The Telemachus Story Archive

A Weekend At Sam's
By Hooder

A Weekend at Sam’s

I’m excited. Dave tells me that Master Sam is having a party, and we’re invited. I’ve been with Dave for six months now, and he’s the first guy I’ve ever lived with. We met in a leather club and fell in love during our first session. When he met me he was a Master, and he saw me as a slave. I’d never done anything like that before, though I’ve always been turned on like crazy by leather and bondage, but I wanted to please him, and be what he wanted me to be. So that’s how I started – as his slave.

But that didn’t work out too well: I’m certainly sub, but I’m not really into the idea of slaves; all that ‘yes Sir, no Sir’ stuff strikes me as a bit phony, and I’m a hopeless actor. Our Master/slave thing lasted for a week before it fell apart in hysterics one session when he was tickling me on the floor and I punched him in the eye. I hadn’t meant to do it, it was just reflex; I just lost it, and fell out of the slave role completely. After we’d stopped laughing I licked his eye better, and then he said let’s go for a for a walk in the park. We sat on a large tree stump, and we talked. We talked for a long time. Since then I’ve just been Dave’s sub. It works much better: he likes it, and so do I. At least I get to sit on the furniture now.

But Sam is a different matter. I’ve never met the man but Dave’s known him for years, though he hasn’t seen him for a long time. Sam has an indecent amount of money, and is very much an ‘old-school’ Master by all accounts: things must be done formally, and properly. Dave’s been teaching me the protocols for the last few days, and I think I’ve just about got it.

Sam lives in Cheshire, which is a three-hour drive from here. Dave wants me to wear my one-piece bike suit, complete with boots and a leather cap, and chauffeur him there. I’m not sure a chauffeur is quite the thing in a slightly battered 2002 Ford Focus 5-door, but there you go.

Apparently Sam is intrigued by the fact that Dave has fallen for a boy who is not a slave, and he wants to meet me. Dave reckons that he has a secret agenda to convert me to slavery. He laughed when he told me. “Good luck with that,” I said.

The party is tomorrow night, and we’re leaving for Cheshire in the afternoon. As per Master Sam’s wishes, this weekend is going to be carefully staged: for a start, I’m not going to be allowed to know exactly where he lives, or in fact to see anything at all until tomorrow night after the party’s finished, everyone has gone, and I’m in the bedroom (or a cage, more likely). So I’ll drive to the outskirts of the town and then I’ll do the rest of the journey tied up in the back of the car. Sounds like fun. I’m looking forward to seeing Sam’s playroom – Dave reckons that he has at least one of everything the Fetters company has ever produced.

Dave sent him pictures of me and it seems that he was impressed. “Hmm… cute,” he said. Dave and Sam have talked, and Sam has promised that I will not be hurt in any way during the weekend. I’m not into pain at all. As for being fucked, I love the idea but until I met Dave I was a virgin in that respect. That’s something that Dave is working on, and I’m slowly getting there.

I’m to pack my leather shorts, mitts and cuffs, and the heavy hood. Like I said, I’m excited.

It’s a sunny July day and we’ve been on the motorway for three and a half hours already, and we’re not even there yet. Dave is a hopeless navigator; he insists on using maps – won’t have a GPS in the car – and we took a wrong exit a while ago. I keep telling him to get into the 21st century but he just laughs at me. Took us twenty minutes to get back onto the motorway. We stop at a services and I go in and buy cans of coke while His Lordship reclines his seat flat and relaxes. I get some odd looks from people, but I don’t give a toss.

“Now remember – don’t look Sam in the eye. Look at his boots. Always look at his boots.” He chuckles, “that’s when you’re able to see anything at all…”

“Hmph.” I pout, but I’m actually looking forward to the hooded part most of all. I’ve got a thing about hoods and not being able to see anything while other people can. Strange, I know, but then I’m a strange boy.

We pass a sign welcoming us to the town (though I can’t see a single building yet), and Dave looks at the map and stabs his finger onto a motorway junction. “Ok. Leave at the next exit. At the end of the exit road turn left onto a dual carriageway and there should be a car park on the left. Pull in there.”

The blue overhead sign appears and I drive us down the ramp. We turn left at the lights at the bottom, and I make amazed noises as there is indeed a car park on the left. Dave ignores the sarcasm. I slow down.

“Over there. Reverse in so the back’s by the hedge.”

I do as I am commanded.

“You need the toilet?” He asks me, glancing at a break in the hedge. I shake my head.

“Ok.” There’s nobody around so we get out, and I sit on the ledge at the back of the car while Dave laces and straps the hood onto me. He clicks the small padlock closed. The shiny black leather settles over my eyes like an old friend - or rather like an old, controlling, enemy. Then he guides me into the back, pulls the fingerless mitts over my hands and and hogties me with the cuffs. “You all right, Boy?” I smile. My name is Tom, but he’s always called me ‘Boy’. It feels like an actual name after all this time, and I like that.

I nod. I already have the beginnings of a hard on. I haven’t been allowed to cum for four days so I’m on a hair trigger, and the feeling of being tied up in leather and hooded is wonderfully horny.

Dave gives my cock a quick squeeze through the bike suit and closes the back door.

