Email: ukhooder@gmail.com
The Black Anchor
"Is that it?"
Tony's face was going red. He knew it would. He buried his head in the pillow to get away from Stella's scornful expression, and bit back a witty reply. He'd had lots of practice at making up witty replies, but he never gave voice to them. His fists were clenched in silent rage.
It was always like this. Every fucking time.
He had no trouble finding girls – he was young, strong, and good-looking, and he'd always loved working out in the gym, so his body was firmly muscular. They always told him he was a hunk. He'd have a nice evening with a girl, eventually get her into bed, and fuck her. For about fifteen seconds. And then he'd cum. He couldn't stop himself – he'd tried everything. It felt wonderful for him, but the girls hardly got going. They loved it when it started, but it didn't last. He knew, every time, what would happen – fifteen seconds at best – but he still tried. What else was he to do?
"That's it? Call that a fuck? Fucking useless!" Stella was not pleased. He jumped off the bed, threw his clothes on, and ran out of the flat.
The street was deserted, and the cheerful red neon signs on the shops did nothing to make him feel any better. He beat his fists against the brick wall in fury. "Shit shit shit."
Back at home, he sat staring at the blank TV screen. His teeth were clenched and he was seething. He'd had his fill of humiliation. Other guys didn't lose it like that – they could fuck for ages – but him? As soon as he started thrusting he came. Sometimes he didn't even get as far as the thrusting. Fuck-all he could do about it. How many times had it happened? He'd lost count. Each time he swore to himself that the next time would be different. But it never was. He picked up a cushion and threw it at the wall in pure fury.
'Premature ejaculation.' He knew what it was called, and he wanted every other guy on the planet to know exactly what it was like to have no fucking control; to know how it ruined sex completely; how fucking humiliating it was.
Gradually Tony's blood pressure returned to normal. He couldn't show every guy on the planet, but an idea was forming in his mind. He might be able to show a few of them…
Tony was boringly straight: he'd never thought of guys sexually at all. But that wasn't important to what he was going to do. He knew about cocks and how they worked – he had one. And some of his wanks were often inventively complicated.
He'd have to borrow some leather gear from his biker mate Dave, as the Black Anchor was a kinky place. Tony had never been into any gay club before, let alone a fetish one, but the Anchor was the only gay club he knew of in town.
A slow smile appeared on his face.
The Black Anchor was much bigger than he'd expected – and dark. His eyes took a while to adjust in the dim light as he groped his way to the bar and got a beer. There were guys in skinhead gear, a few in gym shorts, and some wearing very shiny stuff he guessed was PVC, but the majority were in leathers. Biker-types with jeans, jackets and chunky boots, Masters in more formal leathers or looking like cops, subs naked to the waist apart from collars or leather harnesses. A few guys were standing around, but some of them were already playing with each other in the dimness, kissing or humping. A struggle was going on at one end: as far as he could see a skinhead was holding a second one helpless while a third was doing something to him – Tony couldn't quite make out what.
He took a sip of the beer and had a look around the place. Another room led off from the first, through a leather strip-curtain. It was even darker in here. Tony had never seen anything like this: heavy equipment was spaced around the large room: slings, crosses, restraint frames. It was early yet, and so most of these were not being used, although on the far side someone was tied to a cross and being fucked soundly by a big man in leather chaps.
* * *
A guy in black leather running shorts and nothing else was leaning against a sling, looking hopeful. He smiled, and Tony smiled back. It was clear that the guy wanted to be strapped into the sling by this hunk in biker leathers and fucked senseless. Judging by the state of his nipples he also wanted a lot of work done on those too. Tony walked over slowly.
The sub bowed his head respectfully. "Good evening, Sir."
"Strip."
When the guy had taken his shorts off Tony turned him round so that he was facing the same way that he was, and pulled the naked sub tight against his leather-clad body. Then he reached down, gripped the guy's already-hard cock, and started to wank it.
