| Subject: The Leatherman |
Author:
Stan
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Date Posted: 14:30:39 07/06/17 Thu
I grew up in a small farming town in Kansas. I was gay and totally closeted. When I was 18, I bought my first car. I saw it as a means of escape from a world I just didn't fit into. So, one year, I decided to take a vacation. I told my parents that I planned to drive along the Pacific coast, but my real destination was San Francisco, which I had heard was the unofficial "gay capital" of the U.S.
With a "gay address book" I picked up at a bookstore in San Francisco, I had no problem locating the gay bars there. I spent my first evening there in one gay bar. However, I didn't feel very comfortable in it. It had many young guys, like myself, except that most of them were a lot "prettier" than me. I didn't talk to anyone in that bar the whole evening, and no one there approached me either. The next night, I decided to go to a different bar. It had a somewhat older clientele. The guys weren't as pretty, but they seemed friendlier. One guy started up a conversation with me. His name was "Bob". I told him that, having grown up in Kansas, this was only my 2nd time in a gay bar. Bob told me this bar was what they usually referred to as a "levi-leather bar". The crowd there was generally a little older, and a lot of them liked to wear leather. However, Bob assured me that young guys, like myself, were always welcome there.
Bob asked me if I was going to be in town for very long, and I asked him why. He said I should be sure to stay for the Folsom Street Fair that took place in 2 days. I had never heard of it before, but Bob assured me it would be a real "eye-opener". So, a couple days later, I headed for Folsom Street. I thought it would just be a typical Gay Pride Festival like those I had seen on the TV news. But I soon noticed that it seemed to be dominated by the "leather crowd". Then, I was startled when I saw what appeared to be an X-shaped whipping post. A shirtless guy was tied up to it, and another guy, who was dressed in leather from head to foot, was administering a flogging to him. I couldn't believe that such a thing was allowed on a public street! Bob was right. This fair was a real eye-opener! Then I came across another "occupied" whipping post, and then another one and another one and another one. It brought to mind Dorothy's memorable line from The Wizard of Oz, "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore!" And each time I encountered a whipping post with a flogging in progress, I felt compelled to watch it to its inevitable painful conclusion. One whipping post even had a sign next to it that read "Floggings For Charity". It must be comforting for the bottom tied to that whipping post to realize that the lash was being applied to his back for purely altruistic reasons.
While observing those floggings, I noticed that the guys being punished did not all react the same to the lash. Some guys made no sound at all during their punishment, although the deadly serious look on their faces betrayed the pain they must have been experiencing. Some guys made occasional outcries when the lash struck their back, while other guys were crying or yelling or cursing throughout their entire ordeal. And then there were guys who apparently had a change of heart and were pleading with their captors to stop the punishment. But when those pleas for mercy went unheeded, they would desperately try to free their hands from the leather restraints that held them captive. But there would be no escape for them from the sting of the lash. I found myself getting quite aroused as I watched those flogging scenes unfold.
As I was walking through the fair, I came across another whipping post that was occupied. A very young guy was tied to it and receiving a flogging. I suddenly realized that the guy administering the punishment was Bob, who had befriended me in the bar. In the daylight, I was able to see Bob much more clearly than I had been able to in that dimly-lit bar. I noticed that Bob had more hair on his chin than on top of his head, and he was obviously a little overweight. But all that paled into insignificance as I watched him confidently apply the lash to the young prisoner's back. Even though his prisoner had started to cry from the pain of the lash, I found myself strangely envious of him, wishing that I was in his place receiving those lashes.
After the flogging was over with and Bob had released his "prisoner", he suddenly noticed me, and it was obvious that he remembered me. He came over and said hello. He asked me if I was interested in receiving a flogging? I told him I had never even thought about it before today, but after having witnessed so many floggings at the fair, I was curious to try it out, but I admitted I was a little scared too. Bob said he'd enjoy being the one to introduce me to the experience of flogging, but he had to "man" the booth at the fair. So he couldn't devote all the time he'd like to with me then. He told me, though, that if I went to his place in the evening after the fair closed up, he could provide me with a more "intimate" experience. Since I preferred my first experience to be a private one, I agreed to meet him at his place.
