Page 30 of Gay Sex Club Collection

“You know,” Anthony started, “I could report you to management for even suggesting we meet.”

Ethan shook his head and put his hand up, palm forward. “My mistake. It was merely an errant thought. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He frowned as he stepped back. “Sorry.”

Anthony bit his lip. “I have a class at nine,” he said.

Ethan stopped, though he didn’t turn around.

“Will we be done by then?”

Ethan looked at him then. “Not even close.”

Anthony smiled. “Good.”

Ethan’s nostrils flared, and his eyes smoldered under the mask. But it was Anthony who spoke. “You have some work to catch up on, because you haven’t earned the right to my ass for a second time yet.”

Ethan smiled victoriously. He didn’t have to say anything. The words “challenge accepted” were written all over his face. He simply took Anthony’s hand and led him through the room of now mostly-naked men, not stopping once as they found the exit.

I half wanted to go after them, to ask if I could watch their next encounter, but I couldn’t.

Instead, my eyes were drawn to another couple of men, one strapped by his hands to the wooden cross, completely unable to move, and the naked man behind him fucking him like he owned him.

I sat back in my chair and enjoyed the rest of the show.

Pommel Horse Pummel

I didn’t get a BDSM scene very often. There were other security personnel that understood or appreciated the mechanics of it better than me. But the scene I was given today was between two experienced members; their lists of preferences and limits read like a legal document. As it should, I conceded. It was a complex agreement, where far more complicated needs were met than just the physical.

But this scene was just a play scene: no whips, no clamps, no spanking, no pissing, no paddling, no torture. There were no punishments to be given, though many would probably disagree. The man bound and tied in this scene was about to get punished, in the very best of ways.

The room was designed for BDSM play, though all equipment had been put away except for one piece. In the center of the room was what was known as a pommel horse. Similar to the type gymnasts use, only modified to suit sexual positions.

It was basically a rectangular pyramid of solid oak with a cushioned top. Though no doubt expensive, it resembled a piece you might see in a medieval torture chamber. It had wooden sides with leather hand and foot shackles at varying heights, dependent on the size of the man strapped to it and how he was positioned. There was a hole the size of a grapefruit at the end, just underneath the cushioned top, and a Fleshjack was fitted flush inside. There were other bolts and clasps installed at varying heights all over the base for different activities, but according to my job sheet, only the Fleshjack would be used.

This man, who tonight was known as Sub, stood at the end with his hands behind his back and his head bowed. He was naked and had a butt plug firmly in place. And he waited. Soon the other door opened and the man known as Sir walked in. No older than thirty-five, he wore nothing but faded jeans slung low on his hips, his well-defined torso was bare, as were his feet. He paused, appreciating the man before him.

Even though Sub’s head was still bowed, I could see him smile, though he remained still.

“I see you’re ready for me,” Sir said, his voice low. It was a commanding tone that Sub reacted to immediately.

“Yes, Sir.”

Sir ran his fingers lightly across the padding on the pommel horse. “Is this your favorite?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you want me to strap you to it?”

Sub’s voice was a little breathier. “Yes, Sir.”

“And you want me to reward you with my cock?”

Sub licked his lips. “Yes, Sir.”

“Repeat your safeword.”

“Red.”

“You will use it if at any time you are not comfortable, yes?”

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