The Baron's Stable - Part 4

Jonathan's world was spinning around him. Was it the heat? Was it his exhaustion, his thirst?

The Baron pulled up on the rope and Jonathan was yanked uncomfortably upright, his wrists twisting up his back, his back arching, his pelvis pointing outwards. Pointing towards the man who was walking towards him.

The fighter.

Big, strong, hairy, sweaty, bloody, bruised, brutal... and intent.

Jonathan felt torn, uncertain of anything – his own mind, his own desires. Mick was a big ugly brute, rough and unpleasant. If Jonathan saw him in a club he would not even bother to look down his nose at the guy. He was way below the radar.

So why was his heart beating so fast? Why was his cock betraying him, twitching into life once again?

Mick was unbuttoning his leather trousers as he approached, his dark eyes slightly glazed as he stared down at Jonathan's upturned face. For the first time, Jonathan really looked at the man, really saw him. Around six foot, very broad upper body, rugged features, his bearing proudful, arrogant, but somehow balanced by qualities that Jonathan had not noticed before and could still not see clearly. There was more to him, hidden depths. How had he tracked him down in the park? How had he beaten the younger, fitter opponent when he should have been weakened by his labours?

Who was this man?

Mick reached him and brushed his hair, caressed his cheek. One dirty, rough finger stroked Jonathan's lower lip.

“I won you fair and square, kiddo. Twice!”

He took out his cock.

It was thick and sweaty and starting to stiffen in his hand. He pulled back the foreskin to reveal a fat purple head like some swollen fruit. A ripe fruit, it had a strong smell to it. Not pleasant. Not nice. But not repulsive either.

Jonathan gazed up into Mick's eyes and opened his mouth.

Mick brushed the fat purple cock head against Jonathan's dry lips. The moisture was like nectar. He was so thirsty his body didn't care what kind of moisture it was. The sweat and precum of an older man's cock brought his tongue to life, started his saliva flowing.

He kissed it, tasting its salty, bitter tang. He put out his tongue and licked the underside of the head, his lips caressing the bulge of it. He was still savouring the taste when Mick took hold of his head in both hands and pushed forward with his hips, driving the cock inside.

Jonathan gagged as his mouth was invaded and the fat cock head struck the back of his throat. His body convulsed but he could not move; the Baron was still holding him by the ropes and Mick had a vice-like grip on his skull as he slowly slid his fat meat in and out of Jonathan's mouth. His lips, moist now, rolled smoothly over the swelling knob of Mick's cock as it slipped between them.

Forcing himself to relax, Jonathan breathed in through his nose and began to work the meat with his mouth, timing the contractions of his mouth with the man's rhythm. He felt it gradually get bigger and harder between his lips and teeth, forcing his jaw open wider.

Mick was breathing heavily, as if he were still fighting. His meat became a hard spike, pushing deeper, demanding entry. Jonathan concentrated on relaxing and opened his throat to accommodate the intruder.

Fully engorged now, the man thrust in up to the hilt, impaling Jonathan's head on his rigid pole. Jonathan moaned at the sudden penetration, an involuntary reflex, and felt his throat vibrate against the invading hard flesh. He was totally trapped, totally filled and fixed in position, at the mercy of the man's stabbing organ.

He struggled to control his breathing, sucking in air through his nostrils as Mick plunged in and out, his head filling with the scent of the man's damp, sweaty crotch. Mick had hold of Jonathan's hair now, gripping handfuls as he pistoned his hips backwards and forwards, faster now. The man was not content to let Jonathan do the work, to show off his skills, to savour the feel of the silky soft lips and expert throat... No, he was impatient, hungry, bestial. He just wanted to fuck.

This big rough bastard probably hates me as much as he lusts after me, Jonathan thought. He probably thinks that just because I speak English correctly that I'm some poor little rich kid, born into the lap of privilege and high society. Well I don't care what you think of me, you thick piece of council estate scum, you don't know anything about me. To you I'm just a piece of meat to be used. See if I care, you ignorant big lunk. See if I give a fuck.

As these thoughts went through Jonathan's mind he was fully aware of the growing discomfort in his body and all the different sources it came from. The ropes biting into his skin. His arms pulled far up his back. The fat, hard cock pounding his throat like a battering ram.

And his own erection, ignored by everyone, so hard it was aching. He was sure if anything brushed against his swollen prick he would cum instantly. It would be like a trigger.

Mick cried out suddenly, his thrusts coming to an abrupt end as he rammed as deep as possible into Jonathan's throat and held position. Jonathan's nose was crushed against the man's crotch and public hair and he couldn't breathe. As Mick's hot, salty load flooded him, Jonathan began to suffocate and struggled. Mick was oblivious, lost in his ecstasy. Jonathan's throat spasmed around the twitching monster that was buried inside it, involuntarily coaxing more and more of the bitter juice from the man's body.

