Mr. S Leather

If you haven’t been to Mr. S Leather in San Francisco, CA, then you are seriously missing out. It is the biggest and baddest kink and fetish store around. While it largely caters to the gay male community, it still has plenty to please any pervert.

So, of course, whenever the opportunity arises, M and I stop by Mr. S.

M has been a customer for years, but he just introduced me to this wonderful (and admittedly, initially terrifying) store about a year ago. Oh the difference a year makes… No longer the shy girl out of her depth, M’s previous assessment of my reaction at The Stockroom in LA is appropriate even now: I was a kid in a candy store.

One of the truly great things about Mr. S is that the staff are incredibly helpful, incredibly knowledgable, and incredibly nice. On a prior trip to Mr. S when M had been considering a particular cockring, they encouraged us to go into the dressing room and “try it on”. If you have any questions — and I mean *any* — they will try to help, and often come up with great solutions to challenges or suggest the perfect product.

While the damage was not insignificant to my bank account, it could have easily been much worse. As anyone into kink and BDSM knows, it is typically not a cheap hobby. But it is a ridiculous amount of fun. And I finally own my own pair of fancy locking wrist restraints.

Making Up For Lost Time

I slide my hands down his chest, covered in rubber and lube. I check the chains securing his hands to his upper thighs. A gentle tug on each one. A whimper from him. My slick hand slides against the latex, across his stomach, down his legs, everywhere but that gorgeous hard cock.

I carefully kneel in front of him. I’ve been edging him for hours with the e-stim. Tied tightly to the chair in the living room. Gas mask on for most of that time. He must be exhausted. It’s terribly mean of me to make him stand for this.

It’s been two weeks. Two very long weeks. He’s been traveling, and we’ve had to satisfy ourselves with long phone calls and text messages. For two weeks.

I lick my lips and slide my mouth around his cock. At first I just gently tease him with my tongue, but then I slide my lips back, all the way to the tip, before greedily swallowing him up again. He gasps and moans.

I eventually flick the switch to the estim, bringing it back to life, a wave of current running through his balls as my mouth slides up and down his cock. Every now and then a hint of teeth graze his overly sensitive skin and he moans and shudders. He pulls at the chains holding his hands against his thighs and squirms. I go down all the way, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat, before smacking his ass and pulling off of him entirely.

“No moving, slave,” I growl.

He whimpers. “Sorry, mistress.”

I swallow his cock again and turn up the estim. It’s suddenly almost too much for him to handle. His cock stiffens and I know if I don’t ease up he’ll cum.

But I don’t let him. I ease up on my assault and let him come back down from the cliff edge of orgasm. I do this to him five more times.

I shut off the estim entirely, removing all of it, before I finally get up from my position on the floor. My knees are sore. I’m sore and tired, but so proud of my rubber boy enduring what I’ve put him through. Of what I still plan to put him through tonight. I’ve missed him dearly.

I take some water in my mouth and pass it to him. It’s the closest we’ve come to kissing all night, and it’s agony to not ravage his mouth. He greedily drinks up the water and I give him more in this way until the glass is empty.

I guide him to the bed and help him lie down. I remove the restraints from his thighs and lock his hands to the top of the bed, then secure his feet to the bottom.

I grab the bottle of mint lube and generously apply it to his cock, causing him to gasp. “That’s so mean,” he whines.

I slip my had around his throat and lean in close to his ear, my breath hot against the latex hood encasing his head as I chuckle. “No, it’s not, slave,” I say,”but what I’m about to do will be…”

I straddle his hips and slowly slide down on his cock. He gasps and whimpers. The cold of the minty lube, the stretch of his cock in me after two long weeks, almost makes me gasp. His hips rock up to meet mine and I don’t admonish him for moving this time. No, I welcome it.

I ride him hard, pausing frequently to tease him, frustrating him even further. He’s so close now that it wouldn’t take much more. And finally, finally I give in. I let him give in.

He cums hard, buried in me, shuddering with pleasure. He gasps for breath. It’s all over. All the torture is over.

But it’s not. I have to restrain myself from moving to unbuckle his restraints, from removing the latex mask and gently kissing him, stroking his hair. I’m not finished with him just yet.

I do unlock his hands from the top of the bed. I take the chain I had used and wrap it around his neck, securing it with a lock, transforming it into a snug collar and leash.

He freezes. He wasn’t expecting this. “What are you doing?” he says in his more normal voice, just beginning to slip out of the submissive persona he was inhabiting a minute earlier.

I have to reassert my authority, inform him that he’s still my rubber boy. I clamp a hand down over his mouth. “I’m not done with you yet, slave,” I growl.

He swallows hard and nods before I remove my hand. I crawl up his body and straddle his head, a knee on either side. I reach behind me to grab the makeshift leash and I tug up, pulling his face into my dripping cunt.

I barely have a chance to utter my orders — “clean up that mess you made,” I command — and his tongue is already hard at work.

He gets off easy this time, though. I’m so wired from the last several hours that it doesn’t take much effort for the first waves of an orgasm to come crashing down on me.

It’s been two very long weeks, and we’re just beginning to make up for lost time.