My Boyfriend Wants Gay Sex for the First Time

"I'm ready", you said.

I raised my head far enough off your chest to stare into your crystal-blue eyes. If you were lying, this would be the way to find out -- their innocence meant that they were unable to deceive me.

I knew, you see, just what readiness' was. The signals had been there, of course, over the past few weeks -- the times I'd caught you fingering my strap-on, the way you'd begged me totake you up the arse' on those rare occasions when I was dominant -- but I hadn't let myself extrapolate from such small pieces of evidence. I didn't want to be disappointed again.

When we'd first met, I had been firmly of the opinion that inside every broad-minded straight person was a bisexual waiting to get out. As the months went by, however, I had been reluctantly forced to accept that, at least in your case, this simply wasn't true. I'd tried, I'd really tried -- harder than I'd ever tried with anyone before -- to convince you that you probably were. I'd teased out of you your attraction to a male friend, you'd told me that you had spent some time considering whether you might be gay, and I'd explained my philosophy of bisexuality to you. All to no avail. You were firmly, avowedly and proudly straight and no amount of urging on my part could make you reconsider. I learned not to mention the subject unless I was feeling particularly blue, and even then it generally only made things worse.

So it came as some surprise when you announced that you were ready'.Ready' meant that you had actually been giving the whole sorry subject some thought over those long silent months and that you had come to the conclusion that, actually, you might be bisexual. `Ready' also meant that you were willing to test this hypothesis by acting out my favorite fantasy.

Overjoyed, I held you close in my arms as we began the laborious process of composing a suitable personal advertisement. Perfections both, we made heavy weather of it, but eventually we were satisfied. Having selected a suitable newspaper, we consigned the advertisement to its care and affected to think no more about it, although I cannot believe that it was any accident that we were both awake hours before the newspaper was due to be delivered on the appropriate day. Finally, when we were almost resigned to its non-arrival, we heard the familiar rat-tat of the letter-box flap, followed by the usual dull thud as the newspaper landed on the floor. Trembling with excitement, we raced to collect it; you won and, maddeningly slowly, with fingers numbed by anticipation, you turned to the page. We stared at it once more, seeing it (we hoped) as others would see it:

"VOYEUSE seeks experienced, dominant male to initiate innocent bi-curious Adonis, 26, in ways of the adult world. (Photo appreciated)."

There it was, in print at last. Now all we had to do was to sit back and wait for the replies. I knew that you probably still objected to the bit about the photograph, but, on the other hand, you could not be expected to fancy just anyone and, since this would most likely help you to define whether you really were bisexual, I wanted the experience to be a complete success.

The replies, when they came, were many and varied. As usual, there were the psychopaths, who we filtered out immediately. There were many who seemed likeable, honest and personable but, somehow, for one reason or another, did not seem quite right. There were several who seemed to be serious contenders, intelligent, attractive and interested, but there seemed to be no clear deciding reason to choose one above all the rest. And then it came: the letter. You tried to hide your immediate interest, but your more susceptible parts betrayed your true arousal. He was, to be brief, the ideal candidate -- tall, like you, slightly more well-built, with raven-black hair, eyes which seemed halfway between green and brown and a very engaging grin. Intelligent, too -- another Oxbridge electronic engineering graduate, although a few years your senior. Into leather, and born to dominate, this man seemed the ideal person for you to experiment with.

He had left both a telephone number and an email address. Several times you picked up the telephone, as if to call him, and then changed your mind halfway through dialing the number. In the end, you decided that an email would probably be less difficult. A whole flurry of messages passed between you that week -- I was gratified that you appeared to be getting on so well together -- and eventually a date was set for him to come to our house. You told me that he had asked me to prepare you, before he arrived, and that I was then to welcome him at the door. You told me that I would discover what `preparation' meant when the day arrived.

The days leading up to the rendezvous dragged. You were in a state of high excitement, eager anticipation and nervous tension all rolled into one. You seemed to want to save yourself for the big day, to the extent of giving up alcohol, refusing anything more strenuous than light petting and being in bed, ready to sleep, by 10 p.m. I began to wonder whether the life of a nun held any real appeal.

It was a Saturday that the rendezvous was actually set for (pressures of work for both of you having stopped a weekday evening being suitable) and he was due to arrive at our place shortly after lunch. I envied you the deep and peaceful sleep you had enjoyed the previous night, whilst I had tossed and turned with excitement mingled with worry. What if you really hated the experience ? What if he didn't turn out to be the amiable, likeable person he'd presented, but was instead a bitter and twisted sadist who wanted only to hurt you ? What if -- not likely, I hoped, and my own fault entirely should it happen -- you decided that, in fact, you preferred men to women and left me for him ? Small wonder I passed a tormented night and rose in the morning somewhat frazzled. You, on the other hand, appeared refreshed and eagerly awaiting the `preparations'.

I took you into the bathroom. He apparently wanted me to shave off all your pubic hair. Carefully I covered the area in shaving-foam and began to remove the hair. Luckily, you had been shaved only a couple of weeks previously, and so it was not the marathon job it could sometimes be. Lovingly, I cupped your balls, one at a time, and removed all the hair from them, and finally from your cock itself. Your legs and underarms also apparently required de-hairing; I contemplated the evil option of wax but settled in the end on a depilatory cream. Next you removed your embryonic mustache and beard, and took a long shower.

I was, meanwhile, engaged in replacing the cotton sheets on our bed with silk ones. White, since this was to be the day you lost your second virginity, and pillowslips to match, with a few ornate Japanese embroidered cushions to add color to the scene.