Just as he felt he was about to black out, Mick released him, letting go of his hair and stepping back, his still rigid, curved pole slipping out of Jonathan's mouth.

The Baron let go of the rope. Unsupported now, Jonathan fell to the side, coughing up the last remains of Mick's spunk, gasping for breath. He lay on his side on the grass, spluttering, his chest heaving as he gulped in air.

He was dimly aware of people moving around him, of the Baron crouching down and brushing sweaty hair out of his face, tenderly. Patting him on the ass and saying “Good boy. You did well.”

He couldn't speak. He wanted to ask for water; the man's hot salty jism had aggravated his thirst and his mouth felt like it was on fire. He couldn't focus his eyes, the sun was so bright it was as if someone had turned up its power a hundredfold. It roasted his skin. He was so weak.

The rope was untied. His limbs flopped on the grass. He was picked up, big arms cradling him, his head resting against a damp, hairy chest as he was carried into the blessed cool shade of the house.

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The Baron's Stable - Part 3

Mick and Terry moved out into the middle of the lawn. It wouldn't do to trample the Baron's well-tended flowers.

The gardeners had stopped their work to watch. Had he noticed, no doubt the Baron would have reprimanded them, but he was just as intent as they were on the spectacle. Mick was as amused by the situation as Terry was, but he remembered to stay focussed. The best man would win, and he intended to be the best man!

Mick had not had a good scrap in a long time, but he was sure his instincts would not desert him now. He knew Terry was a regular at the inner city wrestling club, and did a bit of kick boxing on the side, but had never seen him in action. This would be interesting.

The two men moved cautiously towards each other, arms slightly raised, both smiling. Mick found himself slightly distracted by the other guy's body. Well-developed, Terry looked like he was bursting with health and power. Mick suddenly felt the weight of the sun on his bare shoulders and the strain of the recent hunt. He had run for over an hour, then carried the boy back here, a good four miles at least. In contrast, Terry looked fresh as a fucking daisy.

He pushed all doubts from his mind. He had been through worse. Much worse, and had not given up. He chanced a quick glance to his right. Jonathan was on his knees, still bound, watching them and frowning, his lips pushed out ever so slightly. Those lips looked absolutely heavenly.

Terry darted in, taking advantage of Mick's moment of distraction, and aimed a low punch to the stomach. Mick saw the sudden movement out the corner of his eye and started to twist away from it, but only partly dodged the attack, and Terry's fist connected hard with his side.

It was a strong blow, but Mick hardly felt the pain, reacting instantly, lashing out with his left arm in a side strike to Terry's nose. Terry blocked it and brought up his knee towards Mick's solar plexus.

Mick cut down with his right arm, blocking it, and then swept his left leg round, tripping Terry. His opponent fell but rolled away on the grass, springing to his feet just out of reach like an acrobat, beaming.

Oh, very fucking pleased with yourself, aren't you, dojo boy? Mick jumped towards him, aiming another kick, low towards Terry's shins. Terry dodged it easily, disturbing Mick's balance, and delivered a very successful snap-punch to Mick's right temple.

Bastard! Mick spat inside his ringing head, but he was already ignoring the pain, seeing the follow-up about to be launched, and ready for it. He deflected Terry's second punch, grabbing his wrist and spinning, pulling Terry forward, adding to his own momentum, unbalancing him, and then twisting the other way, sending Terry in a short, sharp arc to the ground.

Mick fell onto Terry, who was already struggling to escape the hold, but with limited success. He wriggled out of the lock Mick had been planning but Mick had him, his weight smothering the younger guy. Terry flailed his arms as Mick tried to grab them, his elbow striking Mick in the mouth. Mick pushed his forearm forward, towards Terry's throat, and leaned into it to add his weight to the attack.

Terry's legs wriggled free and sprang up, clamping around Mick's waist and squeezing. Mick groaned at the gradually mounting pain, breathing getting more difficult with each passing second. Leaning back, he placed both hands against Terry's thighs and tried to prize them apart. But Terry held on grimly, his muscular legs as firm and tight as a vice. They were welded together, pelvis to pelvis.

Mick lifted up onto his knees, leaning back further, out of the reach of Terry's fists, and continued to push down and outwards against Terry's thighs. It was strength against strength now. And Mick felt his fading away like mist under the blazing hot sun.

Still his determination, his stubborn, bullish defiance burned within him. It was a deep part of his character, and it had shaped his life and saved his life many times over the years. Shutting everything else out of his mind, he maintained pressure on Terry's thighs, feeling his arms tremble with the effort, feeling fresh sweat break out all over his baking body.

