Wakeup Call

Ahh, there's nothing like a good bit of "Administrative Punishment" to get the blood going!

Mmmm-mmm!! Better than coffee!

Mindfuck #2: Reichsklave

A spotlight in a darkened room highlights a prone figure restrained to a steel operating table. The naked male has classically handsome features with pale blonde hair cut short similar in the style worn by Tom Cruise's Von Stauffenberg in "Valkyrie". The skin is smooth and velvet soft, with powerful muscles dancing just beneath the perfect skin. With the exception of the hair on his head, eyebrows and lashes, he is hairless. His sculpted chest rises and falls slowly and he moans as he slowly regains consciousness. The captive attempts to move, but is stopped by the restraints and wakes up suddenly to his situation. He struggles to release himself and fails.  

"This one is absolutely perfect, Joachim ... you've done a beautiful job!"

"Thanks, Rolf ... I knew you'd appreciate the new design." 

The figure's head snaps towards the sound of the voices as heavy booted footfalls approach. Out the darkness, two men emerge, dressed in smartly tailored and snug Black SS uniforms. Both men are well-built and carry themselves with a lithe and deadly grace. Black leather jackboots and Sam Browne belts gleam softly in the halogen's glare; metal buttons and silver braid glow with the reflected light. The stark wet blackness of latex masks and gloves serve as the perfect complement to the snowy white of their shirt collars and cuffs. 

While the masks blur their features, they do nothing to hide the strong planes of the faces beneath them. The pindot eyes of their masks are shadowed by the brims of their Death Head SS caps, giving the illusion of an eyeless stare. The mouths are open; both men have strong, sensuous lips that curl into smiles as they stare at prone man on the table. 

The captive stops struggling and gapes in terror at the two men. His fear permeates the air in the room - a sharp, acrid smell that excites the uniformed and booted masters of this facility. The shorter of the two officers - 5'10" to the other's 6'8" - runs a rubber-clad finger around the jaw and pauses just beneath the nose; as the victim breathes in the scent of rubber, his 9" cock starts to twitch and lengthen. The ebon hand continues its journey down between the crevasse separating the thick pectorals and strokes the rock hard abdomen.  

"W-who ...?" 

The shorter officer caresses the victim's forehead. "Ssshh ... take a look at the man you've become."

With that, he presses a button and the table tilts forward and rotates. The man stares at himself in a full length mirror - his now pale-blue eyes are full of shock and amazement. He wants nothing more than to run his hands over the godlike body he now possesses. 

The taller officer now speaks. "Quite the difference from the short and stocky, inferior piece of shit you were before, no? You'll make a proper Reichsklave now, boy. Let's get you started with your new life." With that, Joachim undoes the restraints and the naked man falls to the floor on his hands and knees. As he gathers his wits about him, he hears a quiet "rrrrriipp" and looks up to see the taller officer undo his zipper and a massive cock jutting out, turgid and swollen with need.

"Service me, boy ... NOW!" There is a hard edge of command in the voice and the naked man scrambles to obey, despite the conflicting thoughts running through his head. It is as if his body is not quite his to command and that he is only a passenger in its newly improved prison. His tongue laves the bulbous head and lips strain to close around its circumference. Rubber-clad hands hold the back of the head and start a vigorous skull-fucking rhythm. The sklave takes the massive tool down it's throat and as the tall officer climaxes, greedily swallows the copious amounts of cum pouring into him. 

The officer pulls out and a booted foot in the chest topples the blonde man onto his back. The sklave's chest moves rapidly, attempting to draw air into tortured lungs as he licks his lips to gather any of the pearly fluid that may have escaped. Suddenly, he feels another booted toe digging into his heavy ballsac and cock. He gets up on his elbows to see the shorter officer has unzipped his trousers and is presenting another large, engorged member to be serviced. He reaches down and grabs a fistful of pale hair and pulls the sklave to his knees.  

"Suck!" the guttural command excites the naked man as he wraps powerful arms around muscular thighs and pulls himself onto the waiting prong. "Mmmmmm ..." the shorter officer moans as the sklave impales himself on the thick tool and begins to piston. The officer grabs the head and pulls it to his crotch; the naked man begins to struggle for air. As he feels the panic build to a crescendo, he releases the captive's head and unloads down the unsuspecting throat. Again, the physical imperative to swallow all of the silvery fluid is too strong to ignore. His cheeks hollow as he removes every last drop from the rigid tool in his mouth before he collapses onto the floor. 

