A Meeting of Minds

The following article contains scenes of a fairly extreme nature, of heterosexual and gay sex - read it only if you're fearless and like that sort of thing.

The meeting had lasted almost an hour and Peter's attitude had been dominant and short. I hadn't enjoyed being spoken to in that way and neither had Bill but we'd put up with it and it was now drawing to a close. Bill had already got up and was heading for the door to get to the pub but I hung back.
"Peter", I said "a word?"
"Sure." He stood to one side of the table and inclined his head towards me.
I had already planned what I was going to say but had no idea how he would take it.
"I know that people are naturally inclined to be either dominant or submissive", I lingered on the two adverbs, "but they've usually had a conversation about what form that relationship is going to take. In public at least."
He looked at me quizzically.
"You see they have normally consented to behave in the dominant or submissive roles and they’ve agreed the limits."
His head turned slightly sideways.
"What are you getting at?"
My smile was broad.
"We haven't had such a conversation. We could have one, if you wanted. But until we have, well, we're equal."
"Is that what you want to do?"
"We could discuss it."
His eyes flashed up and down my body as though considering me for the first time in this new light.
"Can you visit tomorrow?"
"Yes. Where?"
He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to me.
"Too much noise here, -the neighbours. I have a place. What time?"
"I have a doctor's appointment so it better be after that. Don't want him seeing any marks, do we?" his eyebrows shot up.
"No. What about your wife?"
"She knows."
"Okay, come along after your appointment."
"About ten-thirty, eleven o-clock."
"Right. I must go."
With that, he was gone and I tidied up my papers and left.
The next day couldn't arrive fast enough for me or for Joanna. We discussed it over supper.
"Just make sure he gives you a thorough going over", she said "I'm fed up with being nagged every night."
"How far should I go?"
She got up and came around to my side of the table.
"Kneel" she commanded.
I slid off the chair and knelt in front of her, my back straight but my head slightly bowed. She hitched up the front of her skirt and pulled my head by the hair into her thrusting mound. I opened my lips and pushed against her, feeling that wonderful shortage of breath. She ground herself into me.
"You will do" she gasped "whatever your temporary master tells you. If he says suck, you suck long and deep. If he says swallow, you swallow it all. When he says bend you bend over and wait for the cane, the slipper, the crop, the paddle or even for his cock. You take it all. Understand?"
"Yes mistress."
Later, in bed she sat on my face and rode me like she was on a bucking bronco, ground the orgasm out of her body repeating "He's going to beat you. He's going to whip you, chain you up, clip your nipples and cane you, tie you down and beat your balls. He's going to fuck your face and pound your arse till you can't walk. Tomorrow, you're going to be abused, dominated, humiliated and fucked." She shouted the words as she came, clamping her thighs tightly around my ears and leaning forward to afford better contact between herself and my face.
She fell into the bedclothes and drifted off to sleep quickly, her face flushed and her breathing deep. I however, remained awake, wondering about what the morning would bring and whether I would be able to 'take it'. That was how I awoke as well. The questions still uppermost in my mind and my face now excited, my heart rate a little fast, palms a trifle clammy. She waved me off shouting after me "I want a blow by blow account remember."
The doctor's surgery was crowded but most of them seemed to be seeing nurses so my appointment came around more rapidly than I was expecting it to. It was straightforward as well. 'Nothing wrong with you’, ‘tests negative' and so on. I left, knowing that the little piece of paper in my pocket would guide me to my fate. Ten minutes later I pulled up the drive to a large, remote house just outside a small village near Worthing. I waited in my car, preparing myself as best I could for the unknown. I took a deep breath got out.
The large brown door was littered with brass furniture; hinges, letterbox, door-knocker and bell. I raised the knocker and let it fall. A second later the door opened and Peter's face appeared in the space between it and the jamb. "Come in." It swung fully open and I followed him inside. It was a large house, nicely furnished and brightly lit. He led me into the sitting room.
"You're a bit early. I'm expecting the postman so we won't get fully going until he's been and gone." He fixed me with a stare. "How much does your wife know?"
"All of it."
"Does she know what I'm going to do to you?"
"She's got a good idea."
"And she approves?"
"As long as you're thorough and leave me exhausted, beaten, degraded and unable to walk properly she thoroughly approves."
"Good. Any safe words?"
"None."
"Good. Stand in the middle of the room with your arms by your sides."
"Yes," I hesitated. Then added, "Yes sir."