I feel the car rock as he gets into the drivers seat, then the engine starts and we set off. The CD player comes on – Pink Floyd. The windows are open and I can hear the air whooshing through the car.

We drive for maybe twenty minutes, half an hour – it’s easy to lose track of time when you’re hooded – then I hear the indicator go on. At last the car slows, turns, and gravel is crunching under the wheels. We come to a stop and a moment later Dave switches the engine off. The car ticks in the heat.

“I’m going to tell Master Sam we’ve arrived. Back soon. Don’t go away.”

Ha. Ye Olde Joke. Dave’s heavy boots make more crunching noises as he walks away. I lie there. Through the open windows I can hear birds singing, occasional cars going along the road a way off. Apart from that, silence. There is a wonderful smell of freshly-cut grass.

I’m wondering what’s going to happen. I’ve never done anything like this before so I have no idea what to expect. I hope I can manage to do the right things and not let Dave down.

I hear snuffling coming closer. It gets to the car door and stops. Then, booted feet approaching. The back door opens and Dave says, “Ok. Out you come.” He releases my ankle cuffs but leaves my wrists fastened behind my back. I’ve only been hogtied for half an hour or so but it’s good to be able to straighten up. Something jumps up and I feel paws on my thigh and the heat of the sun through my bike suit.

“Get down, Gonzo.” The paws leave, there’s a resigned snort, and the snuffling goes away.

He leads me forward. The gravel beneath our feet changes to concrete and then it’s suddenly cooler as we go up a step and into the house.

I can hear many people chatting somewhere in the house, but I’m led along some carpet and then Dave makes me go first as he guides me up a flight of stairs.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and leads me to the right and into a room. I hear the door close behind us.

“Ok. We’re here. Let’s get you stripped and showered.” He leaves the hood on, but takes off the wrist cuffs and mitts, helps me to unfasten the quick-release clips on my bike boots, then together we get my bike suit off. The air is cool on my skin after the warm leather. He guides me into a shower stall – the tiled floor is cold against my bare soles - and fiddles with the water, getting the temperature right, then he holds the shower head and sprays me all over from the neck down as I wash myself. The soap feels sexy as my hands slide over my skin and there’s a strong smell of lavender or something. I still have a hard-on and he chuckles as I soap it and he rinses it off.

The water stops and he hands me a towel.

I feel leather pressing against my hand and recognise the shorts. I put them on, check the press-studs on the outsides of them – all fastened except the bottom one each side, and then Dave helps me to fasten up my bike boots.

“Good. Now you have to stay here until Master Sam is ready for you.” He puts my hands into the leather mitts and cuffs them behind my back again. “Bend down.” Carefully he guides me through a small door and I realise I’m in a cell. I can feel steel bars against my arms and body when I move. “Lie down and relax. I’m going to have a drink and meet the others.”

I hear a padlock click on the cell door, and then the room door closes behind him as he leaves. I settle down on the foam pad – it’s covered in leather and feels cool, and horny.

The shorts feel light and unrestrictive after the bike suit. The suit is tight at the crotch and flattens any erection to my body, but the thin shorts are roomier and let my cock go where it wants. Right now it wants to go straight out, and this brings the end of my cock-head into contact with the inside of the leather, and that just makes everything worse. I realise I’m fucking them, and stop myself – Dave would be very disappointed in me indeed if I came now.

I love being hooded, but this is a heavy one and it’s making itself known more and more. I’ve often worn it for long periods of time, but for some reason it feels even more confining than usual; probably because right now it’s prevented me from knowing where I am.

I close my eyes and smile to myself. I feel good.

I must have dozed off because Dave is reaching through the bars and shaking me gently. “Boy. Wake up.”

I blink under the hood and come awake quickly. “Sorry. Must have dropped off.”

He chuckles. “Time to go downstairs.”

Going in front of me, Dave leads me down the stairs back to the ground floor, turns me sharp right at the bottom, then down another flight. The sounds of chatter get louder as we go into what feels like a large room. An underground living room. That’s different. There are appreciative murmurs as we appear. Dave’s hands guide me forward until we come to a stop somewhere in the middle. It’s warm, I can feel thick carpet beneath my booted feet, and I smell cigarette smoke mixed with leather and assorted after-shaves. There’s a gentle and very pleasant cool breeze – air conditioning, probably. Dave unfastens my wrist cuffs, then moves me to the right and backwards a step. My naked back comes into contact with something – a vertical wooden beam, it feels like. He lifts my arms up and attaches the cuffs to a restraint point above my head. My elbows are almost straight. He buckles the ankle cuffs around my boots, and joins them with a chain that goes around the back of the beam.

Then he straightens up. “Hi everyone. I’m Dave, and this is Tom, but he answers to ‘Boy’”, he says loudly, to the guests. Then he squeezes my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “Stand up straight. And enjoy yourself.” Another quick squeeze of his fingers and then he’s gone. I’m on my own. Suddenly it hits me that I’m in a roomful of guys I’m not going to be allowed to see - ever. I feel very helpless, very vulnerable, and very horny. My cock is fully hard and I know it’s pushing the front of the thin leather shorts out. This fact does not go unnoticed. There are quiet laughs and sounds of approval from all around me.

