Nine Circles (M/M) - *COMPLETE*

[Straitjacketed]

This one is a collaboration, originally a role-play between myself and another TUG member, reformatted slightly and published here with his permission. My character's narration is in default font, his is in red.

This isn't our first role-play together. The character of Richard had already appeared in our co-writing and, to some extent, 'Nine Circles' was conceptualised as a sort of prequel, a way of exploring and fleshing out his backstory through an encounter with a newly created character, Lance. It took on its own momentum, however...

The events of 'Nine Circles' take place around a decade ago.


Nine Circles - part 1

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
Tall, wide, heavily-muscled white man in his mid-forties. Impression of bulk. Celtic complexion, ginger hair and beard, blue eyes. Open features. Nose broken and crookedly reset.

Lance:
Tall, buff but lean Asian man in his mid-twenties. Short-but-messy dark hair in an undercut. Stubble. Resting scowl.

Richard:
Ah, Berlin!

Maybe not the most classically beautiful of European cities but, ever since the halcyon backpacking days of my early twenties, my favourite. Berlin is the place on Earth where I feel most at home, most able to be myself. Even - no, especially - when I'm alone.

And, I reflect, it's the place I'm most able to create and explore new aspects of myself - the better to satiate my endless curiosity in what makes other men tick...

It's been too long, this time around: over a decade of the new Millennium has passed since I last stepped off the 'plane into the cool autumnal mizzle and felt Berlin - deliciously unshockable Berlin - enfold me in its rain-scented hug, welcoming and non-committal in the best possible way, as coolly accepting as Berliners themselves. "Do whatever," the city seems to say with an urban shrug, "it's all good".

I've been spending an increasing amount of time in the US, doing this and that, most recently an extended acting job in New York, playing a corrupt Irish American superintendent in a serial cop drama. Nothing prime time but very well-paid and, God knows, my Boston accent is now close to perfect.

The accent isn't all I took from the show. When my character finally died in the inevitable shoot-out, I filched the replica police-issue eagle badge from my uniform cap. Now, it's ornamenting the classic leather Muir cap pulled low over my eyes as I recline against the bar here in Deubel’s, my favourite venue in the whole city - even on a slow midweek evening like this one.

Leather is most definitely the flavour of this trip. Possibly because I've spent over a year playing a somewhat clichéd authority figure: satisfyingly tyrannical but very definitely heterosexual, the classic family man. It's many years - decades - since I had to be closeted but playing that role reminded me of that time of my life.

Maybe, I reflect, taking a sip of lovely pure German beer, I needed this long weekend in drizzly, seedy, leathery Berlin to wash the remnants of straight closet-case out of my system.

Or maybe I'm overthinking. Either way, mere minutes after checking in to my hotel, I went full-on leather: breeches (black with a grey side-stripe) tucked into knee-high Dehner boots, grey leather shirt made formal with a neatly-knotted leather tie and, over the lot of it, the newest acquisition, a heavy Langlitz jacket in creaking, squeaking shiny black horsehide, quilted at shoulders and elbows - still in the process of being worn in, with that irresistible "new car" smell.

I haven't skimped on the accessories either. Thin, tight, wrist-length Damascus leather cop gloves cover my hands and I'm signalling left - top - with a mini-selection of equipment hanging from my left hip: leather restraints, even a hood.

Naturally, the zippered pockets of my breeches and my new jacket are loaded with other goodies...

I'm not sure what I fancy, this evening. I'm a little early - they party later in Europe - but the bar is starting to fill up, each newcomer shaking off the moisture, selecting his poison and finding his preferred vantage point to ingest it and peer around while pretending not to.

I amuse myself by designing little backstories for the handful of "fellow travellers" dotted around the bar, all of us playing the same game of glance-and-glance-away, surreptitiously appraising the company.

What does each man want? What's his history? What, I think with a smirk at my own intractable geekery, is his alignment?

And that's when I notice you.

Lance:
You never know what to expect when visiting a new country.

We all have our biases, even when we think we don’t and that’s what I love about traveling: if you go far enough, you’ll always surprise yourself. The thrill is what keeps me going, hopping from one city to another not by trains or planes but by hitching rides and if all fails, walking.

Continental Europe is tightly packed with countries, not at all what I’m used to back home or when I visited my grandparents in Hong Kong but so far, I enjoy keeping my mind sharp with all the challenges of new languages and cuisine.

My parents always talk about the punctuality and orderliness of Germans and maybe they’re not wrong, but Berlin definitely has a wild side to it, as in everything goes for free time. You worked hard, now it’s time to play hard.

And after working my ass off at a busy bar, dishing out beer to insistent customers, I’m ready to play hard.

I have no intention of going to a traditional club - I want to see something different, an adventure that would make a great memory. I remember watching the latter half of Cruising back when I was in school so when I saw a poster announcing a leather bar, I figured why the hell not?

