John

This story is a work of fiction. It is a gay bondage fantasy, no part of which is based on real life. Any resemblance therefore to anyone living or dead is purely accidental. This story depicts male on male sexual practices, if you are offended by this then stop reading now.

All characters depicted in this story are willing participants in all the scenes they appear in. No one was coerced or paid to appear in this story.

The practices and themes depicted in this story, in no way reflect the author’s beliefs or sexual practices. If you chose to act out scenes from this story, please do it responsibly. Always practice safe sex; you owe it not only to yourself but to your sexual partners. If you think you have injured yourself or think you have contracted a sexual disease, or have any other health concerns. Please consult with a health professional.

Don’t contact the author with commercial requests or advertising, I can find enough of that on the internet to fill my every want, need, and or desire. Do contact me if you want to talk about the story, ask questions, send messages, or give feedback. Feel free to make suggestions but I do not guarantee that any of them will be used, particularly if they require any of the characters to act outside of parameters of the story or their bio.

If you do not like this story, then go and read someone else’s.

Thanks.

John was walking around the streets of the City of Melbourne. He’d lived his entire life in the suburbs of Melbourne, and went into the City a lot over his lifetime, almost any chance he had, so, like most Melbournians, he knew the City centre quite well. All the main streets, and most of the little lanes that lead off the main streets. John used all the side streets and lanes to traverse the City and miss out on some of the heavier traffic as often as he could.

Anyway, this particular night John was up near Parliament House in Bourke St, and he decided that he was going to cut through some of the back lanes and catch the tram in La Trobe St and head home. He’d had a great night out with friends, wining and dining the night away. John loved the City, and it seemed as though the City loved him back. Now John prided himself on his knowledge of the City; for instance, he could take you and show you the walled garden that is behind the original Dr’s residence in Collins St. When people use to actually live in the City in the early 1800s’, the City Councillors built the houses with walled gardens as they needed to attract Dr’s into the City. But, back then, as now, the City wasn’t a safe place for children, so when they built the Dr’s residences above the consulting rooms, they also built the walled gardens to keep their children safe. So that the masses living in the City had access to medical care, or John could take you and show you where the darkroom used to be where the first-ever motion picture was made. Or where the original Town Hall used to be, yes, John thought he knew the City Centre reasonably well, well better than reasonably well actually. John liked to think that he knew the City like the back of his hand; in fact, John prided himself on knowing the City almost too well. So, when he decided to use the back alleys and lanes to make his way to La Trobe St, he didn’t hesitate, even though it was the early hours of the morning.

Of course, John knew of the dangers of taking his uncharted course through the back lanes of the City, what with all the homeless, the drug addicts and dealers, along with the general criminal element. That inhabited the City now. But John wasn’t too concerned, he’s in his early 20’s and works out, and also does martial arts, so he was pretty confident in his abilities to take care of himself. So, he plunged into a laneway that led off from Bourke St in the general direction of La Trobe St.

John loved the fact that a lot of the laneways were still paved with cobblestones, and he could let his imagination run wild and imagine that he was back in the Melbourne of the early 1800s. Where he could find an opium den, a brothel, or some other place of disrepute just around the next corner. He planned for his current course to take him through the original slums of Melbourne, where he, a fine upstanding member of the community could mix with the lower classes for a short period of time, and be lucky to escape again before morning with his life and what money he had intact.

John broke out of his mussing long enough to realise that he hadn’t reached Lonsdale St, nor, for that matter had he crossed Little Bourke St yet. Not that he was concerned, it was in fact 2020, not 1820, and while there is an element of crime in the City, where isn’t there any crime these days John asked himself. But still, he should have exited onto Little Bourke St by now. John still wasn’t too concerned, but he’d decided to concentrate on where he was going instead of just letting his mind wander where ere it will. Another reason John loved the lanes and back streets of inner Melbourne, was the architecture. In the ’80s there was a big building boom in the City and a lot of the old buildings were torn down and new buildings built instead. John was very thankful that someone had put a stop to it, as in the laneways he could see all the big blocks of bluestone, and sandstone, that the buildings were built out off. He loved the rough-hewn rock, and again, his mind began to wonder.