I wait, having no idea what to expect. Nothing happens for a while, and then I almost jump out of my skin as I feel fingers grip my cock through the shorts. The touch only lasts a second, but it gives an involuntary jerk. I must be careful – I know that I could cum very easily at the moment.

The fingers are gone, and I wait, my entire body tingling with anticipation. Where will I be touched next? When? Who by?

My knees are about a foot apart. Suddenly I feel leather between them. A leg. Leather jeans – cool and sexy. It pushes between my thighs and carries on towards me. More of his body comes into contact with me – I feel his other leg touch the outside of mine, and a leather jacket brush against my chest; for a moment the end of the zip digs in before it folds down with a clink. I can see absolutely nothing, but by just the touch I think I recognise that diamond-stitched padding you get on bike jeans. A biker? I hope so. The knee is pressing hard against my cock now. It pushes more and only stops when it’s crushing my cock against my thigh. I can feel the buckles of a motorcycle boot sliding against my calf. The guy raises his arms and leather-gloved fingers take hold of my nipples. They squeeze. I’m hoping he doesn’t go too far - I like the feeling of my tits being played with, but not the pain of harder work on them. But he stops, and just holds them in his leather fingers. I exhale in pleasure. God I’m horny. The guy kisses me through the hood and then leaves. He tasted nice.

There seems to be a queue of guys waiting to play with me. One’s into boots – he must be kneeling down in front of me because he strokes them and licks them, kisses them. While he’s doing that another strokes my skin incredibly lightly. I giggle – I am excruciatingly ticklish, as Dave knows to his cost – and his fingers are getting very slowly closer and closer to my armpits. Because of the position of my arms I know I can’t protect them, and the thought of what that’s going to feel like makes me writhe. The fingers do get there, but instead of the all-out attack I was dreading, he just strokes them very slowly and lightly. It tickles like fuck and I can’t keep still – or quiet – but it actually feels dead horny.

A third guy joins the action. The first one is still enjoying my bike boots, and while my body is flexing and struggling from the tickling, I feel more fingers, on my cock again. I think he’s keeping his hand still, but with my involuntary movements my cock keeps on stroking his hand through the shorts. The tickling guy stops, and I stop struggling. The one whose hand was at my cock now starts teasing my inner thighs. His hands move upwards and when his fingers slip under the legs of my leather shorts I nearly cum. The feeling is intensely invasive. I’ve been very acutely aware of my vulnerability, and up to now those shorts have been just about the only protection I’ve had, but now they are not only no protection at all, it feels like they’ve made the area underneath them even more sensitive than usual.

Thankfully he only teases the bottom of my balls for a moment, and then the hand is gone. The guy who was working on my boots seems to have left now as well. I’m not being touched.

If anything, this is even worse than when I am being played with. I don’t know when the next touch will come, or where. My body keeps jerking now and then, as if phantom fingers are touching me.

Suddenly my right nipple is grabbed – and these fingers squeeze it hard! I can’t stop myself from grunting both from the unexpectedness and from the pain. They twist it and then there’s a mouth on the left one, sucking hard and the teeth biting. I shake my head and cry out in pain and, thank God, he stops.

I’m getting my breath back from that when I hear a glass being hit, as with a spoon. “Everyone. Your attention please. A toast to Master Sam.” The voice is posh, and a mental picture of a middle-aged man in a business suit and a bowler hat comes into my mind. Very unlikely at this party, I think. The voice continues. “Twenty years ago Master Sam arrived in this country with nothing more than a passport and two HGVs full of black leather.” There was laughter.

I listen as the guy gives a brief history of Sam’s life in England: of the hundreds of boys he’s given pleasure to, mentored, and abused wickedly; of the successful business he built up from scratch, dealing in ‘commodities’ - whatever they are - from his home office here in this house; and of the Leather Foundation he set up with some of the proceeds from that.

“So raise your glasses please: Master Sam – America’s loss and our gain.”

A chorus of “Master Sam” resounds, there is a pause while everyone takes a swig. I realise that I’m getting a bit thirsty myself.

Master Sam replies. He has a slow southern drawl, and a deep voice. My mental picture of him is a large man, and bald. And for some reason, a cowboy hat. He thanks everyone, and then starts telling stories of his exploits with assorted boys. He has a dry sense of humour.

Five minutes into this I jump as fingers begin to stroke over my body. Whoever it is, he’s standing behind me and quietly reaching around the wooden beam. His touch is light and gentle, and very erotic indeed. My cock stiffens quickly. I feel the sleeve of a leather jacket brush briefly against my bare arm. The hands make their way gradually down my body and onto my shorts. One hand carefully gathers the leather around my cock and holds it there at the base. The fingers of the other hand enclose the head and begin to stroke it very, very slowly. For a moment I suspect this is Dave – he knows very well that working on the head like that is guaranteed to make me lose it very quickly – but I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s Dave’s touch. I don’t know. A voice whispers close into my ear. “Don’t cum, Boy. Don’t cum…” I know then it’s not Dave.

