False Impressions

by Ilya Pearlman

Nile didn't do it consciously. She didn't plan for it beforehand, she just found herself doing it on that night in a strange city where she knew no one, although later she realized she'd been preparing for it for years.

She knew where the leather bar was from her evenings spent combing through copies of Drummer magazine, reading every article and story, getting hot browsing through the "Dear Sir" sections and reading select ones out loud to her lover: "Whipmaster seeks slaves; must be ready to submit to my EVERY desire-no fakes-no phonies. You will experience pain and the desire to worship."

And the photos!

Something about photos of gay men together, especially in black leather and denim, cocks ringed and nipples studded, was more erotic to her than most photos of lesbians she had ever seen.

At first her male SM lust frightened her. She went through her period of worrying that she wasn't a "real" lesbian, that fantasizing about getting fucked by, or having a cock made her a fake, but she soon realized if she had to judge her lesbi- anism by someone else's standards she'd never make it through reading all the rules, let alone following them. Her lover encouraged her fantasies and got off on them with her. She let Nile know she wanted her to feel free to explore all the sides of herself.

When she was a few years younger and spending her summers in Provincetown she used to go to the men's bars with her male friends and be cruised by the men in for the weekend, think- ing this slim-hipped, blond buzz cutted young thing was a hand- some, if underage, boy. Nile savoured these experiences, drank in the lustful looks but became terrified when the stray hand would slide across her backside.

Then her friends would escort her back to the women's bar, laughing and joking that she got the attention of more of the hot men in town than they did. So here out of town on a weekend business trip her lover could not afford to take with her, Nile found herself putting on her leather chaps, jeans and motorcycle boots and not stopping to wonder why she had brought, and was putting on her dildo harness, sliding the flesh colored latex though it's hole and fitting it snugly down the right leg of her worn denim and leather. She put her top harness on staring in the mirror at her smallish breasts, and decided the night was warm enough to wear only her MC jacket on top. She donned her black cap as well, and in the mirror, with the bulge in her pants and the soft leather caressing her body, she felt herself getting wet and frightened at the idea of purposefully pulling off this deception. The fear was a pleasant mix with the lust as she left her hotel room and ventured out into unknown territory.

The bar was a short walk from her hotel and for this she was glad when a car full of young men passed her twice yelling "Faggot!" and calling for her to suck them off. The bouncer at the door of the bar let her in without checking her ID, his attention on threatening the boys in the car with more than they could ever handle. Nile was grateful for his help and for his lack of attention to her ID. They didn't seem to have any women in here. She had passed the first test, if only by default.

The bar was like every other leather bar around the country; dark, smoky, smelling of beer, men and leather. Nile let herself take in the strong scents as she looked around the room, trying to keep moving so she wouldn't be conspicuous. She found a stretch of wall not occupied and leaned against it, striking the pose; elbows on the drink rail behind her, one booted foot pushed against the wall, knee bent, and tried to look relaxed, her heart pounding with the clandestine energy of being there in disguise with no one to escort her back to the women's bar should it all become too much.

The bar was full, all types of men in various combina- tions of leather, faded denim and skin. The music was loud and pumping. In some corners of the bar men were grinding against each other more or less in time to it. She found herself watch- ing a pair of them, one man in full leather exploring the body of the other clad only in chaps, a black jock strap, boots and a collar with chains running from it to his ringed nipples. The first man held the second by the chains and pulled rhythmically on them as he ran his other large hand over his slaves' naked ass. His fingers disappeared between the slaves' ass cheeks and the slave moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as his master probed and pulled on the chains.

Nile was rapidly losing herself in this vision from Drummer and her fantasies coming to life. She couldn't take her eyes off the pair and as the top forced his slave to it's knees, pulling him down by the nipple chains. Nile felt her own knees go weak, the leather of the dildo harness getting sticky and spongy with her juices as she made small movements against it.

Fearing that she might somehow give herself away, and also that she might miss something else around the bar she forced herself to look away from the pair. As she turned her head she found herself face to face - for a split second - with one of the most prepossessing men she had ever seen. He held her gaze in an iron grip as he passed in front of her and continued to the bar where he was greeted warmly but with obvious respect by the bartender and a group of three or four good looking men.

Her heart had leapt to her mouth when she had turned to find him - so unexpectedly, so close-and now she found herself captivated by the look of him. He was tall, at least six feet, obviously well built under the motorcycle jacket. His sandy hair was cut as though a forty dollar stylist had been enlisted to do a military cut. His steely eyes held strength, but not attitude. He seemed at home in the bar and with himself. He wasn't trying to prove anything, he just was. His mustache was well trimmed and his leather well cared for.

She listened to herself take him in and thought she might any minute wake up and find she was dreaming a Drummer inspired wet dream, but no, she was there, staring at him and before she knew it he had caught her and was staring back, giving her the appraisal. Her heart jumped again. adrenalin coursing through her veins, and she could not keep herself from looking away, though part of her did not want to, wanted to rise to the challenge and hold his stare. She was just too frightened. She sneaked a look back in his direction.