With my trusty old Schott and biker boots, I don’t even need to buy any new stuff. I’m not sure what I figured I would find here. Maybe a gruff daddy type clad in straps and buckles, ready for some no strings attached fun. Probably some whips and handcuffs? I only have a slight idea of what would expect me there from pop culture osmosis and it’s a thrilling idea. The whole thing feels dangerous, but I know I’m built well enough to defend myself and it’s not like I’m a stranger to occasional bar fights.

Fast forward to me walking inside the club, the bouncer gives me a once-over, his expression halfway between disapproval and amusement. I shrug, it’s not like I know where I could find the expensive gear he’s dressed in (a vest and chaps) and it’s not like I can afford it - I’m near broke and I have to start looking for another job on Monday.

I popped the collar of my shirt in spite of the bouncer and walk inside. No guys dancing in cages or medieval torture equipment, it’s a lot tamer than I thought. But there’s a unique energy in the atmosphere, people dressed in all kinds of shiny costumes flirting, dancing, and openly groping each other.

Taking a beer, I placed myself into a corner where I can see most of the club, I began to check other men out. Everyone here acted like they know each other for ages, the conversations - even the English ones - sounding foreign to my ears. A man wrapped in what looked like a whole lotta belts approached me but changed his mind when he saw my face.

Guys I date usually say they were charmed by my dangerous looks but this proves to be a disadvantage in this particular place. Maybe people didn’t want to get into kinky sex with someone who looked like they could hurt them and a few men who did seem like they wanted me to hurt them were turned down - I’m just a newbie! I’m not some super top! Just as I was starting to consider finishing my drink and going home, I decided to be proactive. Sulking around, waiting for someone to pick me up wasn’t my style.

I sauntered to the bar, checking for someone who looked like what they were doing. A ginger man caught my eye. Bearded, clad in a weird sort of cop uniform, made entirely from leather from the looks of it. He had an experienced air about him, without being too much of a regular appearance.

Opening a few buttons on my shirt, I look across at you and give you a salute with two fingers - not a smile, it’s too early for that. “Guten Abend! Englisch?”

To be continued...

[blackbound]

A collaborative effort by two of the site's most tantalising writers? I'm all ears, [mention]Straitjacketed[/mention] and [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention]!

[Straitjacketed]

A collaborative effort by two of the site's most tantalising writers? I'm all ears, @Straitjacketed and @DeeperThanRed!

Bless you, [mention]blackbound[/mention]!

This one surprised us by taking on a twisty-turny life of its own - so much so that we've added a little poll for those who fancy trying to predict the outcome. Feel free to change your votes as the story progresses, folks!

[DeeperThanRed]

Thanks a lot for sharing this with everyone on this site (and doing significant editing work, too) once again, [mention]Straitjacketed[/mention]!

I had a lot of fun with this story.

[Guardianbound]

Can't wait! Voted for Richard but I have a feeling we will see both of these men in inescapable bondage pretty soon

[Straitjacketed]

[mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention]: Always great writing with you!

[mention]Guardianbound[/mention]: Mayyybe...

Part 2 coming bizarrely soon - like, in the next hour.

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 2

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
Well now, this one is interesting.

Usually, my "what's his alignment" works as a nerdier version of astrology - a first impression vibe crystallising into a trope that gives me my first handhold on someone's personality - but you're proving resistant. My best guess, at this stage, is True Neutral and that tells me nothing.

So, I'm already intrigued.

I don't have a photographic or eidetic memory but I'm good at absorbing details on even a quick glance. You are tall, lean, late-twenties, good hair and attractively stubbled, maybe seeming a little older than your years as a result of that scowl.

The scowl, more than any other aspect of your appearance, gives me strong "first time in a leather bar" energy. Guys with a limited experience of these places think scowling is compulsory; time and experience relaxes one, one starts to view a grim demeanour like any other accessory, to be deployed strategically to best dramatic effect.

And it's not like I'm a stranger to drama, in its many forms...

“Guten Abend! Englisch?”

I'm genuinely impressed, sufficiently so that, while I briefly consider reprising Superintendent Seamus O'Halloran of the New York State PD, I decide to give you radical honesty - or as near to radical honesty as I get in full leather bar regalia when I've yet to decide the events of my evening.

"That obvious?" I do my slow, easy smile. That can work as well - or better than - the more standard Leather Top Scowl.

"I'm Richard. You want another?"

I raise my beer bottle.

Lance:
"That obvious?"

“It was just a lucky guess,” I smirk, taking a seat by the man. Despite the seedy interior of the bar, he’s obviously taking good care of his looks and both his costume and his beard are immaculate from a closer glance.

“The uniform is not real and you don’t seem loud enough to be an American.” The service industry is one hell of a way to get an impression of tourists from different countries.