At first, the sub closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure. After a while, though, he opened them again and frowned slightly. The frown grew deeper, and he began to shake his head. This was not what he wanted – he wanted a lot more. He tried to pull away but he was no match for the hunk's muscles. Tony held him tighter, working on his cock with increasing speed and batting the sub's hands away when they tried to stop him. "Hands behind your back, boy," he ordered.
The sub complied, but unwillingly. A few seconds later he started to cum. "Shit! No!"
The moment he was sure that the guy had lost it and couldn't stop himself from shooting, Tony released him and walked away. He went back into the first room, leaving the sub to complete his orgasm on his own.
Tony smiled to himself - that'll do for starters, he thought.
* * *
The club was filling up now, and some of the stools around the oil-drum tables were occupied. A young punk with a mohawk and tight PVC jeans was sat opposite a Master-type, who was chatting to a third guy between them. A dog lead was attached to the boy's collar, and lay on the table with its other end in front of the Master. The fourth stool was vacant and so Tony sat down. He sipped his beer and scanned the room.
The Master was telling his friend the importance of protocol: that his boys behaved themselves; that they were only permitted to cum when he told them to; and that they should be respectful and silent at all times unless he was addressing them directly. The Master seemed to be pointedly ignoring his punk boy.
Tony smiled to himself. He leaned closer with one arm on the table, and while studiously looking the other way, he reached underneath with his other arm. The punk jumped as the hand made contact with his thigh, but remained silent. Slowly, Tony stroked his hand upwards until he came to the boy's bulge. He extended his fingers and tickled the shape of the cock. He found the head and stroked it lightly. The cock began to stiffen.
His fingers followed it as it rose, stretching the PVC jeans out, and as it did so he could work on more of it. He stroked over the boy's balls, traced up and down the shaft, teased around the ridge and the head.
The punk was beginning to breathe faster. His legs came together but that did nothing to enable him to get away from the teasing fingers. He didn't turn his head but he kept giving the unknown guy frantic glances from the corner of his eyes.
The Master was telling his friend about punishments now.
Tony tickled the shiny black balls for a moment, then gripped the head of the cock through the thin PVC and stroked it leisurely.
It was clear that the punk was desperately trying to keep himself under control, but bit by bit he was losing it.
A couple of very slow, but slightly firmer strokes did it. With a stifled gasp the punk came in his jeans.
Simultaneously the Master, his friend and Tony all looked at him. Tony managed to look more surprised than any of them.
"What the fuck have you done, boy?" The Master asked in quiet fury.
The punk hung his head. "I'm sorry, Sir."
That boy was in for some trouble. Tony picked up his beer and left them to it. He mentally chalked off number two.
* * *
At the far end of the second room was a St Andrew's cross with a guy on it. He was tightly gagged, and wearing a long black rubber coat that was hanging open. A Top was stood in front of him. Tony watched as the top worked on the guy – he was squeezing his nipples and edging his cock, and had been doing so for some time by the look of it. The victim's eyes were open wide with need as the Top ran his fingers up and down the shaft and over the precum-leaking head, teasing it, and played with the guy's balls. Occasionally he gave the desperate cock a sharp slap. Drool was running down from the side of the gagged mouth.
Tony sipped his beer slowly and carried on watching. The guy on the cross clearly needed to cum very badly indeed, and the Top was obviously getting off big time on edging him.
He stopped, then carefully pulled the rubber coat closed and fastened it up. "I'm going to have a piss. Don't go away – we have unfinished business." He turned and left.
Tony stayed where he was until the Top had disappeared, then he walked over, found the steel-hard cock, gripped it through the rubber and milked it, smiling into the guy's eyes all the time. Those eyes were open wide; the guy was groaning into the gag and shaking his head violently. A scant few strokes later he came. Tony slowed his hand, then with a final parting squeeze, walked away. Behind him spunk was running down the inside of the black rubber coat.