So that, again with some effort, he had to pull his mind back to the problem at hand. When suddenly, he thought he could see a lot of light spilling around the corner just ahead of him, and laughing at himself for getting scared, as he felt a wave of relief wash over him. John lengthened his stride and turned the corner, only to be met by what he could only term as a market of sorts. Stalls and people were milling around, and not having anything better to do, other than just go home, John decided to have a poke around the market.

The market seemed to be in some kind of a square empty space that had been formed, probably unintentionally by the original builders back in the 1800s or so. Then the market seemed to spill down into the basement of a couple of buildings as well. As John approached the first stall, he noticed a couple of things, the first thing John noticed was that it appeared as though most of the customers, and the sellers for that matter, were male. The second thing that John noticed was that all the Clients were in various forms of dress, from fully dressed in what John thought was leather garments. But John amended that thought, as in the 2020s’ nobody would be so crass as to wear real leather. To being almost totally naked with some of the guys wearing just a jockstrap, or less, and some even appeared to wear collars and masks, if John could believe what he was seeing. He wondered if it wasn’t some kind of fancy dress party. John was a little self-conscious as he realised that he was the only person in the ‘market’ who was wearing what he’d consider to be ‘daywear’.

The third thing that John noticed was that the only thing that the sellers seemed to have for sale were whips, chains, dildos, leather gear, and a lot of stuff that John had no idea what it was. Nor what it could possibly be used for, John thought most of the furniture if you could call it that, looked most uncomfortable. And John decided on the spot that he realised that he probably didn’t really want to know what the furniture was, nor what they were used for. By now, John discovered that he was almost in what he thought was the very centre of the ‘market’, and decided that he was going to exit the ‘market’, and go home as quickly as possible.

So, with that in mind as his chosen course of action John, still feigning interest in the sellers ‘wares’, began to make his way out of the ‘market’, and he’d almost made it. He only had a couple of stalls to walk past and John would have been free of the ‘market’, and chalking it up to experience John could head home, and try to forget he’d even been there. But, as sometimes happens, John felt a hand come down heavily on his shoulder and remain planted there. John froze on the spot, although with the weight the hand was exerting on his shoulder, John debated that he’d ever be able to get out from underneath it on his own.

“So, boy,” a gravelly voice began, and John wondered just how many cigarettes, or cigars for that matter, the owner of the voice had to have smoked to get his voice to sound just like that, “what brings you to our little market?”

“Um,” John began as he tried to turn around, but under the weight of that hand, John discovered that that was going to be an impossibility, “I was just on, um, my way home,” John began. “And, um…I, um, stumbled across, um, this, um, err, ‘market’, um, sir,” John finished with a ‘sir’ thinking that under the circumstances it was called for.

“Hmm,” the gravelly voice continued, “so, it’s the first time to the ‘market’, is it, boy?”

“Um, ahh, um, yes. Yes, it is, um, sir,” John continued while he tried to work out what it was the owner of that voice might want from him. His eyes darted around as he tried to find some way of escaping the guy’s grip, not that the guy technically had hold of his shoulder. John admitted to himself, but it was just the weight of the pressure that hand was exerting on his shoulder, that made it feel as though the guy had hold of his shoulder. John also came to the realisation that absolutely no other person around them seemed to be paying them any mind. But John was really feeling like he needed to be rescued right about now but tried very hard not to show it. “Look,” John tried again, but changing tac this time, “um, I’m sorry to have disturbed you and your, um, ‘friends’,” John continued as he desperately tried to find some avenue of escape. “I was on my way, um, home and took a short cut, and um; well, I um, ended up here, um, by accident as it were, um, sir,” John finished weakly.

“So, what,” the gravelly voice responded, “now you’re just going to slink away into the night?” the voice continued, “just like a thief or something?”

“Oh, no,” John protested, “I’m not a thief,” John began to protest, “honestly, sir,” John continued as he was aware of a thin sheen of sweat that broke out all over his body. John was regretting calling this guy ‘sir’, as well, he hated the power dynamic that it had set up but felt now that he had to let it play out, especially if it let him escape from this stupid ‘market’.

“So, boy, do you always start to sweat for absolutely no reason?”

