Leather bars such the DC Eagle occasionally held contests generally touting some masculine superlative of beards, chests, or other physical, fetishy attribute (but never poetry; I wonder why). Contests were advertised in advance and were supposed to be entertaining, but also served to increase patronage (more people buying more drinks), not to mention the chances for a hook-up.
So, one Saturday night at the Eagle there was some contest or other (it was hard to keep track of them all), and I went. Like a lot of others, I dressed appropriately, like, work boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt.
I had also started stuffing a bandana in my back pocket if I went out. In old-school gay culture, a bandana by its color could be used to indicate one’s sexual proclivity of the moment. I didn’t really think about that, but only of how certain accessories enhanced the look of whatever bar-wear I (floozy!) had on.
Before too long a rather handsome bear, a few years older than me, in full leather started chatting me up, the brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes.
He was quite assertive in suggesting that he wanted me to come home with him that night. As we talked, he also became quite interested in pinching my nipple rings that he discovered by feeling up my chest, and wanted to find out how far I’d go in letting him play with them.
Hunter had taught me, along with what a bear is, that when a man reaches for your nipple, you don’t wince or pull back. You push your chest out and look him in the eye. So, I pushed my chest out and looked this guy in the eye, adding that under the proper conditions, Sir, how far I’d go would be up to him. (I was learning the talk as well as the walk.)
He said his name was Brad and he flew into town for a while on business but also to do a few DC things if time permitted, like going to the Eagle. (Who flies with full leather clothes if time permits? That shit’s heavy.)
He also informed me that since I had already used the word, I would continue to call him Brad Sir. After doing a little preliminary making out, occasionally glancing at the leather contest goings-on, Brad Sir and I left. He had parked a couple of blocks away and I walked with him to get a lift back to where I had parked.
In my car I followed Brad Sir back to his hotel, somehow found parking on a typically crowded DC street, and went up to his room. I stood quietly, assuming he wanted me to wait until he gave orders. Brad Sir pulled the mattress onto the floor to give us a little more room, he said, to play without toppling off the bed. I couldn’t imagine what he had in mind that would risk falling off the bed, but OK.
In a few minutes we were rolling around on the mattress and getting out of our clothes. But once he had my shirt off, his smile vanished and he got serious about manhandling my nipples again, rubbing or pinching them hard, and in another moment produced a pair of nipple clamps.
Before he could apply the clamps, at my suggestion, Sir, he took my bandana and tied my wrists behind my back, getting more into our impromptu scene. With me bound, he wrenched my belt open, yanked my pants down, pushed me onto my back, straddled my hips, and with his balls resting on my cock, slowly and deliberately put a clamp on each of my nipples.
It was the first time someone had played hard with my piercings and tied and bound as I was, trapped on my back between Brad Sir’s knees, I couldn’t do much about it besides “enjoy” it. My wrists tied under the small of my back forced my chest to arch upward, my nipples on high, an offering to Brad Sir’s strong fingers.
And Brad Sir was clearly enjoying making me enjoy it, also making me call him Sir more as he tugged on the chain connecting the nipple clamps, our cocks (especially mine!) firmly erect. To make sure I felt the clamps, he repeatedly removed then replaced each clamp, each time making me recoil from the pain as the blood and feeling rushed back in.
Shifting himself down my legs, Brad Sir further explored his captive, lightly tracing his fingers around my balls and tickling the shaft of my cock, he said, just enough to make me want more but not about to let me have it, unless I behaved. The pre-cum drooling from my cock was more than enough to tell him his torments were having the desired effect.
To make sure I had ample time to behave, he kept me tied on my back for quite a while. Brad Sir was clearly enjoying keeping me pinned down and helpless, teasing my begging cock or tweaking my upthrust nipples, making me wait, a faint smile on his face as he took pleasure using my body as his play toy.
After a while my nipples had had, please Sir, enough of being abused and he unclamped them, flooding them with pain again. He finally relented and slowly jerked me off, barely touching my cock, eventually granting me a (I thought) well-earned cum. Then he jerked himself off all over me and used his cock like a spatula to paint our cums all over my chest.
He untied me and we (mostly me) wiped ourselves off and fell asleep naked under a sheet on the mattress still on the floor, the tip of my cock still wet from my cum and my nipples red and sore from the abuse.
Besides the BDSM play, Brad Sir turned out to be a nice guy, gentle and good natured when not torturing my nipples, and we stayed in touch for a quite a few years.