Rolf laughs. "My God, what a great cocksucker! How did you accomplish that, my dear doctor?" 

Joachim smiles. "A little extra tweaking on chromosome 5. Wait till you see his reaction when he gets penetrated!" The shorter officer zips up his fly and again grabs the sklave by the hair. 

"Come, time for your equipage." The three men leave the room.  

* * * 

Down a corridor and a flight of stairs, the group arrive in front of a door simply labeled "Fitment." Joachim opens the door and shoves the sklave in. "I want him ready in ten minutes!" and slams the door shut. He puts a muscular arm around the trim waist of his commanding officer.

"I believe we have some unfinished business, sir." His uncovered lips curl into a smile. Rolf crushes his lips to those of his subaltern. His rubber-clad hand gives the smaller officer's crotch a powerful squeeze.  

"Let's go to my office. It would be highly inefficient ..." A wolfish smile creases his ebon face. "... to leave such important matters dangling ..."  

* * * 

The sklave is still disoriented as two sets of powerful arms yank him to his feet. He blearily looks into the pair of black, featureless faces holding him immobile. Like himself, these men are well-built and muscular, but unlike the officers, wear no uniforms. They are covered head-to-toe in shiny ebon latex that looks like polished black steel. Locked rubber collars with D-rings circle their necks and 12-eye paratrooper boots sheathe their feet. One of the two has the number "812" stenciled on the upper left quadrant of its chest; the other has "587". As one of his gaolers turns around, he sees the number repeated across the broad, muscular back. 

 "What's going on ...?"  

"Shut up and don't move!" 

The two frog-march him to an open sided enclosure. 587 begins to spray him with a viscous fluid that clings to his skin like rubber cement, but feels slick and oily to the touch. After the spraydown, the two handlers pull on elbow length industrial rubber gloves and manhandle him out of the enclosure. 812 shoves in a large black buttplug; the sklave grunts in pain as the massive object settles deep within him.  

The gaolers then proceed to force him into a one-piece neck-entry latex suit. Due to the bonding agent/lubricant, the suit slides on easily. Each toe is adjusted into it own enclosure in the rubbery sock and the material is pulled quickly up muscular legs. Cock and balls are forced through a c-ring and thence into a sheath with a small open tube at its tip. A codpiece is snapped on over his still semi-rigid tool. 

Inch by inch, the sklave is transformed into a dark being similar to its two handlers. Arms and hands are shoved rapidly into place. The hard points of his nips poke above the surface of the rubber on his chest, and the material settles snugly around the slabbed pecs and among the rifts and plateaus of his abdominals. A rubber hood is pulled over his head and is quickly adjusted. The sklave's eyes - like those of the officers and the men dressing him - are covered by the pindots of the mask; his nose is covered save for small nostril holes but his mouth remains open. The hood is tucked into the suit and additional sealant/lubrication is added. With a "snap" the neck of the suit bonds to the mask, sealing the new sklave into its rubber skin.  

"Turn around." 

A small padlock is attached to the pulls of the butt-zipper; access to the sklave's plug and ass is now impossible without the proper key. Finally the Reichsklave is pushed firmly onto a stool and a pair of sturdy paratrooper boots are laced quickly onto ebon feet. A collar is placed around its neck as it hears another lock click shut, fastening it permanently into place. 

 "Get up. You're done." A leash is attached to one of the D-Rings on its collar and the sklave is hauled over to the side of the room. It stares dumbly at it's reflection in a wall mirror - a strongly, muscled glistening black figure with "1140" on its chest. The plug in its ass gives it a painfully full, yet pleasurable sensation as it fondles itself and waits for its masters to return ...  

* * *

I will leave it up to the reader to ponder whether this is some type of AU Third Reich story along the lines of "Fatherland", or something that could happen in a not-too-distant future. And just as a final piece de resistance ... here's an image of the newly minted sklave in "administrative punishment."

