February 20, 2015

Free Smut Friday...


Oooh, I like the sound of that. For several months (back in '09), I put up Fetish Fridays. But Free-Smut Friday has a sexier ring. Or maybe "Filthy Friday." While I ponder my title, go on and read the freebie. This story is one of my all-time favorites.

Any Lightness Between Black and White
by Dante Davidson 

            “You seem confused.”
            I was standing in front of the wall of hankies, thinking, Damn, there are a lot of screwy people out there. When I say wall, I mean I was facing a fucking floor-to- ceiling wall of different-colored bandanas. Each bin was labeled with the code. Some of the labels made me hard—I’ll say that right away. But others made me shake my head in wonder. Blue/teal = cock & ball torture (when worn on the left) or cock & ball torturee when worn on the right. I actually mouthed the word “toturee” as I’d never seen it written before. Mauve = “into navel worshippers” if worn on the left, or “has a navel fetish” if worn on the right.
            Lavender meant “likes drag queens” on the left or “drag queen” if worn on the right. Would you really need a hanky for that? I wondered. Would a drag queen, all dolled up in finery, deign to wear a hanky?
            I must have been standing by the wall for a while, because suddenly I felt a presence behind me.
            “Need any assistance?” a man asked me, his voice an undeniably sexy rumble.
            I turned my head, startled from my reverie. The stranger was tall and lean, dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I wondered if there was a color for what he was offering—and if that imaginary hanky were worn on the left would it mean “provides assistance” and if worn on the right mean “needs assistance”? Clearly, I was out of my league.
            The man smiled at me. He had a nice smile, dark curly hair, the type of gray eyes that have always made me think of the stained glass—as if an inner light is shining through.
            “Are you looking for something special?” he asked, and his voice caressed me once more. His fingers strolled through the different bins, lingering on the various wants head/cocksucker (light blue), wears boxer shorts/likes boxer shorts (paisley).
            “How do people keep these things straight?” I asked.
            “We don’t get a lot of straight here,” he said, grinning.
            “No, really.”
            “There are a few main popular ones,” he said, shrugging, “the rest are more for show.”
            “And the popular ones are…”
            He faced me again, and he said once more but in a more suggestive voice, “Are you looking for something special?”
            When I first considered cruising the gay scene, I knew I would be at a deficit. Not only am I shy—ungodly shy—but I’m also colorblind. I don’t mean that in the “we are the world” way—although I honestly don’t care about a lover’s nationality as long as there’s chemistry. No, I mean, there are colors I can’t see. Or colors I see wrong. So that if I were to walk into a bar and note a pale blue hanky in a guy’s back pocket, and think—oh, cocksucker—I could be way off base. The blue might be pink, and I might accidentally pick up an “armpit freak,” or a “cowboy’s horse.” Not that there’s anything wrong with those desires—they just don’t happen to be mine.
            The hanky code—which could have helped me get around what my shyness prevented me from discovering—was truly the bane of my existence.
            I lamented my problem to the stranger at the sex toy store on the Castro, and he asked matter-of-factly, “Why don’t you simply buy a hanky, slip it into your back pocket, and wait for the right man to find you?”
            “I can’t wait,” I said, and I knew I sounded breathless. Then, worried, I asked, “Does that sound stupid?”
            “No,” he said, “it sounds honest. How long have you been in town?”
            Was it that obvious? “Two days.“
            “What’s your name?”
            “Daniel.”
            “Daniel, I’m Lem.” He took a step closer to me, and I could feel the heat coming off him. I was almost dizzy from our connection. Screw the colors, I wanted him to take me right there, kiss me, press me up against the wall of hankies and…
            “What fetish were you looking for?” he asked.
            I swallowed hard. I’m shy, like I said. And I have such a difficult time—have always had a difficult time—asking for what I want. But here it was, my chance. I wasn’t going to let this go. “Bondage,” I whispered.
            He smiled and looked at me. “Gray.” He didn’t ask if I were bottom. He didn’t have to. He took me from the wall of hankies and into the toys, grabbed up a few different devices, and then led me out the back door to his pick-up truck.
            “Don’t you have to pay for those?”
            “Not when you own the store,” he said. We drove to his house in the Marina, and when we got to the spot, he said, “You have a safeword?”
            I shook my head.
            “Let’s go with hanky,” he said, and he winked at me. He was obviously enjoying himself. I will admit that I was, too. My dick was rock hard in my 501s. But I was also nervous. I’d been craving this forever, and I didn’t know what to do, how to move forward, what to say. My fantasies rarely featured much dialogue. I guess my fear was evident, because Lem put his hand on my back.
