Chains of command

My delightfully huge bed (minus the current mattress) was acquired some years ago second hand from a neighbor who was an aficionado of BDSM. To each corner of the heavy wooden frame, he had attached sturdy eyelets for the purpose of anchoring restraints. Not long after becoming single, I attached chains to the top two corners, thinking they might come in useful now and then. But for the most part, they have served little purpose.

That all changed one Friday night in the summer of 2010.

I met M, a Canadian citizen from Vancouver, through Facebook about a year before and had been casually flirting with him on and off ever since. At some point he started showing more interest in meeting me, and as he needed a vacation, he took some time off work to visit. We talked on the phone several times, and I decided it was worth the risk to offer him lodging at my home for a couple of days.

When he arrived Friday night, I was pleasantly surprised. He looked at least as attractive and sexy as his photos, if not more so. Something of a bearded muscle boy clone, M stands 5 feet 8 inches tall, with broad muscular shoulders, shaved head, strong jaw, and furry tattooed pecs.

I picked him up from the bus station and, after an unexceptional meal at a neighborhood restaurant and a quick visit to a dance bar, we came back to my place and settled into some foreplay.

From the start, it was clear that one goal of his visit was serious sex play. I sometimes feel a little intimidated by situations where sexual performance is expected even before we meet. I tried to lower expectations with a few comments here and there, but I also knew that I was in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. And I do mean pound.

M and I were already naked and going at it on my bed with the usual touching, kissing, and oral service when he mentioned that he liked to be restrained.

I took
a perverse
amusement in his
discomfort, knowing that
it also indicated a
kind of twisted
pleasure for
him.

"Oh really?" I asked. This would be interesting.

Before long, each of M's arms were chained to the bed corners, his legs free to curl up and back while my cock found his willing hole. Despite earlier concerns and the desensitizing aspect of condoms, my cock remained hard as I entered and repeated slammed into his ass. With every thrust, M screamed in pain and delight.

After a while, I told him I wanted to flip him over. He was able to do so, crossing his arms, without my releasing the chains. He bit the pillow and continued to scream as I pummeled his ass in this face-down position.

Every butt is different. With M, I was getting enough sensation to stay hard but not enough to approach orgasm. But we persisted just the same, fucking for a good hour, his screams getting louder by the minute. The chains having put me in complete control, I took a perverse amusement in his discomfort, knowing that it also indicated a kind of twisted pleasure for him.

By this time, it was quite late at night, and I can only wonder what thoughts were occurring my housemates in the room below. But no matter. I was on a mission.

Back in missionary position, M's ankles on my shoulders, I resumed fucking him, finally coming to a deeply satisfying orgasm. As I pulled out, he spontaneously asked me to empty the contents of the condom into his mouth. I did so, working the cum deeper into his mouth with my cock as he jacked himself into a screaming orgasm of his own.

We were both grinning — and panting — from gratified exhaustion when I released M from his bonds. We quickly readied for sleep, turned out the lights, and curled up like spoons for some well deserved rest.