YVAN IN THE DARKROOM: At the foot of the bed
from
Recon News
08 December 2020
Yvan, also known as member QueerYvan, is a historian of sexuality. In an ongoing series, he shares some of his favourite fetish encounters (in a whole lot of detail), as well as occasionally fill us in on the history of kink.
When I met my master, things were different. I was the top, and had never been topped; he was younger and hungry but he did not know what for. He gave me his body as we explored new territories, inventing our own BDSM games, pushing the limits of experience until we had grown into each other and out the other side. Now, I sleep at the foot of his bed, on a mattress on the floor, waiting for him to want something from me. Sometimes it is my tongue to make him feel good, or my fingers to rub his tired feet, or my arse to plough, or my body to break. I hold my breath in wait for his voice and it feels like I am edging myself.
Often, we lay here in the heat, talking into the night. He cannot see me in the shadow at the foot of the bed, so when I climb up onto his to suck him off while he lies back watching the candle-light flicker on the roof - not flinching when he pours the molten wax the length of my spine - it is like coming into the sun. There is nothing I wouldn't let him do to me, which is why my skin is covered in marks made by him. Every touch on my body reminds me of him, regardless of whose hands they are, even my own. I give him everything he wants to take.
One night he was recounting for me a time when we had fucked like animals, on a hill overlooking Lyon, the city scintillating in the cold as I fucked his arse, pressing him into the cold stone. We were both wanking in our beds as he talked about my hands gripping firm on his shoulders, grabbing him like I owned him, pushing into him as deeply as I could. He moved down onto my bed, knelt over my face and continued to wank himself while I ate his arse. I came just after him, and was left in a puddle of our spunk. He told me he was thinking about getting his arse pounded like I had to him in Lyon as he came. "I want to get fucked tomorrow," he said before kissing me goodnight, leaving me lying in our mess.
* * *
He gave me half a Viagra after he kissed me, and told me to meet him in my bed in an hour. These moments when we fuck - when I fuck him - are golden. I am so excited, the wait takes an instant. He is also naked when he comes to me, kissing me again, then straddling my face and rubbing his hairy arse over my mouth, spreading his cheeks so I can penetrate him. He tastes clean, like almonds, like sweat. I can taste the day on him except where his body is open from the warm water. He rocks on my face, smothering my breath with his balls, jerking himself until his precum is glistening. I can feel my cock starting to get hard, but he does not touch it, and he pushes my hands away when I try. He moves himself forwards, just off my face so I can gaze at the saliva-wet hairs that curl around his pink hole, and tells me: "Someone else is coming here to fuck me tonight. He's not going to stay. He's not going to touch you. Just sex. Are you OK with that?" He takes his arse from my face. "Of course I am," I say. "I love seeing you get fucked."
-- I know you do. Maybe you can do it to me when he's gone?
-- Can I wank while you're being fucked?
-- No, I am going to tie you up. You can only listen… You can smell me, too. Ha. Maybe even taste me.
I am very aroused. My cock feels heavy in his hand as he leans forward, showing me his hole, taking my cock in his mouth and sucking me to the base in one excruciatingly deliberate movement, his lips slow as they softly draw back to the head, and that is all. And then he is up, tying my wrists above my head and my ankles apart, my cock hard and untouched. I wait, throbbing.
"Oh, it wouldn't do for a slave to see his Master being fucked, would it?" I recognise the deep voice, a friend of ours we both have sex with. He's beautiful. A Recon poster boy, if ever there was one. Gorgeous black skin, some tattoos, muscles, and a thick cock. Oh, I know how that cock feels - and I have seen the look on my boyfriends' face with it deep in his arse, inhaling his breath as it was fucked out of him. And he knows how to fuck. I could watch him all day. I love how versatile he is - how well he can give pleasure, or totally lose himself in it. His lips are heaven to kiss. His hands are strong and I wish he was here to spank me and fuck me and do whatever he wanted. But no - it is my boyfriend who is going to have all of that pleasure. Well, not all of it, really. I know exactly how good it is going to feel for him. The pleasure I most want for myself, I would happily give to him, especially in a scenario like this.