   

Many thanks to my very good buddy Reid for providing the shots!

Photo Study #8 - Breathe Deeply

Just as there are degrees of dressing in rubber, there are also degrees of full rubber enclosure. While I normally go for the single layer and hood, I really have been intrigued for a while with rebreather combinations. As you all know, the only way I know to remove a temptation is to succumb to it, so I decided to see how it felt.

My 'mentor' in this area is "Rubberrobbie1" on Xtube. He had previously had a number of incredible videos on the old Ning-hosted GuyzInGear site, but sadly, many of those have been lost or never re-uploaded.

So first, I started out with a base layer ... thin latex mask, sheath pants and shoulder length transparent gloves (one became a high elbow length after a little mishap)


This was followed by a catsuit and then a zip-on hood.


Next came the rebreather and the waders. The waders are lined and I turned them down to give sort of the "bucket boot" or "musketeer" look. The rebreather strapped around my head and had a slight O-ring type gag built into it. Two air tubes came out from the mouthpiece and joined in back to a connector with a rebreather bag on it. There were valves in a number of places to restrict (or allow) the air to come through easily.

Added to that were a pair of thick rubber industrial gloves to go over the transparent ones beneath the suit.



Okay - I'll bet that a number of you rubbermen out there are now thinking --

"Mmmm ... GIMP".

But you should know by now that how I LOVE to twist things around.

My buddy - all 6 feet and 220 pounds of him - was relaxing on the bed waiting for a little fun. While we're both versatile, I knew he was anticipating to be more of the top that day. Needless to say, he was flabbergasted when I strode into the room and mounted him! No words, just forcing him down, putting his legs on my shoulders and thrusting myself into him. Shock and fear did play a part here, since he's got about 40 pounds of solid muscle on me.

(I *could* have rang my front door bell, snapped the locks, dropped something heavy on the floor and *then* strode in there acting like some type of home invasion, but that would have really screwed with his head!)

He likes rubber, but this was completely over the top for him. At some level, he knew it was me, but at a more visceral level, he was scared to death that this rubber-clad, eyeless THING with mouth tubes and a black rubber bag inflating and deflating on its back was fucking him senseless. I could see it in his eyes and I could feel it in the tension of his body. It made for a very interesting dynamic.

This was definitely a new experience for me and I did experience a rush of power doing it. Although it was my first time, it definitely won't be my last.

Stinger

Ben Van Sant closed the briefcase full of cash. The locks snapping closed echoed in the large, dimly lit warehouse. Behind the darkened lenses, one could see the twinkle of his eyes; his smile quirked the razor-cut beard and moustache around sensuous lips.

“It’s always a pleasure working with you, Colonel Saleh. If you need anything else to put down your rebel uprising, please give me a call.”

The darkly handsome military man grinned and put up a hand. “We prefer to call it a 'local agitation', but thank you for your most kind offer.” He put a hand into his pocket and withdrew a small leather pouch and handed it to the arms dealer. “This is a small token of my appreciation for your unparalleled weaponry selection and excellent customer service. Please accept this with my gratitude.”

Ben upended the pouch and several large uncut diamonds tumbled into his palm. Even with the gradient sunglasses shadowing his eyes, one could tell he was flabbergasted.

“I’m … speechless with your generosity, Colonel. Thank you.”

“A trifle. Have your men finished loading the equipment onto the ship?”

Van Sant nodded. “It was completed two hours ago and your people are now on board minding the cargo. The Heliopolis will set out in three hours and by next week, the Stinger missiles will be in the hands of your army.”

* * *

Benjamin Van Sant, arms dealer, assassin and ex-Army Ranger, had first met Colonel Yusef Saleh in the aftermath of the Enduring Freedom campaign. Court-martialed for being caught in flagrante delicto with his superior officer, the sniper had found himself in the demimonde of the military world and used his in-country contacts and skills to broker an arms shipment for a military coup.

Saleh had thrown a celebration for the defeat of his enemies and invited the young ex-soldier to attend. After the party, the two found themselves alone in the small palace.

“I find you … bold, cunning and quite intriguing, Captain. Thank you for your assistance.” Yusef put his hands on the broad shoulders and stared hungrily into the pale blue eyes. His hands slowly traveled down the powerful arms and then rested on the trim waist. He licked his lips.


