Looks Good In Black

Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of bondage and domination between consenting adult males.

"You're an idiot," Kevin said.

"I know, I know," I sighed.

We were sitting in overstuffed chairs in our favorite downtown coffeehouse. Outside, traffic rushed by in the sunny warmth of a late spring afternoon.

"I know it's been rough since Jason left you," he continued. "So I introduce you to Cary. You go out for a while. Things are going great. Now you tell me you're dumping him. What the hell's the matter with you, Rolf?"

Kevin could get away with talking to me like that. No one else.

"Is there something I don't know about him? Is he an asshole in disguise?"

"No. He's been great."

"Some people are just too fucking picky," Kevin said to the ceiling.

"Well, we can't all be as lucky as you," I retorted, stung.

My best friend had found his soulmate the night he graduated from college. A professor he had always had a crush on had invited him over for dinner, and he had never left. They had been together now for years.

He didn't challenge my statement, just shook his head. "You are a hard case. And after you all clicked like that, the night of the recital."

He had been after me for months about meeting his friend Cary Walsh. I had finally agreed to go to one of his recitals at the University, even though classical music is not really my thing.

When the lights dimmed, a man appeared, dignified and elegant, his black tails setting off his golden hair. He sat down to play and rich piano tone flowed from his fingers. One piece in particular entranced me. Its melodies shimmered in the higher reaches of the keyboard, now raptly still, now gently rippling. As the last soft chords died away, I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"What does that mean?" I asked Kevin, pointing to the sheet of paper in my hand, as the applause surrounded us.

He smiled. "Why don't you ask him after?"

Backstage I shook Cary's hand, warm from his exertions. Up close, he was shorter than me, his smile dazzling, his chiseled features animated.

"Good to meet you, Rolf, thanks so much for coming. Kevin's told me so much about you."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," I replied. I felt a discreet swat on my rear, but refused to reward him with any sign I had noticed. "I really liked that piece you played right after intermission."

"The Debussy?"

I felt awkward, embarrassed. "I don't know French. What does the title mean?"

"'Clair de Lune?' It means 'moonlight.'"

The silence of new acquaintances fell between us. Cary tried to fill it.

"Some of us are going out. Would you like to come along?"

"He'd love to," Kevin answered before I could say anything. "And so would I." I glared at him. He smiled innocently back. "Wouldn't we?"

A while later we were at a trendy, noisy gay watering hole downtown. To my surprise Cary had kept his tails on, looking like a young butler among the mostly blue-jeaned, T-shirted crowd. He caught plenty of admiring glances from the regulars, unused to seeing such effortless class in their midst. I felt big and stupid next to him, but oddly enough, he seemed to like me.

"We did hit it off," I said to Kevin now, a few months later. "What can I say? Things change."

He wouldn't let it go. "You guys are great together."

"I don't know what it is. I feel like he's too good for me."

Kevin snorted with disbelief. "An inferiority complex? You? Please." He added, darkly, "Just be gentle when you do it, or you'll answer to me."

I wasn't being honest with him, of course. I was looking for something else. Being the tall stud with the German name wasn't enough anymore. I had enthralled and intimidated smaller men with ease, and fucked them silly in bed. Now I longed for one to turn the tables and give me a taste of my own medicine.

What I also didn't tell Kevin was that I'd found a man who I thought could give me what I wanted.

It happened one night online in the local chatroom. His screen name leaped to my eye: LitlTopMn. Little top man. My breath quickened as I read what he had written as his occupation: "Bringing bigger men than me to their knees."

I sent him a message, asking permission to address--it was granted. Before long I realized I had found the genuine article. LitlTopMn was not a dimwitted brute, but a master manipulator. He was cagey, telling me little about himself other than his name: Claude. Yet, I sensed an intelligence about him that enticed me into more and more self-revelation. Over the next few weeks, I laid my deepest desires bare in front of my master, who promised to fulfill them--in good time.

"When?" I asked, frantic for a meeting.

"When your master decides the time is right," he typed back. I could almost hear him chuckling at my frustration.

I could think of nothing but Claude, and the ecstatic torments he dangled tantalizingly before me. Cary's charm and even his piano playing paled in comparison. Things came to a head over dinner, a few days after my conversation with Kevin.

