I am wildly bouncing around the flat when Quinn comes home. "Guess what, guess what, guess what?" I laugh bouncing over to him and planting a kiss square on his lips.
"What?" He asks looking slightly bemused.
"Your friend Timothy from the hospital called," I reply.
"He did?" He asks. "Well, he's not so much a friend, more an acquaintance really. Why did he call?"
I grin. "He must think of you as a friend; leastways he's invited us to a party at his house this evening."
"Ah," Quinn says slowly and deliberately. I never knew you could put so much meaning into a one-syllable utterance.
"Well, aren't you excited?" I ask bewildered. "I mean, this is a party where we can, you know, go as ourselves, right?"
He forces a smile. "Oh yeah, it's a queer party alright," he says. "Not sure that we should go though. Let's have a nice evening in instead, shall we?"
"Quinn!" I whine. "You're always complaining that we never seem to get out of the house and now that we've actually been invited to a party you don't want to go? Have you gone totally mad?"
He shrugs. "I just don't think it's the kind of party you'd enjoy."
"I like parties," I pout. "Please Quinn, I want to go."
He's wavering, I can tell, so I turn up the pout factor a notch. That does the trick, well, sort of. "Look, I really don't think you'd like it," he sighs. "You'd probably start freaking out the minute we got there."
I am more than a little bewildered now. He's not usually this coy about anything and I haven't panicked much lately—well, not as much as I used to at any rate. "I was alright going to that club in Soho," I mumble making puppy-eyes at him.
Score one for Rob there! Puppy-eyes work every time and I'm absolutely shameless when it come to getting my way. Quinn's resolve is noticeably weakening before my eyes.
"Rob," he sighs, "that club was pretty vanilla as clubs go, and we never even made it to the back room."
"There was a back room?" I ask bewildered again. "Why? What's so different about the back room?"
He's trying not to laugh now, I can tell. That usually means that I've said something utterly naive or totally embarrassing, so I do the usual thing and start blushing furiously.
"There's always a back room in that kind of club Rob," Quinn says, gently brushing his hand across my face. "It's where people go to, uhm, get to know each other in the biblical sense."
"Oh," I say hoping like hell that my jaw isn't hanging wide open. "Did you..."
"Not since we started shagging, no," he smiles. "But I used to before, yeah."
"You'd just go and... with strangers?" OK, so I am naive sometimes, sue me.
He nods.
"And Tim's going to have a back room, is he?" The question slips out before I can stop myself.
Quinn winces. "Sort of, there's going to be a back room, and there's going to be people having sex in the back room, but there's also going to be..." I'm actually starting to feel a little sorry for him, he's looking so lost for words. "Oh alright, Tim's kind of into the scene," he finally sputters.
"What scene?" I ask still pouting.
"Remember when you cuffed me to the bed?" He asks.
"Yeah," I say quite weakly. My dick is taking an interest now.
"That scene, only more so," he says blushing a little. "A lot more so."
I swallow hard a few times. I step up closer, rub myself against him a little, making sure he can feel that part of me the term hard could be used to accurately describe just now, and say, "I think I want to broaden my horizons a little."
It's his turn to swallow. He looks at me for a few moments and then he shrugs. "If you insist. We'd better dress for the occasion though. Do you think you could borrow some of Nicky's leather?"
I nod, my throat quite dry now. Oh yeah, I'll go out and find myself a handy cow somewhere if I have to. Are there cows in central London? Alright Rob, time to calm down a little, I chide myself. Cows indeed. Right, best start raiding Nicky's wardrobe. He's quite a fascination with leather.
Quinn helps me pick out appropriate attire and by the end of it, it's fairly safe to assume that we're wearing more than just one cow between the two of us. He also raided my collection of punk clothing for appropriate shirts and various accessories and when he finally pulls me up to the mirror in the hallway, I've got to admit that we're only just this side of decent. Five years ago we would have given little old ladies heart attacks.
