I seem to have come down either with a headcold or an especially nasty allergy attack. Either way, I've been flushing immense amounts of mucus out of my sinuses with my nasal irrigation squeeze bottle but still not feeling much better. So I considered canceling last night's appointment with Mike, but I didn't. I knew that I wasn't going to be called upon to do anything physically demanding, and I figured that given what I was going to be doing, the odds of my passing on to him any sort of rhinovirus were minimal. After all, it's not like he'd be shaking my hand at the end.
I've talked about Mike before, though I probably called him something else, like Mr. Demanding or asswipe or something similar. He has very particular desires, and the scene is almost always the same: he comes over, lets himself in, strips down to his jeans, puts on a blindfold, and tells me he's ready. Then I put wrist restraints on him, fasten them together, march him up the stairs, undress him the rest of the way, spank him a little, put him in a five-point restraint, and edge him for more than an hour, until he's been begging for release for at least twenty minutes. Then I finish the hand job, wipe him up, put him out in the hallway, close the door, and he takes off the blindfold, goes downstairs, dresses, and leaves.
It's generally a double-edged encounter. On the one hand, I like having him tied to the bed, and I like playing with his body. He's short, smooth, and very fit. On the other hand, he's not a true submissive because he's very specific about what he will and won't do, and he doesn't give a fig for my pleasure. Most true submissives, when asked what they want to do, will say, "Whatever you want." They don't really mean it, mostly, but they think they mean it, and many of them will go along with what you want, provided they get your load in the end.
Between my reluctance and Mike's douchebaggery, we generally go a long time (over a year) between encounters. Last night, for example, when we were nearing the end of Act I, he wondered aloud why he didn't end up tied to my bed more often, and when I said, "Because you're a dick," he laughed before trying to explain that he was not, in fact, a dick. And I guess he's not, except when he is, which is too often. Still, I was looking forward to having him come over last night, in part because he'd told me that he had a problem with one of his legs and would like a massage after having been tied up. My massage table's been in the basement for a couple of months now, and I thought I'd like getting it out and rubbing some muscles.
Mike's in his late forties, and every time I see him, his hair's grayer, but his body's better. Last night was no exception: when he announced his readiness and I opened the study door, he looked hot. His hair's almost entirely gray now, and it set off the black leather blindfold very nicely. I got him upstairs, but his leg was already bothering him, so after I dropped his jeans to the mid-thigh level and pushed him onto the bed, I could only spank him a few times before he was obviously in pain from his leg or hip. I took pity on him and pulled his jeans the rest of the way off, flipped him on his back, put on the ankle restraints, and tied him to the four corners of the bed.
Uncharacteristically -- maybe it was the hip pain -- he was only about 90% hard when I had him tied down, but I figured that adding the fifth point of the five-point restraint would take care of that. I had one end of a long rope anchored to one handle on a bureau drawer. When I looped it around his cock and tied the other end of the rope to the other handle, sproing! I closed the drawer just enough to pull his cock a little bit past upright. Since his cock normally points directly to his face, that was just enough to keep him on the edge of discomfort. I grabbed his cock once and bent it farther away from his body, and he writhed slightly but didn't speak.
I tend not to give Mike's cock too much attention in the first forty-five minutes to an hour. I ran my fingers very lightly over his waist, along his sides, over his nipples, and through his armpits to make him shiver. And then I ran two fingers down his leg and gently tickled his foot, which got a bigger reaction, but he still didn't say anything. Maybe it's that we've had a number of sessions now, but he was much less talkative last night than he usually is, and since he's at his most attractive when he keeps his mouth shut, that was a good thing.
I worked both sides of his body, which required climbing over the ropes that were running from his cock to the bureau, and then I leaned over him and fingered both his pits at the same time, and he murmured something about chills. I stood up to take a drink from my bottle of Pellegrino, and then I took the bottom of the bottle and pressed an edge against his nipples, his balls, his cock, and his armpits. I liked the way he shivered.
When I started to go down his left leg, he asked me to stop because of his hip pain, and since he had been doing his best, considering that he was tied up, to move off that side of his body, I knew that he had a problem, and I didn't want to exacerbate it. He's supposed to be running a marathon in Wyoming (I think it was Wyoming, but it may have been Montana: he's trying to run one in every state, and he's up to forty-four or so) this weekend.
I figured it was time to give his cock a little bit of attention, so I grabbed it firmly and squeezed it a few times, and then I took the little bead of precum on my finger and rubbed it into his nipples. Then I took my finger and rubbed it back and forth across his frenulum, and I saw his mouth open and his tongue quickly cross his lips. I switched hands and held my left index finger a quarter-inch or so from his cockhead, and with my right hand, I strummed quickly on one side of the rope holding his cock upright, making his cock jump against my finger.