I stood with my arms by my sides as he walked around me studying every detail available to him.
"Sweater off."
"Yes sir." I slipped it over my head and folded it neatly.
"On the chair over there." He motioned to me to put my sweater where he wanted it and continued his pacing around me as I did so. I then resumed my position in the centre of the room.
"Let's have a closer look at some of this." He stepped forward. This is always the point in any new contact that sets the heart racing at its forthcoming rate; - the first physical contact between a dominant man and his ‘victim’. I use the word ‘victim’ but don’t really mean it; we who are beaten and used by you dominants, who are degraded and whipped, caned and spanked are actually the ones in command and, by withdrawing consent, can control the session fully. This initial contact had the added excitement of the dominant taking control by undoing the buttons of a flimsy shirt and opening it to reveal what may lie within. He was in front of me, his hands at the top button. He slid the disk through the slit, his face moving closer to mine, the hands moving downwards to the next button. I could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the remains of sweet coffee. The button offered no resistance.
"Tell me."
"Yes sir?"
"Will your wife join us next time?"
"I don't know sir."
"Well we'll have to see just how closely I can match her instructions. Now, hands on head"
"Yes sir."
The next button was undone, my chest being revealed. Suddenly they were all undone and the shirt being slipped from my shoulders. The little brushing contact of his fingers against my nipples was enticingly exciting. It soon ceased to be so as he gripped and twisted them hard and I moaned aloud at the urgency of my need. And then doorbell rang. Peter opened it and I felt a rush of fresh cooler air as the door opened fully revealing to my own post lady my half naked and vulnerable state. That may have been very degrading but there was worse to follow.
He was about to sign for the parcel but then hesitated.
“I’ll need to check the contents for damage if that’s okay?” The post lady nodded unable to take her gaze from my self-declared subservient pose. He opened the parcel and produced a leather cat of nine tails and a three fingered leather tawse. He ran them lovingly through his fingers.
“They’ll come in useful shortly.” She looked at the two leather pieces of delight, then back at me.
“So I see.”
Peter signed and the post lady left, the door swinging shut behind her leaving me red-faced and feeling rather small.
“Go to the cupboard behind you and bring me three canes of your choice plus the brown box.
I turned and went to the hitherto unnoticed piece of furniture and opened the two main doors. I was a bit aghast at the staggering array of canes, paddles, ankle and wrist straps, tawses, whips and even a pair of handcuffs within. Indeed I remember thinking that selecting only three was getting rather lightly. Somewhat predictably I chose a light, medium and a heavy cane hoping he wouldn’t use them in that order as, up to a point I always find the light canes hurt the most, they almost cut the skin and I crave that only when the blur of initial punishment has sent the endorphins around the system to let me reach the ultimate state I crave. I gave them to Peter and he set them down, opening the box and revealing an extraordinary selection of nipple clips. He retrieved a pair and applied them. They weren’t too intolerable and actually felt rather nice until, that is Peter tugged at them and left them swinging.
It is the phrase ‘bend over’ that is, for me most evocative of all but uttered in a commanding voice by a true and natural dominant it attains a flagpole making quality that transcends ordinary expression. Peter was just such a man and as he used that pair of four letter words I could do nothing but instantly obey knowing my dread of clothed canings. I always prefer to be naked as, oddly, it doesn’t hurt so much; or maybe it hurts in a different way, yes, that’s probably it. As I bent I realised that clothing spreads the pain into a general dull ache whereas, when naked there is a precise point of contact that concentrates the mind beautifully. My musings were lost as the first stinger bit home bringing a yelp from my vulnerable form. Five more landed and from the corner of my eye I could see he was using the medium cane. By the sixth I was ready to rub and was noticeably quiet having had to close my eyes for the last two. He sat in a leather armchair on the other side of the room.
“Stand up.” I stood.
“Strip.” I stripped and, naked stood erect and rather proud.
“Come here.” He motioned to his side and I duly crossed the room to feel him taking my arm and, in that classical announcement of intention he pulled me across his lap for whatever lay ahead. The spanking he delivered was very thorough and I counted one hundred and forty four spanks in each batch. They gradually grew in pace and weight and varied in delivery so, first an even spread between both cheeks, each alternately beaten and then one buttock for twelve then the other for the same. One batch was delivered with the hand lading flat and crisp, another with it imitating the shape of the target and a third spanking in a scraping upward motion while the fourth did the opposite.