I’m not usually much of a speaker, another reason why people tend to think I’m hard to approach but I do enjoy listening and sometimes a nice voice can be a bigger turn-on than a hot body. Not that I don’t appreciate the way you fill your jacket and pants - you’re definitely broader than me - but your voice immediately gets my attention. Resonant, powerful, and soft.

At least, you seem friendly enough. I can handle some rough handling but it’s a lot easier to find a common footing when the other guy doesn’t need to try and prove his masculinity by being gruff.

I may act gruff, but I can’t help but get impressed by the way you’re carrying that silly uniform so confidently and making it look good.

"I'm Richard. You want another?"

I nod and put my empty bottle on the counter after chugging it. “Lance. And yes, I just started.” Maybe I sound like a drunk but a few glasses may help me to look like I’m actually enjoying myself.

“I’ve never been in a place like this so maybe you can tell me. Am I missing something? The bouncer was giving me the stink eye but I’m not sure if I’m missing anything. Do I need a leash or something?”

This is a joke and said with a chuckle but I actually saw a couple leading a third man on one and you’re carrying a lot of stuff on your belt. Maybe it’s the beer but I may not mind getting cuffed to a bed or something - like you see characters do in movies before getting tricked and robbed.

Eh, if things come to that, I’m sure I can get out of them.

To be continued...

[gag1195]

This is a great start! Looking forward to how Richard's and Lance's relationship develops! And of course, who ends up on top! I hope it's Lance, even for a little bit. I hope he's able to surprise Richard and get the upper hand, even if it doesn't last and Richard manages to get free and turn the tables. Not that I'd be too upset if a third joined them later- either as a shared sub or an alpha dom that makes them both submit! Can't wait!

[Straitjacketed]

[mention]gag1195[/mention] Heh, this one might seem a slow burn at first but, believe me, it gets wilder as it goes on...

We wanted to focus on character exploration. Richard started off as one of those third party alpha dom types, in a separate role-play between myself and [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention], set in the current day. In Nine Circles, however, we wanted to explore Richard's backstory so we decided I'd take over writing his viewpoint, we'd jump back a decade and we'd pick a setting more familiar to him. To counter that, DeeperThanRed came up with a new, intentionally *un*predictable character for him to play with.

It worked very well indeed.

[KidnappedCowboy]

Mein Gott im Himmel!

Ich liebe die Story!

It has everything I love:

Setting: Berlin

Man: Irish good looks, ginger-haired, bearded...

And the best of all...you are writing it as a cat and mouse game.

Beautiful touch, fellas!

Gehabt euch wohl!

[DeeperThanRed]

[mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention], I had an inkling that you might like Richard!

He was a very unique dom and I thoroughly enjoyed the various methods he used to charm Lance.

Vielen Dank!

[Straitjacketed]

[mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention], you like all the things I do.

I think I'm going to post instalments daily while we're still in the preliminary part, so there's another coming shortly.

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 3

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
“The uniform is not real and you don’t seem loud enough to be an American.”

I stifle an urge to laugh at your bluntness, settling instead for giving you a measured look.

"You're correct on both counts. Although I have been a cop, not so long ago..."

I switch briefly into my Bostonian accent.

"... and I have been American, not so long ago."

We clink bottles, and I notice the way you're chugging yours. The alcohol seems to take the edge off your superficial hardness, helping me see through and past it.

"As for what is and isn't real... well, this kind of place is all about blurring those boundaries. The bouncer giving you stink-eye, he's probably the loveliest, most gentle guy in the world... even the general seediness all around us, it's carefully cultivated, all part of the show. And this absolutely is all a show, arguably a form of drag."

I look you in the eye.

"Just be very careful who you say that to. Some of the Old Guard really don't like the term."

I take a swig of my beer.

"Then again, some of us are at our most real when we're put in a mask. Or a hood. And some of us are most fully relaxed when we're wearing..."

I make a little self-deprecating gesture at my own head-to-toe regalia.

"... a uniform."

Uniforms, I explain, are meaningful only to those who understand the codes they embody. Are you familiar, for example, with the basics of display still carried out in the likes of Deubel’s: keys worn to the left to signify top and right to indicate bottom?

I'm gradually getting a handle on you and when you joke (what is a joke but an unconscious wish?) about needing a leash, it's all the confirmation I need.

"Are you so sure the way you're dressed is real? Not a uniform of sorts? Not putting on a show, even a little bit? I mean, those shirt buttons were done up when you came in here; they didn't unfasten themselves..."

I smile to show I'm teasing - and that I've noticed and appreciate the well-formed pectorals therein - then give the conversation another steer.

"Surely the relevant question to ask in places like this one isn't 'is it real?' but 'what do I want?' - or even 'what do I need?'"