"Look," I finally said after the uncomfortable meal, "Maybe we should, you know, put things on hold for a while."

As insensitive as I was, I imagined Cary felt exactly as I did. I was dismayed to find his eyes brimming.

"Why, Rolf?" he managed after a long moment. "I like you a lot. I thought you liked me, too."

I floundered, mouthing cliches that sounded hollow even to me. "You're a great guy, Cary. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not the one for you."

"Bullshit. There's someone else, isn't there."

"Well--there is." I tried, clumsily, to tell him the truth. "Look--I'm not what you think I am. There's stuff going on inside of me you don't want to know about."

"How the hell do you know what I want? Fuck you." Then he was up and gone.

I dialed Cary's number several times over the next few days to apologize and ask for another chance. But I always cut the connection before the call went through.

Then one night when I logged on there was an e-mail waiting from LitlTopMn:

Rolf: You say you want to experience total submission. You say you're ready to put yourself in my hands. The time has come. Meet me in Bull Creek Park this Friday night just before closing time. Get out of your car and walk toward the creek. I'll be waiting for you. Claude.

All thoughts of Cary flew out of my mind. I remember very little about the next few days except the feverish anticipation. Finally Friday night arrived. I drove to the park, situated on the banks of a creek in the northern outskirts of the city. Green and pleasant during the day, it was notoriously cruisy by night.

The parking lot was almost empty, except for a U-Haul truck parked facing out at the far end. I maneuvered my own car into a space, stepped out and began to walk toward the creek, as instructed.

I passed by the public restrooms, dark and silent. As I continued toward the water I sensed movement behind me. Wheeling around, I saw that someone had emerged from the men's room and was watching me.

I stared at the stranger, a slim and compact silhouette in the dim light. A thrill ran through me as I was able to make out how he was dressed: a loose black vest that left his chest bare, black chaps, black boots. Through the gap in the front, I saw the swelling pouch he wore underneath. His head was covered by a hood that completely obscured his face other than openings for his eyes, mouth, and nostrils. I was face to face with Claude at last.

He tossed his head back, indicating that I was to follow him, then turned toward the parking lot. I walked after him without hesitation. Although Claude didn't have a weapon, or any way to compel obedience, I was completely under the spell of this faceless figure in black leather.

We approached the truck I had seen earlier, staying in the shadows underneath the trees. When we reached it Claude grasped the handle on the back hatch of the U-Haul. He jerked upward and the door slid open with a loud, protesting rattle.

The man in leather turned back toward me and gestured, commanding me to enter the compartment. My breathing was fast and shallow, my heart pounding. After a moment's hesitation I placed my foot on the bumper and hoisted myself into the shadows. I heard him following me inside. A moment later I froze as the door rattled downward and thumped shut, leaving us in utter darkness. Panicking, I opened my mouth to shout for help, but an arm encircled my chest and a hand clamped down on my face with crushing force. All that emerged from my throat was a muffled squeak.

A whisper sounded in my ear, gentle and chilling. "You said you trusted me. Are you willing to prove it?"

My mind was racing. Wasn't this exactly what I had told Claude I wanted? Despite my fear, I was aroused to fever pitch, my cock pressing painfully against my jeans. In a split second I made my decision and nodded, relaxing my body.

There was a click and the compartment was filled with dim red light. It was larger than it appeared from the outside, sufficient to hold the two of us and one other object. In the center of the metal floor stood what looked like a sawhorse, except that its sloping sides were built of solid wood, and the top was wide and padded. Two loops of some dark material were attached to the side I could see.

Slowly my captor relaxed his grip, but stayed close. I tried to look at him but a firm hand prevented me from turning my head.

"Keep your eyes front. Strip and mount the bench, face down."

As I pulled off my T-shirt, the hooded figure behind me bent down, untied my sneakers and pulled them off, tossing them across the floor of the truck. Next, my socks were removed. Caressing hands moved up my legs and across my crotch as Claude stood. He raked his fingers lightly across my bare stomach and chest, tickling my nipples. My breathing deepened at the pleasurable sensations and I leaned back against him, only to jump with a startled cry as he pinched one hard enough to hurt.