We make it to the party and I am almost disappointed when we enter the main room. So yeah, there's a noticeable absence of girls and there's quite a large number of men dressed pretty much as we are, but they're all sitting around sipping cocktails and making small-talk like you would at any other party. Some of the disappointment must be showing on my face, because Quinn nudges me slightly and asks, "want to have a look in the other room?"
I nod and he takes my hand and leads me into one of the back rooms. Or rather, just through the doorway of one of the back rooms, because once my eyes actually adjust to the dim lighting, I find my knees going weak. He pulls me out of the doorway and over to the side a bit and wraps his arms around my shoulders pulling me back until I'm leaning against him, while I try to wrap my mind around the scene in front of me.
Fair enough. He kind of told me what to expect, but it's still a shock when you see it with your own eyes, innit? There's a few couples in various states of undress making out in the corners. I can cope with that. There were blokes making out at the clubs we went to too. Alright, so they were more or less fully dressed—or what passes for fully dressed at the club—but still, I can cope with that, I think.
No, what's making my knees go kind of weak is the show taking place in the middle of the room. Tim—or whoever owns this place—went to rather a lot of trouble rigging up an interesting system of chains and pulleys and harnesses suspended from the ceiling it would seem, and the reason for that is quite apparent: there's a more or less naked and rather well-muscled bloke stood there, barefoot, with both his arms restrained by wide leather straps fastened to the chains hanging from the ceiling. The clincher—the real clincher that causes the weak-kneedness—is the other bloke though. The one that's fully dressed. The one that's brandishing a cat o'nine tails.
Using a cat o'nine tail.
Interesting that. Never knew they made such a loud noise.
Quinn is tightening his grip around my waist and shoulders when I twitch a little and starts nuzzling my neck. "Wanna go back out front?" He whispers.
I shake my head mutely, unable to say anything else for the moment. I can feel Quinn's erection pressing into the small of my back and I suppose that should worry me slightly. Only, it wouldn't exactly be fair to panic that he's getting hard when I'm quite hard myself, would it?
The cat o'nine tails snaps again and the bloke being whipped moans loudly. He twists around a bit too so he is in profile now. I am rather startled to discover he's sporting the mother of all boners. "He likes it!" I gasp and the realization translates into quite acute throbbing in my nether regions.
"Oh yeah, it's all consensual," Quinn chuckles. "He wouldn't do it if he didn't get off on it."
My throat gets even drier. My dick's acquired quite definite ideas about what it thinks of all of this. I'm kind of afraid of the question that's trying to force itself into my mind, but I can't stop myself. "Quinn, would you..."
His dick jumps against my back. "Do you want me to?" He asks quite huskily.
I nod, quite incapable of speech again.
He thinks about it for a moment. "Yes," he finally rasps. "But not the cat o'nine, not until you learn how to use one properly. You can use a riding crop or a paddle."
I almost come in my pants. "Now?"
"Once they're finished," he whispers. "Want me to strip?"
I come in my pants.
I'm shuddering and shaking and Quinn is holding on to me for dear life. Once I've calmed down a bit, he steps to the side and slowly starts undressing until he's stood there in his drawers. They've got a large wet patch forming on the front.
"All of it!" I grunt.
He raises an eyebrow but complies. Oh god. If I hadn't just come I'd be coming right now. As it is my dick is already starting to wake up again.
A few minutes later, the other two are finished and the big bloke is being released. I step up to the suspension system on somewhat shaky legs and pull Quinn along behind me. Thank god the bloke who was doing the whipping offers to help me, because I don't think I'd have been able to get Quinn tied up there, my hands are shaking too badly. We get him strapped into one of the harnesses suspended from the ceiling, with his arms tied to the chains above him. It's quite an intricate set-up really; the way his arms are tied leaves him essentially helpless and the harness provides both support, should his legs buckle beneath him, and restraint, because it allows very little room for movement.
Following Quinn's instructions—which are starting to sound a little strained by now, he's breathing so hard—I am handed a large leather paddle and I have to concentrate for a second, otherwise I'd come in my pants for the second time this evening.
"What's your safe word?" The big bloke asks. Safe word? Oh, right, safe word. I kind of vaguely know about those, not that I've ever been with anyone who needed one.
