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Thirty One Days - Chapter 29

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Author: Ronan Jackson Jefferson
Contact: Rojackjeff@hotmail.com
Published: 01-Feb-15
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Stevie came into the room holding a tall drink in one hand, and a bottle of beer in the other.

* * * * * * *

Why was I thinking of movies? I know. I was supposed to ask about the DVD. Who made the damn thing? Why it was made? What about the serious breach of privacy? I was thinking of my high definition movie equipment at home. Couldn't wait to fire it up.

I was ascending a set of stairs. Being tugged upwards.

A stairway to heaven?

I laughed out loud. I was relaxed. Floating relaxed. My feet didn't seem to be touching the stairs. I could hear my heart beating between my ears. I was soaking wet with perspiration. It was a hundred and fifty degrees in here.

I stopped. Dead cold. Tried to lasso my mind.

What the hell was going on here?

Why was I feeling this way?

I was dead sober. Nothing in me. I was happy, when I should be angry. Stevie was holding my hand. I was holding his.

Why? Why were we holding hands?

Were we lovers?

For the last time, let go of this asshole's hand, you stupid moron.

Do you want to be a faggot?

Because you are heading in the right direction.

I didn't care. I should have. I tried to summon the anger and the indignity and the reason I was here. Instead, euphoria rolled across my brain box. Euphoria and heat and relaxation, combined with a sharpening sense of smell, and touch and hearing. I could smell the heavy scent of male sweat permeating the air. Chemical stimulants and strong pot. I could feel the electricity running between Stevie's hand and mine. I could hear the dance music, feel the dance music, the bottom end of the drums and bass worming up through my legs, up into my brain and down into my groin. Making me want to move or shake or explode.

Why was this happening?

Because Stevie's tight girly ass was inches from my face?

The long leathered legs and dirty high boots?

I knew he was drunk and ready to fall before me?

The animal smells and rutting sounds of this place?

The arousing knowledge that sex and sex acts were guaranteed in this House?

Sex with totally anonymous strangers?

What was it?

I could not fall off the path again. Because I was here tonight for answers. Only answers. I thought long and hard about coming. My questions were huge. I always knew the main overriding question was, could I walk in and walk out?

Hell yes I could, because to fail at this task meant only one thing. Gay. Queer. Faggot. I sure didn't want to contemplate that ugly possibility. No way was the last chick on the last night of my life, correct. No fucking way.

Stevie made all of these thoughts disappear by simply tugging on my hand. I continued to float up the stairs. Why did this faggot have such power over me?

At the top of the stairs was another booth. Similar to the one at the main entrance. Except with a turnstile. There was no security cage or glass, but there was an old fag sitting on a stool. What was the joke about the fag at the bar pushing the stool up for his buddy? I laughed to myself. Stupid fags.

Stevie went through first. He stopped on the other side, motioning me forward. I tried to follow him, but the metal arm wouldn't budge. I pushed again, started to snicker. Everything was peace out and happiness.

The guy at the booth pointed to the sign. The˜Bathroom Attire Only Past This Point' sign.

"What about him?" I managed, pointing at Stevie.

"He's not staying," the guy at the booth said.

"Oh," I mumbled.

I should have said,˜neither was I', but I was floating. The guy handed me a towel. In a silly mood, I de-shoed and stripped off my pants and gitch. My clothes were in a heap on the floor.

"I will put his clothes in my room," Stevie said.

I toweled myself and pushed through the turnstile. Stevie was waiting. We moved into a very dark hallway.

"Stay close," Stevie warned. You don't want to take a wrong turn in here."

I followed him down the hallway. Mostly moving one foot after the other. Seeing nothing but black. This added to the euphoria and danger sweeping over and through me. My balls were melons, they were so full. My cock wasn't yet hard, but it was stuck somewhere in mid flush. We stepped through an open doorway into a room full of steam. The first thing I saw was a shallow pool. About six inches of smelly water sat in the pool. A chubby, fur covered guy about fifty was lying in it, head back, mouth open, dog collar around his neck. Another guy stepped up to the pool, parted his towel and began to piss.

Holy shit!

What the fuck?

The guy was pissing on the old fag's chest, and on his neck and face! The stream of hot piss was going in his open mouth. The old guy was lapping at it, drinking it. Thirsting for it.

Stevie was in my ear.

"This is the toilet for this floor. There is a shit pool too."


No way.

No fucking way.

The internet stories were made up, weren't they?

No. They were more than made up. They were real. This was real. Sick real. I needed to go home. I tried to turn away. Stevie was behind me. Close. He put his arms around my waist. Brushed his hand under my towel and across my bare cock. My cock went from mid flush to full stick. He lifted my towel up from behind. I felt his leather bulge against my bare ass.

Stevie whispered.

"Let's move on to the next room."