When I showed up at Bob's house, he invited me in, and we sat down on the couch. He asked me if I had any concerns before we got started, and I told him I was afraid of the pain I might experience during the flogging. He said it was normal for bottoms to experience fear, even if it wasn't their first time. He told me not to worry about it. He said those things always work themselves out. Then we got up and Bob led me through a dimly-lit hallway to a locked door. Bob took out a key and unlocked the door. He opened it and said, "Welcome to my dungeon!" The room was dimly-lit. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed an X-shaped whipping post, like the ones I had seen at the fair. Then I saw another piece of "bondage furniture". Bob explained it was a "spanking bench". He said he used it to administer punishment to a prisoner's ass. And on the wall hung an impressive array of punishment implements. The sight of them both frightened and excited me.
Bob told me to take off all my clothes. Then he took me over to the whipping post and secured my wrists and ankles to the leather restraints that were hanging from it. Perspiration was dripping profusely from my armpits, betraying the fear I was experiencing. I trusted Bob, but I didn't trust my ability to "take" the pain. I saw Bob walk over to the wall and remove a mean-looking leather flogger. Then he began to "punish" me with it. At first, the tails of his flogger lightly grazed across my upper back. Surprisingly, they didn't really hurt, but just warmed up my back a little. This continued for quite some time, gradually gaining in intensity.
Every now and then, I would hear the leather tails "snap" against my back, and I would suddenly feel a sharp stinging pain. Then, the strokes would lighten up a little, providing me some relief. The pain would come and go many times after that. At some point, though, I was given no more relief. The pain soon outwore its welcome, and I started yelling. The steady impact of painful lashes had become unbearable. I told Bob I couldn't take the pain anymore and pleaded with him to stop my punishment, but he wouldn't relent. I frantically tried to pull my hands out of the leather restraints, but there was no escape. I screamed and screamed from the pain. Then, a few minutes later, Bob stopped my punishment. It took another minute or two before I stopped crying.
While I was still tied in the restraints, Bob wrapped his arms around me, and he gently kissed my sore back several times. He told me he was sorry for punishing me so severely, but, as a novice, I needed to be taught an important lesson. And he thought it was better that I learn that lesson from him rather than from someone else, namely, that when I submit to being tied up for punishment, I will have to take whatever punishment the top chooses to inflict on me and not expect any mercy to be shown. Then Bob released me from the restraints and invited me into his bedroom. We both lay on top of his bed. Bob told me he really got turned on by my screams of pain. I sucked him off, hoping to absorb some of his masculinity, and then we both slept soundly.
The next morning, when we awoke, I noticed that Bob had gotten hard again. His "well" of masculinity never seemed to run dry! I told him I was curious what it felt like being tied up in bondage to that spanking bench of his, and he said it wasn't too late to find out. So, he led me back to his dungeon again. He told me to lie down, on all fours, on top of the spanking bench. My forearms rested on comfortable leather-covered pads, and Bob fastened restraints around my wrists. The lower part of my legs also rested on leather-covered pads, and Bob secured my legs in restraints too. Then he told me, "I think you need to experience a good spanking as part of your education." When he said that, I quickly tested the restraints and realized that escape was impossible. The spanking bench left my buttocks exposed for any punishment that Bob might choose to inflict on them. He removed a wooden paddle from the wall. I noticed there were a number of holes drilled in the wood. Bob told me the holes made the paddle extra painful. He began spanking my ass with it. Bob was right. That paddle hurt like hell! Very quickly, I started yelling from the pain. I begged Bob to stop, but he refused. He reminded me of the lesson he had taught me last night, that I should not expect to be shown any mercy. I screamed with every whack of his paddle. I thought my head was going to explode from the pain. A little while later, but not nearly as soon as I would have liked, Bob stopped the punishment. Then, he lay on top of me and fucked me several times. He continued to lie on top of me for a while longer before releasing me from the restraints.
Bob told me I handled the punishment really well. But I told him that I would probably be a disappointment to other tops because I couldn't take the pain without crying. He said I needn't worry about that. Bob confided to me that he actually preferred a bottom who couldn't "take" all the pain. It gave him a feeling of power over that bottom. That made me feel really good.
After my "vacation" was over with, I realized I had desires that could never be fulfilled in Kansas. So, I decided to move to San Francisco. Although Disneyland, in southern California, was noted for its Fantasyland, I found my own "Fantasyland" in San Francisco.
For the curious, this story was pure fiction, although the Folsom Street Fair is a real event.
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