Xmas in Madrid Pt. 04

After weeks of waiting we finally got the call to go to the airport in the last week of December, though it was still earlier than I expected. We packed hurriedly as if our chance would dissipate should we be too slow. And the possibility was indeed all too real since there were rumors of increasingly strict travel bans being enacted. Cindy was absolutely frantic as we strode the empty streets to the airport. What did she know that I didn't?

Sitting nervously in plastic chairs in the empty terminal I reflected on my time with Cindy, Mathis, and Steve. It was a lifetime of experiences and sexually charged novelties. I felt like I'd done it all. I mean, I'd had sex with a number of guys, a pregnant girl, been in a gang bang, been dressed like a sissy. By all my imagination nothing was left to try.

We just needed to make it through the next few hours and we'd be home free. Meanwhile, Mathis was free of Cindy's control, yet we all continued to hang out. I would miss her, and them, on the other side.

I thought she'd been reading my mind as she passed me a note: "Mile high invitation. Meet me at noon." I smiled at her mischievously, but she motioned toward the stewardess at the check-in counter. The note was not from Cindy but instead from the hot hot employee in the sharp blue uniform. A woman like that had never indicated any interest in me, let alone come on to me so strongly - surely Cindy had arranged this. I wasn't going to complain, and it was probably somehow intended to smooth the way for our journey.

Looking out the large pane window decorated in garland and tiny sparkling holiday lights, I saw the plane taxi up. It was an Airbus A318: huge and opulent and decadent beyond what should be allowed. I chuckled, as if I knew enough to know what should or shouldn't be allowed.

The mysterious lady led me straight to the Stewards quarters while the rest of my band were seated off to the side somewhere. Just before leaving me Cindy explained that the plane belonged to the diplomats from the top floor of our hotel and she'd managed to find a way to get us on board. There had been no other way since all domestic flights had been cancelled only hours before. I assumed she gave her body up back at the hotel. Even pregnant she was still hot, hotter to me I suppose than to others.

I looked for a bathroom where the foxy, uniformed and long legged woman who called herself Minkova, and I, could consummate my initiation into the club. But she just approached me cat-like, right there among the rows of chairs that folded down from the wall. Any one of the other employees could enter at any moment.

Without a care in the world she placed her sensuous hands on my shoulders then kissed down my chest, her fingers trailing behind. Deftly she undid my belt and pants and began with no warm-up.

Gazing down at her blonde head with the green holly barrette in it, I wondered about the potential. Could this be the start of something special? Could I manage a long distance relationship in the age of pandemics?

It was a skillful yet perfunctory blowjob which brought me off too quickly and with little time to appreciate it. Then it was over and so was any illusion I had of love or even affection.

Standing, she left my spent member in lonely solitude, then patting my chest dismissively said, "That's so you...last. You deserve a chance."

She grabbed my hand and started leading me hurredly through the luxurious and spacious aisleway while I struggled to put myself away and zip up, stumbling as we went. We passed spacious living rooms, an elegant home theatre, and a mahogany lined yet ultra modern conference room.

There seemed to be as many stewardesses as passengers. And they were all equally hot. I guessed the wealthy flyers expected no less.

Apparently it wasn't all they expected, as I passed this one guy and his server, I overheard. "Is there anything else I can get you sir?" He glanced at the floor between his legs and she instantly and dutifully knelt there ready to serve without question. I was shocked less by her behavior than the over the top trappings of extreme wealth and power displayed all around.

Meanwhile I followed Minkova further back, receiving my instructions the whole way. Mr. Big expects you to be completely straight, innocent, and most of all unwilling. At no time are you to cooperate or worst of all want it. Understood? If you're a good actor all will go well...if not you may end up like the others." There was a cold chill to the warning in her voice.

She handed me a silver serving tray loaded with nutmeg scented drinks, saying, "Go in and wait with a proper servile attitude."

The back bedroom was larger than our whole hotel suite had been. Unlike the modern businessy feel of the forward section of the plane it was decidedly gothic. Red walls. Velvet curtains. Dim lights that looked like flaming torches - though that couldn't be true on a plane. Bulky furniture and an even bulkier four poster bed adorned the chamber as well.

