Ben is the Subject of an Experiment

We were only half-way home, at the corner of Yonge and Queen, an intersection that teemed with people any time of day or night, meaning a whole crowd of people were about to see me climb out of the cab, bare-chested and in handcuffs; I wasn't that much of an exhibitionist!

But thankfully, the big-headed alpha who got us in this mess, promptly got us out of it.

"You can fuck right off, man. You guys hang around gay bars late at night because we give good tips, then you give us a hard time while not saying a word when straight guys fuck their whores. We're not getting out, so you'd better move this car if you want to get paid."

There were advantages to hanging around with asshole alphas like him after all! This angry tirade, coming from the big muscled six-footer, was enough to jolt our short and skinny cabbie into action. He raced along Queen Street, speeding through yellow lights and dropped us off in record time at the door to Paul's place, an old Victorian-era brick warehouse.

Paul paid him off and pushed me out of the cab onto the sidewalk. He unlocked the building's graffiti-stained front door and led me down a barely lit corridor to his door, which opened out into a big open loft space, with bare brick walls and a wooden floor.

A futon mattress on a low wooden frame sat against one wall, there was an old couch and table in the middle of the room, along with a stove and fridge in one corner and a sink, shower and toilet in another, all in open view. Jimmie had been right about Paul being a painter, since the rest of the space was taken up with canvases, both finished and unfinished, art supplies and easels.

Of course, he hadn't brought me there to show me his paintings! Instead, he unceremoniously dumped my jacket and shirt on the floor, took the cuffs off and told me to "get naked and be quick about it". While I was stripping off my chaps and jeans and boots, I could sense his nervousness, so different from the bravado back at the bar and in the cab. There were beads of sweat on his upper lip and he drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh; his excitement was palpable. Was this really his first BDSM scene? If so. I'd better be on my best submissive behaviour; sometimes new Tops need just as much help as virgin bottoms.

Once I'd got naked, he murmured the word "Stay" as if I was a pet dog and went to drag a wooden sawhorse out from the opposite wall to a place in front of the couch. Then he opened a large wooden box, picked out some leather wrist and ankle bands and came back to me, staring into my eyes.

"Here, while you're putting these on, just shut up and listen. I don't want to hear a single fucking word out of you: no whining, no complaining, no telling me what to do or what you want. I'm in charge and I don't need any fucking help or advice. Got it?"

I nodded quickly to reassure him and buckled the bands on my wrists and ankles. Once I was done, he grabbed me by my tits and pulled me along by them, as he walked backwards across the room to the sawhorse, where he let go and told me to lie down.

If this really was his first BDSM scene, he'd clearly been making preparations for when and if it happened. There were the cuffs and the leather bands of course, but also, looking down, I could see hooks screwed into the legs of the sawhorse, ready for attachments.

The surface of the sawhorse was a length of 2 x 8 planking, roughly the same length as my long torso, with my head hanging over one end and my erect dick trapped under my body. When I began wriggling around to get more comfortable, he slapped my ass hard and told me to stay exactly the way I was. I instantly froze.

For a few seconds he stayed completely still, staring down at me, perhaps making up his mind whether to go ahead or not. But then I felt his fingers touching the spot where he'd just slapped me, rubbing it for a minute or so and then slapping the same spot once again, even harder this time. With his mind seemingly made up, he leant over and started padlocking the D rings on the leather bands to the snap hooks screwed into the legs of the sawhorse.

He still seemed nervous and worked slowly, fumbling with the clips and the padlocks, then binding my body to the surface with a couple of wide leather belts at the waist and upper thighs. I had to admit, he did a good job of securing me; knowing I couldn't get free I was able to relax into the bondage. After all, there's nothing more guaranteed to spoil a scene than a half-assed bondage job where the bottom knows he can free himself anytime he likes.

He stayed out of my line of sight for a while; not saying a word and not making a sound, keeping me in suspense. But eventually, I heard the thump of boots dropping on the floor and the sound of bare feet padding towards me. Still in total silence, I felt his hand pull my dick and balls out from under me. Once they were hanging free, he used (what I later realised were) my bootlaces, tightly winding one around the individual balls to separate them and the other around my scrotum, pulling it down. He began fondling and squeezing them, to my intense pleasure, since ball work always got me excited.