With deliberate slowness, I detach an item from my belt. It's a collar. Not an especially showy one: well-made but plain black leather, not studded, spiked or lettered with SLAVE or DOG or PIG or anything along those lines. It is, however, lockable.

"And on that note, Lance, it's time to play Show, Not Tell. I'm going to give you a straight choice - if you want to keep this little dialogue of ours going."

I place the collar on the table between us.

"I want you to pick that up," I keep my voice steady, even and neutral, "and buckle it around your neck..."

I point with a gloved finger, which I then turn back to myself.

"... or around mine."

I shrug.

"Or - Option Number 3 - you do neither, we chat a little more, finish our beers and go our separate ways. Up to you."

Lance:
I’m impressed with your little show. I can hardly conceal my accent, let alone change it altogether to a different one. Maybe there’s a reason you carry that leather ensemble so well, there’s a calculated relaxedness in your movement, almost like an actor. I wonder if you’re a performer of some sort.

The setting of the club makes more sense in your explanation. For all the power play that’s going around, I notice that none of the people who take commands from better-dressed, usually bigger men seem like they’re forced into it. They relish being told what to do.

In a sense, the whole edge of the scene feels very much like an elaborate show. Not an empty one, though. The air of thrill I first felt is still very much alive and real.

I can relate to putting on a mask, at least. A good portion of my tough front comes from my teenage years when I needed it to protect myself. In a way, maybe this place might be a good testing ground to see if I can let it go a little.

"... a uniform." No matter what I wear, I don’t think my loner nature will go anywhere but your words still hit a chord in me. Despite knowing you for less than fifteen minutes I feel like I can trust you - if this isn’t the adrenaline junkie in me speaking.

“For what it’s worth, you’re rocking that uniform,” I remark, taking a swing from my beer. The allure of it works its charm on me, I don’t think a real uniform would have this effect on me, but I can see why people are into it. Even with your theatrics, you still exude a commanding aura.

I took you as a top but from myself, I know looks can be deceiving.

“I mean, those shirt buttons didn't unfasten themselves..."

“You got me!” I let a small smile show. “Don’t know much about this whole show business but I know these bring all the boys in.” I shamelessly flex my hard, smooth pecs. I worked on my body a lot and enjoy the attention it gets, even from women.

However, my breath hitches when you put the collar on the counter. I know what it is and how it is used, just a glance around me is enough.

What do I need? Do I just need some hard, kinky sex? It’s not like I can’t get it anywhere else. This collar, this offer, though… I couldn’t get it anywhere else. I look at your face to study your expression, but it's perfectly neutral, showing a clear desire but not giving me any hints about which option you want me to take.

I know I can take you and this is as good an offer as it gets. I would enjoy telling you what to do, as I know what I enjoy. But do I need that? Or do I crave something new and dangerous?

Admiring your word-free approach, I finish my beer slowly without breaking eye contact. Then, I take off my jacket - and unbutton the remaining few buttons of my shirt - letting it drop behind me, forgotten.

I take the collar and wrap it around my neck. I’m surprised by how soft it is and how snug it fits me when I buckle it at my throat. I put my jacket back on and lift my chin. I’m submitting but I was never someone to just lay down and take it.

“If I ever collar you,” I choose my words carefully. “Then I should know what to do with you. Is there anywhere near you can show me?”

Richard:
I allow my expression to soften again, appreciating your upping of the ante. That dropping of the shirt was pure unadulterated drama and I'm aware - as I imagine you are - that several pairs of eyes are now turned in our direction.

"Is there anywhere near you can show me?"

"There is, and I would like nothing better," I say, "but we still have some talking to do, you're still making choices."

I unzip a pocket and extract a silver padlock, small but sturdy, the kind used to secure luggage. I place it on the table between us.

"I'd like you to lock that collar - your collar - but know that if you do, you're in it until I decide otherwise."

Consent is important, and this is something of a test. Are you able to consent to surrendering a little bit of yours, to giving up a modicum of control?

You can't even be sure I have the key on me, and I wonder how you'll manage that uncertainty. I sit back to watch and savour your response.

To be continued...

[gag1195]

This slow burn is fantastic... and its killing me lol! Well done! This is perhaps the best option: Lance is inexperienced in this world, and can learn from Richard, and Richard can help smooth Lance's rough edges. I cannot wait until Lance has the skills to match his confidence and he can take control (at least I hope that happens)!

I really enjoyed the calm, casual, consensual, and insanely hot way Richard let Lance collar himself. But he's right, the lock is a different choice altogether. How long would the collar stay on? Would Richard make Lance keep it on even after their rendezvous ends, like a promise for a next time? Will Lance change his mind and request that Richard be collared instead? Looking forward to the answer!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 4

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Lance:
You’re driving a hard bargain. It’s one thing to have a dog collar fitted around my neck and another to seal it for good - until you say otherwise.