I left his cock alone for a while and gave the rest of his body the feather light touch. He shivered more and then asked if I would remove the rope from his cock. I did, and he said, "I thought you'd say no." I didn't say anything, but I rolled my eyes, gave a disgruntled exhalation, and put the rope back. He said, "I didn't want you to say no, though." I think he probably had wanted me to say no, but he also wanted the rope off his cock so that it could swing the additional 90 degrees down to his stomach. But if you're going to be a putz, you're going to get punished, and when he asked me again to take the rope off, I just didn't say anything and kept fingering his armpit. He followed up with, "You've made your point, sir. Please take the rope off," but I wasn't having any of it. I figured I'd make him ask a few more times before I took it away. I'd have just left it there for the whole session, but it's more fun to play with his cock without it.
He'd been on the bed about an hour, and I knew I only had about another half hour before I'd have to untie him so that I could do the massage and he could leave on time, so I started to work on his cock in earnest. "In earnest," in this case, means squirting some lotion on my hand, giving his cock a squeeze, giving three full strokes, then letting go and either not touching him, or touching other parts of his body for the next thirty seconds to a minute. This treatment generates a variety of interesting facial expressions, followed by increasingly frequent pleas for me to let him cum. I was in a more relaxed mood than usual last night (maybe it was because he was mostly keeping quiet and not being a dick, or maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was that I'd jerked off before he came over), and it enabled me to pay closer attention to the reactions of his body. His moans and alternating smiles and grimaces were gratifying, but the degree of tightness in his nuts was more instructive as to how close he was. I also noticed -- after fifteen minutes of dedicated but intermittent stroking, when he was getting very close -- that when he got very excited, his abdominals, which were otherwise pleasantly flat, became ripped. It was really fascinating to watch the ab definition ebb and flow. When I told him that being close made his abs looked really good, he tensed them and asked, "If I do that, will you let me cum?" I had to laugh. I mean, I thought it was pretty funny, but even if I hadn't, I would have had to laugh, on principle. I held his cock tightly without stroking. I could feel his pulse, and I was amazed at how slow it was. That's the running, of course, and I sometimes felt the pace quicken, but he'd always return to a low pulse rate very quickly. I mentioned that to him, too. He seemed pleased.
I took some pictures of Mike last night
I kept him on the edge for as long as I could. In the past, I'd gotten bored sometime between the sixty- and ninety-minute mark, but last night, I could have easily kept him there over two hours. But we were running out of time, and his pleas were becoming more and more frequent and urgent. I had been alternating tight and loose grips, and the loose grip was especially effective. He had started praising my technique, and I knew that was a cheap ploy to get me to hasten the ejaculation, but there wasn't enough time to punish him properly for attempting to insult my intelligence, so I went to the end stage and kept stroking him even after he started to shudder and yelp. I squeezed his cock tightly in an effort to make his load shoot farther, but when the first shot flew out, it only traveled a few inches. I relaxed my grip and kept stroking, and the next shot flew about twice as far, then the third shot went up to his nipples. By his standards, that's an impressive load.
In the past, Mike's always warned me five or ten times before his ejaculation was imminent that his cockhead gets very sensitive, and he asks me to promise not to keep playing with it he cums. Last night, though, he didn't say that at all, so I took the opportunity to keep stroking after he shot, and he was bouncing up and down on the bed. His natural inclination to tough it out combined with the unavailability of either hand to push mine away bought me another fifteen seconds before he finally begged me to let go. I did, but then I went back for a few more high-impact squeezes. I thought he took them pretty well.
I untied him and told him that I had the table set up downstairs, whereupon he took off the blindfold, and we actually had a face-to-face conversation on the way to the table. I got him on the table and got the oil and worked him over, and it was a decent massage, but he kept attempting to make small talk, even though I'd put on my CD of the a cappella Byrd masses, which I thought would be enough to forestall conversation. It's weird enough to have a guy tied to your bed and then face down on your massage table without getting into a discussion of the sub-prime mortgage crisis. So shut the fuck up and enjoy that superb Kyrie.
Anyway, minor annoyances aside, I do like having my hands on a guy for hours at a time, and he said that his hip and leg were feeling somewhat better. I suggested that he might want to see a doctor, given that his pain was somewhat severe, but he said that he couldn't because the doctor would tell him to rest it, and he really wants to run that marathon on Saturday. I told him that he was probably right, and that if he wasn't, it would be a lot easier to restrain him if he was in a wheelchair.
I reckon I'll see him again, maybe next summer or so. It was a lot of fun, but that's largely because it's been so long. He was a good deal less dickish than in the past, but he was still arrogant. I continue to believe that his problem is his inability to accept his sexual desires and to separate them from the rest of his life. Attempting to compensate for your shame at enjoying submission by being a dick elsewhere is a) unnecessary because there's no shame in enjoying submission, and b) rude. Then again, maybe it's just a Napoleonic complex, but here again, compensating for your lack of height is a) unnecessary because short men are hot (or hott, even; besides, once a guy gets taller than 5'8 or so, it's hard to tie him effectively to my bed in a spread eagle position), and b) rude.
I think someone accidentally sold me a drama queen camera. I finally downloaded the pictures, and I don't think they're all that bad. Especially the first one; can you imagine a sharper image? Now I wish I'd taken more. (And I'm sorry I didn't get any of his feet, Lewis, but, frankly, his nail care wasn't everything it should have been.) Anyway, here they are.