But then he whispered, "Christ man, these balls are giant, big fucking targets" and to prove it, brought his hand down on them loudly and viciously, making me gasp with the pain. He seemed to have gotten over his nervousness in record time!

He sat down on the couch and took his leather shirt off but not his pants, revealing a big sexy chest but keeping his dick hidden from my prying eyes. As I stared at him, he opened a bottle of poppers and took a good long sniff. He closed his eyes and smiled, propping his head back against the couch, until suddenly opening them to stare back at me.

"Hey man these fucking poppers of yours are ripe. They'll blow your head off if you're not careful. If

I was pissed off; I had a new, unopened bottle of amyl that I'd bought in Buffalo a few weeks ago in my jacket pocket; one I'd been waiting for the for the right time to open; and now he was enjoying it and I wasn't getting any!

What I got instead was his leather covered crotch shoved in my face while he took another deep snort. Since the scent of leather is almost as arousing as poppers to me, I was happy to begin licking away at his groin and upper thighs.

I hoped he'd pull his dick out of his pants, but when he pulled away, it was to push two fingers between my lips instead. Figuring where they were certain to end up, I made sure they were as wet as possible and sure enough, they went straight from mouth to asshole. First one and then the other got pushed into me, were twisted around and jerked in and out amd returned to my mouth.

I got to savor the taste and smell of my own ass for a few seconds before he swapped a rubber ball gag for them, buckled tightly behind my head while he whispered in my ear.

""I know you've been quiet like I told you, but you might start hollering soon and wake up my weird next-door neighbour."

He walked away, returning with a tub of Crisco in one hand and a butt plug in the other, and stood in front of me, with a big smirk on his face, while making a big production of smearing lube all over the plug. Once it was thoroughly lubed, he pressed its tip against my hole, I pushed outwards in response and I felt it going in easily enough.

He'd gagged and butt plugged me, taking cock sucking and fucking out of the equation, making me wonder what was coming next. The last thing I expected was a massage! His hands touched my upper back, then rubbed my shoulders, going down to my waist, poking and probing, gently pummeling my ass cheeks and upper thighs, getting me to relax and close my eyes.

This was all much too nice of course and I found out what he was setting me up for when I began to feel a series of light taps on my shoulder from something that wasn't a hand. When I opened my eyes, I saw a leather crop in his hand, which he was striking me quite gently with as if experimenting to see what effect the blows would have and how I'd react.

The way I wriggled around, moaning happily, showed him that I could take a lot more. The strokes got harder and faster, and soon my entire upper back tingled with scores of pinpricks of pain, just the way I liked it. I was almost disappointed when he stopped, but he could see how excited he'd got me and had knelt down behind me to stroke my stiff, dripping cock.

After teasing me almost to the point of making me cum, he let go and appeared in front of me again, holding the grey bondage bandana from my jeans pocket. He grinned mischievously as he re-opened the bottle and poured some of my precious poppers onto it, then scrunched the hankie up and pressed it tightly against my nose, instantly filling my head with the scent of amyl nitrate and sending my brain swirling off into a haze.

By the time I came back from popper-land, he was holding a wide leather strap in his hand.

"Like those poppers eh? Make you feel good enough to take a real beating? Bill said you could take a good whipping; let's find out how good."

He took an extra-long sniff of the poppers himself, then got to work. Holding the popper-soaked hankie in one hand and the strap in the other, he alternated between giving me a snort of poppers with hitting me two or three strokes on my back, starting at the shoulders and working downwards towards the waist, keeping up a steady drumbeat and hitting hard enough that my back still showed the marks days later.

It was a serious beating, overpowering me and toppling me over into a such a sexed-up dreamy submissive haze that I almost didn't realise when he'd stopped. However, that didn't mean he'd finished punishing me; far from it.

He put a leg over my prone body and sat down facing away from my head and used a table tennis bat to paddle my ass cheeks and upper thighs. He even gave my tied-up balls a few hard taps, which were probably the most painful hits all night. By the time he put down the bat, my entire back, from the back of my knees up to my shoulders was throbbing and I'd been reduced to a whimpering mess of submissive need, all ready for the final act.