Cumming now is the very last thing I want to do – but I’m helpless to get away from the fingers. As discreetly as possible so as not to interrupt Sam’s speech I shove my hips from one side to the other to try to dislodge his hands, but there is nothing I can do to get away from them. The fingers continue to stroke the head very slowly. If anything this is worse than if they were wanking me fast – in that case I would have no defence against it at all: I would cum and that would be an end to it - it wouldn’t really be my fault. But he’s not wanking me. He’s teasing me. He’s giving me time, making me try to fight against the growing urge to cum. I feel that if I can’t, then it will be my fault. Again, it would be bad enough if he were working on my naked cock, but the feel of his fingers sliding over the thin black leather of my shorts is deliciously – and irresistibly - kinky. And I’m fucking sure he knows it.

“Please,” I whisper to him urgently, “please don’t make me cum.”

There is a quiet chuckle. “So don’t cum. Stop yourself,” he whispers into my ear.

I continue to struggle, screwing up my eyes in concentration. I try to think about unsexy things. It doesn’t work. I’m getting closer and closer. The urge to cum is becoming a compulsion. I can’t fight it.

Then his fingers are gone. I hold my breath. I’m right on the edge, and I know that at any moment I’ll feel the first contraction that will start everything and shoot my spunk out into the shorts. I’m still holding my breath, fighting to stop the orgasm - and I manage to do it! The feelings gradually recede and after a few moments I feel my muscles begin to relax. I sigh in relief. Fuck me, that was close.

There are cheers and a round of applause. At first I think it’s for me, for managing to stop myself from cumming, but then I realise it’s for Master Sam, who has just finished speaking.

I wait. I’ve had the leather hood on for hours now and it’s heavy on my head. I’m thinking about this when I get a strong whiff of leather and a finger touches me in the middle of my chest. “So you’re Tom.” It’s Sam. I can tell by the voice. “Boy.”

I nod my head. “Yes Sir. Thank you for inviting me to your house, Sir.”

The finger trails down my stomach and the fingers come to rest just holding my hard cock through the shorts. “I look forward to seeing your face soon – though you won’t be seeing mine for a while.”

“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.”

The fingers give a short squeeze. He moves away to my right, and begins talking to someone else.

A few seconds later a hand lands on my shoulder. “How are you doing, Boy?”

It’s Dave. I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m fine thanks.”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Oooh yes.” This is an understatement.

“Good. Sam wants to see your face, so we have to make some changes.” He releases me from the restraints and I slowly lower my arms. He cuffs them behind me and leads me back up the two flights of stairs but then left at the top instead of right, into a different room to the one we were in before. This one sounds small, and smells of rubber. “There’s a chair behind you. Sit down.” I sit. It feels like a dentist or a barber chair – there’s a headrest and hard leather arms. I hear Dave moving about for a minute, then the chair reclines with a whirr. I let it take me back, adjusting myself so that the wrists cuffs don’t dig into my back, and then he unfastens the padlock behind my head. “Close your eyes. When I take the hood off, the light will be very bright. You ready?”

I nod. “Yep.”

The hood comes off, and when I open my eyes in a squint it’s still blindingly bright: all I can see is a blank, white wall behind Dave, and his silhouette against it. There’s a small table by his side, and what looks like an operating theatre light behind him. At least he’s keeping me in his shadow, so it’s not as bad as it would be otherwise. He hands me a towel and I wipe the sweat from my face, then run it over my hair. I give it back to him.

“Now, I’m going to put contact lenses in your eyes. So keep as still as you can.”

“Contact lenses?” I’ve never worn contacts before. I frown questioningly at him.

“You’ll see.” Although his face is in shadow, I can tell by his voice that he’s smiling. “Now keep your eyes open.” He takes the first one from the small table and very carefully puts it onto his fingertip. As far as I can see it’s completely clear except for a small black dot in the centre. He holds my eyelid open and places it in position. I gasp – it’s opaque. Not a single ray of light comes through it. He does the other one and I can’t see a thing.


I laugh. This is fiendishly cunning. People will be able to see my face perfectly, I realise, but I won’t be able to see them. My cock starts to get hard again. I love it.

“The lens is clear except for the middle. That’s black, and goes right over the opening in your iris – the bit you see through. So you can’t see anything.” He leans closer and I guess he’s looking carefully at me. “You look just the same as usual. It’s amazing. You can’t see anything?”

“Not a fucking thing.”

“Excellent. Right. Let’s go meet Master Sam.”

He stands me up. “We’re going to have to get some of those, I think,” he chuckles as he leads me out of the room. It’s a weird feeling: when I’m wearing a hood or a blindfold, the weight and the tightness of it, along with the leather pressing over my eyes, makes not being able to see anything natural somehow – but this is very different. I’m conscious of the presence of the contact lenses, although even that feeling is quickly getting less – but there is no hood over my head, no pressure on my eyes, nothing. They are wide open and I should be able to see, but I’m totally blindfolded. For some reason this is turning me on like fuck.

He leads me carefully down the stairs to the ground floor, but past the level where the party’s going on, and slowly down yet another flight. It seems that this is a very vertical house, and that much of it is below ground level. At the bottom we enter a room with different, deader acoustics to the others, and it smells faintly of vanilla. I’m stood in position and Dave tells me to kneel. My mitted hands are still cuffed behind me. The carpet is warm and thick under my knees.