“Well, um, no, um, sir…” John began before he felt himself yanked off his feet as he felt the hand on his shoulder finally take a bone-crushing hold, and partly lifted and partly dragged John back into the market. And as he was attached to that particular shoulder, John had no other choice but to go with it. A very wild-eyed John looked beseechingly at all the faces they passed, as John was dragged into the centre of the market, trying to find some kind of a saviour to his plight. But, instead of, if not help then at the very least, John was hoping someone would have stepped in to see why he was being maltreated in this manner if you could class a hand on the shoulder as ‘manhandling’. But, before he knew it the owner of the hand, and by default John, had arrived at their destination, which, with what he could see of it looked like some kind of a stage. As the sea of, mostly men in various stages of dress, parted before John’s captor, John realised that there was probably no one in his immediate vicinity that was going to offer John any kind of assistance.

As he was dragged up onto the stage, much to the seeming delight of the crowd, John was resigning himself to whatever fate was to befall on him now, at the hands of his captor. “Now, boys,” the gravelly voice began, “it seems as though we have an interloper in our midst,” the gravelly voice continued, much to the seeming delight of the crowd if the catcalls and whistles were anything to go by. “Claiming that he ‘stumbled’ into our little ‘market’ in error. Do we believe him, boys?” the gravelly voice asked.

“No,” came the resounding shout from the amused onlookers, interspersed with laughter.

“So, boys,” the gravelly voice continued, “what do we want to do with our little interloper?” the gravelly voice asked the crowd.

“String him up,” was the resounding reply of the crowd, “give us a demonstration.”

“What’s that,” the gravelly voice asked the crowd in mock disbelief, “you want a demonstration?” “Yes,” the crowd shouted back, “show us whatcha can do with him.”

“Hmm,” was the only response from the gravelly voice as John felt himself dragged across the stage, although, John found himself wondering if ‘dragged’ was the correct term. Particularly seeing as his feet barely touched the floor of the stage, then a few things happened in rapid succession, the first being that he was divested of his clothes. His pants and underwear were pushed down to his ankles before John was even aware that his belt had even been undone. While his tops were hoisted up his body until his head was pulled free of his tops, and then his tops being pulled free of his arms, they were discarded somewhere. Then John was aware of his arms were hoisted in the air and something being fastened around his wrists, while seemingly at the same time John felt something being fastened around his ankles, making him completely immobile. But the only thought running through John’s head was how grateful he was that the hand was finally removed from his shoulder.

The shouts, catcalls, and wolf whistles brought John’s attention back to his new predicament, as his brain finally worked out that he was now standing on a stage in front of, he didn’t know how many men, and some women, he reminded himself, almost entirely naked. But, considering it was only his feet and ankles that were covered up, John didn’t think it mattered if he split the hair of not, and thinking ‘fuck it’ to himself. He conceded that he was, to all intents and purposes completely naked on the stage in front of a crowd of men, and some women, and was even more surprised that his cock had decided to rise to the occasion. Much to the delight of the crowd, but John wasn’t paying his cock, and the crowd no never mind. All John had was eyes for the back of the man who owned the hand that had landed on his shoulder with such force, as he craned his head over his shoulder as he watched the retreating back as it made its way to the opposite side of the stage.

Never mind about how wide the back of the man appeared to be, John could only think about how hairy the back, and considering the guy was wearing arseless chaps, not that John knew what arseless chaps were. John, and everyone else for that matter, had a perfect view of the guys very hairy arse. John wondered if the guy couldn’t plait his back hair if he could have reached it, that is. John watched, mesmerised by the very hairy back and arse, as the man picked something up and turned around and faced John, and he got the first real look at his captor. John was first taken by what appeared to be a cap made of leather, with a very firm, almost minuscule, shiny peak, which didn’t look large enough to be anything but ceremonial. John’s vision travelled down, and kind of took in the guy’s longish hair and beard that was plaited so that it hung down the middle of his chest and seemed to nestle in the valley of his huge man boobs. That seemed to rest on the guy’s huge gut, which, John thought to himself, made the guy look as though he was pregnant, or trying to impersonate a Buddhist monk. John’s brain continued to take in and make note of the guy’s appearance as John’s eyes and brain made note of the man’s leather jockstrap, not that John knew that was what it was he was looking at. As it hung heavily below the guys protruding stomach as it was weighed down by the weight of its contents.

