My first visit to a leather bar was an eye-opening experience. The men there were unlike anyone I had ever seen, far removed from the young guys I usually hung out with. Most of my peers found the idea of being with a man over 30 repulsive, and I guess I did too, at first. But the truth was, I didn’t really know any gay men over 30, especially not the strong, confident, and sexually powerful men I saw at the bar.
It was incredibly arousing. After my first encounter with one of these men, being taken in hand, controlled, and used as his sex toy, I craved more. I wanted to be one of the boys, led through the bar on a leash like a prized stallion, admired, lusted after, owned, and treasured—both a precious possession and a mere object of pleasure.
However, the deeper I delved into that world, the more I realized that much of it was just an act, a role-play, a facade that men put on for Saturday nights at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, there were serious dominant masters and real slaves, owned and submissive. But they were in the minority and kept to themselves. Just as I was starting to think I would never become one of them, questioning if they even thought I was worthy, I got my “big break,” as they say in acting.
One night, I noticed a man I didn’t recognize. Even among the other masters, he seemed darker, more intense. I wondered if I should trust him, if he was safe. I thought I should probably ignore him and focus on the well-known men in the community, but I couldn’t help myself. Every time I glanced at him, he was staring at me with laser-like eyes, and every time, my cock got harder. Finally, he strolled across the bar, slowly and confidently, with absolute self-assurance, as if he owned the world.
He introduced himself, revealing a warm and friendly demeanor, but even then, he maintained a reserved part of himself. I knew I was being manipulated, toyed with, judged, and seduced. I was aware of what was happening, and he wanted me to know. He wanted me to willingly give in to him. On the outside, I tried to remain cool and confident, respectful, and hopefully communicating my willingness to be submissive but not desperate or naive. Inside, I was trembling with desire and a hint of fear. I knew I was on the edge of something—something that both excited and terrified me, something that might change me forever.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. My leather jock was damp and sticky with pre-cum, and my balls ached. I didn’t want to seem too forward, but I hinted that I was willing to go home with him. He grinned, “Yeah, boy, you want me. You’ve wanted me since you first laid eyes on me. Your little boy prick hurts with desire. Your asshole is itching for a fuck.”
He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a card. Many leathermen carry cards, but my heart sank a bit. If he was giving me his card, it meant he wanted to see me again, but not that night. I wanted—needed—to feel his leather-gloved hands stroking my skin, his hard dick taking my ass.
He looked deep into my eyes with that burning, steel-hard gaze that made my knees weak, my breath catch, and my soul tremble. “I think you have what it takes to be a real slave. A fucktoy. A boy owned by a man; a real man who knows how to handle a boy like you. The question is, do you think you have what it takes? Do you want it? Want it bad enough to give up everything to have it?”
He placed the card in my hands. I could feel its weight, special and important, just like him. When I looked down, I was disappointed to see that his name wasn’t on it—just an address. Then I realized he had never actually told me his name. Before I could say anything, he said, “You already know what your answer is. I know what your answer is. But think about it, because you think you are supposed to think about it, and be there in two weeks. On time.”
It was like looking down the rabbit hole, and I knew I would jump. I was standing outside that door five minutes early, watching my watch, waiting to ring the bell at the exact moment. It was the first step in a surreal journey that led to me kneeling on an auction block, blinded by a spotlight while wealthy, powerful men bid on the right to own my body. I was terrified and exhilarated, wondering what I had gotten myself into but knowing I wanted it more than anything.
The bell chimed. The auction ended. My fate was sealed. Then a man stepped into the spotlight. The presenter turned to him, handed him a gold band with my name engraved inside, and said, “He’s yours.” My heart leapt! He was a complete stranger, but he was handsome—more than handsome, a total stud! Just as importantly, he had the same mesmerizing, irresistible aura of power and confidence that I had seen in the man at the bar, and I wanted him more than anything in my life.
Everything else passed in a blur. He undressed and fucked me, my mouth and my ass, right there on the block while the crowd watched, and I didn’t care. He was my world. Then he took me home. He showed me around, took me to my room, told me to shower and come to him in his room, on my knees. I did as I was told. This time, he actually kissed me, but not as a lover. He tasted me, enjoyed me like sips of vintage bourbon or puffs of an expensive cigar.
He made me undress him, made me suck him, ate my ass like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Then he made me straddle his muscular, powerful torso and impale myself on his impossibly fat cock. I couldn’t help but cry out in pain as he stretched me open, but my cock stayed hard with the ecstasy of giving myself to him. When he rolled me onto my back and mounted me to fuck me, I knew that when he plowed his seed deep into my guts, my fate would be sealed, but my life would be complete.