Booted feet touch the outsides of my thighs. “Hmm. That boy is more cute even than he looks in the photos.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“So, Boy. Welcome to my home.”

I lower my head, aiming my sightless gaze to where I think his boots would be if they were in front of me. “Thank you, Sir.”

A hand tousles my hair. “Blond. I like it. You’ve done well here, David. Is he rewarding?”

“He’s very rewarding.”

“Good.” I know he’s looking directly at me. I hear his chair creak as he leans back in it. “So, Boy,” he says again, “Are you in love with David?”

“Yes Sir,” I reply. “Very much, Sir.”

“And do you treat him well?”

“I try as hard as I can to do that, Sir.”

“Good.” There is a pause. Then he asks: “Tell me: what does bondage mean to you?”

My mind goes blank. He’s obviously expecting some deep philosophical answer, but I can’t think of anything. The silence stretches and I must fill it. “I – I just love being tied up, Sir.”

“Hmm,” he says. I can tell he is not impressed by this. “Well, he’s honest, at least.” Leather creaks as he moves in the chair. “And you say he is not slave material?”

“Doesn’t seem so, Sam. But the relationship we have is every bit as good, I think. And who knows where it may go in the future?”

“Hmm.” Pause. “You’re very brave, Dave.”

I have to fight to stop myself from smiling at the long, deep, drawn-out syllables of that.

He leans forward again, and there is a hand at the back of my head. “Come here.” He pulls my head until my mouth comes into contact with his crotch. I feel leather jeans touching my lips. “Lick”. I lick. The taste of the soft leather is beautiful. The smell of leather is very strong, with an overtone of polish. I lick the growing bulge.

Sam pushes my head back a little and I hear the zip being lowered. A moment later my lips are guided onto a rapidly hardening cock. “Suck.”

I work on the cock carefully, bathing it with my tongue and sucking it gently. I tease the head for a few seconds and then smoothly go down on the the entire length, hold it there for a moment, and pull back up. I repeat this many times.

“Boy has a talented mouth. I’m deeply envious, David.”

Dave chuckles. “Thank you.”

I continue to work on Sam’s cock while he and Dave sip drinks and talk about what they’ve been doing lately. Eventually the conversation returns to me: how Dave met me, what he’s done with me, details of what turns me on and what I’m not into, what I do for Dave. They talk about me as if I weren’t there. All of this casual chat about very intimate details – especially my weaknesses - should be embarrassing, but for some reason it’s not; it’s very horny. I can’t feel the contact lenses any more at all, and the feeling of not being able to see is turning me on like crazy. I try moving my eyes, to find out if I can shift the lenses and see anything past them, but whichever direction I look, and no matter how fast I move my eyeballs, the damned lenses move as well. I can’t see anything however hard I try. My cock is stiff in my leather shorts and I want to cum.

“So, I think it’s time I saw all of him, David.”

Dave stands me up, removes my bike boots, and unsnaps the press-studs on the outsides of my shorts. He pulls them from between my legs and I am naked.

For a while nothing is said, and I can imagine Sam looking me up and down with a critical eye. I feel like a horse at a market and I half-expect him to pull my lip up and inspect my teeth.

“A good body, and a very nice cock. You’ve always preferred cut subs, I seem to recall, though this one isn’t.”

“That’s right. To be honest, I was a bit disappointed at first, but this boy’s cock head is so sensitive at the tip you wouldn’t believe. I can make him cum just by tickling a single fingertip over it. It’s a very effective way to control him.”

Really? That’s unusual. And I can see that would be very useful.” A finger touches the head of my cock. It stokes gently around the tip, and my cock jerks in response. I manage to stop most of the hip thrust, but I’m quite sure it was noticed. Much more of that and I know I will lose it.

“Be careful, Sam – it’s very easy indeed to make him cum like that, and he’s helpless to stop it.”

The finger slows, and then is removed. “Fascinating. Fascinating. I will remember that.”

Dave makes me kneel again and I resume slowly working on Sam’s cock while they continue to chat.

Eventually Sam says, “We should rejoin the others before long. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see Boy again. But first…”

I hear Sam move, and then a pair of headphones or ear defenders are put over my head. They’re headphones – heavy ones – and a second later loud rock music is playing in my ears.

I assume Master Sam wants to talk to Dave without my being able to hear what he’s saying. I have to admire the way he’s arranged this so easily. Bastard. In my present state I find even this horny.

After a while the music stops and the headphones come off. Sam stands up. “I’m going up to talk to the guests, explain about Boy, so give me five minutes and then bring him up, please.”


I hear Sam’s booted feet on the stairs. When he’s gone Dave leans close to me. “How are your eyes?”

“They’re perfectly fine. This is fiendish.”

He chuckles. “I thought you might like it.”

Five minutes go by and then we move up one floor, back to the party room. This time we go further into the room than on my previous visit. I’m stood on the carpet, my feet are pushed further apart, and once again I’m left alone.

I hear comments. “Oh wow!”, “He’s beautiful!”, “Gorgeous cock!” “Mmm... a blue-eyed blond.” “Fuck, he’s cute!” Etc. I know my face is reddening and I wish I had the hood on again to hide it. I feel guys coming close. “You’d never know,” one guys says. “Looks like he can see perfectly well – but Sam says he can’t.”