It could only have been a few seconds, though it felt a lot longer, but eventually he felt the iron grip of Terry's legs begin to falter. Strength was a winner, but no-one could maintain that kind of power indefinitely. One of them would reach his breaking point soon. Very soon...

Terry groaned as Mick succeeded in pushing his legs a few inches wider, and then Mick was free, sliding out of the death grip sideways, grabbing for Terry's arms again. But Terry was already twisting, away from him. Mick fell onto him, fighting for control. Terry twisted the other way, but Mick's weight held him down. Mick's arm snaked forward and down, under Terry's neck and up again the other side. Mick grabbed his own wrist and squeezed.

Terry's head was trapped, Mick's huge meaty arm pressing into his throat. Terry tried to wriggle free but Mick piled on the pressure until he saw Terry's ears go bright pink.

After a few seconds Terry stopped struggling and tapped Mick's arm weakly.

“YES!” Mick released him, jumping to his feet, laughing joyously. The blazing sun was no longer a cruel tormentor, it lit up the world around him in glorious colour and sang like fire in his blood.

Baron Michael was clapping. “Bravo, Mick! Bravo.”

Still laughing, Mick reached down to help Terry up off the grass. The loser was too weak to stand, and sat with his arms hanging limp between his legs. Gasping and chuckling, he panted “You... have got... some fucking... stamina, mate!”

“That's me. Never give up.” He was breathless himself, but light-headed with the exhilaration of the fight. He could taste his own blood in his mouth and felt the dull ache of the blows he'd taken. His muscles ached and his chest hair was sticky with sweat. But he felt alive.

His bullish spirit had triumphed again. All his life it had been the same. He was a tough guy but no Superman. There were many things in the world that could hurt him. But nothing – nothing – was worse than giving up.

“Mick!”

He turned to the Baron, who was now standing behind the kneeling form of Jonathan, beaming. The boy was gaping at Mick with an expression that was hard to read but seemed to contain shock, horror, disbelief, confusion and... excitement?

The Baron had hold of the rope binding Jonathan's chest and arms and pulled it upwards, bringing Jonathan higher up onto his knees. The boy looked uncomfortable in his bonds, his body still marked with dirt and grass from his chase and capture, but that only made him look all the more desirable. His mouth – those full, beautiful lips – trembled. He gazed up at Mick as if looking at something that had never walked the earth before.

Mick turned towards them and took a deep breath. The Baron nodded and said “Congratulations. And now, as they say, to the victor – the spoils!”

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The Baron's Stable - Part 2

Despite his exhaustion, Jonathan was in no danger of dozing off on the big man's shoulder.

The sun burned onto his back as he was carried back to the manor. He could feel his hard-on pressing against the man's sweaty chest, rubbing up and down against the green khaki shirt with every step. Despite the man's obvious strength and firm grip on Jonathan's body, the boy couldn't dismiss the fear of being dropped. He had been picked up and carried before, but not with his arms and legs tied. He had never felt so vulnerable.

It was a long way back. The man must have been worn out from chasing him, but showed no sign of faltering; his progress was steady. After a few minutes he said to Jonathan “You're quite a sprinter. I bet you did well in the cross country at school. And you did well hiding in the bracken.”

God, how he detested the self-satisfied tone in the man's voice! He had seen this guard before, on night duty patrolling the Manor, but the man had not made much of an impression. Big and strong, yes, but no oil painting with his broken nose and zero-cropped scalp. Too old, anyway; at least forty, maybe more. Big hairy arms but obviously not a gym-goer; Jonathan's knees were resting against the man's belly. He wasn't going to win any beauty contests in a hurry. Not unless Neanderthals were alive and well somewhere and having pageants for Roughest-Looking Brute of the Year...

Despite all of that, his damned hard-on would NOT go down!

“Hey, don't sulk. You are allowed to talk to me, you know.” the guard said, slapping Jonathan's ass sharply.

Jonathan sighed. “How did you find me?”

“You disturbed the local wildlife. Most people wouldn't spot that. Unfortunately for you, I did.”

“I was lying still as death, not making a sound!”

“Animals have keener senses. Especially if you stink of soap, aftershave, shampoo and conditioner! You did good, though. Very determined. What was your prize for reaching the perimeter?”

Oh, rub it in, why don't you. “Sir promised me a bottle of Chablis.” Oh how wonderful that would be now! He could almost see the condensation on the chilled bottle, feel the deliciously cold nectar quenching his thirst beautifully. “That's a type of wine, by the way.”

The man spanked his ass again, harder this time, making Jonathan yelp. “Cheeky little bastard! I'm not some bonehead, you know!”

After what seemed like hours, they came to the Manor. Jonathan heard one of the other guards calling to his captor and the sound of boots running towards them.

“Mick, you lucky bastard, you got him! I don't fucking believe it!”