            “Don’t worry so much,” he said, and he led me into his house, to his bedroom and stripped me of my boots, jeans, and shirt. He had me cuffed to his bed in a matter of minutes, my wrists anchored above me, my legs apart. My cock stood at attention, begging for release, but he ignored my erection.           
            “So you were looking for a hanky,” he said.
            “Yeah.”
            “Because you wanted someone to give you what you wanted.”
            I nodded.
            “So what do you want?”
            I rattled the chains. “This.”
            “What else?”
            I’d rarely gotten past this image. My fantasies had almost always ended here, with me tied to a bed. The tying had been what was important. The being unable to go. Except I’d had to go far in order to get to this place. I’d had to leave my small, dull hometown in the Midwest, ride a bus for a miserable amount of hours, hole up in the cheapest hotel I could find, and then walk into a sex toy store in order to make my dreams come true.
            Sure, there had been a few stolen kisses in my past. A drunken night behind a bar when a man I’d known forever made a move and I let him touch me. But I hadn’t ever told anyone what I truly desired. I hadn’t figured out how.
            Lem said, “Use your imagination, boy. What next?”
            I sighed and said, “Let me come.”
            “That’s it? Bind you down and make you come? I don’t think so…”
            I closed my eyes. I tried to figure out what he’d want me to say. I saw the images in the magazines I’d been jerking off to for years. Lem came close to me. He kissed me and then bit my bottom lip hard, startling me with the pain. I opened my eyes and stared into his. “Daniel. What do you want me to do?”
            I said, “Hurt me,” and I felt my dick leak a little pre-come.
            “Yes,” he said, nodding. “That’s what comes next.”
            He undid my ankles and easily flipped me on the mattress, my wrists still bound over my head. Then he retied my legs, and he stood at the side of the bed.
            “We’ll start with a paddle,” he said. “Don’t come on my sheets. I won’t like that.”
            I sucked in my breath and waited. He started to spank me. As he did, he said, “Fuchsia’s the hanky for those who like to be spanked. What color is fuchsia for you?”
            “Gray,” I murmured.
            He spanked me harder and I worked to not buck my hips against the mattress. The friction of the position made me feel as if I might climax at any minute.
            “Yellow is for people who like golden showers. What color is yellow for you?”
            “Gray,” I told him. I was having a harder time speaking now, and my cock was a living, beating muscle of desire. What would he say if I told him I couldn’t hold back?
            “Blue is oral sex,” he said. “What’s blue to you?”
            I sighed, “Gray… I’m going to come.”
            “Not yet!” He dropped the paddle and climbed onto the mattress behind me. He undid my ankle restraints and pulled me up on my knees. I felt lube between my asscheeks, and I groaned as he slid one finger into my hole. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, adding another finger, stretching me open. “And then you can come.”
            I nodded at his words, thinking, You’d better fuck me quick, then, because this is all too much for me. He finger-fucked me a few more seconds, and the he was in motion, pressing the big head of his fat cock to my backdoor, giving me a second to grow accustomed to the sensation before slamming all the way home. I was crying at the way that he filled me up, the way he made me his. His cock rode me hard and fast. There wasn’t a hanky color for what I was feeling—taken and used and fulfilled and needed. Or if there were, it would have been a rainbow.
            “What color are your eyes?” I asked, suddenly needing to know. “Are they green or blue?”
            “Gray,” he said, and he reached his hand under my body and milked my dick for me until I was shooting, coming all over his fist and my belly and his blankets. I worried for a second, since he’d told me he wouldn’t like that, but then I let the worry go. He was making me come after all. He shot his load a second later, filling me up with his spend, then pulling out and staring down at me. I didn’t think he was going to let me go for a minute, but he did, undoing the cuffs and taking me with him into the shower.
            “You wanted bondage,” he said. “You came to a big city, looking for bondage, and you were lost, weren’t you?”
            I nodded. He was working the soap over me in the shower—his beautiful eyes smiling at me, his big hands roaming over my body.
            “Poor baby,” he said, kissing me under the spray, fisting my dick once more as the water rained down on us. “The hanky for bondage is gray,” he said, and he started to laugh. “And when you looked at that wall, all you saw were fifty shades of…”
            “Don’t say it,” I begged him, and I silenced his mouth with my own.

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If you like the piece, please check out some of Dante's other work. He's got a sizzling story in Violet Blue's delicious collection: Filthy Housewives, and he's the co-author of "Bondage on a Budget"—which will be celebrating its 20th anniversary in 2017 with a brand-new edition!

XXX,
Alison

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