Before we could budge, another guy, about fifty, crawled into the room. He was naked except for the dog collar. He continued past us, slipping into the foul pool. Two idiots were now swimming in the piss pool.

Stevie guided me back into the dark hall. Arms wrapped around me. His hand now grasping my bare cock. He squeezed. I thought I might collapse. Why was he squeezing my cock? Why was I allowing him to? More drifting and weightlessness.

In the next room, two guys were bent over a wooden rack. Their hands were entangled in chains. Asses clearly exposed. About six guys were lined up behind them. One guy dropped to his knees. Slid towards the bent over guys, and slammed his face into the first bare ass he came to. A second guy dropped to his knees and repeated the maneuver with the next bent guy. The two eaters were going at it. Eating, sucking, and slobbering. I remembered the first time I tried the ass action. At a library, no less. A different experience, for sure. At least it was a chick.

This was simply grotesque. An ass eating fest. An all-male, ass eating fest.

"Nasty, isn't it?" Stevie said, into my ear.

I could feel his breath, then his tongue. Chills ran down my spine, adding to the floating euphoria commanding me.

"Let's go," Stevie said.

We went. Back into the dark hallway. Stevie leading. Not by the hand. He was pulling my erect cock. I don't know where my towel went. I looked behind me, but it was way too dark. I sort of laughed. Everything was getting happier.

The next room beckoned us. There was a lineup to get in. The crowd of naked and toweled men seemed to part for us. We slipped in through the tight group. In the middle of the room there appeared to be an iron cross. A huge, tattooed guy was strapped to the cross. He must have been two hundred and fifty pounds of raw muscle. A giant. A naked giant. Of course with his ass out. Sort of a theme in this place. Red welts grazed across his shoulders, back and thighs. Strangely, not on his ass. His bare ass was shiny and dripping, lubed up with some kind of oil. Another guy was standing beside the iron cross, a black whip in his hand.

A cobra striking!

The whip man brought his weapon down on the bare ass!

The thwack imploded in my ears!

Red welts grew.

Oil flew off the tattooed guy's back end. His scream was muffled by something jammed in his mouth.

A second thwack!

More welts, more oil flying, and this time, blood. Jesus Christ. I looked at Stevie. Stevie smiled at me. Squeezed my cock. I looked down.

I forgot he was holding my full hard-on.

Why was he holding my cock?

The next thwack brought me back to the action. Stevie pulled me around to the opposite side of the cross. The tattooed guy had an orange object strapped into his mouth. Tears poured out of his eyes, the pain was obvious. Between his legs, his cock was full, veined, engorged and ready to blow. The huge faggot was getting off on this.

"I think you have seen enough. Let's move on."

Stevie let go of my cock, finally.

Again, why was he holding it?

How the fuck should I know?

I was near floating, going with the flow.

I followed him out of the thick room back into the black hallway. I saw an opening for one more doorway, at the end of this hallway. Stevie went one way, I decided to go the other. Curious. I stumbled or floated down the hallway, bumping off a few men as I passed. My erect cock was leading the way. I turned into the last room. It was empty, save a small table. Four chains hung from the ceiling. A leatherette sling of some sort was lying on the floor. Two of the chains hung to the ground, the other two were at waist level. All four chains were cuffed at their ends, and all four chains were hooked to some leveraging system. Too difficult for me to understand.

Folded on the table was a pair of pants.

How stupid was this? Who would leave pants in here?

I moved over to the table. Touched the pants. Curious again. They were much the same as Stevie's pants. Much the same as my pants. Except, as I lifted them off the table, I could see they were chaps. Or a type of chap. I held them up. Black, and leather. Very nice.

What were a pair of black leather chaps doing on this table?

Why would they be here?

For me?

Finders' keepers?

I laughed again. Everything was amusing tonight.

I thought about chaps when I was at the sex store. I turned them down in favor of the pants I bought. Because I wanted my pants to be the same as Stevie's.

A mischievous thought ran through my mind.

What if I put these pants on?

Then they would be mine.

Possession as ownership is what percentage of the law?

I wasn't sure of my coordination at this point, but with some effort, I managed to slip the pants on. I tucked my erection into the front. They fit perfectly.

Who would have thought?

Stevie came into the room holding a tall drink in one hand, and a bottle of beer in the other. A dog collar was cinched around his neck. Perfect. Already collared himself. Dumb bastard. Drink up Stevie boy. Tonight, you are going to be mine. He handed me the glass.

"Too hot in here. You better drink something," he said.

It was hot in here. Happy hot. Euphoric hot. Chest pounding, head throbbing, cock swelling hot. I took a sip, then a drink, then tossed the whole thing back. Wow, delicious. Stevie took the glass from me and put it on the table. Put his beer on the table. Looked me up and down.

