Down the Rabbit Hole on the gallery - the story of a hot nightout
Max stood on the gallery, his body turned toward the crowd below and his face tilted up toward the heavens. His arms were bound stretched sideways to the rails, his feet spread wide and fixed the same way. His messy, sweat-soaked hair clung to his shoulders as rivulets ran down the length of his body. Ecstasy was written across his face. He was already naked by then, except for the thin leather strings still wrapped around his erect cock. This is the story of our hot nightout with Master Samael.
This isn’t Max with us.
We had arrived at the party à trois, none of us quite sure what the night would bring, or what we would bring out in each other. Max was a beginner in the delicious world of BDSM — shy on the surface, but visibly buzzing with desire underneath. He was the kind of man who dived headfirst down the rabbit hole of kink, and never quite found his way back out. So Master Samael and I met him right where he stood: on the hill leading down into that sweet, sweet hell.
The conversation over drinks was polite, almost boringly so. I rarely get the chance to properly play at parties these days, so by the time our glasses were close to empty I was already itching for action. We finished our drinks and climbed up to the gallery together. I started by flogging Master Samael, who thrives on an audience — half begging to be flogged, half savoring being flogged properly, by me and my finger floggers. I prep his skin from every angle, single and double falls alike, warming him up beautifully in the face of the curious crowd. Then Master Samael returned the favor, spanking me right in front of Max, and we both made sure he had a perfect, unobstructed view of it all.
Little by little, Max eased into our chemistry until he was ready to join it. Like two hungry tigers, we jumped on his opening, and Master Samael tied him to the gallery rails, facing the music, the fog from the dry ice and the crowd meters below. He melted into every moment of it — from Master Samael's soft, teasing touch to the firm bites of the rope. His wrists and arms went first, then his legs, spread wide with his hard cock caught between them. Finally a last rope cinched around his waist for full fixation. He took it all beautifully. He could barely move more than a few centimeters in any direction, which turned him on.
Then it was my turn. I bound his manhood and placed the strings between his teeth — from there, every movement he wanted had to come from his own mouth. He could play with himself the way he wanted, with his finest parts at the end of his own leash, straight out of his own mouth. Then I worked Max’s body thoroughly, flogging him from every angle, building from soft to hard and back. He received every stroke with a mixture of sweet suffering and pleasure, his face toward the stary sky. When my arms tired, Master Samael took over, dragging his nails down Max's warm skin and whispering something delicious and irresistible into his ear.
We had a hungry audience. Some looked away discreetly the moment our eyes met; others — one couple in particular — held our gaze without flinching, turning on and making out as they watched. We were no longer just players — we were entertainers.
When we'd had our fun, we untied him and the three of us fell into each other, kissing freely. I lit a cigarette and watched the two men in front of me kiss with real hunger, the nicotine buzzing warmly through my body as I did. By the time we were both on our knees for Master Samael, it no longer mattered who was pleasuring whom — it had all melted into one shared current of desire. We reveled in the wetness of it: the mingling of saliva, the sweat, the taste of skin, the upward glances to our Master, and the wicked little smiles we kept sharing with each other beneath him with Max. Then we settled onto the side-beds to get comfortable — Max became my chair and backrest, massaging my breasts. I used my fingers on Master Samael, standing right in front of me, however I pleased — and I caught that same wicked smile passing between the two men, the one Max and I had shared only minutes before.
People were watching us the whole time. I could feel the eyes on my skin, feel the arousal thickening the air around us. Nobody at that kinky Saturday-night party in Berlin could pretend we weren't there.
Slowly, the fire in us settled. Around us, the room reclaimed its rhythm as other guests found their own corners to disappear into. We lit one more cigarette together, and just like that, the night folded itself into memory — one of the hottest nights out I've had in Berlin.