Climbing up off me and taking off his pants at last, he stood behind me, smeared a handful of Crisco on his dick, pulled out the butt plug and had his cock inside me before my sphincter muscles knew what hit them.

What followed was as intense as I could have hoped for, proving one big advantage of young guys in those pre-Viagra times; their strength and resilience. His twenty-something dick felt like a steel beam pummeling me for minutes on end; staying inside me, then pulling out and barging right back in again while his hard body kept slamming up against my bruised ass cheeks.

He was able to keep going for a long, exhausting time, swivelling his cock up and down and around, bumping up against my prostate, while leaning forward to grasp my tits, squeezing and pulling on them viciously, making every part of my body, both inside and out, feel hot and bothered.

Even a twenty-four-year old can't fuck all night, so eventually, after slamming in and out in a final wild, series of strokes, I heard a loud, triumphant scream and felt an orgasmic wave flooding my insides.

He fell forward onto my back and lay there getting his breath back while I stayed absolutely still beneath him, exhausted and satisfied. When he began to peel his sweaty body away from mine, he was careful to make sure his half-hard cock didn't drop out of me.

"That was fucking hot watching you swallow that guy's piss, but I'm going one better."

As he spoke, his piss was already flooding my guts and swirling around, mixing with his cum. He pulled out, shoving the butt plug back in quickly before coming around to take the gag out and dangle his dripping cock in my face. I closed my lips around it, eager to have it in my mouth for the first time and to taste the combined flavours of piss, ass sweat and lube. Once I'd swallowed the last few drops, he let his dick lie heavy on my tongue, waiting for it to soften, as he and it recovered from his orgasm.

I, on the other hand, hadn't cum yet, though to be honest, I was almost too tired to care. Every part of my body ached, and I was desperate for a rest. So, when he leant down and unbuckled the leather bands from around my wrists, I figured he was letting me up and I'd either be sleeping over or cabbing it home.

But he surprised me again. Keeping my ankles tied to the sawhorse, he pulled my arms back and tied my wrists together with rope, getting me very excited despite my exhausted state. Cuffs and leather bands were all very well, but rope bondage was my absolute favourite; tie my up with ropes and I'd do anything for you!

He made sure of his knots before freeing my ankles, then grabbed hold of my shoulders and stood me up. However, since I'd been lying in the same position for over an hour, with my head facing to the floor, pulling me up quickly was a bad idea.

I blacked out and came to a few moments later with him holding me up in a tight bear hug. It felt good to feel our sweaty bodies so tight together and his slick chest rubbing up against my back, to have his strong male scent fill my head and my bound wrists jammed into the space between my ass and his half-hard cock.

Once I was aware and standing on my own again, he let his right-hand travel down my chest and stomach until it found my tied-up, purple balls and began bouncing them up and down in his palm. He kept his left arm tight around my chest, letting the fingers of that twist my right nipple. He played with me for a few minutes, chuckling at my crazed moaning, until he tired of it and grabbed hold of my stiff, leaking dick instead.

By then I was so ready that all it needed was a few strokes and the first big blob of cum came spurting and landed at my feet. He managed to catch the rest in his hand and coated my face with it, then walked me over to the couch and I fell onto it, satisfied and contented, already half asleep.

He roped my ankles together then rubbed his hands over my back and bum, feeling the red lines where the strap had marked me and the bruises that the bat had made.

"Fuck, you pervert, you're really into this stuff, eh? Tying you up and beating your ass got me hot and kept my cock hard, but it's fucking hard work too. We're not finished, you're staying right here until I need you again. See you later."

Thankfully, he had the sense to take the gag out of my mouth, rather than leaving it in all night , before slapping me hard on my bruised bum, walking over to his futon and lying down, pulling a sheet over himself and to judge from the sounds of heavy breathing, falling asleep immediately. I was so exhausted and satiated that, despite having my arms bound behind me and feeling my back and bum throbbing from the beating, I fell asleep the minute I closed my eyes.