"No safe word," Quinn groans.
The big bloke straightens up a little bit. For a second he looks like he's going to salute or something. Guess Quinn's just risen several levels in his estimation. "You're sure about that mate?" He finally asks.
"Yeah," Quinn rasps. "Get on with it Rob."
So I do, hesitantly at first, aiming the paddle at his buttocks. It makes a rather satisfying whapping noise. Quinn moans and I'm quite pleased with myself. The big bloke grins at me and says, "you've never done this before, have you?"
I shake my head silently.
"Alright," he instructs. "You want to keep your wrist flexed. Make sure you strike with the flat side of the paddle at all times and you want to aim for the lower half of his arse so you hit the top of his thighs too. Try it again."
I do and this time Quinn yelps a bit. I'm quite shaken, thinking that maybe I hit him a little bit too hard, but he wiggles his arse, which makes my dick jump inside my pants. "Harder," he hisses.
So I let go. Start whopping him good and proper and even in the dim light I can see his arse is starting to turn red and he's moaning continuously now. The big bloke smiles appreciatively and says to Quinn, "he's a natural."
I almost blow again I'm so turned on. Not only from seeing Quinn's bright red arse wiggling and asking for more, but also from the sheer adrenaline rush I get knowing he's completely and utterly at my mercy. I let the paddle fly a few more times while desperately trying to undo my fly with my free hand. Quinn is yelping and moaning and trashing about as much as the harness will allow.
"Lube?" I rasp in the general direction of the big bloke. Then I turn back to Quinn, concentrating on never losing my rhythm with the paddle even as I speak to him. "Going to fuck you in a minute Quinn." Whap. "Going to fuck you while you're tied up like a Christmas goose." Whap. "You'll like that, won't you?" Whap.
"Yes," he hisses. "Please?"
The big bloke produces a tube of KY from somewhere and I squeeze a godawful amount all over my dick while landing one final blow with the paddle on Quinn's arse. That'll have to do. No time for niceties. I just step up behind him and pull his arse backwards a bit and then I'm pushing into him, trying hard to think about cricket to keep myself from coming instantly.
He shudders as I push forward so I'm balls-deep in him. His arse is pressing against my groin feeling much hotter than it usually does, I note somewhat detachedly. He must be stinging like hell. No time for niceties though, right? I just go for it. Start thrusting like the world's going to end in a few minutes and I had better get my share of hard fucking over and done with before then.
Quinn's moaning and whimpering and urging me on. Shouting "faster" and "harder" and "fuck me" and I totally lose it. Somewhere in there I'm vaguely aware of Quinn keening and his muscles tightening and spasming around my dick, but I just keep on going until my own dick twitches and jerks and it's all over.
When I finally calm down enough to actually take in what's going on around me, I can feel Quinn shaking and making small hitching noises and that's about the time I start to panic like I should have panicked the minute I realized that watching one bloke whip the crap out of another was turning me on so much. I'm shaking too now. "Quinn, are you alright?"
He just starts shaking harder. I look at big bloke rather pleadingly and he quickly starts untying Quinn's arms while I start work on getting him out of the harness. He comes down leaning heavily into me, still shaking. With the assistance of the big bloke I drag him over to a pile of cushions in the corner and sink down, Quinn coming down hard on top of me, still quivering and making those soft hitching noises.
I am at a complete loss as to what to do, so I just hold on to him and make little cooing noises, the kind you'd make for a baby or something, until he calms down somewhat. "I am so, so sorry," I whisper. "Shouldn't have done that. Don't want to hurt you, never wanted to hurt you. Never going to do that again."
He crawls up closer until he's curled up in my lap and presses his lips to my chest. "No," he mumbles. "Didn't hurt me; not in a bad way."
"I... Quinn, I... you are my...," I stammer, not quite sure what the hell is going on now.
"I know," he sighs, "wouldn't have let you otherwise. Wouldn't have wanted to do that if I didn't trust you completely; mind, body, and soul."
© KJB 2002-2003.