The “Gauntlet II” was slow when I walked in at 9 on a Friday night.  I got the usual interested looks as I waited for Arthur Sire.  I was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, my favorite red jock, and new boots.  I drank a beer and smoked a few cigarettes.  The official function at G-II was LA Bear’s toy and donation drive: “Christmas in July.”  The bar started to fill with big, hairy guys, dressed in leather and denim, smoking cigars and putting toy donations around a Christmas tree.

            Arthur walked in at around 9:45 looking tall and elegant in black leather.  I handed him the beer I had ready for him; he cuffed my hands behind my back, pulled my t-shirt over my head and clamped my nipples hard.  He snipped his beer as he tugged on my nipples; I controlled my breathing and focused on the pain.  The bears watched but pretended not to look at our scene, which I had told Arthur previously that I needed it to be public and objectifying for me.  As the object of Arthur’s pleasure, the bears didn’t know what to do.  Arthur drained his beer and led me to the door by my nipples; as we approached the entrance and donation table the nipple clamps snapped off; I grunted in relief as my t-shirt dropped back over my chest,  The bears surrounding the table drew back to let us pass.

  Arthur said to the bears, “I have something for you.”  The bears almost gasped and looked at me.  Arthur pointed to me, released my cuffs and I handed them a five for the toy drive.

  “Oh,” said the bear minding the booth.  He took the bill, looking relieved and disappointed at the same time.  Arthur and I left the Gauntlet, laughing about shocking the big, mean ol’leather-clad bears.

  At the “Den of Iniquity,” in the heart of Hollywood, Arthur ordered me to strip to my jock and boots.  He put my hands and ankles in prisoner shackles and asked me to get him a drink.  I hobbled over to the drink table as the party guests smacked my bare ass and tweaked my nipples.  With my shackles on, I managed to pour water everywhere.  After I cleaned-up the water, Arthur attached my shackles to the large bed frame.  He and Anna Valentina beat me as I thanked them for their attention.  I whispered to Arthur as Anna whipped my naked butt, “I think I feel sick.”  The nausea eased and I slide into the pain, thanking Anna for each blow.

  I came-to on the floor, still attached to the bed-frame by my shackles.  I had that “where-am-I?” feeling that you get when you wake up somewhere that is not your own bed after a deep sleep.  I heard the voices of all the party-goers.  Arthur and Anna unshackled me from the bed, gave me water and toweled me dry.  When I was dry enough to serve again, I presented my rump for Arthur’s inspection.  It was indeed red and hot; then I sat on the floor and kissed Anna’s beautiful thigh-high; stiletto heeled, patent leather boots.  In the background, the television showed the forced-bi video I had made with Anna a few months earlier.  The video showed me arousing a bound hetero-guy with my mouth; I also spanked his balls with my hard cock and covered them with my come.  The party-goers watched the live me on the floor, beaten until I passed-out, kissing the boots of my torturer and looked at the video of us at the same time, together torturing another man..  I felt elated and amazed that I had gone that deep; the hard thud of my hitting the floor still chained to the whipping post had shaken the whole building and brought the party to an awed silence.

  Arthur and I were the only same sex, dom/sub pair.  Our presence was unique.  A man submitting to a dominate woman or a women submitting to a dominate man, or even a woman submitting to another woman is less challenging than seeing two sexy men, one submitting to the other, even in an S&M party.  All the other male submissives were feminized men dominated by women; I was the only masculine man, almost naked except for my jock, boots and bondage submitting to another virile man.

Next, Arthur bound me with rope from my cock, up my torso, around my neck, to my hands bound behind my back.  I wandered the party, again, as my nipples were tweaked by the other mistresses and the heat from my red, spanked ass was admired.

  Arthur pulled me by his beautiful rope-work into the big room; shoved a gag into my mouth, buckled it behind my head and ordered me to kneel, my head on a low table with my hands tied behind my back.  He pulled the jock away from my cock and balls, leaving them exposed and prominent from my half-hard-on, leather studded cock ring, and my PA.  I felt his lash on my back, my buttocks, and my balls and again I sank into the pain flowing over me like a river.  I grunted against the blows until they stopped; as I panted, Arthur grabbed me by my sweaty hair and turned my head.

  “Look.” Arthur said.

  My eyes focused, and as I came back I saw the room-full of party-goers watching our scene, in silence and arousal.  My cock swelled as Arthur pulled the jock back in place; removed the gag and set my hands free.  I stood up with the sweat running down my body and looked as the room dispersed.  I had a few shots of room temperature vodka from the bottle, to ease the pain in my back and butt.

  I watched Anna as she ground carefully the stiletto heel of her boot into the groin of a chubby, pink-bodied man stretched out naked on the floor in front of her.  He groaned as he licked her boot; his small pink penis was slightly hard and bobbing out from the snatch of red pubic hair that surrounded it.  Anna smacked him lightly on the butt with her crop and the pink-man whimpered, his pale skin quickly reddening.  I wanted to hurt him with Anna and I asked Anna if I could assist her.  Her response was: “no,” because she felt that this was all the pink-man could take.  Still, I wanted to hurt him and make him cry but that was not to be for this night.

  Anna told Arthur that she wanted some time with me.  Arthur bound me into the standing frame, spread eagle so that I could not move in any direction.  I waited naked, bound and displayed for almost an hour, for Anna to take her pleasure with me.  I stomped my boots impatiently, like a horse in a stall but I could not move.

  Finally, Anna came to me with Arthur and the rest of the party-goers who still remained at this late hour.  As they watched, I felt the sting of Anna’s lash.  I cried out and writhed in the ropes but I could not move to turn away, even involuntarily from the blows Anna reigned down on me.  She whipped me with all her strength and skill, stroke after stroke after stroke of merciless lashes, in rapid succession over my back, butt, thighs, legs and shoulders.  I screamed and tried to move away but the beating continued and I felt the pain swallow me, as I was forced to accept Anna’s domination and become an object of her will and pleasure.  The whipping continued, with increasing force and rapidity.  The more I screamed, the harder the blows, until I felt a huge sadness well up inside of me and pour out in a flood of tears, my body dropping in the bondage.  I was broken.

  I had not expected to cry; I really did not want to cry; my goal for the evening was my objectification, but cry I did, in huge waves of sobbing for “all the bullshit.”

  …I had seen enough in that journey to know with certainty that…from the beginning…something about the inherited unfairness—that nobody’s responsible but we’re all guilty...(John Rechy, City of Night).

“Bullshit” was all I could say: somehow I was back again to that place of being an eight year-old boy sexualized by my male babysitter.  I have cried for that before and can honestly say, I’m over it, but tonight, this crying was deeper almost universal, if such a thing is possible.  The pain had taken me to a place of cleansing I didn’t even realize I needed but my body did and my body took me to my emotions and my emotions connected me with myself and everyone else.  As I cried in waves that would not stop; my bondage was released and Anna held me.  She was exhausted and sweating also.

  It took a week for the bruises to go away (with the help of high-strength arnica salve) but the feeling of having done something significant remains. The pain was transcendent; I feel stronger, purified, powerful and serene.  I don’t really care that everything in this world is less than perfect because I stepped through a portal that has elevated me a vibration above that imperfection so that the imperfection has become perfection that covers me and I can see the perfection of the imperfection in everyone and everything around me.  Well, that is until someone cuts me off in traffic, then I am the same old screaming shit-head, but I still come back to a place inside myself that is clean, secure and perfect.