This is probably where some will freak out and others will be turned on. Every now and then for whatever reason, I get this insatiable urge to unleash hell and let my hormones and desires rule. In a recent email exchange with this aggressive stud, he used the term “inconsiderate sex.” What a fucking hot and concise description. He described in remarkable detail all the aggressive sadistic things he wanted to do to me. And, everything he wanted to do to me is what I’ve been craving to do to someone else.
Yeah, I love being the bound captive one. No surprise there. Everyone knows that. But once in a while, especially lately, I’ve had this incredible urge to get rowdy on some punk with no apologies.
I’ve been jacking off nightly to the idea of picking up some guy. It doesn’t matter if he’s gay, straight, or knows me as KidRacer-X or whether he’s into kink. All that shit doesn’t matter because he serves only as my bitch. He could be a hitchhiker, a random sportbiker I cross paths with, some jock alongside the road with a broken down car and needs a lift. Get the idea? I don’t fucking care cuz he’s just a tool for me.
I’ll pull over in my truck, get out, maneuver around like I’m clearing off the passenger seat for him and as soon as he’s steps in front of me to get into the passenger seat, I grab his hands and cuff him. Yeah, he’s cussing and kicking, threatening to beat the shit out of me, but it only furthers my resolve. The more he resists, the more I’m turned on.
I put him in the front seat and secure the seat belt so he can’t move. Already prepared for this, I grab the rope under the front seat and cinch his feet together so he can’t kick. Now, the stupid fuck is mine. I grab a leather ball gag and get in the seat behind him. He fights me, bobbing his head left and right, resisting the oral intrusion, but I don’t give a fuck. He finally takes it because he has no choice. I buckle it behind his head and his muffled protestations turn into moans and whimpers.
I lift his jacket and t-shirt and I feel his body as he feels raped. Good boy. Good boy. I get back into the driver’s seat, put a black plastic bag over his head loosely so he can’t see and then recline the passenger seat, keeping him out of view of other people and cars.
Back to my place. I make fake turns and odd stops to confuse his sense of direction and time. He has no idea where he is. I reach over and feel his twisting torso in the seat. He reacts with mumbled tones, so I pull the black bag tight around his head. He struggles to breathe and quickly realizes the way to survive the game is simply to play it. I release the bag and let him breathe. The rules of the game are clear. Play or suffer.
I get back to my place in the dead of night and march him inside to the bedroom still cuffed, still bagged. Ahhh, a new bondage configuration is required. The trick here is getting what I want and keeping him confined. I remove the bag from his head and his eyes squint as they adjust to the light in the room. I can see the ball gag is wet from his mouth. It’s impossible to swallow with one of those in your mouth. Spit and drool cover the front of the gag and his chin. He knows I see this and it makes him feel weak that he can’t control it.
I manage to get him out of his clothes and slip him into a PVC suit. I don’t fucking care if he likes it or not. It’s not about what he wants. I don’t care if it gets him hard. It’s what I want. I grab one of my leather motorcycle jackets and put it on him. I slowly zip it up. It’s tight across his torso.
I push him onto the bed and watch him squirm on my rubber sheet. I carefully swap his handcuffs for leather restraints. On his back, his arms are outstretched over his head and secured to a chain running the width of the bed. I have my boy toy. Bound in a leather jacket, his lower half writhing under the plastic suit. One at a time, I tie each foot to a corner of the bed. He’s going nowhere. Here he is. My hot molestable!
I grab his crotch and he slams his eyes closed in disbelief. He’s fucked. He moans a “no, no, no,” but I’m all about “yes, yes, yes.” I know he can do it. I know he can get his nut off. He just needs a little help. I peel back his PVC pants and coat his dick and balls in lube. I pull the pants back up and massage his crotch. He’s getting hard and resisting it. It’s all physiological. It’s not a gay thing. It’s not a kink thing. It’s strictly physiological and he’s pissed he can’t stop it. His hands turn to fists under the restraints in anger and resistance. He pulls, tugs, and squirms, but it’s pointless. The PVC slides and moves in perfect form. My fuckin’ punk. Yeah.
It’s too soon to let it all happen. I want more time. I’m gonna break him. I remove his ball gag and position myself along side him. He has nothing to say. If he did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s my stupid fuck. I grab his hair in my fist and pull his face to mine and start kissing him. The minute I kiss him, his eyes close, his hands spring open, his fingers outstretched. He pitches and contorts, trying to get away, but his motions are limited. Why? Cuz he’s my caged animal. Yeah, that’s right, fuck. He lets go and decides again that the way to survive the game is to play. He has no choice. He’s sweating profusely under the vinyl. He’s breathing fast and heavy from nerves and fear. Good boy. I’m disappointed that his kissing lacks passion. But then, I’m not surprised. This mutha fucker is straight. I guess it’s time to make him anonymous.