“Luck's got nothing to do with it, Bog Breath!”

They laughed and the second man followed them up to the South Wing. The guard called Mick put Jonathan down on the lawn and stretched his arms. A couple of boys were tending to the flowerbeds nearby, naked like Jonathan apart from gardening gloves. Mick barked at one of them “Oi, you! Go tell Baron Michael I've caught his little rabbit!”

The boy jumped, but clambered to his feet and nodded. “Y-Yes, Sir.” he said, and disappeared into the house. Nervous idiot; you don't have to call the guards “Sir”.

He felt his cheeks redden as the other boys stared at him in fascination. A few minutes later Baron Michael emerged from the house, a broad grin on his devilishly handsome face.

“Well done, Mick, good catch. And well done to poor Jonathan here, led my man a merry old chase, didn't you, boy?

Jonathan tried to look dignified. “Yes, Sir.”

The Baron looked down at him with a humorous smile. He looked even better from down at boot level. Tall and fit, good-looking, thirty-five but looked younger, with finely-chiselled features that captivated the hearts of boys and girls wherever he went. He was dressed casually but smartly, as always.

The Baron addressed himself to Mick. “Young Jonathan here disappointed me recently when his efforts to clean the Edwardian dining room didn't come up to scratch. And this was not his first failure! I told him what the penalty would be for letting me down, and he begged forgiveness. Being the magnanimous fool that I am, I gave him a chance to redeem himself. I even threw in a prize if he succeed in reaching the perimeter. Oh well, even in failure he can offer me some amusement at least.”

Jonathan wriggled over to the Baron. “Please, Sir, no!” He kissed the Baron's riding boots. “Not that!”

The Baron chuckled and beamed at a puzzled-looking Mick. “The price for failure is to service the guard who catches him.”

Mick whooped and clapped his hands in triumph. Jonathan's heart sank.

The Baron held up his hand. “Not so fast, Mick. Jonathan here isn't the only one to disappoint me recently. You have been late for your shift twice this week. That is not acceptable.”

“Oh. No, sorry, Sir.”

“Still, as I said, I am a magnanimous fool. I do like to give people the opportunity to make amends, but now it is you who must work to win your prize. And it will not be a full servicing.”

Mick frowned, not following. The Baron rubbed his chin, contemplating. Looking around, he saw the second guard (whom Mick had addressed as 'Bog Breath') and said “Terry, how would you like to sample young Jonathan's delicious mouth?”

Terry stepped forward eagerly. “Sir, yes please!” Jonathan saw him for the first time. Mid-twenties, good body, average face but very fit. Not as burly as Mick, but he definitely looked strong. His sleeveless khaki T-shirt showed off nicely toned arms. Mick's arms were thicker but less defined.

Jonathan's spirits lifted. He had also seen Terry around and this one he did like. Unlike the boys, the guards were not chosen for their beauty, only their brawn. Terry had a bit of both, though. Jonathan felt like kissing the Baron's shiny black boots again, this time with gratitude. He decided against it, though.

The Baron laughed. “I'm sure you would. But hold that thought. I think it's about time you and Mick proved to me how capable you are of performing your duties to my satisfaction. Let's see you fight. The winner gets to use the boy.”

The two guards chuckled and nodded to each other. The Baron laughed with them, crouching down to stroke Jonathan's hair. They both watched as the two guards unclipped their equipment belts and threw them aside and peeled off their T-shirts. Terry had a nice toned physique from regular use of the Baron's well-equipped gymnasium. Mick had a broad chest and big arms but a bit of a belly too, and was covered in hair. Together they looked like a Greek god and a gorilla.

Jonathan's mind was in a whirl. Mick was heavier, but was surely still tired from the chase. Terry looked much fitter and was probably stronger. Terry had to win. Didn't he? He had a glint in his eye, but so did Mick. The difference was, Terry looked more amused by the situation, whereas Mick had a steely determined look to him.

Mick stared down at Jonathan hungrily and grinned. The Baron laughed again. “All right, gentlemen, let's keep it short and sweet, I don't have all day. Just one submission. May the best man win!”

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The Baron's Stable - Part 1

It's so hot!

Mick tried to put it out of his mind. He had to stay focused, ignore the heat of the sun blazing down upon him, the sweat gluing his shirt to his back, the weight of his heavy boots as he pounded the earth...

Reaching the crest of the hill, he stopped and scanned the terrain. The land swept away from him, green and glowing with life. The Baron's estate was vast, big enough that you could run for miles through it and see no sign of civilisation anywhere. More than ample for the purposes of the Hunt. More than big enough for the quarry to hide in, to evade capture.