“I also find you handsome as hell.”

Van Sant grinned. “The feeling is mutual, Sir.” The ex-soldier grasped a handful of thick black hair and pulled Saleh’s lips to his in a brutal kiss. Hands traveled down the Arab’s broad back and cupped the muscled ass as Ben drew the two of them together. They broke apart only when they needed to draw breath.

Saleh panted. “Shall we continue the celebration in a more … private … manner, Captain?”

“Of course, Sir ... I look forward to getting those legs on my shoulders ...”

Van Sant gave the other man a lusty grin as the two entered a lavish bedroom. Ben slowly undressed the colonel and then proceeded to remove his own clothes. After a particularly deep kiss, he pushed the naked Saleh onto the bed and arranged the muscular, dark legs onto his broad shoulders.

Ben shoved the head of his manhood past Saleh's sphincter and slowly into his canal. Saleh moaned softly as the ex-soldier entered him. Van Sant was talented, pushing all the way in to the balls, then slowly removing himself but leaving just the knob inside.

Meanwhile, the colonel could feel the head and veins of the younger man's member deep inside him. He felt the heat Van Sant gave off - searing the flesh deep within his ass. Saleh felt the turgid member scrape against his prostate, making him hard as a rock himself. The Arab lay there staring hungrily into the wanton, azure eyes above him - feeling Ben's hips pull back slowly, then again easing his massive tool deep into his waiting chute. He was in heaven. The colonel enjoyed being treated by a talented man on how to use his power to subdue and pleasure both himself and his partner.

Now the ex-soldier started to get into his rhythm and now picked up the pace. Van Sant began to pull all the way out and then back in to the hilt. Saleh felt him speed up a little more and soon he was slamming into his hungry ass with a fury. Ben could tell the man beneath him loved the feel of his friction and fast pace.

Suddenly, the former Army Ranger pushed all the way in and held himself there. Saleh felt a huge volley of warm cum shoot deep inside his guts. This was followed by a second blast, then a third, fourth, fifth and finally, a sixth load shot deep inside him. The colonel began to feel it dribble down his canal and start to leak out. Ben lay deep inside him, letting his twitching cock subside. Still hard, he pulled out and the colonel felt a gush of warm cum slide back and down his cheeks before draining on the bed. Ben whispered huskily in his ear that his had been the best ass he had ever had and he was looking forward to regular breeding sessions.

Ben pulled the colonel to his feet and swung him around so their positions were reversed. He then lay down on the coverlet, pulling his legs up and back to expose his hairless, rosy pucker. The ex-soldier grinned at the panting man at the foot of the bed, cum still dribbling out of his ass.

"Your turn, colonel ... make me scream ..."

The sex had been transcendent. Both men were insatiable and took turns penetrating and being penetrated by the other. After several long hours of ecstasy, the two lay together in the large bed.

Ben turned over on his side and began to stroke the powerfully muscled chest of his lover.

“Yusef?”

“Mmmmm?” Saleh reached over to stroke the other man’s face.

“You realize we now hold a knife at each other’s throat? I’ve already been convicted of raping my commander and without the protection of the Army, I could be killed. If your predilections became public, the religious police would kill you too.”

Yusef turned over and leaned on his elbow. “Well, we shall have to make sure that our private lives remain private, no?” He again began stroking the young ex-soldier’s face.

A finger gently caressed Van Sant's throat. “And if the slightest whiff of scandal would ever arise, I would have you tracked down and decapitated in the blink of an eye.”

* * *

The quiet of the tableau was interrupted by a pair of Ben’s men dragging a young patrolman into the meeting room.

“We found him skulking outside, boss - what do you want us to do with him?”

Van Sant looked at the officer. He was about 5’11” tall, with short black hair and deep, deep blue eyes. He had the faintest shadow on his square jaw and his tanned skin looked like velvet. Ben involuntarily moistened his lips when his eyes traveled over the strongly muscled physique and thick bulge in the breeches. High black boots gleamed softly in the overhead lights and hugged the long and powerful legs. The young man was struggling to free himself, but the grip of the two henchmen was too strong.