Quickly Claude unbuttoned the fly of my jeans and pushed them down my thighs. My hard cock sprang free as it was exposed. He pulled them completely off and pushed me forward with a hand on the back of my neck, compelling me to climb onto the strange bench. It was tall enough that my feet barely touched the floor when I was on top of it.

"Hold onto the front with your hands," came the whisper. I obeyed, and just as I realized what the loops on the sides were for, they were fastened around my wrists, pinioning me to the apparatus. Then my ankles were lifted off the floor and bound to the sides as well, forcing me into a crouching position with my knees bent and legs spread wide apart, as if I were riding a horse bareback.

There was a pause, as if Claude were examining his handiwork. Then, he moved toward the side wall. I looked up and saw a bag hanging from a hook. Claude extracted a hood similar to what he was wearing, then what looked like a small stick with a loose rope hanging from the end. He bent close to me and grabbed my hair, none too gently, as he whispered again in my ear.

"You've told me all about what you wanted, Rolf. You should have been more careful what you wished for." A soft chuckle. "We'll see if you're man enough to take it."

He raised the stick in front of my face. "My best rawhide quirt." He must have seen my eyes widen, for he added, "Time to put this on," and slipped the hood over my head. I realized there were no eyeholes, and began to struggle and shout. This was a mistake, as Claude slipped a thick cylindrical object between my open lips--a short dildo attached to the lower flap of the hood, making an effective gag when he pulled it tight and fastened it across the lower part of my face. Now my muffled protests were inaudible to anyone but my tormentor.

Claude let me struggle until I realized it was useless. I finally stopped and hung my head downward, my chest heaving.

"Let's begin."

I held myself absolutely still. The hood was partly blocking my hearing, and I strained for some clue as to what he was going to do. After a moment I felt the light touch of the quirt on my backside, moving slowly across my cheeks.

"Nice ass," Claude said. Suddenly I shrieked into the gag, my head snapping up, as the whip cracked against my butt.

"Like that?" Another crack, and another cry of pain.

He continued, keeping me off balance, lightly stroking my nipples, butt cheeks, or my cock and balls hanging down between my spread legs, for long moments, using either the quirt or his hands. Every time I began to give in to the pleasure, the sting of the rawhide on my back or ass jerked me back. Several times he aimed a series of strokes at the same spot on my butt as I screamed. Just when I could no longer bear the pain he would desist, stroking the very place he had assaulted as I whimpered into the gag, tears starting from my eyes.

Finally the rain of caresses and blows stopped. My ass was on fire. Harsh breaths whistled through my nose, spit was running out of my mouth around the gag, and my cheeks were wet with tears of pain. My cock strained against the back of the bench, harder than I could ever remember it being.

A moist, probing finger found my asshole and slipped in. It was withdrawn and I felt a larger, blunter object push against the opening. New fire seared my insides as Claude fucked me, drilling my hole with such force that I grasped the front of the bench with my hands for dear life, crying out every time he slammed against me.

I felt heat welling, then cum dribbling from my cock. His assault had forced an unwilling climax out of my body. Claude's thrusts increased to a frenzied pace and I sensed a low, animal growl rise from his throat. He bent down and gripped me around my chest with his arms, squeezing the breath out of me. I felt his hot breath on my neck. The scent of leather, mixed with sweat and a faint, incongruous hint of aftershave filled my nostrils.

We remained locked together in this position, conqueror and conquered. Occasional spasms shook Claude's body as he emptied the last of his load into me. The compartment was hot and stuffy, and I was dizzy from lack of oxygen. Just as I was about to faint, Claude rose and pulled out. I heard him moving toward the back of the truck. The light was snapped off, and the hatch rattled partway open, letting in a welcome blast of cool fresh air. Was it over?

To my horror, Claude jumped out and the hatch slammed shut, leaving me in blackness. I renewed my struggles to no avail. In front of me, I heard the cab door open and Claude climb in. A moment later it banged shut, the engine roared to life and we began to move.

After the longest ride of my life we slowed and came to a stop. The engine was shut off. A moment later the rear hatch slid open once more, and someone climbed into the cargo hold. I braced myself for new torments but couldn't keep from flinching as a hand fell on my bare shoulder. However, all my captor did was lean forward until his head was close by my right ear.