You returned to the bedroom and requested a glass of water. Apparently, you were to eat and drink nothing else until the arrival of your lover. You lay down on the bed, looking so young and angelic that I wondered how anyone could want to do anything but protect you. You asked me to buckle the leather collar round your neck, to slip the cock-ring onto your penis and then to fit each wrist with a manacle and chain the manacles, via lengths of chain, to the bedposts under the bed. Dutifully I obeyed, caressing your flaxen hair all the while. I wanted desperately to kiss you, but you pushed me away, saying that this was not permitted and that the rules for your preparation had to be adhered to rigidly. Sighing, I acquiesced and left you alone in the bed.

On the stroke of one, the doorbell rang. Suddenly panicked, you turned to me, being me to protect you. Taking my revenge, I covered you with the white silk top-sheet, leaving only your beautiful head and your neck, encased as it was in its leather collar, sticking out, and went downstairs to answer the door.

It had been the subject of a heated discussion between us, what I should wear. You wanted me to wear a short dress with shear stockings, whilst I favored jeans and a baggy jumper -- after all, it was you he was here to lavish his attentions on. In the end, we had agreed on the compromise solution of a stylishly-tailed trouser-suit, which looked suitably smart, but not sexually enticing. As I went to answer the door, I was grateful for this decision but, even so, had to take several deep breaths before opening the door.

"Hello," said a deep voice, "you must be Voyeuse."

I nodded my head in agreement and offered to take the man's coat and fix him a drink.

"Just a glass of water, please. I'll take the champagne up with me to Adonis."

There seemed nothing wrong so far, so, having duly retrieved the champagne from the fridge and clutching two champagne flutes rather more tightly than perhaps they ought to have been, I led him upstairs to where you were waiting.

I made the introductions, poured the champagne and left. As I did so, I could not help but notice the eager expression on your face as he bent over you to lift back the top-sheet, and the satisfied smile cross his as he got his first glimpse of your taut body. I adjourned into the neighboring room and switched on the bank of television screens which would show me in graphic detail, and from all angles, exactly what kind of experience was in store for you.

You were still lying as I had left you, but he had stripped down to his underpants, which were bulging. He had placed his briefcase beside you on the bed and was opening the lid. As I watched, he lifted out an enormous tube of KY jelly, an equally enormous packet of condoms, a small butt plug, a blindfold and a whip. He needn't have bothered, I thought to myself, we have all those here.

He leant over and kissed you on the lips, gently at first, then with increasing passion. Had you not been so comprehensively shackled, I am sure that you would have thrown your arms around him and started running your fingers up and down his spine.

Eventually he broke away from the kiss and turned his attention to your cock. Although there was unfortunately no sound connection between the two rooms, it was clear to me that he was admiring its size and shape. He then proceeded to lick his way round the head, before finally taking as much of the shaft as he could manage into his mouth. I noticed that your eyes had closed and you appeared to be swiftly attaining a state of extreme excitement -- quite the opposite of the usual deflationary response I attain on trying this same tactic. Just as I thought you would be unable to hold off any longer, he took his mouth away from your cock, leaving visible signs of frustration etched across your face.

Removing his underpants, permitting his own cock to spring out, he held it invitingly over your mouth. Greedily, you accepted the proffered present and were soon licking and sucking for all you were worth. Gradually, it became apparent that your technique was not to his liking, as a growing frown appeared across his face. Snatching his cock out of your mouth, and strenuously defeating your pitiful attempts to reclaim it, he placed the blindfold over your eyes and roughly turned you over.

Heart in my mouth I watched, ready to intervene at any moment should I feel that you were not enjoying things or that he had lost control of his temper. He picked up his whip and began to lash you. I could see the involuntary jerking of your body as a backlash to the whip on each stroke. I worried for you, but you appeared to be in command of, and maybe even enjoying the situation.

He tired of this game and for two long minutes sat at the foot of the bed, sipping champagne, whilst you fretted, wondering what new game he was thinking up for you. You soon found out, for he turned you back over again and removed the blindfold. Kissing you once more, he caressed your cheeks, whilst you tried to push your body closer into his. He soon got the message and squeezed a blob of KY onto the entrance of your anus, whilst thoroughly lubricating the butt plug. He shoved this into your anus, and then moved it tantalizingly in and out, until I saw your mouth form the words "More, harder, deeper".

At this, he slipped a condom onto his by-now swollen cock, removed the butt plug with infinite care and raised the lower part of your body with enough cushions to raise you to a more comfortable angle, before sliding inside you. Your face twisted with instantaneous pain as he penetrated you, but was soon eased by the pleasure induced by the feel of his hard throbbing cock inside you.

What happened next came as no shock to me, but took him completely by surprise -- you, having got more and more excited by this caressing of your anal passage, came, as is your wont, splattering his body with your semen and contracting your anal muscles in an orgasm-inducing fashion round his eager cock. Unsurprisingly, he came too, in a wave of ecstasy which looked as if it might never end.

Eventually, he pulled out of you, wiped your anus in a delicate and tender fashion and cleaned your semen off both your bodies. He then undid your shackles and, judging by the expression on his face, expected you to make a dash for freedom to join me. He and I both. In fact, to both our manifest surprises, you reached out, put your arms around him and dragged him close to you again for an extremely passionate embrace.

That night in bed together, your body had an extreme hunger about it that I had not known before as it before as it sought to join mine. We did not really discuss the subject -- I only asked,

"Will you see him again ?"

"I might," came the reply.

The smile on your face was enough to answer that question.

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written by daria