"Those pants look good," he said. They are going to love you tonight."

Stevie stepped in close. He ran his hands over my hips, and then down to the giant bulge in my crotch. Around to my bare ass. It felt weird but good to have my bare ass hanging out of these pants. It felt free.

I was flooded with an insatiable need to kiss somebody. To hug somebody. To be hugged. To hold. To touch and be touched. To be close. I was far past the point of˜why', or˜how'. I was at the point of˜do'. Stevie slipped to my side, then behind me. I felt something around my neck. Felt it catch. My hand floated up to my neck. Feeling with fingers. The collar. Stevie had collared me once again. Fuck. My mind tried to process the sequence of events after a collaring. My thoughts melted away, as fast as I could draw them. It was pointless. Tonight was different, I sensed. Tonight, I was terribly fucked up.

Why? One drink, the entire evening?

All thoughts melted away. The function of thinking melted away.

Stevie led me to the hanging chains. Picked one cuff, took one of my hands and wrapped the cuff around my wrist. Then he did the other hand. He slid back in front of me. Dropped to his knees. Yes, finally. This is it. The even up blowjob.

Not to be.

Stevie wrapped the remaining two cuffs around my ankles. I was near panting, anticipating this blow job. He stood, leaving me wanting and desperate.

"Now," Stevie said, It's time for you to float."

Hell, I was floating already.

Stevie began to work the leveraging mechanism. I heard the cranking, then the creaking of chain being pulled. The chain began to run up to the ceiling. I looked on, amazed and without a clue.

What was happening?

When I felt the light tug on my wrists, then my ankles. I began to tilt back. My feet actually left the floor. Fuck me, I was floating. My feet continued to rise. As did my arms. My arms were being pulled towards the ceiling.

I rose up, levitating, until I was three feet off the floor. I felt I was being made ready for the crucifixion. The chains stopped moving. The pressure on my arms was getting past the comfort zone. The chains started again, lowering my arms. Lower. Taking the pressure off. I was lowered onto a sling of some kind. The sling was also supported from the ceiling. The lowering stopped. I was approximating the position one would take on a bed. Flat and level, but shit, three feet off the ground, and in chains, arms and legs extended nearly straight up. You could not put a human being in a more vulnerable position. Especially while he was wearing chaps. Especially, while he was wearing chaps in a gay playhouse.

My upper torso was soaked, dripping and rippling. The leather chaps felt snug and looked red hot. I would do myself if I could. I laughed out loud. Stevie was beside me. I felt cool wet on my ass.

Chaps. No ass cover.


Not again?

My mind caught a lucid wave, and I understood the predicament I was in. I began to shake my head at Stevie. No. I did not want this. I tried to flail with my arms and legs. I was barely moving the chains. The floating sensation was overwhelming. I tried to fight through it and get out.

What did Stevie have in his hand?

It was a caulking gun of some sort.

Christ, was he using a gun to shoot grease into my ass?

I felt the same penetration sensation from the last, awful session, right in my hole. I tried to wiggle away, move, anything. To no avail. Somebody else drifted into the room. Slipping behind me. I tried to thrash around to see. I couldn't move. The heavy hanging chains were draining me. As was my throbbing cock. Something was being shoved into my mouth. I tasted rubber, or plastic. Something was strapped around my head. Something was being hooked to my collar. I think it was more chains. It was. The new chains ran clear across the room, holding my head in place. I began to hyperventilate. I felt something in my nose, then heard the spray. Immediately I smelled the nitrates.

Fuck, I was done for.

I fought back. Refusing to breathe in. I did not need to be crippled any further. I needed a way out of this. I looked back at Stevie. He was standing between my spread legs. His cock was out, and he was stroking it. He laid the fucking thing on top of my bulge. I thought I would blow right there. His cock on mine, almost. The black leather was between us.

No, I tried to say.

No please.

"Nnnghh plea" was what got past the thing jammed in my mouth.

I needed air. I sucked for air, the poison spray racing into my nose. Stevie smiled down at me. The victor. Again. Crafty. Smarter than me. My eyes went to slits. The familiar energy shift was happening. Everything running from my brain and musculature. Heading straight to my sex. The throbbing ramped up in my skull, my cock and my balls. I tried once more. I did not want this. I couldn't see, but I sensed other men drifting into the room. In the shadows. Hungry. Hungry wolves. Hungry for the leather chaps stud. I felt the heat and pressure at my ass. From behind, somebody slapped my face. Hard. My head didn't budge. It was strapped in chains. Somebody slapped me again. My ears rung. Stevie pushed. The screaming fire was in my ass.

It was happening, again.


Entire novel now available at Amazon.com in Ebook form and 6 x 9 paperback.

See the novel reviews at WWW.EROTICAREVEALED.COM, June edition, and at BARNES&NOBLE.COM.

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