He leaned against a sycamore, relishing the shade it offered. Part of him ached to sit down and rest against the bark, take off his big heavy boots, unclip his belt with all the equipment hanging off it, peel off his sticky shirt and battered leather trousers, relax his aching muscles... But he could not give up. He had to make a good impression on his new employer, and that meant tracking down the runaway.

He stood still, forcing his breathing to return to normal, scanning the vista before him. There was no sign of movement. Rolling green hills, clusters of young saplings reaching up towards a cloudless, intense blue sky, a glade of vibrant bluebells... but it was like a photograph, alive but frozen. Nothing moved.

Mick judged the distance to the horizon. It could not be more than two miles, and he had a panoramic view. The quarry could not have travelled beyond his sight in the given time. He had to be here, hiding somewhere...

The kestrel dipped low, somewhere a little over half the distance between Mick and the far tree line of the forest. It was beginning a long, graceful descent, having spied some unsuspecting mouse or vole. It fell towards a wide patch of purple bracken.

And then it did a swift turn, pulling out of its nosedive, curving away through the summer air, back up into the blue.

Mick's military training kicked in. Something had spooked it.

Fixing his eyes on the bracken, he made his way down the crest and across the swathe of grass. Sweat dripped down his face but he fought the urge to blink. He was aware of the loud pounding of his boots on the ground but now was not the time for subtlety.

Sure enough, he was heard. When he was within forty feet of his target, the quarry leapt up from the undergrowth and began sprinting for the forest.

NO you don't, boy! Mick thought grimly. He ran faster, pushing himself towards his limit. The quarry sped out across the open ground, totally exposed now.

Exposed indeed. The naked boy stood out starkly against the green, his tanned back and buttocks glowing with sweat under the fierce June sunshine. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder at his pursuer, dark blond hair bouncing over eyes that were shining with fear.

Mick couldn't help smiling. The boy had cost himself a second or two of valuable time, and for no reason. He raced away across the grass but with every footfall, with every heartbeat, Mick started to close the distance.

The boy was fast, of course. All the Baron's boys were excellent physical specimens, and no more obviously so than when they were running. Mick admired the view as he closed in, close enough to hear the boy's laboured, desperate breathing.

He pulled the rope from his belt as he came within reach and flung it forward, looping over the boy's head, across his chest, trapping his arms as Mick pulled, tugging his quarry to him as they both stumbled, falling to the ground, the sun wheeling a burning arc across his reddened vision.

The boy cried out in pain and struggled violently, kicking and wriggling, but it did him no good. Mick pulled the two ends of the rope together behind the boy's back, pinning his upper arms to his sides, squeezing the breath and the fight out of him.

“I've GOT you!” Mick said, gasping. “Stop struggling!” But the boy was plucky and would not give up, twisting around even as Mick hooked a leg over the boy's waist, trapping the squirming body with his superior weight. 185lbs of mostly muscle was more than enough to hold down the lean young quarry, whose grunts of defiance soon became moans of frustration.

Mick secured the rope, tying a double knot. Giving in at last to exhaustion and his captor's greater strength and size, the boy lay quivering on his front, gasping for breath. Mick took out more rope and secured the boy's hands, hitching the second bond to the first. Only then did he allow himself to relax for a minute, his fist maintaining a firm grip on the rope as he took in lungfuls of the sweet summer air.

Very sweet. The boy's sweat filled his nostrils. It coated the young, leanly muscled back like oil. With his free hand Mick stroked the smooth skin, now slippery beneath his rough fingers. He caressed the glossy tanned shoulders and hips. He felt the boy stiffen as he stroked the firm, rounded buttocks. He felt something else stiffen as well. His own excitement was rising.

He flipped the boy over onto his back. Those bright eyes stared up at him, alert with fear and... something else. The boy was breathing raggedly, gasping, his stomach rippling, his chest straining. Mick's eyes moved across the captured form, down to the boy's crotch. His glistening body was covered in blades of grass, glued to him when Mick had pressed him into the earth. Springing free from a small golden thatch of public hair was the boy's small but raging hard prick.

Mick chuckled and saw a mixture of anger and embarrassment in the boy's eyes. Even with his tan, the pinkness in his cheeks was visible. Looking away, the boy said “All right, you've won. No need to gloat about it.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Mick said, still catching his breath. “I love the gloating.” He caressed the boy's thighs, his finger probing beneath the soft balls. “Though that's not the best part...”

The boy grunted as Mick's finger found the moist, tight opening and slipped inside. “Oh, I see it's been a while. Has the Baron got so many boys that he's forgotten about a beauty like you?”

The boy sighed with indignation, but Mick noticed that the hard-on did not falter. The humiliation in his face was all the hotter because of his attempts to hide it. As if he wasn't beautiful enough. His accent matched his features: cultured, educated, another curious middle-class twenty something who had come to the Baron's Stable seeking the kind of excitement that Daddy and Mummy couldn't buy him. Handsome as a prince, with the body of a gymnast.

