By Bikermike
The e mail just contained a set of instructions. They were unambiguous and described everything James had to do upon arriving at his new master’s house, situated in an isolated spot out in the Fens near Bourne, Lincolnshire.
James had chatted to the guy on Recon only once, so a part of him was a bit worried that his new master might be dangerous, might rob him or might permanently harm him in some way. On the other hand, he felt that fizz of sexual excitement that he always felt when he was about to have some BDSM fun with a new man. Judging by the number of friends this new guy seemed to have on Recon, his assessment was that he would be okay, at least as far as his own safety was concerned. His profile did not contain any photographs and stated that he was forty eight years old, some fifteen years older than James.
They had not discussed anything about the type of play James could expect, but whatever it was it would be entirely safe and would not involve any risk of sexual transmitted disease. However, it would prove to be painful.
The instructions said:
Arrive at 1400 on Saturday. Do not be any more than 5 minutes early but on no account arrive late. This is to be the time as announced on your smartphone, which of course will be British Summer Time.
Enter the barn situated to the rear of the house and strip completely.
Fasten your ankles in the steel spreader bar that will be lying on the floor.
Assume a kneeling position with your head down.
Remain in that position and await my arrival.
Under no circumstances speak unless I give you permission.
The day’s work is almost done for the crew as Daniel does a run through of the work they completed on the new five bedroom house that’s being built. Dan’s no stranger to overseeing a group of men, having spent time in the Marines as an MP. His muscular 6′ frame, topped off by the high and tight that he’s so fond of, reminds everyone on the crew where he came from. He’d wear his fatigue pants to work if the construction owner would allow, but he just has to settle with jeans and a snug company emblazoned black polo.
How dumb did my best friend think I was?
A reward? What did that mean? His hole was hungry? Was he going to finally be able to fuck his Sir for the first time in months? Sir was typically not up for being on the receiving end of anything but a tongue up his ass, but sometimes when the wind blew just right…
I entered the playroom wearing nothing but a tight skimpy Speedo – and an old sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was small and hung above my waist, so the bulge in the front of my speedo was plainly visible below it. I did this because – in my mind – feeling covered above concentrates the sense of vulnerability I feel onto my Speedo below, and on my bare legs…. it makes me feel naked vulnerable and HORNY. I felt the sensation of near nakedness below my covered torso, and this sense of vulnerability was intense because I knew what was in store for me, especially after seeing a spreader bar with clips on either end, hanging from a chain from the ceiling in the center of the darkish room. I had entered the lair of a leather uniform wearing man I know to be a sadist, to whom I had freely admitted I wanted to experience the sense of complete and utter helplessness with, while indulging in my fetish of wearing a skimpy Speedo. I was walking into a trap of my own making.
In Ian’s storage confines he heard the earbuds in his hood turn on, and he knew that SIR was up to something.