Suddenly, John only had eyes for what the man was holding, seemingly nonchalantly, in his right hand. John watched in horrified fascination as the bullwhip that the man was holding in his right hand was allowed to uncoil and lay snake-like on the floor of the stage. At the same time, as John continued to watch in horrified fascination, the man seemed to draw his right hand back ever so slightly. Then stepping forward with his right foot, seemingly ever so slightly, as the man brought his right hand forward, John watched the whip uncoil from the floor of the stage as it snaked through the air towards his exposed chest, with an ear-splitting crack. John looked down at his chest the moment the very tip of the leather whip seemed to kiss the exposed skin of his chest, and he continued to watch in fascination as he noted a red spot on his chest where the end of the whip must have touched his skin. Mere milliseconds before John felt his chest erupt in fiery pain, that seemed to emanate from the red dot on his chest, and before his brain could completely work out what had just happened to him, there was another ear-splitting crack, and another red dot appeared on his chest. Before that spot erupted in fiery pain as well, what John didn’t know was that by the time he was struck with the whip for the second time, his body involuntarily tried to wretch itself out of his bonds. Much to the delight of the crowd, who, by now were baying for blood, which John, thanks in part to the pain in his chest, and his screams, was totally oblivious too.

John lost count of just how many times he was struck with the whip before his skin’s integrity was breached, and large welts began to open up on John’s chest. While the welts weren’t deep, they were enough to cause a little trickle of blood to ooze out of the wounds, while the crowd brayed for more and more blood. The crowds blood-lust was well and truly woken, as they brayed for more and more. While John got sucked into his world of pain, to the exclusion of all else, he wasn’t even aware that the man had stopped whipping him, nor of the nipple that had been thrust into his mouth, nor that he’d started to suckle on it. Much to the delight of the crowd. All John’s brain was aware of, was that he was being offered some comfort, of sorts, and it seemed to, in some strange way, relieve the pain of his chest.

John was vaguely aware of his bonds being released, and he would have fallen to the stage if John’s captor hadn’t caught him and part carried, and part dragged him across the stage. While his captor was dealing with John, someone had pushed a whipping horse out onto the centre of the stage; John was manhandled onto the horse, where his pants, shoes, and socks were finally removed. John was strapped onto the horse with his arse facing the audience, and while John’s genitalia wasn’t huge, by any stretch of the imagination, the audience didn’t care. They just wanted to see a show, and John’s captor was determined to give them one. He’d demonstrated his skill with a bullwhip; now he was going to demonstrate his skill with a paddle, and cane.

John’s captor selected his paddle from a rack of whips, chains, clips, canes, and other various devices to cause someone pain that was off to the side of the stage. John was totally oblivious to what was going on behind him, and the first he knew about it was when the paddle made contact with his left arse cheek. The scream that it drew from John’s throat sent the crowd into a frenzy once again, when the paddle made contact with John’s other arse cheek. Those in the crowd who were standing more on the side could actually see the waves of force as they rippled through John’s abused arse cheek, again to the crowds’ pleasure which they weren’t shy in voicing.

When John’s captor continued to paddle John’s exposed arse until he decided that John’s arse was red enough, he was now going to demonstrate his mastery of the cane; he took from the rack a bunch of canes, all of the different thicknesses. John’s captor held them all up for the crowd to see, holding his thumb hard against the back of the cane so the crowd could see the thickness of the pieces of cane. Having selected three different widths of cane, he returned the rest of the canes to the rack, then choosing the thickest of the three pieces of cane, John’s captor laid his first strip on John’s arse. Everyone, John included could hear the woosh as the cane broke the air as it travelled towards John’s unprotected arse, and while everyone was able to hear the cane make contact. It was only those in the audience at the front of the stage could see the cane bite into the flesh of John’s arse almost to half the depth of the cane. In fact, the people in the audience who were standing off to the sides slightly could even see the ripples in the flesh of John’s arse when the cane made contact. When John’s captor pulled the cane back out of John’s tender flesh of his arse, those in the audience who were close enough could see the deep red, almost purple welt in the bottom of the valley that was left by the cane. The pressure of the cane on the skin was enough to bust the capillaries just under the skin of John’s arse but wasn’t quite enough pressure to break the skin itself.