“What's your name, boy?”

He looked up at Mick and swallowed. No defiance left in him now. “Jonathan.”

“Nice to meet you, Jonathan. Now let's get you back to the Manor where you belong.” Mick took out a third piece of rope and tied Jonathan's ankles together. Then he stood and lifted the boy, hoisting him over his shoulder. With one hand holding the boy's legs and the other resting on a smooth, firm buttock, he made his way back the way he had come.

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Advice for Novice Doms

I've been wandering around the net recently, looking at a few discussions and noticed there are quite a few people out there who are curious about being Dominant but don't know how to DO IT.

I've even seen threads from guys saying - Help! I've got a sub coming round to my place in ten minutes, what do I do? Give me some ideas about what to do with him!

I found it all quite puzzling. If you're Dominant then you have Dominant desires, ideas and fantasies, surely? If you haven't got a clue what you're going to do with a sub, won't you just be going through the motions?

Well, maybe, but maybe that's not an entirely terrible state to be in. A guy may be curious but inexperienced, and frankly terrified by the vast range of possibilities available to him. There is a certain amount of pressure on you as a Dom, and to a newbie this can be overwhelming.

Now in the Good Old Days of the Old Guard Leathermen (which never actually existed, but bear with me) there was no such thing as a novice Top. You started life as a sub or slave, taken on by a Master who would train you in all the ways and mysteries of BDSM. In the fullness of time, like an apprentice, you would acquire knowledge, experience and wisdom of your own, and evolve into a Master yourself, like a big butch leather butterfly emerging from a coccoon of chains, rope and shackles.

Let's not spoil it by asking awkward questions like - Well, who trained the FIRST ever Master, then? That would just be disrespectful.

So, yes, it's true. We all have to start somewhere. Every seasoned veteran Dom who exudes an air of mystique started life as a bumbling amateur, frozen with indecision when confronted by his first sub. Especially if that sub exuded an air of being very experienced.

Now there are still guys who will tell you that starting off as a sub is the best way to gain experience, and there is certainly plenty of logic in that assertion. Many good Doms have learned their craft that way. However, that is not the whole truth. You CAN become a good Dom without having to sub first, which is good news for people with no submissive tendencies!

OK, so you know you're Dominant and you've got your very first ever sub coming round expecting you to rock his world. And you're like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an articulated lorry on the M4 bearing down on you at 90mph. Paralysed.

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, MAN!

One: Relax.

Everything is going to be fine as long as you follow a few simple rules. Even if it doesn't go to plan, it's not the end of the world. Some scenes fail for no fault of either party; some people just don't click. In most cases, though, you can make it an enjoyable experience for both of you.

Two: Communicate.

Ideally, talk to the guy well in advance and find out as much as you can about him. These are the things you need to know:

{a} Does he have any health problems you need to know about?

This could be anything that might cause problems during a scene, especially if he is going to be tied up. Asthma, epilepsy, heart trouble... the list is endless, but don't be disheartened. He probably won't be up for kinky fun if he's in a really bad way, and he will know how any conditions he has affect him. It will be his responsibility to tell you what you need to know. It is best to get it out in the open and know what you need to know in advance, then proceed with appropriate caution.

{b} What is he into?

This is pretty basic. In fact, the only reason it's {b} not {a} is because {a} is potentially life or death. The more you know about what the sub likes and doesn't like, the better you can play the scene.

Generally, you need to know which things he likes that co-incide with the things that you like. A little more specifically:

{c} Is he a "play" sub or a "service" sub?

Meaning: Does he JUST get off on kinky sex, or is he into service-oriented submission? The former will just want you to do stuff to him, the latter will happily scrub your toilet. If he's a play sub and you hand him a bottle of Domestos he'll start thinking - Bleach fetish? I'm not ready for this, it's too advanced! If he's a service sub and you ignore his desire to please you by doing some housework you'll be passing up a golden opportunity.

Let me run it by you again. He wants to do some housework for you. What's not good about that??? You get your rocks off AND you get a sparkling khazi!

{d} Is he into humiliation?

If he is then you can push these buttons by making him say embarrassing things out loud (like "I'm a cheap cock-hungry whore, Sir." when you say "What are you?"). You can tell him to get on all fours in front of your chair and use him as a foot-rest.

If he's NOT into humiliation, this will be like cold water on the flames of his desire, so get it right!

{e} Is he into pain play?

Not all subs are masochists. Some enjoy a good spanking/beating, etc. because it gets the endorphins running. Others won't enjoy the pain itself, but they may derive satisfaction from the humiliation aspect of it, or simply from enduring it in order to please you. You don't need to know the in-depth psychological nitty-gritty of why they like it; a simple YES or NO will do for starters.