“How much else do you hide in those pockets?” I question. I eye your “uniform” more carefully, noting your many zippered pockets and the small bunch hanging from your belt. This is a stark reminder that there’s more to you than meets the eye - and I’m actually curious about what else you have!

I feel tense and excited at the same time as if I’m at an interview for my dream job. I’m thinking about my answers carefully but I also want to test you myself. I value my freedom and don’t just submit it to any handsome face and butter-smooth voice.

Should I ask you about the key? I look at your assorted kink stuff and decide against it. You’re offering me a leap of faith and an overt display of distrust could affect the delicate chemistry we have for the worse.

It seems I’m getting a hang of the show we’re playing.

Conscious of the curious eyes on us, I take the padlock, lock it around the collar at the buckle, and then ask for another beer from the bartender. As he approaches us, I wink at him and let my jacket open to give everyone a sight of my broad chest - framed not only by my jet-black jacket but also the matching collar.

I’m fine with this lock - are you fine with me still calling the shots? Two can play this game and I wonder if I can test you as well. I’m still allowed to walk, talk and drink - but not removing my collar. What else are you going to ask me to surrender?

Richard:
“How much else do you hide in those pockets?” you ask.

A smirk twitches the corner of my mouth.

"Enough."

I watch the play of emotions across your face: a little tension, sure, but it's notable how much more relaxed and even exhilarated you seem now than you did when you first walked into this bar - despite being asked to lock yourself into a collar!

Hell, no 'despite' about it; you're coming alive because of the collar.

When you wink at the bartender then give a little display of your naked, leather-framed chest with something close to pride, it's all I can do not to break into a grin. My "first timer" is a budding exhibitionist! True Neutral morphing into much more stimulating Chaotic Neutral!

If one little bit of bondage can achieve this much, let's add a bit more.

"You know what they say," I continue, "collar and cuffs really ought to match."

This time, I dispense with the ritual of making you fasten the straps on yourself, partly because I'm gradually cranking up the intimacy, but we haven't yet touched. I want to see how you react to that.

The cuffs are as simple as the collar but they're very adjustable, each fastening closely around the wrist and buckling with a wide strap. There are D-rings attached but the leather is unpadded and should be snug enough to fit under your jacket sleeves.

Nonetheless, I pause to give you a chance to shuck the Schott if that's what you decide.

Once everything is comfortable but impossible to slip, I click two more padlocks into position, one on each cuff, securely locking each buckle.

"Feeling okay?" I ask. We may need to have a discussion about safe words in a moment, because the next item for your perusal is a hood. Leather, holes for nostrils, a larger one for mouth and a detachable blindfold. For the inexperienced, it’s a *lot*.

"Limiting sensory input can help with focus," I comment, handing the hood to you and letting you inspect it inside and out.

"Worn one of these before?"

Lance:
I let you take one hand at a time and lock leather straps around my wrists. They’re a bit heavy but not uncomfortable, without them being attached to anything it feels like I’m letting my boyfriend slip me a bracelet. Your gloves are colder than I expected, making your touch feel padded, yet still strong.

My kneejerk reaction is to yank my hand away but I resist the urge and keep my confident look intact - and I don’t exactly have to pretend. Despite my inexperience, nothing you put on me or made me put on myself is exactly challenging. It’s all new but I also see that I can still walk out if I want.

If it weren’t for the lock that crystallizes my promise to stand here and take it.

Before I can contemplate on sunken cost fallacy of my actions, you lock the cuffs on me, too. “You really don’t want to let me go, do you?”

"Feeling okay?"

“Yeah, I’m good.” I’m still not worried about the padlocks but the reality is that you’re coaxing me into more and more inescapable equipment. How long do I have until I’m unable to leave the club? Are we going to do everything out in the open? At least I still have most of my clothes on.

I enjoy flaunting my body but I have doubts about letting you manhandle me among a club full of kinky patrons… unless you end up awakening an exhibitionist side in me, that is.

This may work better if I was better at expressing myself but for now, I thought as you gave me that hood thing. “I never saw something like this. Wait, does this goes over my head?” I study the leather item carefully. It looks like it’d be tight on me, despite the holes in it. It’s going to muss up my hair but I’m more concerned about what it means.

Blindfolds at bedtime are one thing but this is more akin to letting me handle my identity and become one of those faceless kink cosplayers. Should I just reject the hood and compromise on the blindfold? But it looks like the hood can’t be worn over it and if you’re going to padlock everything, this makes my refusal a hard veto. Maybe this is a test for how far you can push me and I’m supposed to slow you down at one point.

Decisions, decisions.

In the end, I say screw it. You only live once. “You’re gonna miss out on my face but alright. Just give me some time before the blindfold.” I hand you the hood and turn my back. "Here, put it on me and mind the hair."