“That’s so weird,” says another. “I’ve heard of these but I’ve never seen them used.”

“Are you sure he can’t see anything?”

“Yep. Those contacts blind you completely. He has no idea where he is or who we are.”

“His eyes look beautiful.”

“That’s because the opaque black bits are slightly bigger than the pupil. Makes them look like they’re dilated.”


This continues for a few minutes and then stops. I feel someone approach, and I hear his leathers creak as he kneels down at the side of me. Then I gasp as he takes just my cock head between a finger and thumb. He doesn’t do anything else for a while, just holds it there. And then he starts to tease just a single fingertip over the very tip of it very lightly. I throw back my head in intense pleasure – that sort of thing will make me cum very quickly. But he must know this, because he stops. I wait, and after ten seconds or so he repeats it. By the time he stops again I’m already far too close to cumming. I grit my teeth and will myself not to get any closer. The guy must see how close I am as he gives a final, tiny stroke right across the piss-slit – which makes me thrust my hips again - then he gets up and I’m on my own once more.

More comments. “Good grief, Sam was right. I’ve never seen that before.”

“I wish my slave Greg was as easy to control as that!”

Over the next few minutes guys come up to me and most of them tease my cock head. Clearly everyone knows every fucking thing about me – including, it seems, about how easily I cum when the tip of my cock is being worked on, because they all get me close and then stop. I need to cum but I fucking can’t. It’s not fair, and it’s as frustrating as hell, but it’s also fucking gorgeous.

Dave is back. “Come with me.” He leads me out of the room, and up two flights of stairs again. We’re on the floor where the cell is, and also the room where he put the lenses in. It’s into that room we go now, although it feels different somehow – it sounds different, although it still smells of rubber. I feel an arm of the dentist chair brush against me as we pass it and I realise this is actually a much larger room than I’d thought. Perhaps he’d put a screen up so that I wouldn’t see it when he took my hood off earlier.

I still can’t get used to the feeling of not being hooded but still not being able to see. My eyes are open, for fuck’s sake, and there’s nothing over them. Weird. It’s cooler in here, and the floor feels cold and hard beneath my feet, which are bare this time. Dave unfastens my wrists and guides me onto a table. The padded leather top is cold and smooth. I lie down and he fastens my ankle and wrist cuffs to the corners.

“See you later, Boy,” he says. He kisses me, and then leaves. I hear him go back downstairs.

I take deep breaths. I’m alone, sightless, and tied down to a table in a house full of kinky guys I don’t know. The danger of my situation begins to make itself known, but that itself is dead horny – as is being available for anybody to use, and knowing that I won’t be able to see who they are or what they’re about to do to me, and that whatever it is I won’t be able to stop it.

I’m there on my own for five minutes, listening to the party sounds from down below, and then I hear someone coming up the stairs. My body begins to tingle. As whoever it is comes into the room I hear his booted footsteps on the hard floor when the carpet ends, and then he quietly closes the door. He doesn’t speak.

I’m quivering with anticipation. What will this guy do to me? Where is he? What’s he doing? When will he touch me? It’s as if my nervous system has been turned to overdrive.

I only just manage to stop myself from screaming when a hand touches my balls. It teases them for a while, then it wraps right around them and squeezes. For a moment I think it’s going to continue but it stops, holding them in a leather grip that’s firm, but not painful. The thumb and first finger are encircling the top of my ball sack, and the hand pulls downwards until my cock is pointing towards my feet. Then a warm tongue starts on my cock head. It slides over it slowly and gently, feeling the ridges, the frenulum, and then the piss slit. Nothing else is touching any part of my cock – not his lips, nothing, just the tip of his tongue. I feel myself begin the climb towards orgasm, but of course he stops. He releases my balls, and then gets onto the table on top of me. I moan in horny pleasure as his leather jacket and leather jeans touch my naked skin all over. His tongue comes out again, this time to lick my lips. I respond, opening them for him. He kisses me – at first gently and then increasingly passionately. He’s clean-shaven, and I am very conscious of my cock squeezed at the side of his leather cock bulge – he is every bit as hard as I am.

The breath goes out of me for a moment as he brings his arms up, his full weight on me now, and strokes his leather-gloved fingers over my sides, hips and thighs. I am so horny that, at that moment, I’m ashamed to say, it completely overwhelms my resolve not to disappoint Dave. The only thing that I can think about is cumming. “Please, Sir, let me cum,” I whisper urgently.

One of his hands comes up and clamps over my mouth, gagging me. His other hand reaches under his chest and finds my nipple. He works on it – just hard enough to feel amazing - and then he moves as he takes it into his mouth and sucks it, rolling the nub against his upper teeth with his tongue. That is beautiful.

I know this is the biker guy from earlier – the one with the diamond-padded leather jeans. I’ve no idea what he looks like, but he feels fucking sexy. He’s got a slim, hard body, and by the feel of it he has muscles. I realise I desperately want to see him. I want to see his leathers, and to see his face. I just know that he is fucking hot. The fact that I can’t reminds me how totally helpless I am. That, of course, turns me on even more and I feel myself approaching the point of orgasm again. But my duty to Dave has come back to me. “Please,” He moves his gagging hand a little so that I can whisper. “Please – I’m close to cumming. Please don’t make me cum. I’m not allowed to.”

