Frida Kahlo -Julien Levy
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@ligne-noire
Frida Kahlo -Julien Levy
Foot fucking
The old man came back to us again. Such a good sub, he lets us do anything to his body as long as the marks are gone for his weekly massage – but really he comes to us to have his old arse stretched. I am fascinated by him; I look at his aging body and wonder if I am looking at my future self, with his anus permanently gaping, his nipples sagging from the weight of years, but his eyes bright and always searching for the next extreme. I rather like him, whoever he is. He is unknown to us except through his addiction to anal pleasure. He comes to us because he trusts us to take him further than he has ever been. I says he likes the taboo – I am not even sure if he is gay, but he loves watching two hot punk tops fucking in front of him, breathing us in as I bend you over and fuck you, or staring at us sucking and rimming each other in front of him while he is restrained over the bench, unable to do anything except watch us and smell us. He loves being made to suck spunk off my dick or out of my hole or to lick his precum off the floor. He told us we could do anything, so we do what we like. He found us by answering an ad we put online, and then came to our house, silently stripped off for us as he had promised, and let us restrain him over a spanking bench. That was the first time we had held hands in another man’s arse. Now he is back. We hear him moan more than we hear him talk. It’s perfect.
I adore watching you top him. It is like looking on a scene with someone else playing my part. He is chained spread-eagled in the centre of the room, reflected in a mirror, dark in the shadows. You are hitting him and spitting on him and telling him what you expect in a voice that makes me squirm. Your heavy boots on the wooden floor; the sound of your hands crashing on his sagging skin. Watching you hurt him makes my dick twitch in my hand. I know every move you make, but from another angle. Listening to him breathe; seeing his eyes follow you with his lips parted, waiting to cope with what you do – these are the things that I never see myself do when you look at me the way you now look at your toy. I know he is playing my part well, because your spell is too strong to resist.
Right from the start, he is ready for us. You push your hand into him easily. He tells you he had been too excited to wait and had fucked himself relentlessly this morning in anticipation. You tell him he is a slut, that he’s been doing your work for you. Twenty minutes ago he was dressed, and already you are up to your wrist in this perverted old man. We take turns at stretching him open, my hands are larger than yours. Pushing into him offers no resistance. His bowels are warm and soft and it is only when he comes that I can feel how strong his muscles are. I move my hand in and out, working my way deep into him. Past my black glove. Past my wrist. My arm thickens and he pushes himself back, calling out for someone, tense until he collapses and I feel his body swelling and contracting down the length of my forearm. His cock is drooling. He is desperate and getting himself into a frenzy, and it is hot. When I replace my arm with my cock, I barely can touch the sides of his hole – his arse hardly closing in a long slit like soft lips around me, sounding sloppy and greedy as I fuck him. Everything is so sensitive. He calms back and down and is hungry for more.
You are on a bench behind him. You tell him how his arse looks, so stretched and open. Precum is hanging in a translucent thread, suspended above the bench. He has been drooling from all of the fucking, and you tell him what a filthy cunt he is. You take off your docs and pull a condom over your foot, up to your hairy ankle. You tell him you are going to foot-fuck him and his eyes open wide. Covering your foot in lube, you rub it over his cock and balls, crushing them against his stomach, kicking his balls to make him grunt. “Now you’re really at my feet,” you tell him. “Oui, Maître,” the filthy pig answered.
I stand in front of him, my cock in his face, slapping his cheeks with it, rubbing it in his eyes and over his mouth, pushing his head down on me so he can watch his reflection as we mess him up. Your feet are much bigger than your hands. Pushing into his gaping hole you tell him how it feels to have him stretch over your foot, talking to him about how deep you are, and how deep you want to be. I am holding his head in the right position so I can watch myself fuck his face in full long strokes. I can feel his saliva running down my balls. I make him gag on my cock so you can feel his body spasming and clenching tight around your toes as I force myself down his throat. I can see on your face the pleasure that he is giving you, that I am giving you through him, those soft muscles clenching around your foot when he chokes. You are all the way inside him, your heel on his prostate. He is moaning too much to suck cock well, so I go behind him to watch. His arsehole is pink and thick around the hairs of your leg. Even the slightest movements are electrifying. He is gasping through the tremors that rock his body, liquid leaking and squirting from his cock, his moans sounding like sobs. You look serene, steadily moving as this old man lets you into his body, pleasuring himself on your foot. He was so far away in his pleasure that we had a moment to ourselves to kiss.
