A whore's life

The leather belt my father beat me with was wide, brown and had a large brass buckle. He’d previously smacked me around with his hand. The first time I got his belt when I was seven. There were some neighborhood kids I was friends with, we would throw rocks and dirt through the first floor window of an apartment. Kids do stupid things. One time, the guy who lived there was outside and saw us. He ran after us, grabbed me and made me take him to where I lived. He told my parents and left.

“You’re getting a beating!” roared my father. He pushed me to my room, “Take your pants and underwear down!” “No!” “Now! God damn it!” I took down my pants and underwear. My father who was 27 and looked like the young Nick Nolte, undid his belt buckle and pulled his belt off. He was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt and work boots, he was a school custodian. I’d seen him naked a few times coming out of the shower, so I knew he was hung. I smelt whiskey. “Turn around!” The first whack of his belt against my ass hurt so much, I cried. Yet, there was somehting about feeling the leather on my ass. He wasn’t sadistic, he was just giving me the common discipline of a 1960’s Bronx Irish-Catholic drunk father. He gave me a few more whacks. My sisters and mother were in the apartment and were aware I was getting my father’s belt.

I got more beatings. The last one was at 11 for getting caught shoplifting. By then, with my back turned, my father couldn’t see that my dick would get hard each time. The pain, humiliation and pleasure being inflicted on me by a sexy man who happened to be my father was confusing. After getting a neighborhood woman pregnant, he ran out on us for good.

Those memories came back to me when a dark-haired man of about 30 at the East Side bar a few days later, asked if I was amenable to very rough sex. “Depends on the deal.” He put three hundred dollar bills on the table. Whoa!

“My employer sent me to find a special boy who would be willing to have S&M play with him and three friends. Visually, you’re exactly the type they go for.” I’d seen S&M pornos. Leather, whippings and slings. $300! “I’m your boy” I said smiling as I finished my drink and pocketed the bills.

We walked a few blocks to 49th and Third Avenue and then down toward Second Avenue to a townhouse that had statues of turtles on the gates. We went in, I briefly saw it was very fancy inside before we headed down a flight of stairs to a dark basement. We went into a small room. “Put this on.” I took of my clothes and hung them up in a closet and changed into what looked like a tight black leather jockstrap. Then he fastened a metal collar on my neck and put a harness around my chest and shoulders. We sat in silence for a while. Then I heard a buzzer. “They’re not going to speak but will let you know what they want” he said as he turned on a tape recorder that played classical music. “Crawl in” he said opening the door. I got on my hands and knees and crawled on the floor.

The room was now dimly lit with candles, and I saw four nude men, each wearing a black leather mask and a harness. I never saw their faces. They were sitting on big wooden chairs that were like thrones. They were each playing with their cut dicks which ranged from medium to large. Physically they were in good shape and I would guess they were in their 40s and 50s. I crawled to the one on the right and began sucking him. I then sucked them one by one as the classical music played from speakers. There was moaning as I sucked them repeatedly. This went on until the leader got up and led me to the center of the room.

He raised me up and had me stand on a small circular platform and put ankle bracelets around my feet. Then my raised arms were put in shackles from the ceiling. The other three were standing around me holding black whips. Then the platform started to move, I was like a slowly spinning rotisserie chicken.  As I spun by, each guy would whip me once, sometimes my ass, sometimes my back. It was just enough to cause pain and I yelled but I wasn’t bleeding or scarred, just red when it was over.

I was so fucking hard in that tight leather pouch. I thought of my father beating me and how strangely good it had felt. Soon, I was cumming in the pouch! “That one’s a real fag” my father once said about an actor when we were watching television. “What’s a fag?” “A man who does bad things with other men.” Now, not only was I a fag, but getting money for being one and the center of attention.

The whipping went on and I yelled a lot and cried because it hurt but didn’t say anything. Eventually, the platform stopped moving and the leader unchained me. He led me to another part of the room and there was a sling, like I’d seen in pornos. I lay on my back in it like I was supposed to. The leader chained my arms up and apart and my spread legs were chained up. I was trussed up with my asshole on display. Then the leader put clothespins on my nipples! Holy fucking shit did that hurt! I was yelling. The leader reached into a nearby can of Crisco and put some on his cock. He shoved himself straight in and up me and fucked me brutally. I loved getting fucked but I was in pain from those clothespins. I guess that was the point, pleasure and pain at the same time. All with that classical music playing! I later learned it was Mahler.

The leader came in me and the other three then took turns roughly fucking and cumming in me. I came again in that black pouch during the assaults. Then they left. I lay in the sling with my dripping fucked out ass and in pain from my clamped nipples for what seemed like a long time listening to Mahler! Then, the man from the bar came back, took the clothespins off and unchained me. He led back to the room and showed me the shower. After I got dressed, he handed me another $100 bill and showed me out. A bonus! I went to another nearby bar that wasn’t a hustler bar because I’d had enough for the day and just needed a few whiskeys to wind down.

A year later, I was in a Fire Island bar having drinks with some friends. A handsome well-known actor in his 40’s was across the room with some men and waved at me! I went over to him. “I’m a big fan of yours” he said smiling. “Huh?” “You were one of the best dungeon boys. Nothing personal, but we never use the same boy twice. Have a drink, come home with us later. It’ll be more casual but still fun.” It was. My friends were so impressed and wanted all of the details the next morning when I saw them again.