I am so hard it almost hurts. I am squirming, squeezing my prostate tight, already feeling precum trickling along the slit of my cock. I would love to be watching now, as I hear my boyfriend start to suck him. He's so greedy. When he finds a cock he likes, he throws himself at it, easily getting it into his throat. This is why I like seeing him suck someone else - to see his joy in exploring something new. The sounds that slosh out of him. The way his face tastes of cock after he has sucked one, this all drives me crazy. I am desperate to touch my cock, but all I can do is play with my breath and imagine my boyfriend with those strong black hands pushing his shaved head down to the base. I hear him splutter and remember how his arse hole looks when clenching tight as he gags. The thudding sounds of a wet cock slapping his face are driving me wild.
My boyfriend's glistening wet face appears over the end of the bed. "Open your mouth, slave" he says. He slowly spits saliva on to my waiting tongue. "Savoir it, slut. It's the only cock you'll taste tonight." He spits in my face and then slaps my cock hard. I wince, but I also almost ejaculate from the shock, and struggle to regain control of my body. He is laughing at me, and spits again.
I watch his face. I see it change as saliva dribbles down mine. He is still. His breath is held, his lips slightly parted. His arse is being opened up by our friend's mouth. I can hear the wet sounds of his thick tongue working into this hole I know better than my own. It is like I am watching how his face reacts when I am eating him. It is so intimate to see. As the tongue works into him, tasting his pleasure deeply, his face melts and I see all of the joy I ever given him light him up. These are the softest orgasms. Immediately he wants more and spreads himself wider, over and over until he can't restrain himself any longer and says "Fuck me." Even when he is bottoming, he still speaks like a top.
I am looking up, watching our friend's solid arms push my boyfriend into the bed. I can read on his face that our friend's cock is pressing against his arsehole, teasing him, stretching his desire before pushing into him. At first his brow is slightly knotted, his lips parted. He holds his breath as he takes it all of the way, silently opening his mouth. I know this cock well, and could read on his face every movement. Once he stretches to the size of the cock in his arse, he pushes back against it, as greedily as he had sucked it. I imagine the feeling of his round arse pressing back onto the loins of our friend. I hear them panting, the wet sounds as they fuck. My own breathing is in time with the groans of my boyfriend enjoying his struggle with this thick cock.
I can't always see what was happening. My boyfriend is thrown around the bed, so that most of the time I can only hear the slap of flesh upon flesh and the sound of the bed being pounded. The cries were long, animal moans. I love the sounds he makes when he has been fucked too much, when his body feels like it has been taken from him, possessed by a fantastic cock. He is gasping with each thrust; he has come too many times to orgasm any more, and is sobbing ecstatically to himself, alone in his pleasure as his body is being used. He is making all of the motions that I make when he fucks me to pieces like this. I know exactly how good he feels right now, at the point where nothing seems to exist, and I am on the brink of coming from happiness for him.
The breaths quicken, the cries louden. Orgasms that are worked for are the hottest, and I imagine our friend lying against mon beau, cock still in his arse, sweat sticking their bodies together. I can smell the spunk dribbling out of his arse as our friend gets up. "Bye, loves," he said. "Gotta go for my jog. Let's catch up soon." And then, turning to me for the first time that night, "Have fun, slave," he winks. His tracksuit is on, and he is out the door on his sweaty run home.
"Open your mouth, slave." My boyfriend's face appears over the edge of the bed again. He looks happy, sweaty, utterly exhausted. He sits over my face and tells me to lick his hole clean, feeling how stretched and warm he is as he squeezes spunk out of his body and down my throat. With one lubed-up hand he wanks me slowly while I eat his hole, silicone slippery and everything suspended in this moment until I cannot hold back any more and spurt semen all over my chest while he swallows me with his well-fucked hole. I could not be happier; nor could he.