The second strip of the cane was laid on John’s arse with almost mathematical precision, as it lay almost entirely parallel to the first stripe, and again it was hard enough to break the capillaries under the skin, but not the skin itself. And so more strips were laid until there was a row of ten or more, almost perfectly parallel stripes on John’s upturned arse. John’s captor returned the cane to the rack, before returning and selecting the thinner piece of cane that he’d selected earlier.

This time, John’s captor stood hard against the horse that John was secured too, and this time when the cane made contact with John’s flesh, the stripe ran from his lower back, over his very tender arse, and continued down to his upper thigh. Because this piece of cane was thinner, it was more pliable; consequently, when it made contact with John’s exposed arse cheek, it laid over the curve of his arse almost perfectly. Now, John had a stripe that ran across the row of ten or so stripes that John’s captor had already laid down on John’s arse. Again, it was hard enough to bust the capillaries under the skin, but not the skin of John’s arse itself.

Throughout all of his ordeal on the whipping horse, John had screamed every time the cane made contact with the tender flesh of his arse. Much to the delight of the audience that was gathered around the stage which, at first, had come to watch someone get their arse spanked. But now stayed transfixed, marvelling at the skill of the wielder of the cane that was being wielded with such mastery on the stage for their enjoyment. By now, there was more than one audience member with their cocks in their hands as they slowly fisted themselves while they watched the show transfixed. While some others in the audience took advantage of yet other audience members, who they had forced to their knees, and were now feeding their cocks down their throats. As they face-fucked the guys on their knees while they watched the show, and then there was the last group, of audience members who had just ripped the backs, of the guys in front of them, pants down and bending them over they shoved their engorged cocks balls deep into their arses. So aroused was the audience by the display on the stage just for their benefit.

While all of this was going on around him, John’s captor continued to lay down carefully a row of ten or so vertical stripes that intersected with the ten or so horizontal that John’s captor had laid down so nicely on John’s now very tender arse. Now, when John’s captor had finished his second lot of rows, John now had a checkerboard pattern on his arse, without some of the squares being coloured in of course. Returning that piece of cane to the rack, John’s captor picked up the final piece of cane that he had selected so carefully with the other two pieces of cane originally. While the audience waited to see what Johns’, captor was going to do with him now, they continued their sex orgy all around the stage, and as the guys who were fucking finally cum. They swapped their sexual partners and continued to fuck their new partner anew, while the guys who had been fisting some of the guys, grabbed one of the guys who’d been fucked by someone else and made use of them.

This time, when John’s captor brought the piece of cane to bear on John’s naked arse, he did it on an angle so that it now intersected the previous rows, both vertical and horizontal, from corner to corner but off centre of the squares that he’d made previously. Having laid his row of diagonal lines all facing one way, across the squares, he had laid out so neatly on John’s abused arse. John’s captor changed sides, and this time he laid diagonal lines on John’s arse in the opposite direction, so by the time he had finished John had a lovely woven wicker pattern on his arse. And it looked as though John had sat, bare-arsed, on a wicker chair, but instead of the pattern just being impressed into the skin of John’s naked arse, it had been outlined in a seemingly more slightly permeant way.

John’s captor ran his hand over John’s quivering arse cheeks and upper thighs, all the time cooing in John’s ear, ensuring John that he wasn’t going to hit his arse again, as he could feel the heat radiating from John’s caned arse. John’s captor returned the final piece of cane to the rack and walked back to John. John’s captor was wearing leather chaps that hung down his legs and splayed over his leather boots; the chaps were arse-less. John’s captors’ modesty was only protected by a very thick leather jockstrap that was almost covered by his stomach that hung low over the belt of his chaps. John’s captors’ tits hung very low and full as they spread over the top of his gut, and all of John’s captor hung out of the leather vest that he was wearing.