The spanking was all very well but it was what he was doing with his other hand that really got me going. I assumed that in reaching underneath me he’d play with my nipples but no, he merely removed the clips and then left my chest altogether. He placed his hand on the back of my head and pushed it down. To someone like me, brought up in an abusive little boarding school in Surrey where beatings were daily occurrences and degradation a specialist art form this was better than heaven, neater than neat and tantamount to orgasm inducing happiness.
There were six lots of 144 blows and the heat emanating from my behind was wonderfully refreshing but all good things must come to an end and so it was that I felt myself being pushed from his lap and into the soft deep carpet below, my naked form at his feet, vulnerable and prone. He motioned to his trouser zip.
“Time for another form of beating.” He said and I knew precisely what he meant. Reaching up I felt the lump of his flesh, already semi-hard and lying bratwurst-like in its cage of cotton and metal fastenings. I quickly released it and was delighted to find my touch arousing it to yet greater heights fatter girth and become a mouth-watering prospect. I’m a slow eater, preferring to savour the touch, the smell, the look and the prospect of a meal prior to taking my small bird-like mouthfuls; masticating thoroughly and appreciating each taste as it lingers. This mans’ offering seemed to me to promise protein on a grand scale and justified intense scrutiny. I started by peeling back his foreskin and enjoying the lightest of licking with my well-moistened tongue. Gradually I increased the amount but then, and it was a very sudden move, he clearly got impatient as he grabbed my hair, holding me still and thrust up and deep into my mouth. It touched the back and I could feel my automatic reflex making me want to gag. It’s this point in any pornographic movie that really excites me. It doesn’t matter whether it’s being administered by male or female and it can even be either on a strap-on prosthetic - it’s when the throat bulges with the entry of the head that I find my hips grinding in an automatic gesture of respect and intense sexual craving. Sadly I’m not as good as some but, given time to introduce the cock slowly I can get most men off very quickly. On this occasion it was such a rapid introduction that I was barely able to contain myself.
He withdrew slightly, sensing my unease but gave me only a moments respite before striking up a regular and deep thrusting rhythm that I found at once challenging and very rewarding. My jaw quickly began to ache and I regretted not spending more time practising this mouth stretching action by sucking on a dildo strapped to my wife at home. I persevered and so did he allowing me to occasionally come up for air. It was then that he stood back and removed his own clothes. Unlike our fantasies he was no Adonis but had a slight middle age spread and man boobs that were still under control but he was tall and relatively lean and as he returned to the armchair I felt hugely comfortable being naked with this man in charge. He pressed home again, thrusting further than before and holding me longer and deeper until with an urgent movement he stood once more and roared at me.
“Kneel up and open your mouth.” I was slightly in awe and more than a little disappointed as I’d wanted him to climb inside another orifice prior to demanding the final swallow but he was the boss and I knelt, gazed up and opened my mouth awaiting the inevitable. When the inevitable did happen it was more than I could have wished for not just for the quantity of semen he deposited in my face and mouth but the quality of his passion, his grunting expulsion of pent up lust and the wonderful words he ground out as he pumped his last few drops.
“That’s so when I fuck you I last a really long time and make your wife’s wish come true. You won’t walk straight for a week.”

* * *

I savoured the meal as is my wont and tasted each drop as though it were my last, I truly drank of the cup of life and watched as he slumped back into his chair and rested. It didn’t take him long to recover his faculties however and, although much quieter in his delivery the commanding tone was unmistakeable.
“Put your shirt over the arm of the sofa and lie across it.”
“Yes sir.”
Now, more vulnerable than ever I waited as his breathing became more normal, his frame more relaxed and for a moment I thought he almost fell asleep. It seemed a long time but in reality I was kept waiting probably no more than a few minutes and as he rose and picked up the heavier of the canes I had chosen I was able to appreciate his manly handsomeness properly and in perspective. A naked man sitting has little defence for middle age spread but when he stands the army drill sergeant’s words are automatically the ones that are ringing in his ears ‘chest out, stomach in, head highest and breath from the diaphragm’ they roar again and again and Peter followed the rule to the letter. I was impressed and hoped I would find the closest of contacts heading my way.
“Look the other way.” I dragged my attention away from him and regarded the back of the sofa.
I have to admit that the first one didn’t really hurt or, didn’t seem to. It was only after the time it took for him to say: “Count them out.” That it started to soak through and into my conscious mind and then, well I realised that this heavy cane was a monster.
“You’re getting twelve.”