My eyes adjusted to the low light whereupon I then observed rows of subdued naked human forms lining one wall. They were constrained in various positions with their cocks, balls and nipples tortuously bound or clamped, and their bodies contorted into tangled poses.

From a distance no one seemed to be in any immediate pain or otherwise anxious to escape. But clearly none could.

I walked down the row examining each helpless soul in the veritable museum of B & D while balancing my tray precariously.

The first one I came to was bound intricately tight with rounds and rounds of brilliant white rope, circling his limbs and torso, and digging into his contrasting muscular ebony flesh. The knots were a study in artistic complexity. Miles of rope held him standing in place, occasionally linked to the wall so he couldn't fall over. So much rope wound this way and around, that I could barely determine if he was naked or clothed beneath.

Next in line was a hulking weightlifter type constrained by chains, as if his great strength required metal rather than cotton. His oiled body glistened and he too was held up where the chains were connected to the wall. He looked into my eyes blankly, neither pleading for release nor communicating any great desire. I would have enjoyed him roughly forcing me to suck his plump cock, but his helplessness made him lose all sex appeal for me.

The third guy was duct taped and restrained by biting zip ties. The idea took hold that this place seemed more a display of various bondage techniques than a prison. The intent was clearly more about demonstrating the skillful application of the methods than in holding back the...actors?

Fourth was a thin wiry dude wrapped fittingly in barbed wire. A drop of blood escaped where one barb pierced his damaged skin, but upon closer inspection most of the barbs were rubber and caused no harm.

Further down the line a fully dressed and handsome athletic man was bound with a multitude of orange and black bungee cords. His clothing implied a pilot of some sort and I only hoped he wasn't the pilot who was supposed to be flying this plane. But no jumbo jet pilot would be wearing a flak suit like his. Just then the plane ascended sharply but in control, proving the point. But why was he allowed clothing while the others were shown so lewdly?

A nylon clad man was suspended in the air, swaying slightly with the plane's motion. Pinstripes ran down the back of his pantyhose which were rolled down to expose his ringed sex organs. He was tied tightly with additional nylons. In fact he was tied completely by various colored silk stockings, panties, or hose. Black ones bound his ankles. Red ones tied his wrists where they looped into a ring above his head. This of course caused his nyloned feet to hang limply and sexily. A green stocking gag was tied in his mouth with the ends hanging low. My eye was caught by writing, and looking closely I could see that all the nylons were autographed in black marker. I couldn't discern the reason but I recognized many of the names: Chuck Shumer, Bill Clinton, Pence, Romney, and even Putin among other unknown names. This room held far more bewildering import than I previously thought.

After him I spied a latex/plastic/rubber sex doll propped up in a chair made of black pipes. With closer inquiry I perceived that it was breathing. Then I saw a man's eyes inside the silicone female doll, darting from side to side: a living human literally made into a sex toy. He sat with his legs lifted high, ankles resting on the pipes. Cheap fake hair cascaded down his too firm breasts. Rubbery nipples waited to be pinched and below, a molded female pussy was positioned just a little too low to be anatomically correct. Any cock which fucked that doll's cunt would find ingress in his deceptive asshole instead. This was the first victim who seemed not so willing. Being in the air, there was no rescue now and the bizarre realities in the room confused me all the more.

Walking along I heard ragged breathing from a bent over body with vacuum cylinders on his nipples and cock. The suction pulled his nipples obscenely into the glass tubes while down below the suction caused his dick to be engorged to immense proportions. How big would his cock have been naturally? How were the men chosen for their particular torture? How heavy was the weight hanging pendulously from his agonized testicles?

My thoughts turned to myself. Was I owed some twisted fate too? Was there any hope for me if the author of this room was too wicked and powerful to resist?

In a packing-crate box, with only his ass and gonads protruding through a gaping hole, a pale man awaited whatever abuse was destined to be his. His dick fell flaccid and unaroused declaring that the sexual nature of this was solely for his captors benefit and not his.

Huge wooden beams formed an X shaped cross upon which hung a tanned and blindfolded rugged explorer. His arms and legs were bolted to the wood by metal bands. His body seemed healthy enough, even if his spirit was weakened. Multi-color gruesomely bruised balls hinted at the reason. As I walked slowly past he whispered hoarsely, "Hit me again, Sir." I guessed he wasn't so oppressed as I imagined. Did all these men have agency, or not? I shivered at the possibilities even as I comforted myself with the lie that they were all fully consensual participants.