Boy For Sale
THE BOY LANE Chapter 3 – The Prize
My first visit to a leather bar was an eye-opening experience. The men there were unlike anyone I had ever seen, far removed from the young guys I usually hung out with. Most of my peers found the idea of being with a man over 30 repulsive, and I guess I did too, at first. But the truth was, I didn’t really know any gay men over 30, especially not the strong, confident, and sexually powerful men I saw at the bar.
It was incredibly arousing. After my first encounter with one of these men, being taken in hand, controlled, and used as his sex toy, I craved more. I wanted to be one of the boys, led through the bar on a leash like a prized stallion, admired, lusted after, owned, and treasured—both a precious possession and a mere object of pleasure.
However, the deeper I delved into that world, the more I realized that much of it was just an act, a role-play, a facade that men put on for Saturday nights at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, there were serious dominant masters and real slaves, owned and submissive. But they were in the minority and kept to themselves. Just as I was starting to think I would never become one of them, questioning if they even thought I was worthy, I got my “big break,” as they say in acting.
One night, I noticed a man I didn’t recognize. Even among the other masters, he seemed darker, more intense. I wondered if I should trust him, if he was safe. I thought I should probably ignore him and focus on the well-known men in the community, but I couldn’t help myself. Every time I glanced at him, he was staring at me with laser-like eyes, and every time, my cock got harder. Finally, he strolled across the bar, slowly and confidently, with absolute self-assurance, as if he owned the world.
He introduced himself, revealing a warm and friendly demeanor, but even then, he maintained a reserved part of himself. I knew I was being manipulated, toyed with, judged, and seduced. I was aware of what was happening, and he wanted me to know. He wanted me to willingly give in to him. On the outside, I tried to remain cool and confident, respectful, and hopefully communicating my willingness to be submissive but not desperate or naive. Inside, I was trembling with desire and a hint of fear. I knew I was on the edge of something—something that both excited and terrified me, something that might change me forever.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. My leather jock was damp and sticky with pre-cum, and my balls ached. I didn’t want to seem too forward, but I hinted that I was willing to go home with him. He grinned, “Yeah, boy, you want me. You’ve wanted me since you first laid eyes on me. Your little boy prick hurts with desire. Your asshole is itching for a fuck.”
He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a card. Many leathermen carry cards, but my heart sank a bit. If he was giving me his card, it meant he wanted to see me again, but not that night. I wanted—needed—to feel his leather-gloved hands stroking my skin, his hard dick taking my ass.
He looked deep into my eyes with that burning, steel-hard gaze that made my knees weak, my breath catch, and my soul tremble. “I think you have what it takes to be a real slave. A fucktoy. A boy owned by a man; a real man who knows how to handle a boy like you. The question is, do you think you have what it takes? Do you want it? Want it bad enough to give up everything to have it?”
He placed the card in my hands. I could feel its weight, special and important, just like him. When I looked down, I was disappointed to see that his name wasn’t on it—just an address. Then I realized he had never actually told me his name. Before I could say anything, he said, “You already know what your answer is. I know what your answer is. But think about it, because you think you are supposed to think about it, and be there in two weeks. On time.”
It was like looking down the rabbit hole, and I knew I would jump. I was standing outside that door five minutes early, watching my watch, waiting to ring the bell at the exact moment. It was the first step in a surreal journey that led to me kneeling on an auction block, blinded by a spotlight while wealthy, powerful men bid on the right to own my body. I was terrified and exhilarated, wondering what I had gotten myself into but knowing I wanted it more than anything.
The bell chimed. The auction ended. My fate was sealed. Then a man stepped into the spotlight. The presenter turned to him, handed him a gold band with my name engraved inside, and said, “He’s yours.” My heart leapt! He was a complete stranger, but he was handsome—more than handsome, a total stud! Just as importantly, he had the same mesmerizing, irresistible aura of power and confidence that I had seen in the man at the bar, and I wanted him more than anything in my life.
Everything else passed in a blur. He undressed and fucked me, my mouth and my ass, right there on the block while the crowd watched, and I didn’t care. He was my world. Then he took me home. He showed me around, took me to my room, told me to shower and come to him in his room, on my knees. I did as I was told. This time, he actually kissed me, but not as a lover. He tasted me, enjoyed me like sips of vintage bourbon or puffs of an expensive cigar.
He made me undress him, made me suck him, ate my ass like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Then he made me straddle his muscular, powerful torso and impale myself on his impossibly fat cock. I couldn’t help but cry out in pain as he stretched me open, but my cock stayed hard with the ecstasy of giving myself to him. When he rolled me onto my back and mounted me to fuck me, I knew that when he plowed his seed deep into my guts, my fate would be sealed, but my life would be complete.