To be continued...

[gag1195]

Oh! Another update already! Yay!

Lance is certainly far braver than I would be in his situation! Time will tell if it is confidence or cockiness! Either way, I'm enjoying Lance's inner monologue of convincing himself of everything!

[Straitjacketed]

Oh! Another update already! Yay!

Lance is certainly far braver than I would be in his situation! Time will tell if it is confidence or cockiness! Either way, I'm enjoying Lance's inner monologue of convincing himself of everything!

Hahah, yeah, while we're in this "establishing" period, I'm putting instalments up every day. Our role-play soon found its groove and narrative so don't worry, it doesn't all take place in this one room.

In a vaguely meta way, *I* didn't know at this point to what extent Lance's actions were confident or cocky bravado: [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] and I have written a lot together but these particular characters were - and the dynamic they generated was - new to us. During this initial back-and-forth, we were kind of echoing Richard and Lance in the sense of testing ourselves, each other and the dynamic out and exploring where the story could go.

[blackbound]

For now I'm going for "both will be consumed" since that's the most fun in my opinion. I really like the idea of a collaborative story but I'm not sure I'm able to give up authorial control. Now I wonder if that says something about my tendencies in general...

[DeeperThanRed]

For now I'm going for "both will be consumed" since that's the most fun in my opinion. I really like the idea of a collaborative story but I'm not sure I'm able to give up authorial control. Now I wonder if that says something about my tendencies in general...

Heh, you can thank [mention]Straitjacketed[/mention] for doing most of the hard work in terms of forming the plot outline and generating the setting.

It helps that we are familiar with each other's styles but it definitely requires some mutual trust and being able to compromise occasionally. I think it helped me in this story because my writing is usually self-indulgent to the detriment of the plot.

[Straitjacketed]

For now I'm going for "both will be consumed" since that's the most fun in my opinion.

Hahah, and we haven't even got going with the story proper yet, [mention]blackbound[/mention]. But you mayyy be on to something.

I really like the idea of a collaborative story but I'm not sure I'm able to give up authorial control. Now I wonder if that says something about my tendencies in general...

If anything, I had the opposite problem: more often than not, I write/role-play from the point of view of the captive, and that's inherently a more reactive role. Usually. This time, though, I'm playing against type (and I think maybe [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] is too) so more of the narrative scene-setting has been down to me. We fell into that shift of roles quite organically and it gave me a newfound respect for all the authorial work DeeperThanRed put in on our previous collabs!

I definitely find role-play writing easier than doing it all on my own. It just flows better.

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 5

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
I watch you turn the hood over in your hands and gauge your level of doubt, of uncertainty.

“You’re gonna miss out on my face but..."

"It's all right," I interrupt, taking the hood back and re-attaching it to my belt, "you don't have to agree to everything I suggest, certainly not all at once. And you're right: I would miss out on that face."

I reach across and, with a gloved finger, lift your chin a little so the planes of your face are tipped a degree or two into the light. It's an unashamedly old-school gesture, faintly corny even, the sort of move trilby-hatted men pulled on pretty girls in old black & white movies.

I smile and pull back, breaking the tension.

"I'm still finding the lines, establishing boundaries. This feels like one of yours, maybe a soft boundary? You're anxious about being rendered sightless? Faceless? Anonymous? Alone in the dark?"

I gesture at the bar around us, starting to fill up. Some of the clientele buy a drink, some head straight for the shadowy doorway at the back.

"Deubel's is like an iceberg: nine tenths submerged. Or, if you're more into Dante, nine fun-packed circles of Hell. Something for everyone - if you know what you want. And if you don't, well, it's still fun to explore this disco-free Inferno. It's been a while but I used to know it like the back of my hand."

The light catches the D-ring at the front of your collar. I consider the direct approach: wrestle your hands behind your back and lock them there, unbuckle your belt, slide it free and use it as a makeshift lead to drag you through that doorway and down into the bowels of this place.

The bar staff wouldn't bat an eyelid and the patrons would likely applaud.

While that scenario has a certain rough-hewn appeal, I'm in a gentler mood this evening and you deserve subtlety. Less Hades, more... Virgil?

The notion makes me grin.

"You ready to take a chance, Lance?"

Lance:
You taking the hood back causes something to pang in my chest, like I failed a test. But I tell that voice in my head to shut the hell up. You’re being a gentleman by not forcing me into something I’m not confident about.

That being said, even with your compliments and understanding behavior, one part of me wants to see you living up to that authoritative uniform. Resisting you outright would probably just make you deem me as uncooperative and give up, you don’t seem like the type to drag me into a sex dungeon kicking and screaming.

Probably. But damn, I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t make me a bit harder in my form-fitting jeans and black briefs I wear underneath.