“One, thank you sir.”
I heard the swish and felt the fire much quicker this time.
“Two, thank you sir.”
The third was a little sickening it was so painful and yet the best so far.
“Three, thank you sir.”
The fourth, slightly low and excruciatingly placed across my upper thighs.
“Four, thank you sir.”
I won’t describe each as, in the end it’s just counting but I can explain better by saying that it was at about this point, the fourth stroke that I started to wonder why I do this, put myself through all this pain and frustration, these lines of fire that decorate me and by the eighth I knew for certain that I was mad, the pain was simply too much to bear and all of my senses were screaming inside for it to stop and stop now. Fortunately I know myself better than that and by the time I said
“Twelve thank you sir.” I’d reached it: that point where all is revealed in glorious detail, where the ecstasy takes over from the agony and anticipation to satisfaction and, still another cane to come.
The cock appeared in front of me. It was already semis hard and I took it straight down and into my throat, not bothering about my own gagging reflex just savouring the wonderful sensation both ends. He thrust with agility and energy and I noticed how very hard he was becoming. Just as I was about to go for the stomach pull he withdrew and I felt him walk around to my rear. There was some rustling and tearing noises and I knew he was putting a condom on, the squirt of lube confirming this. He nudged at the heart of me with surprising gentleness, I should explain I’m not regularly buggered and it’s usually my wife with a small dildo so I am inordinately tight and he seemed to sense this as I felt him slowly increasing the pressure against the entrance to my world. Slowly though, it opened to him and, after a short pause he started to slowly rock into and out of me; small movements at first but gradually gaining in length, depth and, eventually pace. The feelings that he was arousing inside me are hard to describe: I always close my eyes when this is happening as it takes me straight back to the occasion when it first occurred so there’s always, initially at least, a mixture of fear and sadness, pain and wonderment. As the pace quickens however these feelings change and I nearly always find myself pushing back against my aggressor in a very sluttish way. It took a little longer than usual on this occasion probably due to the size of the brute but by the time I felt him pounding full-length into and out of me I was in that place I dream of going, of arriving at that magical destination where all things are clear. I was groaning in a very naughty way and my pre-come was making a fearful mess of my shirt. If I wasn’t careful I knew I would come and a caning immediately post orgasm seemed a very painful prospect. I pushed up and away from the sofa arm to avoid my cock rubbing against it. But needn’t have as I heard him grunt once more and then felt him thrust as far and as hard as he could, coming home I call it and that’s exactly what it felt like. He pumped and ground into me relieving all of his terrible frustrations for a second time that morning and then slumped across my back.

* * *
Once more I was sure he slept, if only for a moment or two but soon enough he recovered.
“I’m at my meanest when sexually satisfied” he said “are you sure you want these last six?”
“Yes sir.” I was certain I did. I felt him pull out of me and felt empty. He tidied himself up.
“Stand up and face me.” I did and felt his closeness once more, his breath warming the air between us. I wasn’t expecting it but the stubbly kiss wasn’t a problem when it came, in fact I enjoyed it but obtained even greater pleasure from feeling his arms curl around me and cup my still flaming buttocks in each hand as he squeezed them tight. The kiss was broken for a moment with the words:
“They’re going to hurt like hell.” And then the kiss was resumed in that gentle manner, so light and delicate, long and lingering and in such stark contrast to the content if not the delivery of his words. Eventually though, it was broken.
“Middle of the room and touch your toes.”
I love that position. It is simply the best way to finish a caning as the stretched skin allows really precise neat lines to exact the most complete revenge on a complacent bottom. Peter seemed to know this as he began by stroking my buttocks gently and with a seeming desire to alleviate my suffering. This however, soon turned to a further spanking, nowhere near as hard as the initial but enough to get me hot.
The final caning was, excellent building as it did from medium-hard to extremis by the fourth. I really did wonder if I would get to six without inventing a knew safe word such as ‘stop’ but managed to hold off until that last glorious stroke lit my senses for the last time and left me gasping. It wasn’t the cane as such it was the flick of the wrist and perfectly timed that did it.
Peter pushed me towards the sofa and, this bit really surprised me as it’s only the second time a top has done this but he knelt and started to suckle at my own rampant member and proved himself to be very expert. I exploded in bigger bursts than usual as I’m normally a dribbler but this had real force behind it.

As he licked the final drops from me I heard him say: “And next time you’ll bring your wife.”
“Yes sir.” Was the only reply I could manage.