{f} What are his limits?

It is very important that you establish what he is definitely NOT into well in advance, and remember it, and stay away from it.

Subs have soft limits and hard limits; soft limits are the ones that can be pushed or 'expanded', but NOT on a first date. Maybe after a few sessions, when you have built trust.

Hard limits are the ultimate No-No; you don't EVER go there. He is a human being and you must respect that.

Three: Be prepared.

OK, now you are armed with knowledge, make sure you are ready for him.

{a} Know a bit of First Aid.

I'm not trying to scare you; it's very unlikely you'll end up giving the guy the kiss of life. But a little bit of basic knowledge is good to have (and not just as a kinkster, obviously!)

You don't need a medical degree, just be aware of a few facts before you start. Have a read through 'First Aid for SMers' on the SM Gays website.

(There is also a good rope-specific First Aid section on MENinROPE)

As soon as you tie up another human being you are taking on responsibility for his safety. If you are not prepared to do what it takes to earn that responsibility, throw your rope in the bin.

{b} Be clear-headed.

Back to that responsibility thing again. Are you feeling OK yourself? If you're feeling a bit groggy because you went out clubbing the night before and then went straight to work with only 20 minutes sleep on the bus, you're in no state to let someone place their safety in your hands.

A bit of Dutch courage might help you relax, but too much alcohol will obviously impair your judgement, your alertness and your reactions. Not good. Stay sober.

Like a bit of the old recreational drug use? Now is absolutely most definitely NOT the time for it. BDSM is NOT "chem-friendly". Choose one or the other, you cannot have both. Be a man, not a kid.

{c} Establish a safeword.

This is generally a good idea. The classic one is the traffic light system, "Amber." (It's getting a bit much, ease off a little) and "Red." (I'm not coping, stop NOW!)

Not everyone uses safewords, and in many cases you will probably find that the sub never feels the need to use it, but it's better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. And it's a better way to interupt the scene without having to terminate the whole thing.

Never forget that you have taken on a duty to PROTECT this person.

{d} Be equipped.

In terms of safety, you need to be able to release a sub from bondage quickly if needed. Have a pair of scissors within reasonable distance so you can cut through rope, tape, etc. if you have to. Ideally, you can get safety scissors / EMT sheers (the kind paramedics use to cut clothes off people without stabbing them) or a safety knife (similar principle, used to cut through stuck seat belts but also works well on rope).

{e} Provide a tidy, clean space.

It's going to be difficult for the sub to feel at ease if your place is a tip, so do your best to make it look good. The impression you should be aiming for is efficient. Make sure the space is not too hot or cold. Have a clean, comfortable bathroom for him to use before and after the session. Don't run out of soap, towels or toilet paper!

Four: Enjoy yourself.

Once you have got all the bases covered you can relax and enjoy the scene. Being prepared, physically and mentally, will definitely make you feel more confident, and therefore more at ease.

When he arrives ask him if he needs a drink. Give him a few minutes to settle so he can suss you out a bit, and go to the toilet if he needs to before you start. Some guys like a scenario where the sub arrives and goes straight into role, but I think it is best to ease into it to give both of you time to adjust mentally. If he is a very experienced sub and has decided he has got a good idea of what kind of guy you are before actually meeting you, that's fine. But if you feel that YOU need that bit of time to suss HIM out, don't be afraid of coming out of role - it's a small price to pay for your peace of mind, and will make things go smoother.

Play out your fantasies. If it is the first time then take it slow and watch the sub's reactions. His body language will tell you if he is enjoying the session (but remember that if he doesn't have an erection that doesn't necessarily mean he's not turned on, desire expresses itself in different ways).

Keep an eye on the time. If the fun goes on for a long time be mindful of safety issues - stress positions, rope restriction, dehydration, heat and cold, the condom getting worn out, things like that.

Five: Aftercare

At the end, give him time and space to 'come down'. Let him relax and gradually adjust back to reality. Be warm, friendly, affectionate. Have a little de-brief. Was it good for him? Get him a drink of water, or coffee.

It's not really hard to make a good first impression. The next time you'll find it easier, and soon you'll be a seasoned pro. You'll always be learning new stuff, but you won't feel like an apprentice, and you can toss away your L-plates.

RopeTop.com

Tough Love

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To Bum or not to Bum?

I remember a rather surreal conversation I had face to face once, at the home of a guy I met off Recon. As we sat watching TV, drinking coffee for the pre-coital getting-to-know-you bit, he put on a film in which one guy sticks a funnel up the other guy's arse then pisses into it, takes out the funnel, and then the first guy squirts the piss out of his arse into a third guy's mouth.

As I sat there with, in actual fact, not the merest hint of any arousal, my host said "It's interesting the way drugs have changed the way gay men have sex. Fisting and watersports and stuff is a lot more common these days."