* * *
On his way back to the first room, a boy bumped into him. White trainers, white socks, and very strange shorts – they'd originally been white cotton, but it looked like they'd been soaked in lube, spunk, engine oil or a mixture of all three. Clearly a boy with a major fetish, thought Tony. And fetishes were there to be used.
The boy started to apologise, then swallowed. "Fuck you're hot," he said.
"What?"
"Sorry – you're hot, SIR!"
"That's better." Tony was getting the hang of this. "Come with me." He looked around and led the boy to a dark corner of the room.
He pushed the boy to the floor, knelt over him and began to tease him through the oily shorts, moving them around over the rapidly-hardening cock inside.
Abruptly he put his weight on the boy, gripped the cock in one hand, the balls in the other, and started to milk him hard and fast through the slippery shorts.
He began to struggle and fight, but Tony's hands were locked in place.
"NO! Too soon! Not yet! Get the Fuuuuck off me ! "
This time Tony didn't stop working on the cock until the last drop of spunk had joined the gunk already on the boy's shorts.
* * *
Four so far - this was going even better than he'd hoped. He smiled. And to his surprise, he found that he'd been getting into this a hell of a lot more than he'd ever thought he would. He still had no sexual interest in the guys themselves, but he was finding that he fucking loved the control he had over them. It was addictive. Were there any more in here he could get? he wondered.
He ordered a beer.
A skinhead next to him at the bar looked him up and down. "Nice leathers," he said. The boy was smiling. His blond hair was cropped, and below a white tank top that revealed well-muscled arms, skintight rubber bleachers showed the clear outline of a half-erect cock running along the inside of his thigh. His black Doc Martens were highly-polished below white socks.
Tony smiled. "Thanks." The beer arrived and he opened the can.
"You with anybody?" Asked the skinhead.
"Nope. You?"
"Yeah. My Boss is over there." He nodded over to the far wall where a guy in full black rubber, with a bald head, a paunch, and a bushy beard, stood chatting to someone. "He'll be back in a bit, then we're off home for a session."
"Right." The skin was easy to talk to and friendly. Tony liked him. "What kind of sessions do you get into?"
"The usual. Fucking, sucking, tit work, bit of fisting now and then, though it hurts so I'm not too keen on that. But Boss loves it. I'm not allowed to cum all week so I'm busting for a session by Saturday." He grinned.
Tony grinned back. "You haven't cum for seven days? "
"Nope."
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
Tony looked incredulous. "How do you do that?"
"Believe me, it's not easy." The skinhead shook his head. "What are you into?"
Tony chuckled. "Nothing as adventurous as that. I like making guys cum too soon - while they're fighting against it."
The skin looked surprised. "Never heard of that before. Love the idea though. What turns you on about that?"
Tony realised that he was beginning to get a hard-on. "The control over them. Watching them struggling and fighting to stop me from making them lose it, mainly."
The skinhead leaned a bit closer - he was very interested.
Tony turned around on the stool so he was facing out into the room and leant back with his elbows on the bar. The Top with the bushy beard was still chatting to his mate, and kept glancing over to his skinhead.
"Tell me more about it."
Tony thought for a moment. He lowered his voice a bit so that only the skin could hear him, and kept looking out into the room. He clasped his hands over his stomach where bushy beard would be able to see them. "What's the most sensitive spot on your cock?"
The skin considered. "Just below the ridge, underneath the head."
Tony nodded. "Ok." He glanced down for a moment at the outline of the boy's cock in his rubber bleachers. "I could get to that where your cock is now, from underneath it. But imagine you're hogtied. And you're hooded as well so that you can't see a fucking thing. You've been ordered not to let yourself cum. If you do, you'll get punishment-fisted: really deep and hard. You'll do anything to avoid that."
The skin nodded, and frowned. "Ouch."