The next thing I remember is waking up with a beam of sunlight in my face, shining through a chink in the heavy blackout curtains and being shocked to see him perched next to me on a tall stool. He was staring intently at me, while moving a pencil across a large sketch pad. When I, almost unconsciously, began wriggling around to make myself more comfortable after spending hours in bondage, he immediately barked at me.

"Don't move. Put your head back the way it was and stay exactly how you are until this is finished. I've been working on this for an hour."

I turned my head and stopped wriggling and tried to keep perfectly still while he continued to draw. I was kind of honoured; after all I'd never modelled for an artist before and had certainly never been the subject of bondage art. I lay there, with my wrists and ankles tied and my back and bum marked and bruised, aware of my stiff dick pushing down into the couch cushion and of his equally stiff dick pointing directly at me.

After fifteen minutes or so, he got up off his stool and locked the sketch pad away in his desk drawer. I was disappointed that he didn't show it me, though in a strange twist of fate I got to see the finished work a couple of years later. But for now, I was more than happy to see him heading towards me, wagging his dick and grinning.

"Want some more of this?"

I nodded eagerly and murmured "Fuck, yes, please."

He began by driving me mad with waiting, playing with his tits and jerking his cock, until suddenly stepping close. He rolled me over onto my back and pulled me down along the couch by the ankles until he had my bum settled up onto the overstuffed arm and my legs dangling over the side. After untying the rope around my ankles, he stepped away and returned with the grey bandana, the poppers and the Crisco once again.

He poured some poppers into the centre of the bandana and covered my mouth and nose with it, knotting it behind my head. That put me in a permanent poppered-up state, as every breath drew in more amyl, keeping me over-excited and aroused. As if that wasn't enough, I felt what else he'd found in my jacket pockets, when he placed my own nipple clamps on my tits and tugged hard on the chain between them until he had me squealing.

As I gazed up at him through the popper haze, he folded my legs up against my chest and held my ankles up with one hand while using the other to guide his lubed-up cock into me. I was so ready for him that he slid into like a knife through butter; one single, steady push and he was all the way in. Then using both hands, he pulled my legs back up, wish-boned them wide apart and began to fuck.

This time I could see what he looked like while he fucked me. I'd been tied me down on my stomach earlier, but this time I could stare up into his face and watch the big sweaty muscles of his upper body tensing as his dick pumped in and out. He moved me around like a ragdoll, turning my body on one side then the other to enter me at different angles, until finally putting me flat on my back again and propping my ankles on his shoulders, so his hand were free to pull on the tit-chain and manhandle my purple balls.

When he eventually began to tire, he took a tight grip on my cock, which was already excruciatingly close to orgasm, and pumped it fast, working the foreskin back and forth. Despite my best efforts to delay the inevitable, he forced a shower of cum out of me, landing all over my face and chest. The orgasm made my body shake and my ass muscles contract, squeezing his cock and sending him over the edge as well. After the first couple of shots pulsed inside me, he pulled out and squirted the rest all over my chest, where it mixed in with mine.

Once he had his breath back, he let my legs drop down to the floor and walked back towards his bed, apparently ready for another snooze, but leaving me with my wrists tied behind my back, the popper-soaked hankie around my mouth and my tits painfully clamped.

I didn't mind being left with my wrists bound, but after the orgasm, my tits hurting something awful now and I was starting on a serious popper headache. He'd told me to keep quiet, but I found my voice and managed to gasp "My tits!" in a loud enough voice that it made him look back. He turned around and looked half amused and half shamefaced as he pulled off the clamps and untied the bandana; but then immediately headed straight back to his bed, flopping down on his mattress without bothering to pull up the sheet.

Meanwhile, I was suffering what felt like the worst single pain of the whole night as the blood came rushing back into my nipples. All I could do was lie back, groaning quietly, until the throbbing eased off and by the time it became bearable, he was fast asleep; dead to the world once more.

Being a single guy, I didn't get to feel another man's body next to me in bed often enough, so with nothing to lose and with only my wrists tied, I eased myself up off the couch and went to lay down next to the sleeping beauty. If he woke up and didn't want me there, then the worst, or best, that could happen would be for him to drag me away and tie me to something; not a terrible outcome for a bondage queen like me!