John’s captor lifted the base of his gut as he fumbled with his leather jockstrap, finally freeing his cock, John’s captor lined the head of his cock up with the opening of John’s unprotected arse. Then without so much as a ‘please-may-I’, nor ‘a-thank-you-mam’, John’s captor shoved his cock balls deep into John’s unprotected arse in one fell swoop. If the audience thought they’d heard John yell before from the pain of having his arse paddled or canned, it was nothing compared to the pain of having a very rigid cock rammed up his hitherto virgin arse. In that one thrust, John’s captors’ cock overcame John’s sphincter and stretched it wider than it had ever been stretched in John’s life. John’s captor didn’t even wait for John’s arse to adjust to accommodate all ten inches of his thick cock, no; instead, he pulled back until just the head of his cock was being held by John’s overstretched sphincter. And then John’s captor plunged his cocks’ full length back into John’s battered arse hole and considering he’d prepped John’s arse enough. John’s captor began to rape John’s arse in earnest, much to the delight of the crowd that was gathered around the stage, and to the sounds of John’s screams, that was practically drowned out by the shouts of encouragement from the crowd. John was fucked for the first time in his short life, and all John wanted to do was die. He’d never known pain like it before and prayed he never felt pain like it again.

But still, John’s captor kept banging away at John’s battered arse, until John’s captor could feel his nuts drawing up to his abdomen, just before he felt his load of hot cum shoot out of his cock into John’s reluctantly waiting arse. John’s captor held his cock deep in John’s arse until he could feel the last of his cum, leaving his cock, and still, he waited for a little bit longer. Finally, for a very relieved John, John’s captor pulled his cock out of John’s arse, to the catcalls and whistles of appreciation for the gathered audience, who were certain they could hear a very wet squelching sound. As well as being able to see some of the guys’ cum dribbling out of Johns’ battered arse hole which seemed to send the audience members into rapturous applause. John’s captor walked around John as he was still secured to the whipping horse, and holding John’s nose closed so that John had no other choice but to open his mouth. As soon as John opened his mouth, his captor rammed his cock full length into John’s mouth and down his virgin throat. John’s captor held his cock in place until he could hear John choking, and trying to breathe, John’s captor leaned down and barked at John to watch his teeth, and having said that he pulled his cock almost out of John’s mouth. Allowing John just enough time to grab a quick breath before John’s captor shoved his cock back into John’s mouth and back down his throat before he began to rape John’s mouth in earnest.

When John’s captor had cum for the second time, but this time down John’s virgin throat, he pulled up his jockstrap and arranged himself back into it, and when he was ready, John’s captor walked nonchalantly off the stage, leaving John secured to the whipping horse. It didn’t take the stunned crowd long to realise just what this meant for them before they all dived for the stage and fought for their chance to be the second cock up John’s arse or down his throat. The rest of the crowd just waited their turn after that, with only minor skirmishes breaking out as to whose turn it was next, but they needn’t have bothered as no one was in the mood to release John from his bonds anytime soon.

John had no idea how many cocks had been forced up his arse, although, after the first few, the rest didn’t really have to force their cocks up John’s battered arse hole, nor did John know how many cocks he had been forced to swallow. All John truly knew was that his arse had expelled a lot of fluid, that had been forced up there, at least twice, while John had vomited three times before he thankfully passed out.

When John eventually regained consciousness, he was lying naked on the cold cobblestones. John slowly rolled over and found the pile, of what was left, of his clothes. John rolled into an upright position and regretted it instantly when he tried to sit on his enflamed abused arse. Being unable to stop himself, he screamed blue-bloody murder, as he immediately rolled back off his abused arse. The pain was so great that it made John puke once again, and only when he’d stopped dry heaving, did he attempt to get dressed again. John got shakily to his feet and made his way to La Trobe St. Knowing full well that while his clothes did, in fact, cover his modesty, he still felt as though looked like nothing but a cheap, common, street whore. He boarded the tram but forgetting what had happened to him the last time he tried to sit down on his battered arse. Only to skyrocket up into a standing position, all the while screaming blue-bloody murder once again. Then ignoring the looks from the other passengers, he found himself a place to stand and pretended to be really interested in the passing scenery outside the window. This was how John made his way home.

He had a shower as soon as he got inside, and washed his hole very gingerly, realising that he was actually bleeding, so when he finished his shower, John grabbed a clean face washer and shoved it up against his bleeding anus. John got himself into bed and fell asleep. Eventually.