The touch of leather interrupts my pondering, as you force me to look up at you. My mouth goes dry as you look into my face and let it go after you seem to like what you find and ask me “You're anxious about being rendered sightless? Faceless? Anonymous? Alone in the dark?"

Damn, you’re good. I’m lucky you give me a chance to set boundaries because as much as I admit, your old-fashioned charm is working wonders on me.

I know my face inadvertently contorts into a seemingly angry glare as I think. “I don’t mind not seeing around me, I think. I definitely don’t want to be left alone,” I look at you as if saying ‘take responsibility’. “And I don’t want my head to be fully covered. That’s about it.”

You give me a briefing about the bar with a healthy dose of Inferno references. I glance at the dark door leading to the deeper parts of Deubel’s. If I were to venture there all by myself, I’m sure I’d be all tense and uneasy, ready to lash at anyone approaching me.

But with you here with me, I feel more prepared to discover there than before. Plus, I already can’t wait for you to touch me again. Maybe not in a sexual way, immediately but that too, if things go well.

The collar around my neck feels more appropriate now. It has no names and doesn’t give you my ownership but it’s a sign that you’ve begun taming me and I’m willing to see how this goes.

“I never turn down a dare,” I say, getting up and flexing my muscles. “How about you give me something to put on with each circle?” I ask on a whim. You don’t have to comply and I’m not even sure what would that entail but it feels fitting if I end up chained at the deepest center of this place by your hand.

“Dante is ready to go.” I look down on you and wait to see how you'll want me to follow you.

Richard:
“I never turn down a dare. How about you give me something to put on with every circle?”

"Be careful what you wish for," I caution, but I'm barely able to conceal my delight.

It seems the Fates have delivered me a companion not only (sternly) attractive of face, lithe and muscled of figure and up for adventure but capable of understanding my borderline-pretentious references to classic Italian literature and batting those references right back at me.

In appreciating the metaphor you’ve gifted me a narrative structure for our descent into the depths of Deubel’s – one of us revisiting old haunts, the other experiencing the gloriously sleazy labyrinth for the first time.

I love a good narrative.

“Dante is ready to go.”

I rise from my seat and, just for a moment, savour the contrast between us. You’re tall – almost as tall as me – but slender in comparison with my broader, bulkier figure, a gymnast to my wrestler. Your Asian features and colouring complement my Celtic tones.

Your dark-and-stormy stare meets my summery-blue and an understanding passes between us.

“Then,” I say, “let’s go.”

Without waiting for an answer, I hook a gloved finger through the D-ring at the front of your collar and head for the doorway, hauling you along behind me.

To be continued...

[gag1195]

Something tells me that the hood is going to make a reappearance was they descend deeper into the nine layers of hell! Until it does, though, my mind is abuzz with what each circle will bring! What new decisions will Lance make?

Richard's continued casual and considerate dominance is so incredibly hot. I really appreciate that he is taking his time with Lance and trying to keep the defiant lad's comfort in mind, even as he continues to push the envelope. Which makes his sudden display at the end of the chapter- grabbing the collar's ring and jerking lance towards his fate- all the more hotter!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 6

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

LIMBO

Richard:
The room beyond the doorway is smaller than you imagined, a sort of anteroom into a much larger, dimmer space from which a not-quite-musical drone thuds and pulses. There’s a smaller doorway and a counter, manned by a shaven-headed gentleman clad in little more than a complicated-looking arrangement of straps and a studded codpiece.

It's a cloakroom.

“Anticlimactic, isn’t it?” I acknowledge, “I suppose that’s in keeping with Dante’s First Circle. Essentially a glorified waiting room”.

I release your collar.

“Strip.”

I allow seconds to pass, enjoying your reaction, before explaining further.

“Much as I appreciate that classic Schott, a descending soul has no need of it. Lose the jeans too, you can keep whatever is or isn’t underneath. And the boots, of course.”

Your wallet (and cloakroom ticket) can either go down a boot or, if you prefer, into one of my zippered pockets. I honestly wouldn’t judge you either way – this one isn’t a trust exercise.

“Oh, and I'll take the belt.”

I stare openly at you as you undress, taking careful note of any hesitation, eagerness and, naturally, underwear, and savouring your self-consciousness (or otherwise) at being almost fully on display for me, the cloakroom attendant, and anyone else passing.

When you’re sufficiently denuded, clothing folded on the counter, I remove my Muir cap and place it on top of the bundle. My ginger hair is razored short at the sides, left longer on top. I run a leathery hand through it, reviving it from its hat-flatness.

“Now we’ve both made offerings,” I observe with a smirk.

Your clothing and my cap safely stowed, I wink at the attendant and drop a couple of Euros into his tip bowl.

“Got to pay the ferryman.”

I throw you a smile intended to be three parts reassuring, one part disconcerting, as I thread your own belt through your collar D-ring, fashioning it into a makeshift tether. In doing so, I “accidentally” brush against a nipple and surreptitiously note your reaction.