He takes his mouth off my nipple, pauses, and then gets off the table. I feel his fingers tease my cock head briefly, and then I hear the door open. He leaves.

I wait. I guess that everybody knows I’m up here, and available for their entertainment if they wish. I’m also aware that by now everybody knows what my triggers are. In a way, that’s good, because presumably only the ones who are interested in exploiting those will come up. It’s also dangerous – I haven’t been given permission to cum, and before we set off Dave impressed upon me that I must not cum without his or Master Sam’s permission. Under any circumstances. I want to show him that I can do that for him.

For what must be at least a couple of hours a succession of guys visit me, one after another. I’m teased, played with, kissed - not just on my mouth, but all over my body. And licked too. I feel leather, rubber and PVC bulges pressing against my naked body. There are clean-shaven guys, guys with beards. I even feel one short, stiff mohican brushing over my chest. My cock is sucked, my nipples worked on to different degrees. Occasionally a hand clamps over my mouth to gag me, or closes my nose as well to breath-control me. Some guys talk dirty, some are silent. One gets off on telling me how helpless I am, how much I really want to see him, but that I can’t… That one actually turns me on like fuck. More than once guys wank themselves off while they’re playing with me or teasing me. Many times I get close to cumming, but I don’t. And nobody really causes me pain. Now and again a lubed finger is inserted into my arse, but they must have been told not to fuck me, because nobody tries.

Then another guy comes into the room. I jump when a hand touches me on my stomach, but it doesn’t move. A second joins it, and they caress my body slowly. My wrist and ankles are released, and leather-gloved hands turn me face down on the table. The cuffs are re-attached, and then I close my sightless eyes as I feel black leather lower onto the back of my body. A hand reaches down and feels for my arse hole. The finger is cold and slippery as it slides in. The guy pushes himself up, I hear the squelch of a lube bottle, and then a hard cock is carefully positioned against my sphincter.

Dave is the only person who’s ever fucked me so far, and I’m not sure if I should let this guy – but I don’t know what I should do. Does a slave allow someone else to fuck him? Should I say something? But slaves don’t complain – and anyway, I’m not exactly in any position to stop him. The cock goes in, slowly and thoughtfully. It doesn’t hurt at all. The guy begins to fuck me slowly.

He knows how to do it, I’ll give him that. He fucks me for at least twenty minutes before he cums, and it is wonderful. My own cock is hard again, and sliding on precum against the leather table top.

Towards the end his thrusts get more and more insistent, and I realise that I’m far too close as well. I’m on the point of asking him not to make me cum, but then to my horror I realise that it’s too late. The guy gives a bigger thrust, and I feel his spunk explode into the condom inside of me. That triggers my own orgasm and my cock begins to jerk. I’m cumming onto the leather table. The two things together produce pleasure of an intensity I’ve rarely felt. My own hips are thrusting under him and I groan in time with him as we both cum.

Oh fuck, that was wonderful.

We’re both panting. After a while he pulls out, I hear a tissue being used, then the sound of a zip, and he releases my restraints. I’m turned face-up again, and I feel very careful fingers at my eyes, raising my lids.

The contacts come out easily and I go to rub my eyes, but a leather-gloved hand stops me. “Best not to rub them just yet.” I close them instead. That’s the first time the man has spoken and I recognise that southern drawl – it’s Sam. I open my eyes again and see him for the first time. He’s not at all like my mental picture of him: he’s slim, in his 60s, with silver/grey hair and a neat beard. And he looks like he was born in black leather. He’s sexy.

He grins. “Hello Boy. I hope you enjoyed that.”

I realise I’m looking into his eyes. I lower my gaze immediately and try to find his boots, but he cups my chin in his hand and raises my head again. “It’s all right, you can look at me. For the moment,” he chuckles.

“Oh fuck – sorry Sir, yes – I enjoyed that a lot. Thank you, Sir.”

A second figure emerges from the shadows. It’s Dave, and he’s beaming. I should have known he’d be there for me.

“This boy hasn’t had a drink all evening. I think it’s high time we remedied that,” says Sam. “Bring him down when you’re both ready.” He gets up, gives Dave a smile and me a wink, and leaves.

“You Ok?”

I nod. “Oh yes.” I give a long, deep sigh of pleasure. “That was absolutely amazing – all of it.”

“It’s not over yet. There’s dinner soon.” He sits on the edge of the table. “Now listen to me closely. Master Sam and I will be eating at the dining table. You will be under it, eating from a dog bowl. Keep a close eye on Sam’s legs. If he opens his knees wide, that is a signal. You will play with his cock through his jeans. Do not get it out. If he wants you to work on it naked he will get it out. Ok?”

I nod again. “Ok.”

You ready to go down?”

“You bet. Can I have a glass of water first please? I’m as thirsty as fuck.”

We get one from the bathroom sink. The party sounds have been getting quieter for some time, and there is silence now, so I guess everybody has gone home. We go down a floor and towards the back of the house. I realise that although this house is on at least four floors, it is incredibly thin. I’ve never seen a house like this before. But it’s quite deep front-to-back. Although I’ve been through a lot of it several times already, it’s strange actually seeing it. This bit I haven’t been in before - it’s a long dining room.

