FSM

Funny how one thing leads to another. I was skimming the latest post from Ace. Ace of course starred in a series of posts – all the way from sizzling to sweet – from my all-time favourite gay sex blogger, The Breeder, before starting his own blog.
Yesterday Ace mentioned in passing his favourite porn site, BerlinStar Film. I took a look. And what do I find but Fickstutenmarkt: the movie. I have only watched the preview but I can see it's going to be hard to resist buying the full version. I had posted here previously about going to FSM one time in Mannheim. Before that I had gone once in Berlin. I went again last summer in Berlin but hadn't blogged about it. 
I should have. It became quite a story. The previous week I had spent a night at Böse Buben and some of the cane welts were still visible on my arse. At FSM these caught the eye of the deckhelfer who hooded and tied me after I had stripped down. He slapped my arse and teased me about them and we kept chatting during the evening at times when I wasnt getting dicked. 
We ended up hooking up a few days later. We spent a long slow Sunday afternoon doing most of the things a couple of kinksters can do to each other with dicks, tongues, fists and a strap. For the finale we lay there tongues down each other's throats while he pressed a series of cigarettes against the skin just under my navel. I wanted to have something to remember him by. The scar has now faded a bit but the memories are still sharp.   

Spanko

I got woken around 6am by a text from the skinny white boy who wants to get his arse whipped. He doesn't get in touch often. But when he does he really needs it.
He had been out drinking. He was still in the city. It was raining and we couldn't go to his place or my place. We ended up going to one of the toilets on the coast.
He's not much of a spanko – he won't take anything too hard. But when he heard I had got a cane he told me to bring it. 
We went into a wheelchair-sized cubicle, complete with diaper table. Plenty of room to swing a stick. He stripped down. I started with a rubber slapper. After a minute or two of that he stopped me – too much noise. He wanted the cane instead.
I was enjoying the view. The guy would be in his 30s, maybe 5' 10", naturally lean, long back, tight little butt. He's a petrolhead – just bought an old E55 Merc. He's got that nerdy character you get with some guys who are into computers or machines. 
I started with the cane, sets of six, just flicking it at his arse, not using any force. He hissed once or twice when I went low or high. As he warmed up I put more wrist into it. He seemed to have much more tolerance of the cane than the strap I had used on him previously. Most of the strokes I gave him were little stingers that didn't leave a real welt. He started jacking his dick after each set. 
After 15 minutes I figured he was ready for the real thing. Now he was really feeling it. When I inspected his arse after each set I was starting to see and feel welts. A couple more sets and he took a hit of poppers and told me to go for it. He bent back down, stuck his arse out and gripped the bar as I started whipping him continuously. After a minute he grabbed his dick and started spewing cum all over the floor. I eased off but kept whipping him till he had finished. 
That was it. I dropped him off near his house then went home and back to bed. 

Beating

Well I've told you about Friday evening. But I had other plans for later. I'd been exchanging messages with a guy who wanted to beat me. I'd had a couple of mild spankings over the years. But this guy didn't do vanilla: if he was going to beat me it was going to be the real thing. Whew. I decided I was game for it. Anything once, I guess. We arranged to meet at the club about midnight.

We had a long talk before we got under way. I was nervous but figured it was now or never. I confirmed I knew what I was letting myself in for. It wasn't going to be slaps and taps. I was looking for someone to take me to my limits, and then some. There would be no safe word. And I would be tied down.

He took a while to organise the room and then came out to bring me in. He had me strip and bend over the bench before shackling my wrists and ankles and strapping my thighs to the legs. Then it began.

He started with his hands. I hadn't imagined that bare hands could hurt that much. That was just the start. He had brought all his toys. He used a flogger next. I guess he knew he could use that on my back and legs without leaving bruises.

The bruising started with the next toy. He had several wooden paddles. I couldn't see which one he was using but it felt like being hit with a wooden plank. It hurt like fuck even though he only gave me half a dozen strokes first time.

Beyond that the sequence blurs. He would beat me for a couple of minutes at a time, mostly unhurried strokes, then pause, check the damage to my arse, sometimes stroke my head or my back to reassure me before getting back into it. He would push poppers under my nose when he was going to use the paddle or the big strap.

What I had feared most was the cane. I was right to be afraid. He had brought several with him and he didn't hold back. He was very accurate: he was able to place his strokes anywhere from the top of my butt to the join at the top of the thighs. I think he gave me half a dozen strokes at a time, though I can remember one point later in the session when he was started lashing me harder and faster. I was writhing and yelling.

From what I could work out later we must have gone about two hours altogether. He stripped down at the start and wore just a jock the whole time. Between beating me he would often squat down and play with himself - he obviously found it all a real turn-on. And if you want to know whether all of this made me horny the answer is no - i didn't get a hard-on at all.

A week later I still have bruises all over my arse. From the bottom of my back to the top of my thighs he didn't leave any place untouched. I took some photos in the mirror the morning after and I could see that he had even got right into my arse crack - everything except my hole was red and swollen.

My mind is still buzzing from the whole experience. I was a bit shaky when it ended, took a while to regain my composure. The strange thing is that I've come out of it a bit dissatisfied: I had expected to be pushed beyond my limit, lose control, end up a complete emotional wreck. Yet through it all I was able to force myself to push my butt up to take each stroke. I remember making a lot of noise, especially when he really started laying it on after the first half hour: a guy I met when I was walking around the club afterwards said he had found it a huge turn-on looking through the port-hole at what was happening, and hearing me yelling. The guy who beat me said he eventually stopped because the thought he would start to do real damage if he kept going.

If I do it again I think I would be looking for a full-on punishment beating. Yet the idea of that sends a chill down my back. We'll see.