Title: The Epilogue- Randy’s Story (Part 4)
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@hotmail.com)
Date: 2/3/05
Rating: NC-17
Authors notes: Randy jabbered at me until I took down everything he wanted us to know about this experience. Poor anonymous has been forced to read and re-read this final chapter to death. Give her pets and lots of sloppy kisses for her patience and unrelenting cheerleading- without her, this chapter would have been resigned to the round file permanently. Feedback is more than welcome and can be sent to phobosgirl@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider info on either of these two super-fine men.
Warnings: Unprotected sex, mention of d/s activities, Gale/Randy RPS
Complete: yes, finally!


The Epilogue- Randy’s Story (Part 4)

“Was I everything you wanted?”

Jesus jumping Christ, how those words, spoken so softly and with such hope, twisted my insides. If I was a crier, that would have brought on Niagara Falls. I loved him more then than I ever had before. I kissed his lips and face and forehead long after he had drifted off to sleep. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stop.

He didn’t know at the time how much planning and preparation I’d put into that afternoon. He couldn’t have- I’m good at keeping secrets. Him? Not so much with the secret-keeping.

He should blame Brian for that. For 5 years, Gale had to learn how to emote without dialogue and now he’s the master of it. He can’t seem to break the habit and he doesn’t even realize, I think, how much of himself he shows in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the furrows in his brows. I won’t tell him this, because no one really wants to hear it, but he’s not much of a mystery to me.

I knew as soon as he’d started talking about his childhood that something about those memories was different for him than remembering having ice cream off the Good Humor truck or building a fort in the woods with his friends, or the long and painful ordeal of pulling away from his church, and his parents’ horrified reaction to it.

His face flushed, for one thing. And not in an “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing to me,” way, either. It was the same flush I’ve seen him wear a million times as I move in for a long, slow kiss before making love with him. It was the flush of desire.

The longer he’d talked about that babysitter, who was now probably a plump, aging housewife, the more he gave away with his expressions and gestures. His eyes sparkled. His fingers plucked at his sleeve. He kept licking his lips. And I could tell as he described those moments when she would snag him by the collar, flip him over her lap, yank his jeans down to his thighs, and blister his bottom that it wasn’t just the physical punishment that he’d enjoyed. It was giving up- giving in- to someone powerful.

I realized that he’d probably felt then some of what I feel now every time he fucks me- surrender in a way that’s both invasive and heady, a sense of being possessed and through that possession, knowing true security and fulfillment.

Watching him recall the excitement of those beatings gave me a fucking hard-on. I wanted him in the same way; I wanted to take away his control, be there to catch him as it slipped out of his grasp and hold him when he rediscovered obedience.

The seed was planted and I began to wonder if I could make him experience that.

Gale is a powerful force of nature. He rides easy in his own skin in a way I’ve never seen anyone ever do before. His comfort level with himself is so profound that it’s almost Zen-like. He appears placid and composed and it’s not an act, but those very characteristics, combined with his phenomenal intelligence, are the wellspring of his efficacy. Convincing a man like that to surrender his will to another would take careful finessing and a fuller understanding of the mechanics of submission.

I went to the computer that night while he was sleeping. Like a teenager who’s accessing forbidden material with his parent’s internet connection, my hands shook as I Googled the term, “Gay BDSM”.

I was amazed by what I found. Of course, there were the ubiquitous porn sites. I passed right over those; they wouldn’t give me the information I needed and the beautiful pictures of bound boys with huge, stiff dicks would probably just distract me from my purpose. No, I needed to understand this passion we both shared for being directed, controlled. I’d never felt the need to explore my own feelings about it- I’d accepted it as wonderful and liberating, and was content with that. But if I was going to force Gale to submit to me and like it, I had to be armed with every weapon available.

It was back to school for me; the course was Dominance 101 and I was a hungry student. There was so much information available that I worried I would overload on it. Sensual discipline and bondage techniques and aftercare and safewords and Shibari (Japanese rope bondage- I didn’t know either, at first). I read everything I could find about delving into the psychological depths of one’s partner. I researched triggers and how to locate them and then set them off. I learned how to use empathy as a tool for directing the action. And I learned how to draw on my own power to control another.

My crash course filled my mind with dizzying scenarios and a plan began to form that I thought I might be able to pull off. After spending every spare moment for nearly a week researching the give and take of dominance and submission, I was horny as hell.

It was time for a shopping trip.

I knew I could secure him with simple household items- between the two of us, I can’t even count how many fine silk ties hang in our closet- but after all the web browsing, it seemed I had developed a keen appetite for bondage. I had fantasies of how sexy a set of beautiful, well-made leather cuffs would look against his tanned flesh. Getting just the right equipment would set a mood that was unmistakable for him, and hot as hell for me.

Toronto is amazingly progressive, for a Canadian city. It only took a glance in the phone book to find multiple shops and boutiques that could serve my purposes. Most of them, of course, were on Queen Street, so I knew I’d have to try and get in under the radar. Coming out as a couple had been hard enough on both of us. Being seen buying bondage equipment could create a whole new shitstorm that might quench this fire before it had a chance to take hold really well.

A baseball cap pulled low, wrap-around shades and my collar turned up might have made me look like I thought I was a secret agent, but I didn’t care. In a sense, I was on a mission.

