Ben is the Subject of an Experiment

As it was, he'd fallen into such a deep, exhausted sleep that he was unaware of me and I stayed snuggled up close to his warm body until well past mid-day when I woke up, feeling him lying next to me, spread out on his back with one arm thrown over his head.

His sexy odour filled my nostrils and the open armpit beckoned me enjoy the sexy mixture of dried sweat and male testosterone. I don't know if that woke him or if he was half awake already, but instantly I felt his hand grab the back of my head and press down.

Once I'd cleaned both armpits, he pushed me down between his legs, to suck on his pole. He let me work on it for a while, holding my head still while raising his hips up off the bed to force himself down my throat, making me gag and cough until he suddenly stopped and sat up instead.

Pushing me over onto my back, he knelt over me and plopped his ass down over my face. His pits had tasted good, but his sweaty ass crack and hole tasted even better; and he seemed to get got off on the work my tongue was doing, to judge from the way he moaned. I enjoyed myself under him for what seemed a really long time, until he suddenly pulled away, got up and walked over to the couch.

When he came back, he gruffly ordered me to turn over onto my stomach, then he untied the ropes around my wrists, swapping them for the leather bands he'd used earlier. Then he guided my wrists between the vertical slats of the bed's wooden headboard and clipped the bands together on the other side. I was back to how I was at the start of the night; tied down helplessly on my stomach, eagerly waiting for cock.

I didn't have to wait long; he scooted around behind me, shoved my head into the pillow and entered me doggy style with no other lube than dried-up Crisco left in my ass from the time before. I gasped with the initial shock as he went in and had to bite down hard on the pillow under my face; this was a lot rougher than before and my insides felt like they were being rubbed raw.

He clearly intended I should remember this last fuck as he slapped my bruised and tender ass in rhythm with his thrusting cock. No poppers, no tit work, no CBT work to keep me aroused; just beating my ass and fucking fast and hard. Less than five minutes from when I'd gasped at his entry, he was pulling out and spraying my back and ass with his third load of cum.

I collapsed down onto my stomach, bruised but elated and with a stiff dick that badly needed help. But as far as he was concerned, I was on my own. He stood up after unbuckling the cuffs that held me to the headboard and walked over to the kitchen sink, where he rubbed a wet sponge over his groin and stomach and splashed water on his face and chest.

When he looked back at me, the relentlessly dominating stud who'd kept me under his thumb for the last ten hours had turned back into the spoilt little rich boy that Jimmy disliked so much. He glanced ostentatiously at the kitchen clock as he spoke, apparently unable to remember my name.

"Hey, err, guy, sorry and all that, but I'm meeting my parents for brunch and things are running real late now. You're such a horny pig, you got me going and made me fuck you and that's thrown my timing way off. I'm going to make some coffee, you're welcome to some, but we've gotta be out of here in the next half hour."

I told him I didn't need coffee, just the toilet! As I stood having what must have been the longest pee of my life, I absentmindedly rubbed the dried flakes of cum out of my hair and off my chest and stomach, with his most recent orgasm drying on my back and ass. I sat down on the floor in order to gingerly untie the bootlaces from around my distended, purple balls, then put my clothes on and got ready to leave.

As he walked me to the door, I figured we both got what we wanted; he'd enjoyed a successful experiment and I'd had a night to remember. Despite that, it was obvious that we both recognized that this was destined to be a one-time only event. I thought of offering him my number but held back when he didn't offer me his.

We'd see each other in gay places over the next few years, though never at 18 East or anywhere remotely leathery. He'd nod at me in a cool, impersonal way, as if he couldn't quite remember who I was. But then, as he said back at the bar, I really wasn't his type.

However, there was an interesting epilogue to our night together. A couple of years later, I arrived early for a dinner party at our friend Bill's place and when I happened to compliment him on the artwork hanging on his apartment walls, he responded by leading me to a small bedroom that doubled as his study, where he pulled out a folder of erotic drawings from his desk.

I started looking at them one by one, while he made us both a drink, and when he came back, his hand went to the bottom of the pile and pulled out a particular one to show me.

It was a pencil drawing of a naked man, lying face down on a couch with the face turned away from the observer, with wrists and ankles tied with rope and the marks of a heavy beating on his back and ass; a hot looking drawing with obvious appeal for Bill.

"I bought it from that guy Paul who used to live in the loft near Queen and Bathurst. He thought he might become an artist, but basically, he was just a good illustrator, a caricaturist even. Of course, that's all gone by the board now, just a phase, he's works for Daddy and Mummy's real estate business. "ART" doesn't pay for a cottage in Muskoka or a condo in Forest Hill

"I got it from him about a year ago, along with a few other drawings, when he was getting rid of the stuff that didn't fit his upscale new persona. The other ones are OK, but this is by far the best of the bunch. Though I must admit, even if it hadn't been so fine, I would probably still have bought it.

"The thing is, there's something about the way he's caught that long, skinny torso and the plump ass cheeks; the shape of the head and those big ears; and the way bruises stand out on his white skin that's very reminiscent of someone I know. He wouldn't tell me who the model was, which was a lot more respectful than I expected of him, but then I really didn't have to ask anyway."

I tore my eyes away from the drawing Paul had made that night and blushed to see the conspiratorial grin on Bill's face.

"You see, the thing is I have a memory of some one I saw walking out of 18 East, wearing his cuffs, at the time he was still being an "artist."

Just as he said that, the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of more dinner guests. He rushed off to greet the newcomers, telling me over his shoulder to be sure to put the folder back in the desk drawer.

I stared at the reproduction of myself as long as I decently could before filing it away, then gently adjusted the obvious hard-on in my pants before hurrying out to join the rest of the dinner party crowd.