Needless to say, that particular session didn't last very long!

Some people have funny ideas about what constitutes "sex". Some have very cosy assumptions. It's true that not all gay guys are into anal, and not always because they're so trashed they can't get it up. There can be many reasons, the simplest one being that they just don't like it. A huge number of gay men are not, despite the popular notion that homosexuality and anal penetration are the same thing.

There can also be other reasons - bad experiences, medical conditions, fear of disease, etc., all of them perfectly valid for the individual concerned. And very often such a person will find himself confronted with the perplexing attitude that there is something wrong with him for not wanting to do the back alley shuffle. The onus is on him to explain why he does NOT want it, rather than on those who like anal to explain why it should be taken for granted that it is the norm.

Everyone's individual choices about their sexual preferences should of course be respected... especially by gay people who really ought to know better than to be narrow-minded and/or judgemental on sexual matters!

That's not the end of the story, though. Negative attitudes and ideas about anal sex persist for plenty of spurious reasons. Something we hear often from people, particularly certain heterosexuals, is the objection that it is not clean. This shows up a very simplistic understanding of the human body: the rectum does not always contain faeces, just as the vagina does not always contain blood. Both these body fluids can be dangerous, and both can be avoided during sex.

Now and again someone will say "The arse wasn't designed to have things shoved up it!" which begs the question WHO designed it? If you believe in a Supreme Being, can you ask him why he designed the reproductive bits right next to the waste elimination bits? A woman's sexual parts are inbetween her pee hole and her poop chute. God - What were you thinking??? Did you have a hangover that day?!

Oral sex must be universally wrong by the same argument, as the mouth was designed for one thing, eating. Oh, sorry, two things, eating and speaking. Kissing? You're just being difficult now, aren't you!?

There are those who take a skewered view: taking it up the rear is unmanly, but giving it is OK. This attitude is particularly prevalent in socities where homosexuality is publically condemned, but privately popular. A macho man can fuck another guy and still hold onto his masculinity, especially if the passive partner is effeminate / camp / a cross-dresser. In reality, of course, the assumptions about rigid roles are just as baseless as those about sexual orientation. Many a butch bloke likes it up the backside, and the one giving it to him doesn't always have to be masculine. Or even male...

As if anal hadn't had enough bashing already, in the 1980s we had political correctness coming along to tell us that penetrative sex was inherently oppressive to women. And it wasn't only lesbian separatists that told us this, but some of their gay brothers-in-spirit-of-emulation, who decided that men fucking each other was also sort of oppressive as it was an echo of straight sex. All of it undermined terribly, of course, by the great fun had by less politically aware, more relaxed lesbians using various penetrative sex toys on each other, vaginally and anally, with great enthusiasm... SM dykes were the REAL black sheep of the sisterhood back in the day!

It's not everyone's cup of tea and I'm not saying it should be, but the choice for or against should be based on clear facts and not on myths or dodgy reasoning. It can be more than pleasure, it can be a very significant part of lovemaking. A New Age-type spiritual guy I once met told me that - from the right man - it can be very healing.

Sometimes among BDSM guys I get the impression that a good old bonk is considered unfashionable. Why stick your willy up someone's bum when your hand will do, or an ergonomically-designed latex prothesis costing a week's wages from Regulation (The Art Of Control)? OK, some guys genuinely do like ONLY the kinky stuff and not the vanilla, but I can't help feeling how well the two go together. My first tentative forays into bondage were all about the excitement of restraining a guy so I could shag him while he couldn't move, and although I also like the aesthetic side of rope as well these days, that initial thrill is still a big part of the attraction. The pain-pleasure mix of penetration isn't exactly a million miles away from SM. Indeed, there are vanilla folk who are convinced that bumlove IS a distinctly sadomasochistic activity. Yet all too often a cute or horny BDSM guy will take the attitude that fucking is far too ordinary to be of interest, which can be a real shame...

One truly tragic development in all this is that there IS one arena in which fucking is revered in all its glory - barebacking. I've seen some really hot BB porn, and it isn't the lack of rubber that I like, but the fact that the sex is real, not acted, and grittily authentic - sometimes the tops actually cum INSIDE the bottoms - just like in a REAL fuck! For porn this is nothing short of revolutionary. If only this energy was more prevalent elsewhere.

When kink takes itself too seriously, or becomes an obssession, and party drugs cripple the body's ability to respond in a normal sexual way, ye olde screw is often the first casualty.

I think we need to get back to basics. Guys, you look great in all the leather and rubber and waders and vaccuum-sealed body bags, but never forget your roots. You are queers. Do it up the bum, the way nature intended (God gave you a prostate for a REASON!), with pride, joy and gay abandon.

RopeTop.com