Taking another few steps further into the den I spied a chubby man in a shiny black latex bodysuit. Metal rings were sewn into the outfit which then connected him to the hideous piece of art they were all a part of. Wires emerged in various places, running to a transformer nearby.

I crept forward conflicted at how I was appreciating the lithe tan body of an attractive girl with her hands tied seductively above her head. She reached desperately with her toes, barely making contact with the floor, to relieve the strain on her wrists. The manacles that held her were the only restraints, making her the least bound of everyone I'd seen so far. She didn't even have a gag like the others. The way she was stretched her large firm breasts jutted out while the flesh just below her ribcage was hallowed in.

I could see that she was uncomfortable, but yet she was smiling devilishly. Not sure I wanted to hear the answer I asked her, "Do you need anything? Do you want to escape?"

"Fuck no!" Was her vehement answer. "This is my greatest fantasy."

I was relieved to hear none of this was real, "So you're in no danger? You're all not hurt? It's like, all voluntary?"

She smiled wider and dashed my hopes, "Oh it's quite dangerous. And he hurts me, us, everyday." She jerked her head to point down the line, "They're not liking it so much though. But I'm not like them. If I'm lucky I'll end up like the Iron Maiden guy. It'll just take two buttons and a lever."

She perplexed me thoroughly. I was about to inquire further when her body pivoted slightly bringing her groin into view. I beheld a large cock and balls, the largest soft penis I'd ever seen. So perfect it would be a source of great pride for any man - except...

She was a man like the others. But that wasn't what set my mind reeling: clearly some surgery was in progress on her mutilated dick.

"Do you... Does it... I mean, is it being...added, or taken off?" Again I was afraid for the answer and not at all sure which would be worse. If added, who was the donor?

In reply she tilted her head back and laughed, causing me to almost drop the tray. The obvious adams apple gave me the answer.

The next was the opposite - a hunky stud of a man strapped to a reclining medical exam bench. I actually admired his muscled form until I got closer. Where his manhood should have been was a perfect pussy. Every detail was perfectly fem and glaringly natural-born. I looked back to his square jawline, wondering at the surgical talent that had sculpted it. I was afraid to linger for what I might learn, so I scooted past.

This next one was hung by multiple inch-long hooks piercing his flesh. I couldn't quite convince myself that it was merely an illusion? I also couldn't quite see any proof that it was real either.

Moving onward to my doom I inspected the next one closely. He was tied with leather thongs. He wore a ball gag and a matching butt plug. And really that was all. How did this one seem so normal? How did the ridiculousness of his condition seem normal at all?

Beyond was a sissy boi in a white nurses outfit with a contraption mechanically fucking his ass. The machine was equipped with a rather large dildo. With each thrust his diminutive floppy penis slapped his stomach, then flopped back. Did he like it too? It seemed too large for anyone to enjoy. Placing my hand on his chilly shoulder I looked into his gagged face imploring, "Do you like it?"

He merely shrugged his shoulders. Was he drugged? Were they all?

Then there was an Asian guy tied to a Bamboo grate with bright red strips of cloth. Some rod was inserted in his very erect dick. I saw about an inch of the rod and guessed that it went all the way. He was asleep or unconscious so I left him.

I dubbed the next as 'Sex Swing Couple'. They were forever fucking each other, bound in mid copulation, moving to the rhythm of an unseen pulley which pulled first on one then another rope. Their fate was clearly preferable to any of the previous. Nevertheless, they seemed bored by their perpetual act of sex. The 'she' in the couple was the first woman I saw, though I doubted my own eyes.

After them was an empty cylindrical cage. Was this to be mine? Had it belonged to an unfortunate who was now long dead? Based on nothing more than creative conjecture, I pictured his lifeless corpse being thrown from the plane mid ocean. To test my theory I pressed a nearby button causing the bottom of the cage to open. When I pressed the second button the floor slid away, revealing a closed hatch below. Not wanting to be sucked from the plane I avoided the lever in all seriousness.