“Second Circle, here we come..."

Lance:
With my initial doubt gone, I find it a lot more comfortable to follow you to whatever we’re going. When you get up and look me in the eyes, I can see that your attire colored my first impression of you considerably.

Your smoothness isn’t an act, you definitely have the wits to back it up and your enthusiasm at me playing along with your analogy of our “journey” is downright cute. The same can’t be said for your appearance, as you’re even more physically imposing standing up. This excited me, I don’t meet with guys who can match my bodily prowess nearly as often.

The tension between us is inviting, masculine, and almost addicting. The moment you pull me from my collar, I recoil a little but my feet move on their own and I find myself in a small entre before long.

I gulped, nodding along with your introduction and touching my neck as you look at the doorman - our proverbial ferryman. It didn’t hurt but now my attention is hyperfocused on the leather band around my neck that I personally locked! It’s no longer a glorified choker for me.

“There are fewer barriers to entry than I thought,” I note. For some reason, I was imagining musclebound gimps guarding the backrooms.

“Strip.”

Oh.

So just as Dante rejects his sins, I also have to reject my clothes? Well, more like my privileges, I guess. As you only seem to be removing your hat, this will put a significant difference between us.

A little while before, I was more than willing to put on a show with my well-built body but now I see that it’s not about me displaying my strength but it’s you proving your power over me.

But why not both?

“If you insist…”

I remove and fold my jacket with reassurance bordering on disrespect. My dark nipples are erect from the chill and I can almost see your gaze pointing at them. Then, I remove my boots and socks, putting the latter into the former after balling them up. I also take off my phone, keys, and wallet, placing them in one of them.

This last step makes me hesitate. Can I trust this club enough to keep my stuff safe? I don’t want to be stranded in the middle of Berlin with no money or way of communication. Still, I took similar risks before and you seem trustful of Deubel’s reputation enough - I remember you saying that the seediness is mostly front and my observations support this claim.

I glance at the attendant before unclasping and taking off my belt. It feels somehow less weird to strip when he’s also half-naked but he’s still a stranger. I feel less inclined to make a striptease routine with him in the room when it’s probably something vanilla for him.

So, I turn my back to you as I bend down and slid my jeans off. My black bikini briefs are just about the tightest, smallest piece of underwear I own so I’m glad I look good in them. They hug my ample ass nicely and have enough elasticity to account for my growing erection. My body is mostly smooth with defined abs, strong tights, and large pectorals.

And yet I tentatively look for any sign of approval in your expression. I know I look good but does that matter to you? I furrow my brows.

“I hope I am to your liking.”

I feel better about leaving important items behind when you remove your cap and put it near my belongings. You look younger without your hat and your smile is warmer.

Which immediately is shown to be a ruse, as you leash me with my belt quicker than I can protest. Any objection almost escapes from my lips before your gloved fingers flick my nipple and it comes out as a barely muffled moan instead.

I have sensitive nipples and this is obviously no longer a secret. I glare at you as my arms wrap around my chest defensively. This move doubtlessly pushes my pecs together to make them look bigger and doesn’t seem to deter you at all.

Shit, I must look furious. But I can’t say I’m not impressed by your talent to find the weaknesses in my armor.

“Second circle, here we come..."

Lead like a dog on a leash my bare steps go behind your booted ones, the contrast in our positions solidified by my collar and our difference in clothing. I must look not unlike the submissive boys I saw on the upper floor, I realize.

“Do you take a lot of boys here or do most of them fail to pass Purgatory?” I want to make small talk but I also wonder how normal our current agreement is for you. Everything is new to me and I wonder if we’re carrying out your usual routine or if did I do anything to make you improvise.

The Divine Comedy part seems to be our own thing, stemming from my outspoken penchant for adventure and your high-brow desire to lead.

I guess the second circle will give me a better idea, if its sin is anything to go by.

Richard:
“I hope I am to your liking.”

“You’re a classical statue made flesh, boy,” I grin, “even allowing for my… specialist tastes, it’s all I can do to keep my hands off you!”

Heh: ‘boy’. That one slipped out pretty naturally. I’m reaching an age where a significant proportion of my lusting, especially after younger men, includes a small but definite edge of paternalism. I want to look, taste, touch, possess - and the provocateur within me always wants to poke and prod – but I also instinctively want to protect.

It's an oddly heady mix. I adjust myself, unselfconsciously, in my leathers before leashing you (my eyes gleaming at the discovery of those oh-so sensitive nipples) and setting forth.

To be continued...

[blackbound]

Noooo! Don't pay the ferryman! Only show him the obol!

[Straitjacketed]

Noooo! Don't pay the ferryman! Only show him the obol!

Heheh, more of this later...