I was overwhelmed by the intoxicating aroma of leather the moment I walked into the first shop, and if the queen behind the counter recognized me, he kept it to himself. The variety of toys, clothing and equipment probably would have shocked me if I hadn’t been so well-prepared by my perusal of the web. Being surrounded by all the raw sexual energy this place contained made me hard, but hiding it would be the least of my worries.

Finding the perfect cuffs amongst the bewildering array hanging on one wall turned out to be the real challenge. I wanted something soft and pliable- he needed to be immobilized, not chafed- while still being sleek, strong and attractive. Wrist cuffs with grips or no grips? Lined or unlined? With fleece or rabbit fur? Locking or clasping? Leather or chrome? Intricately tooled or smooth and elegant? Red? Black? White?

I laughed and shook my head at the guy trying patiently to help me and he took pity on me, asking me sincere, though blushingly personal, questions about my needs. Ultimately, we settled on a set of matching black leather ankle and wrist cuffs, lined with soft black rabbit fur and a simple clasp closure. Besides Gale naked, they were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I’d even begun to wonder how they might feel on my flesh and realized as I pulled out my wallet that if Gale had his way, a day would come when I’d find out.

The clerk gave me suggestions for attaching them to our bed (I was suddenly grateful that we’d chosen the wrought iron headboard that Gale wanted over the contemporary sleigh bed I’d liked) and sold me some clips and rope. He even went so far as to teach me some basic knots so that Gale couldn’t use his superior strength to break free.

I left the store in a hormonal daze, stashed my purchases in the back of an unused closet and waited for my chance. I wasn’t sure what the right opportunity would look like when it finally came along but I was ready to dive in when I recognized it. Turns out, it was only a few days away.

I knew when he’d told me he was taking a nap that the time had come. I let him get settled and fall into a deep sleep and then I snuck into the bedroom and began securing him to the bed. I had planned to tie him on his back, but he happened to be lying on his stomach, so I went with what I had. I kept expecting him to wake up every time I’d move one of his limbs, or secure a buckle, or tie something else to the bed frame, but he’s a sound sleeper and he didn’t wake up until I gently pulled his hands together over his head and locked them to the headboard.

When he woke suddenly, obviously bewildered and frightened, I almost backed out. But I remembered my self-training and took charge. He’ll never know how scared shitless I was for the first 30 minutes. But I’m an actor, so I behaved confidently and as if I knew exactly what I was doing until at some point, I realized suddenly that I wasn’t acting anymore.

I can’t count how many times I almost came while I was playing with him. Just the sight of him with those beautiful cuffs on each long, muscular limb, the way he tugged and yanked and squirmed and struggled, and knowing that even as he did so he was hard as a rock against the mattress and no doubt leaking until he had soaked the sheets, made me crazier than I think I’ve ever been.

The things I said to him were coming out of my mouth in a voice I barely recognized- I felt so strong and authoritarian and I was getting off on it in a way I didn’t think I would. The love I felt for him- the admiration and pride, the overwhelming sense of being the luckiest queer ever to walk the earth- made me certain that time had stopped just to watch us. This was making love, but on a whole other level. Everything, all my awareness, seemed to squeeze down into one point of light that came shining from him, surrounded him, caressed, exposed and beautified him.

And then he started to beg for me and I turned inside out.

Everything speeds up after that. I know that an animal instinct took control of me and I slammed into him with no extra preparation. I remember that he tried to slip out of my grasp. I yelled something at him and he stilled and then my body took over. Somehow, the combination of how tight and sweet his ass was around my cock and the fact that he couldn’t escape me if he tried, drove me to a ruthlessness when I took him that I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of.

I never once lost sight of his safety or his need, but for a while, my own physical mandate took over and I fucked him for all I was worth. I knew it was what he wanted because he kept clenching and unclenching his magnificent ass in time with my strokes. When I was ready to come, I was desperate to feel his cock milking me and when I grasped his rigid dick in my hand, his voice crying, “Yes!” and the waves of his own orgasm crashing over me shoved me off the cliff.

For a while it was all I could do just to lay across his back like a limp dishcloth and try to remember how to breathe. He was moaning and whimpering beneath me and I finally came around to myself enough to remember what I’d read about aftercare.

I knew he’d need me to be close to him, to hold and touch and kiss him while the endorphins in his body kept him wasted. Everything I’d read told me that for a while, maybe even as long as an hour or more, he’d need an anchor- that his emotional safety was in my hands and that without a secure place to return to, he’d be less likely to allow himself the freedom to just let go and indulge in his euphoria.

I slid out of him gently, crawled up next to him and wrapped my body around his, reaching to unbind his wrists. Sex between us is always phenomenal and it usually takes us a while to recover, but I was still amazed and pleased at how gone he seemed to be. I was suddenly grateful for my research. If I hadn’t been ready for his state of mind, and he had stayed that way as long as he ultimately did, I might have started to worry and interrupt his head space to bring him around.

Instead, I spoke softly to him, kept him hydrated and fell irrevocably in love with him all over again.

Finally, I could tell he was slipping into sleep by his breathing and the way all of his muscles began to settle into my body curved around him. I stroked his hair, letting myself ease into a light doze, as well.

“Was I everything you wanted?” The words were mumbled and I wasn’t even sure he’d remember asking, later. I was jolted immediately to an aching wakefulness and felt a need to smother him with affection so that he’d always know, without a doubt, that he is more than everything I want.

He is everything I am.

The End