"Ok. I get a sonic toothbrush – it's really just a little vibrator with a brush on the end. I've taken the brush off, so it's just got a smooth, rounded end. I can't get to your cock cos you're curled up with the hogtie, so I get behind you, and slowly – so slowly – push it up between the very tops of your thighs. As soon as you feel it going up you struggle to stop it. But you can't move enough to do that… You can feel it vibrating as it works its way slowly between your thighs – you're squeezing them together tight to keep it out, but you can't squeeze tight enough. You can't stop it going further up however hard you try… You can feel it through the rubber, vibrating along your perineum, very slowly getting higher and higher as I push it in. It reaches the bottom of your balls. Can you imagine what that feels like? Vibrating through your thin rubber bleachers? It works its way further in. Gets to the base of your cock… You can feel yourself getting more and more horny, but you know you mustn't. That thing between your thighs feels fucking amazing . You struggle, try to turn over, anything to get that vibrating thing off your cock, but you can't. You're hogtied, hooded, you're helpless… The vibrator goes further in between the tops of your thighs. It's sliding along the shaft of your cock now, underneath it… It's the only thing you can feel – the hood forces every bit of your concentration onto it. It feels so fucking horny . It's beginning to make you need to cum very badly indeed… But it hasn't even got to the head of your cock yet. You struggle harder – you can't let it get there – you imagine what it will feel like vibrating right on that spot and you know it'll make you cum. You squeeze your thighs together as hard as you fucking can to stop it. You've GOT to stop it. But you can't stop it. Whatever you do, however hard you try, it slides further in – the end moves very slowly up the shaft of your cock over the smooth rubber… Then it gets to the ridge, to that spot just under the head… It's only a small thing, but it's fucking irresistible. Can you imagine the feel of that vibrating exactly on that sweet spot on your horny cock after you haven't cum for seven days? The only thing between it and your cock head is those thin, sensitive, tight, rubber bleachers… You've been ordered not to cum, and you'll be strapped down and force-fisted if you do. You concentrate like fuck – whatever happens you must NOT let it make you cum… But there's fuck all you can do. The rounded end is touching that spot and it's vibrating right on it – and you can't get the fucking thing off it however much you struggle… You feel yourself losing control – you can't fucking fight it… You yell into the leather hood as you start to cum… Your spunk shoots out into your rubber jeans and there is fuck-all you can do to stop it… That orgasm is one of the best you've ever fucking had. Gallons of hot spunk squirting helplessly into your tight rubber bleachers…"
The skinhead's hands were still on the bar but his body was shaking. He was cumming in his jeans.
Tony winked at him, then took his beer, slipped off the stool and went back into the room.
* * *
By now most people had paired off and were either playing with each other or had left. The place was beginning to thin out. Five successes, he thought. That was probably enough for tonight. He finished his beer and went home.
Fuck, he needed a wank. He took the leathers off, and lay on the bed. In his mind he was re-living that evening. There were now five more guys who knew what it was like to cum too soon. And doing that to them – forcing them to lose it - had turned Tony on like fuck.
His favourites had been the PVC boy, making him cum in his jeans under the table; the one with the oily shorts – he'd made him cum efficiently and quickly, and he'd struggled against it like fuck; and, probably most of all, making the skinhead squirt his spunk helplessly into his bleachers just by talking to him. That one, he thought, had had a lot to lose: his Top with the bushy beard had looked mean, and he was not going to be pleased. The thought of the control he'd had over those boys made Tony cum quickly and very satisfyingly indeed.
Jenny was looking up at him as he started to thrust into her. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing. He could feel his cock, hard and horny inside her, but he was nowhere close to cumming. He smiled to himself and continued to fuck her. After ten minutes she started to cum. This was a first for Tony. Immediately he thought about making the skinhead shoot his spunk in his rubber bleachers by describing the little vibrator working on his cock between his thighs while he was hooded, struggling and trying to fight it, but helpless to do anything about it. Tony came instantly.
He couldn't believe it. He could control himself perfectly. Yes! His sex life was going to be very different from now on. And if it ever stopped working he could always have another night at the Black Anchor.
In fact, he thought to himself with a smile, he might do that anyway.
Like, tomorrow, possibly.