Van Sant pulled a black H&K P7 from the shoulder holster and pistol-whipped the captive man. The officer’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow and a purpling bruise began to stain the side of his chiseled face.

“Take Little Boy Blue in back and get him ready for me. I’ll be there shortly.”

The two men dragged the half-conscious officer past Saleh and his bodyguard and into the adjoining room.

“What are you going to do with him?”

Van Sant grinned evilly at his lover. “You know how I like to play with my food, Colonel … don’t worry. He won’t be talking any time soon.” He looked down at his Rolex.

“You had best get to the airport, Sir … I heard the TSA lines have been particularly bad this week.”

Saleh spoke to his bodyguard in rapid-fire Arabic. He left. The two men were then alone.

The colonel stepped up to Van Sant and held his face in both hands. He covered the other’s mouth in a gentle kiss. “When will I see you, again, habibi?”

Ben nuzzled along the strong, dark jaw. He breathed in the musky spiciness of the arab, which had his cock starting to crawl down the leg of his jeans. “Two weeks. Damascus.”

"The Al-Madinah?"

Van Sant grinned and squeezed the colonel's crotch. “Where else?”

Saleh turned to leave and paused. “Do what you think best with the policeman, my love. But leave no loose ends.”

* * *

Charlie Hawke had spiraled into blackness soon after the brutal beating began. Consciousness returned to him like a reluctant lover as he felt the cool relief of an icebag pressed against his swollen face.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, kid. But you happened to be at the wrong place at a really wrong time.”

The young policeman forced open his eyes to see one of the men from the other room. He was about 6’ tall with chestnut hair cut in a severe high and tight style. A lopsided grin was surmounted by a razor cut beard and gradient sunglasses hid his eyes. Diamond studs twinkled in his ears and a septum crescent lent him a rugged and menacing air. The man in front of him wore a tight black t-shirt that looked painted onto his muscular torso and was tucked into tight, faded jeans. A jackass rig held a pistol under his left arm. A heavy gold ring with green stone winked on his hand.

Van Sant held up Charlie’s wallet. “Ordinarily, anyone who barged in on a deal wouldn't live long enough to talk about it. However, whatever shred of morals I have left just won’t let me kill someone as young as you. Even if you are a cop.”

Charlie looked up to see himself secured hand and foot to an iron framed bed. His boots had been removed and cuffs were attached to large metal cylinders that were condensed with frost. He could begin to feel the coolness of the metal seeping into his wrists; Hawke yanked hard against his restraints, but they held fast.

Van Sant followed the other’s eyes.

“Those are called ice locks. In about two hours from now, they’ll melt and you’ll be released.”

Charlie coughed. “W-why …”

Ben pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. He brushed a lock of raven-dark hair back from the officer’s forehead. Charlie pulled away.

“By that time, the arms shipment – and myself – will be outside the reach of any U.S. jurisdiction. Count yourself lucky this time, officer. I don’t give people second chances. In fact, I think you're the very first one.”

A look of sadness crossed the arms dealer’s face; his voice deep with regret. “I can remember when I was a Boy Scout like you, Charlie. I've been forced to do terrible things and then I found that I got to like doing them. I found that I got to like doing them a lot. After that, it was all downhill …”

Van Sant brushed fingertips down Hawke’s cheek. This time, the policeman's dark blue gaze looked into the sad, shadowed face of his captor and did not pull away from the gentle touch.


His voice softened. “I can still see the innocence in your eyes. Try not to lose that too quickly, Officer Hawke … it’s something you’ll never get back and you’ll be mourning its loss for a very long time.”

Charlie continued to struggle.

The arms dealer got up from the chair - he was back to business. “Your boots are under the table, and your duty belt is on top. I took the liberty of removing the batteries from your cellphone and radio – in the event you … or your superiors … were hoping for a triangulation. Cover is over there too.”

He put the wallet down next to the cap. “I also saw the picture of you and your boyfriend in there. That was the clincher as to why I decided not to kill you.”

The young officer grew still. Ben chuckled. “Kid ... I can read you like a book. If that wasn’t your boyfriend, you’d be screaming bloody murder right now. But then again, who am I to say anything to you about that? It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”

Van Sant pulled on an ocean blue shirt to conceal the holster and the gun. “I hope we never meet again, Charlie. Take care of yourself.”

