feeling as if he was rearranging my internal organs. But eventually I got accustomed to the way it filled me and started to like the way it ground up against my prostate. Having successfully reduced me to a quivering jelly, he pulled it out, leaving me feeling empty and craving more; but he wasn't finished with me by a long way.

He stood me up, turned me around and pushed me back onto the bed, bound a rope around each ankle, raised them up and tied them off to the cross frame of the four-poster above our heads. As I stared up at him, it occurred to me how stark the contrast was between us. I was bound and gagged and naked, with my legs up in the air and my asshole gaping open, while he stood before me, dressed in his going-to-the-opera outfit, having taken only his jacket off.

As I lay wondering why he still had his pants on if he was going to fuck me, I saw him roll up his shirtsleeves and pull on a pair of elbow length black rubber gloves. Realising what that meant, I took a deep breath and tried to relax; the dildoes had been a prelude not to a fucking but to a fisting

After sticking a pair of exquisitely painful clamps on my nipples to distract me, his fingers entered me once again, staying inside me this time. He inched them slowly forward until the palm of his hand and then his wrist had passed inexorably through the rings of muscle on their way into me.

Being fisted is a whole different experience from being fucked with a dildo or a cock and I found it especially humiliating that such an unpleasant and unattractive man was making writhe around on the end of his arm. Of course, despite my intense dislike for him, I'd let him tie me up, beat me and shove things up my ass, giving in without a struggle. Now, the stiffness of my treacherous cock was showing both of us exactly how aroused he was making me.

He kept up a steady rhythm, pushing hand, wrist and lower arm into me, then pulling out until only the fingers were left and shoving them all back in again. While he fisted me, he continuously trash-talked, telling me I was a whore, a cunt and a pussy with the loosest hole he'd ever used. If that wasn't humiliating enough, at some point I realised Robert and Ian were standing in the doorway with glasses in hand, listening to music while enjoying the show.

Arturo must have decided he wanted to give them a spectacle, since he kept his wrist inside me while grabbing hold of my stiff, leaking cock with his other hand. He started to jerk me off slowly but inexorably, then completely overloaded my circuits by pulling the clamps off my tits. The blood flooded back into them, giving me an unbearable dose of exquisitely painful pleasure, and as he squeezed hard my cock erupted like a geyser, with gobs of cum spurting out and landing all over my chest and face.

I lay back exhausted, trying to drag some breath back into my lungs, making faint whimpering sounds behind the gag, while he silently withdrew his fisting hand and peeled off the gloves. Since I was lying flat on my back on the mattress, I couldn't see his crotch or what his hands were doing and never did get even a glimpse of what his cock looked like. But a few moments later the extent of his excitement and arousal was evident on his face and a minute or so later, he began chanting "FUCK" over and over again as volleys of his cum joined mine in splattering all over my body.

I hoped that meant he'd untie my and let me clean up and was disappointed to see him lead Ian and Robert back to the sitting room and offer them refills on their martinis. A few moments later, the sounds of opera filled the apartment once more, leaving me bound and gagged, with my legs up in the air and a throbbing backside.

I was left there for more than an hour, feeling progressively more and more uncomfortable and it was Robert who eventually came in to untie me. As I got shakily up onto my feet, with dried cum sticking to my chest and face, he told me to hurry up and get my clothes on, since we were about to leave. As I passed by him as he stood at his front door, Arturo nodded coolly at me as if he hardly recognized me.

The opera had been relatively short, so even after the episode with Arturo, it was only eight o'clock by the time we got back to our hotel in Washington Square. The guys had been quiet in the cab and Ian disappeared into the bedroom the moment we entered the suite. Robert told me to take a nap on the couch, since there was another long night ahead of us at Lenny's post-midnight party in Chelsea.

I went into the bathroom to wipe the cum off and to check the state of my buttocks. Thankfully, even though they were marked with a series of bright red lines, he hadn't drawn blood.

I lay down on my side on the couch, falling asleep while replaying the events of the weekend so far, and looking forward to Lenny's party later that night.