Many times you have given me foot jobs, making me cum with your feet on my cock as I lie on the floor beneath you like a dog, legs open, balls trampled until I cum and you push your feet into my face and tell me to lick my spunk off your toes. I know how much you like the feeling of my cock under your feet, so I ask you to pull out of him a bit and make some room for me. I get into a position where I can penetrate him fully, and then move in time to the music, fucking him deeply, pushed against his prostate as I massage the sole of your foot with my cock.
This fascinated him. I caught his eye watching me in the mirror, fucking his hole, fucking your foot. It felt amazing. My eyes were closed and I could feel your eyes on me as I let myself get lost in the pleasure, fucking and fucking and fucking until I came against your toes. I pulled out and told him to suck me clean, watching him taste his arse and my spunk all over my cock. “Is that the kind of taboo you wanted?” I asked him. My cock was too far down his throat to let him answer.
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LAB.ORATORY LIFE - Faust. Anal deep throat. Fist-fuck party, Lab.Oratory, 12.01.2018
Lab.Oratory spoilt me for all other sex clubs. I have been there plenty of times, but the last occasion was at Silvester with my wife, our honeymoon in fact, when Berghain, Panorama Bar, Halle and Lab.Oratory were all open and every form of hedonism was possible as the new year slid in. Boris -> Mykki -> Marcel. Guten rutsch. Now I am back for a fisting party – my fantasies become reality the more I visit this city. I can’t live here, because I don’t want to run out of things to want. But I had wanted to go to a Lab fisting party since I first saw it on the flyer. Waiting makes wanting.
* * *
I always walk around first, seeing who I want, seeing what is happening where. I need to know if there are any cocks being sucked in the glory holes; if there are any men being pissed on in the pissoir. What will I smell? What will I taste? I look around at the metal frames where I have been deeply fucked, at the walls that my head has been pressed back against while a large cock is rammed down my throat. Everywhere I look I remember the faces of men whom I had fucked, whom I had made throw up on my cock. I remember the man whose face I never saw but whose arse I fucked for a very long time, never slowing, too high to come, too hard to stop, too entranced by the sounds of his grunts and moans as he would spasm from orgasm to orgasm, his limp dick leaking onto his thigh, but without me stopping the rhythm I was using him for. When I pulled out, his arse was gaping and did not close before I walked off, leaving him stretched open for the next man who wanted to fuck something. Who was he? What did he look like? We could be sitting together on the train and never know that we had fucked. Was he back here tonight?
The room is filled with tender scenes. I catch glimpses of long hugs in slings, of huge, hairy men tenderly touching their lovers, of anonymous kissing and rimming and sucking and fucking, and of men looking into each others’ faces and smiling and laughing and being in love for that moment.I'm lounging on a couch where I've been fucked before, smoking a joint, looking around from this little corner. The music is good. The air is blood warm. Hash-blue smoke coils through it as I look around and breathe in the heavy scent. Flesh is everywhere. Over there is a German bull in leather shorts with a huge strap on, thicker than my wrist and 30cm long. He is about 60. He is fat. He has a big, fat head and large, ugly hands. He looks so average except for his glorious toy, too big to be real. An unrefined bus driver endowed like a king. He sneers as he rubs lube over this monstrous rubber dick, holding it like it is his own flesh. Polishing it. Proud of it. Looking around to see who is sizing it up, wondering if they can take it. He looks at me, but I don’t catch his gaze. I am not here for him. I wonder if he is impotent; if he has lost the ability to get hard because his prostate became malignant, or if his heart medication broke his dick when it saved his life. I wonder if he really just enjoyed having the biggest cock in the room. I admit that I am tempted, but mostly out of disgust. I question myself: who would have to be on the other end of this ludicrous dick to let them break my arse with it? I imagine the flashes of pain as I would stretch further than I thought I could, at the point where I might panic only to realise that it was already in. The higher I get, the more my mind wanders into this labyrinth of gaping arse. It would be the same dick on anyone; who would make me overcome myself?