Ben gave the shackled policeman a casual salute as he walked to the door and left.

* * *

"That's him! That's the guy!"

Charlie had worked with the sketch artist to produce a composite of the man that held him captive. As good as his word, the locks had melted in two hours and Hawke had been freed. He reinserted the battery into the radio and called for backup.

Scott Garland - the CIA agent on the case - looked into the battered and bruised face of the young man.

"Other than 'Stingers' did you hear anything else about where he was going or what he was doing, Officer Hawke?"

Both Captain Tanner Morgan and Sergeant Jamieson Reardon were with the injured policeman in the hospital room.

Charlie shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir - but no. I got pistol-whipped pretty badly even before they started working me over. Do you know who he is?"

Garland was somber. "Uh-huh. That's Ben Van Sant. Ex-Army Ranger. Now one of the most successful and notorious arms dealers on the planet, plus assassin for hire. Someone up there really likes you, Officer Hawke. Van Sant usually doesn't leave loose ends."

His brown eyes drilled into the policeman. "Are you sure he didn't say anything else?"

Charlie swallowed. "I can't be certain, sir. But I didn't hear anything I can remember."

The CIA agent's shoulders slumped. He patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Thanks for you help in identifying him, son. Much appreciated. If you recall anything else, give me a call." He left the room.

When the door closed, the captain turned an icy gaze to the prone young man. He was literally vibrating with fury.

Morgan's voice held a deadly edge. "Hawke, I want to know why you lied to Agent Garland, and I want to know now."

Charlie stammered. "I ... I..."

Jamie trailed gentle fingers down the bruised cheek of the young officer. "I told you it was safe here, Charlie - and I meant it. Cap will protect you with his life if necessary. What really happened? Tell us. It's okay."

Hawke's blackened eyes began to fill with unshed tears. "He ... he said he just couldn't kill someone as young as me, even if I was a cop ... and ... and ... "

"And what, Charlie?" Tanner looked at him - far more compassionately than he had before.

"... and he found the picture of Mateo and me in my wallet. He said that was the clincher."

Morgan gave him a quizzical look. Hawke took a deep breath.

"Mateo's my lover, Captain Morgan."

Captain and Sergeant exchanged glances. "Van Sant's ... he's like us, sir."

Tanner stood up. "You did the right thing, Charlie. Discretion - in this case - is the better part of valor. I'm sorry I came down so hard on you, son. Get some rest and heal up."

Reardon kissed the top of the patrolman's head. "I'll be back when my watch is over, kid. You want me to call Mateo for you? I'll make sure he gets up here without any problems."

Hawke nodded. "Thanks Jamie. I appreciate it."

Charlie sank back into the bed as the two officers left the room.

* * *

I always wanted to get a kind of "sleazy soldier boy" mask and CFX with it's new lineup of realistic masks was perfect for this character. I've purchased both CFX and SPFX masks in the past and CFX has done a great job with their new hyper-realistic "Mac."

CFX masks tend to be much lighter than their SPFX counterparts, but provide the same lack of bunching and proper musculature around the neck. The only thing with these is that the bib is not as large as the other company's, which limits how far down you can unbutton a shirt; but that's not too big an issue. I can't quite describe it, but there is also a bit of 'personality' in the way the mask is sculpted. SPFX masks tend to be more of a blank slate - "Mac" has a hint of smug self-importance around him.

The character of Ben Van Sant is another story altogether. I wanted to have someone who appears to be morally bankrupt, but not completely so. The model for this type of character is hitman/assassin Roger LoCocco (William Russ) from the old "Wiseguy" series, or the traitorous Captain Joseph Korso from "Titan A.E." And to a lesser extent, Han Solo of "Star Wars" fame.

Ben - like the other complex characters I mentioned - is not a nice guy. Or is he? Originally, he was an Army Ranger sniper - trained to kill dispassionately at a distance. Add to that, he had been court-martialed for raping his commander. To top it off, he has become the lover of a mideast dictator and a supplier of weapons to Yusef Saleh and his army. The way he treats Charlie hints that he has some spark of conscience left that can move him to pity.