I grab my leather hood with only pinholes for breathing. I pull it over his head and begin to lace it tight. With every cinch, he moans more intensely. I grab his crotch again and get a boner that he’s boning up to the scene. Well, okay, it’s not the scene. It’s not me. It’s because his cock is lubed and being stroked off. He can’t resist that. He has no control. Stupid fuck.
I’m getting tired of this game. Time to break him completely. I undo the restraints, flip him over on his stomach and re-secure his hands. I’m not much into fucking. Everyone knows that. But this is different. He’s a thing. I’m completely detached from him having any personality. I’m neither sensitive to his resistance or desire to go free. I have no sense of compassion for his situation. He’s the stupid fuck. He’s just a toy I want to use and throw away. I want him to feel me inside him. It’s time to completely make him my bitch in every sense. I pull the PVC pants down off his waist. I lay on top of him. I position my hand under his face in the leather hood. I feel his hot breath escaping onto my palm. Little does he know what’s coming. I open a bottle of poppers and hold it under the holes. I don’t know if he’s ever tried it. I don’t care. I’m gonna make his head spin. He smells the chemical and tries to turn away, but it’s futile. It courses through his veins and the rush begins. His body relaxes and he moans in a mix of pleasure and discontent. That’s when I do him.
I drive my cock into his ass without any mercy. He arches and bolts under the weight of my body. He screams in shock, pain, and terror, but outside the leather hood, it sounds like a whisper. Yeah. Good boy. Good boy. I start thrusting into him and I can hear him crying. It’s fucking hot now, bitch. Who’s the fag, now, punk? I keep driving into him until I’m ready to shoot. I cup my hand over his mouth and nose. I feel the leather on my hand and he realizes I cut off his ability to breath. I’m not here to tease him. I’m here to break him. I keep my hand in place and he struggles to twist his head and break free of my grasp. You’re only turning me on more, fucker. I’ve been doing this a while. I know the body’s rhythm. I know how much you can take. I’m gonna push you there and take you further.
He’s begging for air with every body move and every sound. My toy is turning me on. In those last moments of life, I explode inside of him. At the first sign I’m shooting, I release my hand and give him the air he needs. As his body collapses and relaxes with the influx of air, my load drives deep into him, again and again. He’s fucked in every sense. For a moment, he’s so wrapped up in breathing, he forgets about the pain and feeling of the Kid drilling his ass. Then the pain and realization quickly takes over. He’s balling under the hood. He’s broken. He’s busted. He’s my bitch.
Now he’s gonna learn something new about himself. Something that will fuck with his head forever. He’s about to discover that getting it on with another guy turned him on. It may never be a sexual notion again for him, but every time he looks at another guy friend of his, he’ll look at him differently. He’ll never look at a guy the same way. Everything he thought he knew about himself will be stripped away. It will all blur in his mind and he’ll never make sense of anything again. It’s time for him to cum. Time to take his mind. Time to take what he thought was his.
I roll him on his side and lay against him. I slip one hand under him, reaching under his jacket and PVC. I feel his sweaty chest and I move my hand to his nipple. I start twisting and pinching. My other hand reaches over him and finds his cock soaked in lube and pre-cum. I take hold and slowly work him up. He’s through moaning. He knows there’s nothing he can do. He’s vocally quiet. You’re cumming mutha fucker! I don’t give a fuck what image you put in your head. That’s it boy. Your cock is hard now, huh? You like that faggot?
I work him up and I feel his body pressed against mine. He starts moving in rhythm. He’s gonna shoot. Closer and closer. He’s breathing is rhythmic. His motions are rhythmic. I hold tight to his cock and he does it. He stiffens and shoots like a missile. Not once, not twice, but six fucking times. He coats himself and the rubber sheet in an ocean of cum.
Good boy. Good boy.
Exhausted. We both collapse. We lay there for an hour. But alas, I need to work tomorrow and I’m done with this stupid fuck. To humiliate him more, I get him up, get him out of my gear, and get him dressed in his jeans and t-shirt ?¢‚Ç¨‚Äù backwards. I leave him drenched in sweat and cum. I cuff him and begin the march to my car. Once in the car, I put duct tape across his eyes. Now it’s back to where it all started. I drive this piece of meat back to his car, walk him to the woods nearby and handcuff him around a tree. I grab the front of his t-shirt and roll it up over his head so it hangs off his shoulders exposing his chest. I grab a marker and start writing across his sweaty torso: “I was fucked by a guy.”
I walk away. That’s it. I’m done with you. How you get out of this now is your problem.
Yeah. Inconsiderate sex, you fuck.
You’re my bitch.
Like I said, every now and then, I get the urge to get rowdy with no apologies.