Last, I beheld another attractive couple. Their familiarity intrigued me. I stared for a long time trying to figure out why they seemed like I must know them. Some long lost friends or high school acquaintances?

She knelt at his feet, her head tied to his waist so his cock was permanently impaled in her oral cavity. He wasn't talking either, especially not with the blue dildo strapped to his face. Their obscene pose made it that much harder to discern their identities. Then suddenly I knew: it was Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds. Who were the owners of this place that they even had control over famous celebrities?

Just then a voice pierced the thick air, "Beautiful aren't they?"

Bleary eyed I looked to the husky older man in a loose robe then back to the beautiful celebrities. He gestured to the whole lineup, "Do you like my collection of the broken?"

He approached me amiably, though I perceived his manner as more menacing. His hands reached for the tray as his robe fell open revealing a normal dad bod and more normal looking dick.

I proffered the tray, pushing it toward him, when he caught my foggy mind completely unaware. Swiftly he grabbed my wrists sending the tray clattering to the floor, and scattering broken glass and creamy liquid. I was off balance as he pulled me close. My clothed body fell against his hairy belly which was surprisingly taut. My face was pulled close to his, forcing me to look him right in the eyes. Steel cold irises looked back and I was aghast at the sight of his lips so close to mine. I watched them move in slow motion, "I like you boy." Then he planted them on mine, pressing them to me hard. The roughness sent a tingle through my body. I would have been turned on greatly if he had been compelling me to accept his now turgid member into me, but his insistent probing tongue invading my mouth disgusted me to no end.

My insulin deprived strength was no match to his. He held my wrists firmly so no amount of struggling would extricate me. His hard dick poked at my groin, searching, but not discovering my absent erection.

He leered at me, "Yes, I like the fight. Let's see how long you last."

Minkova's words came back to me, "that's so you...last" and I remembered her admonition to be servile.

I loved being submissive. Taking cocks up my ass or down my throat - the rougher the better. Slimy cum gave me a jolt of sexual energy. But a man's spit soaked tongue was inexplicably the biggest turnoff.

Planting my feet firmly on the floor I fought more until, jerking my arms, he threw me across the room. I staggered, trying to deprive him of the satisfaction, but I stumbled and fell into a pile of ornate pillows.

Rolling over I felt adrenaline-energized and manly like the assertive Mathis. I also felt resistant like my rebellious friend Cindy. I scrambled to my feet ready to throw punches.

The barrel chested master of this nefarious room was standing there naked, folding his robe casually. I appraised him reluctantly. Large as he was, he was lean and strong. He had a wrestler's body, soft but full of subterranean muscles. He was hairy all over and his nutsack was larger than my fist. How much testosterone would they pump out? If I hadn't feared for my life I could go for him sexually. To be dominated and tossed about the room would be fantastic foreplay under playful circumstances.

Not wanting to become part of his showcase I dived for a large shard but fell short. He stepped on my arms pinning me to the floor, "I am Kristo. Who are you?"

I considered his face. 'Kristo' I knew the name from somewhere. "Who are you?" He repeated.

I'd seen his face. In a picture or newspaper. I answered as defiantly as I could, "My name is James!"

Kristo kicked my side. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to hurt. "Silly boy. Who are you?"

I studied his face quizzically, "I'm American. A traveler. I'm type 1 and I like girls...sex with girls. Lots of girls." Though by this point in my life I'd had sex with more guys than girls. I wasn't even sure I had a preference. My newest crush was the pregnant Cindy. I continued elucidating who I was, "Pregnant girls. I have a fetish for sex with pregnant girls."

Kristo stepped off my arms and poured two glasses of Courvoisier. "Now that's interesting! Tell me more. Are you a cuckold? Do you want to be pregnant?"

I sat in a Queen Anne style chair, "Um, no. I just met this one pregnant girl and the more we had sex the more I liked the look."

He frowned, "That's boring. What do you like to do with her? Do you put your dicklette where the baby is? Or do you avoid it, doing anal?"

I liked her to sit on my face and smother me with her heavy belly and softer than normal pussy lips. But I would never admit my subservient side to him: "I take her however I want. Her pussy, her ass. Missionary or doggy, it doesn't matter."