But deeper questions can and do arise ... like LoCocco - is he an operative under the deepest of deep covers? Or like Korso - who at the defining moment finds the strength to redeem himself? I don't know yet.

But I intend to find out.

Rubber Release

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Mindfuck #1: Ewan

(For you, Tim)

"I trust that my guest enjoyed himself?"

Ewan Drummond's voice held a hard edge. The maitre'd visibly cowered. "Y-yes sir, he did. He thought you were going to join him earlier, but I assured him that you would be coming."

Drummond gave a slight smile. "Good man. Take me to him."

The two threaded their way through the crowded restaurant - as they passed, conversation stopped and the patrons stared openmouthed at the new guest. He was tall - over 6 feet - and dressed in a pair of tight black leather jeans that gleamed darkly in the subdued lighting. These were accompanied by tall, black boots and a half-open sleeveless leather shirt that highlighted broad shoulders, a muscular tanned chest and powerful arms. Dark, burnished gold hair was cut short in a military style and the mirrored sunglasses made the strong jawed, stubbled face both intimidating and inscrutable. A pair of short, tight leather gloves completed the outfit and hinted at power and violence kept under the strictest control.

Ewan felt the powerful wake of incipient lust he was leaving and laughed softly to himself. The two arrived at one of the private rooms and the maitre'd knocked and opened the door. Ewan entered and quietly closed the portal behind him.

James Daly looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Ewan glided over and pulled a chair over to sit across from him. The other man wore an expensive suit and tie.

"I said I'd be here, love ... and here I am. I never break my word." His voice was soft and dark and deliciously corrupt.

"You're ... you're ... Scottish??" Ewan could feel the man's defenses crumbling further.

"That I am. The burr doesn't quite convey itself over email, does it?" James tentatively reached out to stroke a muscled forearm. He was shaking. "I'm not going to disappear in a puff of smoke, James."

Ewan stretched like a large, contented cat. "Did you enjoy your meal?"

The man regained a modicum of composure. "I thought we were going to have dinner together ... I was afraid you weren't going to show up."

Again, that small smile. "I'll have a little taste of something now."

Drummond reached across and grasped the other man's tie. "Get up."

Daly was only slightly shorter than the man in leather and his green eyes were reflected back from the mirrored lenses. He pushed back from the table and levered himself up, still attached leash-like to Drummond. The burnished blonde biker pulled him away from the table. Ewan moved closer and pushed him gently back again the wall. Daly's breath quickened as the leather-gloved hands loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh, man ..." His fingers traced along the well-trimmed stubble on the leatherman's face. Ewan kissed James softly on the lips and began to nuzzle along his jaw. The other man's stubble scratched as he moved lower and kissed along the hollow of the businessman's throat. James started to moan under the onslaught.

Gloved hands slowly pulled the shirt apart and down and traced delicate designs on the muscular chest and around the hardening nips. Ewan's lips traveled down to feather along valley between Daly's pecs. James ran his hands through the short golden hair and Ewan himself trembled at the gentle touch. Sparks danced along his nerves. This is the one. After five long centuries, this is the one.

Drummond straightened up and again the two were face to face. "Take off my glasses, love."

The businessman lifted the lenses slowly off the arresting, square-jawed mien to display golden-brown eyes that gleamed with a jewel-like intensity. Leather-clad hands slipped into the shirt and pulled the two closer together.

Ewan smiled wider to expose sharp white fangs that gleamed in the darkened room. Again, he brushed his lips along the other man's jaw and moved down to the side of the other man's neck. A sharp hiss escaped Daly's lips. Oh, sweet Jesus, he smells just like chocolate.

The vampire paused. "You really want this, don't you? There'll be no turning back, James. We'll be bound together for eternity."

James was shaking with desire. "Oh, God ... yes ... yes!" He brought his arms around the black-clad torso of the man holding him. Ewan pulled the other man into a tight embrace as he bit down and began to feed.

* * *

My buddy Tim and I often have quite involved chats with scenarios like this, so I decided to start a new category of entries here called "Mindfucks." A scene that gets into your head and makes (and keeps) you hard and leaking every time you think of it. The first one is always the hardest, but more will be coming!