For a while he disappears, though comes back with another man, perhaps a little younger, stockier, shorter. It is not going to be pretty sex, but I want to watch anyway. I am lazy. I am comfortable. There is so much going on that wherever I am I will miss something. So I sit and smoke and watch these men prepare to fuck. The smaller man looks wired. He is looking around, head flicking over his shoulder like a nervous dog, like he was looking for someone that he did not want to see him here, ready to hurt himself on this huge dick. He is chewing gum, but spits it out when the bull bends him over a large iron bathtub in which other men have been pissing. He pours too much lube over his arse and begins stretching him open with his fingers. The two men seem like they are in worlds of their own, only connecting through penetrating fingers feeling their way inside. He pours more onto his dildo and pushes its blunt thick head against this willing arse hole. The man bent-over holds a bottle of poppers, which he inhales deeply and then calls out as the toy pushes into him. The bull has his hands on his partner’s cheeks, pulling them open to take more, coaxing his cock into him. Once the head is all in, he holds him by the hips and plunges his hips forward, grunting, snarling, pushing through anything that gets in his way. The cries are almost excruciating. I wonder if this is tearing him open. I almost want him to bleed, just to witness someone going too far in this pursuit of pleasure. He doesn’t. He is the loudest person in the space by far; he winces but wants it. Soon the bull is pounding the man until his nose starts to bleed a little, perhaps from too much poppers, or from drug burns, or too much strain as his body tries to expel this huge toy that only pleasure is letting in, making him scream until he orgasms and constricts this dildo back out, immediately bending back over the bath tub to take it all again like a well-trained creature desperate to be filled. Every time his bowels reject it, they recommence; more screams, more thrusts, more rubber until finally it is buried harness-deep in his guts, thrusting into him until his body clenches tight and squeezes him out powerfully. I can see how loose he is, how dark and swollen the folds of his rectum are, splayed open like a ripening rose when the bull pulls out, a wall of red flesh to be re-opened and re-entered. A trail of slimy lube drips out of him and glistens in the red light as it splashes on the dark floor. The bull watches it drooling off his rubber cock, and appears satisfied, sneering. The man who had just been fucked walks slightly stiffly. Something must have caught my eye, as when I look back, the men have gone. The bull is walking around, looking for the next hole to destroy with his dick that will never go soft. He takes a handkerchief out of his little leather handbag and mops his sweaty hair from his lined, sweaty brow. It’s older guys who really love fisting, when they have pushed through all of the other boundaries and are still looking for more to satiate their sex. A tall old man with a massive leather collar and short grey hair climbs into the gynaecological chair that is a few metres away from me. He has an impressive face, almost noble. His hair is very short; his beard, too. His eyes are clear and focused; his nostrils flare slightly as he breathes. Already his hole is stretched and wrinkled, much like the rest of him. I focused on him more than the man fisting him; more than on his sub who kneels on the floor like a pup, watching the scene from below. I look at him and I imagine myself in the future. It is impressive how easily the old man’s arse is to penetrate. Four fingers slowly press against him and opening him and enter straight up to the knuckles. Then the thumb disappears. Soon it is just a veiny stretched arse hole gripping a thick wrist pushing in and out and the sagging flesh giving way. Soon he is being punch-fucked, pulling out and then thrusting the clenched fist splashing back in. The old man’s face is serene, he is in a state of ecstatic reverie, mouth half-opened, eyes half-closed, a beautiful saint worshiping with his anus. He is so present in his body that he seems almost able to transcend it. Every penetration squelches into him and his breath exhales harder. His long legs in leather chaps clench back on his bare chest. I keep watching as he shakes with every orgasm, which keep getting more and more powerful as his arse tightens and softens and lets more in, deeper and deeper and deeper. When they stop the man’s arm is almost elbow deep. When he pulls out, the old man’s anus is gaping and wrecked, his bowels prolapsing slightly, red and flushed and engorged. His lover rubs his fingers gently over it, tenderly coaxing it back inside him, folding the old man back together. I look on, wondering how he would taste right now. I could feel myself getting hard at the idea. Sometimes I want to lose myself in the grotesque, to see what beauty can be found deep within it.
We were steeped in fetish worlds that over-lapped. Men wearing leather chaps and big boots; men wearing jock straps and sneakers; all of them here to worship anal pleasure. This is sex beyond fucking.“What all these people are doing is not aggressive; they are inventing new possibilities of pleasure with strange parts of their body — through the eroticization of the body.” (Foucault, 1982). Now there is a man wearing a mask and a heavy shiny black latex cat suit getting fisted in the gynaecological chair by another man in a rubber mask. They're looking into each other’s eyes and caressing each other's shiny black faces. When they are finished, they remove their hoods and joyously get into each other until again he's being fisted. Good house music is playing - I want to dance, but I have smoked too much hash and I am enjoying the view of men pushing their arms deep into other men, plus some super-skinny twink is dancing and I don’t want to encourage him. I decide to go for a walk.