"I'm going to untie you now. We've traveled a bit, as you can tell. If you do exactly what I say, I'll take you back and release you, unharmed. Any trouble, and I'll throw you out and leave you here, just as you are. Got it?"

I had no idea how far we had come, not to mention where my clothes were. I nodded quickly.

"Good. Now hold still."

A strip of some material was placed around my neck. Claude drew it tight, fastening it in place. Then I heard rattling and felt cold metal on my back as he attached a chain to the collar. A moment later I grunted as my head was pulled up by a hard tug on the leash. Holding me in this position with one hand, he pulled at the restraints that held my wrists and ankles one by one. When my limbs were free I let my cramped arms and legs dangle, shaking them slightly. Other than that I kept still, remembering his threat.

"Up on your feet. We're going for a walk."

Motivated by another sharp pull on the chain, I slid backward off the bench to which I had been strapped, dropped to the floor of the van, and crawled backwards toward the opening, being careful to keep my head down. Moments later I was standing shakily on what felt like asphalt, still naked and hooded, the night air cool on my inflamed skin.

"Hands behind your back. I'm fastening your leash to the bumper, so don't try anything funny."

I obeyed, and my wrists were bound. I heard the rear hatch being slammed shut, then felt a tug as Claude grasped the chain again. Abruptly he began walking, causing me to stumble and almost fall as I struggled to keep up with him. My heart pounded as I was forced to march, completely dependent on my master for guidance. After a while Claude's hand on my chest stopped my progress. We were next to some structure, a building. I heard more rattling of metal, then a sound which I recognized as a key turning in a lock, followed by the groaning squeak of metal hinges. We were passing through what was obviously a heavy door. I heard it fall shut behind me. Where were we going?

Claude continued on, giving me no chance to collect myself. A minute later he said a single word: "Stairs." My feet touched cold metal and we began to ascend. My breathing became labored from our rapid pace. I stumbled again, and a strong arm caught me.

"Please," I said into the gag, my chest heaving. I felt a hand caress my cheek.

"Hang on. We're almost there."

Disoriented by this gesture of mercy, I struggled once more to my feet. Sure enough, a few more icy steps and we were on level ground again, on what seemed now to be a wooden floor. We stopped, and I heard Claude pull one more door open, easily this time. He pushed me through the opening. All I could tell about where we were was that it was a large, even cavernous space. Behind me, I heard him fasten the chain to the handle.

"Stay here and don't move."

Then he was gone. I stood, knees trembling, trying to get a grip on myself. I was exhausted, and freezing.

Suddenly I sensed light trickling underneath my hood. I realized that whatever space I was standing in had previously been dark, and was now brightly illuminated. I heard footsteps some distance away. They stopped, and there was dead silence. Just as I felt I could no longer stand the suspense, it was broken.

I heard music fill the air. Sweet music. Piano music.

After a moment I recognized it--"Clair de Lune."

What had been a welter of blurry thoughts snapped into focus. I was on a stage, and that had to be Cary playing. He and the mysterious Claude were in cahoots, playing some insane trick on me. Anger rose, and I began to struggle and twist against my bonds, trying to shout, succeeding only in making strangled noises into the gag.

The music broke off and footsteps came rapidly toward me. Strong arms caught hold of my writhing body. "Easy, easy," a familiar voice said. "I thought you liked Debussy."

I stopped struggling and held still, daring him to release me.

"I know you'd love to take a swing at me," Cary said, suppressed laughter in his voice. "Better take the hood and gag off first, don't you think?" he said, and I realized there must be a third person nearby.

A moment later the hood was unsnapped and lifted off my head, the gag pulled out of my mouth. I flinched at the blaze of unaccustomed light. After a few moments my eyes adjusted.

My jaw fell open. I stood stunned at the sight in front of me.

It was Cary, his blond hair tousled, looking hot in black leather vest, chaps, thong, and construction boots. In his hand he held the hood I'd been wearing. My eyes flashed over his shoulder to the grand piano, on top of which rested another hood-the one he had been wearing tonight until a few minutes ago.

I turned, and got another shock as I saw Kevin, dressed normally, standing by the stage of the large auditorium we were in. He was holding my clothes and shoes, smiling blandly, betraying nothing.