Dinner goes off with no problems. Under Sam’s directions I serve the food from the kitchen. It’s mainly salad – I suppose because nobody had time to cook properly – and it’s strange eating it out of a dog bowl. I’m surprised – and I have to admit, a bit disappointed – to find that I’m given cutlery. I was expecting to have to eat it with my hands. The wine is very red and very good, and I have two large glasses of it. On one occasion I see Sam part his knees wide, and I do my duty, but he doesn’t get his cock out and soon I’m back to my meal.

Dessert for me is served in the same bowl, and I smile at the odd piece of lettuce I find in my lemon mousse. Then coffee (still under the table, but at least the coffee is in a cup). After that I do the washing up – in spite of the looming presence of a black Bosch dishwasher next to the walk-in fridge – and then I’m on ashtray duty. Dave told me about this: the moment I see Sam light up, it’s my responsibility to find him an ashtray, and to keep it empty for him at all times.

We repair to the bottom floor, where I first met Sam when I was kneeling, sightless in front of him, and I kneel again on the floor in the same place.

Sam looks at me. “Sit if it’s more comfortable, Boy.”

I thank him and sit cross-legged on the floor. My knees are grateful.

Sam reaches for his cigarettes, and offers one to Dave. Dave doesn’t smoke, so he declines. I jump up and rush upstairs to get an ashtray. I search in the kitchen, I open every fucking cupboard but there are none to be found anywhere. Oh shit. I’m letting Dave down, I think. I try the party room, and I find some but they’re all full. Quickly I grab one and take it to the kitchen. After washing it and drying it thoroughly, I rush back downstairs with it, imagining three inches of ash hanging from Sam’s cigarette and about to drop onto the Persian carpet, but I find him using one that was clearly there already if I’d fucking looked. A corner of Dave’s mouth lifts, so I guess it’s Ok. I put the ashtray down and sit again.

They’re talking of guys they’ve both known over the years – people I’ve never met and don’t know – so I look around the room. It’s long and thin, and the walls are covered with paintings. My eyes open wide. Dave told me about this: it’s Sam’s art gallery. Dave said that there are individual paintings there that are worth more than Dave’s house. An expensive track lighting system is on the ceiling, but at the moment it’s switched off.

Sam sees me looking. “Do you appreciate art, Boy?”

Probably another one of his trick questions, I think. Oh well, just be honest again. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it, Sir, but I do know what I like.” I can not believe I had said that last bit. I bite my tongue in embarrassment.

Sam reaches to the side and presses a switch, and the track lighting comes to life. It’s very bright. He stands up. “Well let’s see if you like any of this,” he drawls.

When Sam stands, Dave follows suit immediately, and I do too. We walk down the room slowly. He doesn’t say anything, but watches my reactions as I look at the paintings. To be honest nothing does much for me; most of it is modern - splotches and lines, that sort of thing. I’ve never understood modern art, but then nobody has ever taught me about it.

There’s a picture that at first sight seems to be just a plain black rectangle, but on closer inspection I notice there’s a leather man standing there, done in very slightly shinier paint. Black on black. You can only see it when the angle of the light is just right.

“That’s me,” says Sam. “A present from one of David Hockney’s friends in New York.”

“That is beautiful,” I whisper.

Then we come to a very small, square picture mounted diagonally in a simple silver frame. At first I think it’s a tile from a bathroom or something, but then I realise I’ve seen that kind of thing before. “The style of this is familiar, Sir,” I say.

Sam smiles. “M.C. Escher. ‘A Golden Paradox’.”

Escher, that’s it! “That’s not an original, is it, Sir?”

Sam frowns. “All these artworks are originals.”

Fuck me, I think – that little picture on its own must be worth a mint.

We sit down again, and Dave compliments Sam on his art collection. I don’t think either of them were very impressed by my reaction.

The evening progresses with conversation between Dave and Sam, and drinks - mainly scotch whisky (probably 200-year old scotch whisky), and it gets late. Sam stretches. “I think it’s time for bed.”

We say goodnight, Dave thanks Master Sam for a lovely evening, and Sam pats me on the bum. Then we go upstairs.

As I expected, I’m in the cell. It’s strange seeing places I’ve already been, for the first time. The room is the guest bedroom, with a proper bed under the window, and the long, low cell in the corner. Dave asks me if I want to be tied up for the night. It’s unusual for him to ask – he generally does it anyway because he knows I get off on it so much - and I’m tempted, but I shake my head. “I’d just like to stretch out, if that’s Ok.”

He smiles. “Sure thing.” He locks me in the cell, takes his leathers off and gets into bed.

“Sleep well, Boy.”

I smile, and get comfy on the leather-covered pad. “You too. And thank you for today, Dave. It’s been amazing.”

According to the clock by the bed it was 1.30am when he put the light out. The clock now reads 1:46am, and Dave is unlocking the cell. “Come here, Boy.” He hugs me, gets into bed, and pulls me in beside him. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he whispers.

I wrap my arms around him, kiss him, and close my eyes in happiness.