* * *
I need to piss, so go to find the pissoir, the famous structure with the mesh floor above a chamber where sometimes men wait underneath to catch the dregs of any golden showers above them. The metal walls hold in the warm wet air. The smell of piss is so strong that it opens my nostrils as I breathe in. There is no one wanting to swallow my piss this time, so I watch it drip through the grated floor onto the tiles below. I walk on until I see a hot tall German in leather chaps and a leather vest being fisted by a Turkish top who is drinking beer with his left hand while he moves his right in and out. The German wears black leather Adidas sneakers, sporty leatherwear, keeping all options open. First he is on his back with his long legs up in the frame, then he is on his knees, stretched out like a slut. His strong face is softened by a stubbly beard. I take out my cock and start stroking it while I watch. He is a good looking man, and his expressions are fascinating. He watches me between groans of intense painful pleasure that force his eyes shut. I come closer, and when the Turkish man takes his hand out and leaves, the German pulls me closer and starts sucking my cock, his face vanished in the shadows. I get fully hard in his mouth but I can't see what he's doing, so I rock my hips and lose myself in the excellent music while he keeps me on edge. He then moved his arse and takes my hand and pushes it against his gaping hole. I can feel how open he was around the bearded Turk's hairy wrist. His hole is a thick, stretched rim. Inside, his bowels are soft and delicate. He is purple and swollen and sensitive but hungry to be filled again. I finger him with three fingers, feeling the stretched folds of his arse. He indicates he wants more, and pours lube over my hand and wrist. I push all of my fingers inside him, feeling his body open up to me. He is in an inverted position. I'm plunging my hand straight down into his warm bowels, my hard cock is rubbing against his leather vest, leaving shiny streaks of precum glistening on the black, but I can't see his head or chest as he is curled up under the metal bench moaning as I rub against his prostate. He is just an arse. A beautiful, gaping arse in leather chaps that is pulsating around my wrist and drawing me back in as I pull out, opening wider and wider and taking me in, a stranger giving warmth and softness with his body. Anonymous intimacy. I push in deeper, his muscles softening and letting me further into his body until I'm past my wrist, and half way up my forearm. His sphincter is stretched but makes a seal around my arm where it starts to thicken. He is warm and soft and his body spasms around me as he has orgasm after orgasm, his colon soft but strong as it squeezes me like soft lips that stretch on forever. He cums for me and cums for me and I keep fucking him until his voice is going hoarse and his body is starting to fatigue. I slow down and stop, letting his body pulsate and come to w=rest around my hand. Every movement I make is amplified. He is twitching electrically from the pleasure he has endured. His head comes out of the darkness and he looks at me as I watch my hand come out of his body. His eyes are dreamy and half closed and his smile is relieved. I rub my fingers over him, and he starts to lose himself in the thought that I am going to fuck him again, but I stop. The Turk is standing behind me watching and drinking. I go to wash my hands. I have no idea if there is a connection between them, and no need to know. My moment has passed. I come back to the scene and the Turk is deep in him again, his arse so stretched it makes sloppy, sucking sounds as he is punch-fucked. He watches me watching him moaning. I go back to my sofa to smoke another joint. A beautiful black man walks past in a red jockstrap, the best-dressed man in the room. Soon after, a chunky young Turkish cub gets into the gynaecological chair with his arse hole at my eye height for a tall German to fist him. It's hot to watch from so close. I can see his arsehole stretch as the German coaxes him open. It is intense. He's shaking with orgasms from just his lover’s fingers, but soon works his way up to the whole hand. He squeals like a little girl in cute high-pitched noises and nervous giggles, gripping the wrist of the top as if to gain the nerve to let him all the way in. Every now and then a guttural groan is released. He relaxes and his body opens up. He lies there, spread, receptive, relaxed. And then it starts. Large hands in black latex gloves are alternating their way into his arse. I can see his pink anus stretched around the man's wrist. His balls are weighed down with a heavy steel ring. His thick cock twitches and swells as he comes through his arse over and over. Precum is hanging in long strands that glisten in the red light. Ugly men become something beautiful when they let their bodies open and they are taken over with intense pleasure. Beautiful men become ugly as they pant and beg for more pleasure, to be pushed deeper into intense sensations. Destruction and rebirth. Limits being broken, over and over. This is how we grow. The scene continues as a German man walks over to me. He is exquisite. His clear blue eyes meet mine and he squats down and leans in. "Du bist ein schönes mann," he says, and asks if I was good. I smile and he touches my beard. He walks away and I get a good look at him, his round arse framed by his leather chaps - fuck he is hot. He is wearing black leather Adidas shoes. He is the man I had fisted earlier.
I have been here for four hours and it is emptier now. Before I leave, I take one more look around the space. I am not sure when I will be back, or what I will be seeking next time I am here. A middle-aged guy who might have been Italian has been creeping around me all night, slinking by with long stares in his leathers. I see him again, still prowling. He slips over in the lube that I had seen dribbling out of the man whom I had fisted. It was time to go.
André Kertész
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