He was still staring as he carried on a conversation with the man next to him. He was judging her, gauging her reactions, thinking, her mind screamed, that he was cruising a young man! It was too much. She left her spot in a panic and moved as calmly as her reeling brain would allow to the other side of the bar. From her secluded corner she watched the back of his head and wondered what she was doing there. What did she want to happen? It was too scary to admit she wanted anything to happen, but she could not deny the mois- ture seeping into her leather and the desire to challenge that man, to hold his gaze and then to...What? She couldn't form the ideas, let alone the words to answer the question just now, but she wanted something and she knew she'd wanted it for quite some time. After a few minutes she began to relax.

After the shock of him just being alone in the bar out of his range of vision had a calming, if slightly disappointing effect. She looked around her. In this corner of the bar there was a large wooden cross erected and one man was in the process of securing another to it with sheepskin lined leather restraints locked to steel rings mounted on the limbs of the cross. Nile fell into their scene, once again finding herself in the middle of her favourite fanta- sy. She was entranced as the Top attached clothespin after clothespin to the crucified man's taut flesh, remembering the feeling if those little bites, not really very painful until whipped off, as the top proceeded to do, using a short flail, ends tipped with pointed steel studs. The air around the cross was close, charged with electrical current, broken by the Top freeing the bottom from the cross twenty minutes later and carry- ing him lovingly out the front door into the night to continue their scene in the privacy of their own dungeon. Nile found herself getting incredibly thirsty. She made her way to the bar, taking care to be far away from her former appraiser, but he was nowhere to be seen. She found herself feeling disappointed at that but reasoned it was probably for the best. Waiting for the bartender to make his way to her side of the bar she realized she was being cruised by more than one man. She felt good. Her ego was being gratified and her fantasy was being at least partially fulfilled. She was cruised as a man in a men's leather bar. No one ad questioned her right to be there. They treated her as one of them. Except the bartender, she thought, who can't be both- ered with whatever he assumes I am long enough to get me a beer. It began to seem as though he was avoiding her side of the bar. She was getting impatient and her cocky edge was returning with her increasing comfort. She was steeling herself to force her voice low enough to call for his attention when she felt a hand on her shoulder, smoothly turning her around.

"Thirsty?" he asked, steely eyes boring into hers. She felt instantly paralyzed, as though hit in the neck with a tran- quilizer dart. She managed a slight nod of her head.

He lifted a frosty beer bottle in her direction. "Open your mouth," he said. She obeyed him, opening her mouth and wondering how she would continue to stand up with a pounding cunt and trembling knees. He took the back of her head in his hand and put the glass bottleneck slowly into her mouth, moving it almost imperceptibly back and forth as he fed her the cold, sour beer. He kept his hand where it was as he drank some of the beer himself and then returned it to her mouth again, repeating this process until the bottle was empty and Nile was lost in the sensation of his body close to hers and the bottle entering and leaving her mouth.

"How old are you?" he demanded, staring intently into her eyes as though forbidding her to lie. She hesitated. She was 26, but she knew as a boy she looked younger. The only times she'd ever been carded were when she'd been mistaken for male. "Answer me, boy!" came his deep, rumbling voice as his grip tightened on her hair.

"Twenty-one, Sir!" she said, trying not to squeak. She thought mumbling or whispering would probably be the best way to disguise her feminine voice. She hoped he wouldn't want military style answers.

"Bullshit," came the response, "You are not a day over 18. But sometimes I like young meat. Fewer bad habits to break," he said with subtle emphasis on the word 'break'. He ran his hand down her ass and she tensed as it threatened to go too deep and find the stump of the dildo where balls ought to be.

But he had other things on his mind. Abruptly he turned and headed toward the back of the club. "You coming, boy?" he said over his shoulder. In that split second it was like the cliche' of dieing-Nile saw her entire sexual life flash before her eyes, all the fantasies she'd had, all the books she'd read, all the risks she'd taken. They all seemed to lead to this. There was only one answer. She followed him.

He led her to the fire door of the club, opening it and pushing her through into the alley. The night was warm and there were pairs of men against the walls, some slowly jerking each other off while others were more elaborate in taking their pleas- ures. He took her down the block and turned into a loading doorway left vacant as though it was his private domain. He pushed her roughly against the wall and pressed up against her.

She could feel the heat and bulge of his cock through the leather pants as it grew harder. She was incredibly excited and almost as scared. She couldn't allow herself to think past each moment. Speculating on what might happen was useless. Somehow she trust- ed him, knew he wasn't a psycho, just a sadist. He kissed her. She was surprised, she didn't think male Tops kissed, and it dissolved her. His tongue was powerful, insistent, bruising.

Women didn't force their way into your mouth that way, not the toughest top. It was painful and opening and she didn't know how she'd last without something in her cunt, something on her clit. He was reaching for her crotch now and in a panic she pushed his hand away. Even as she did it she knew she was in for it. He threw her away from him into the wall, knocking the breath out of her.

"Get in the dirt!" he said, snarling, "Now." He grabbed her jacket collar and shoved her roughly to the ground, her ass facing him and pulled a rough flail with heavy tails off his belt that she hadn't seen blending into his leathers in the dark bar. "You're counting to twenty, boy, and I'd better like what I hear."

The first blow was like fire, even through the denim. "One!" she cried out, almost pitching forward into the ground. The second wasn't any softer, "Two!" escaped out of her as she struggled to stay on her knees. She felt the denim ripping at the sixth blow and was counting through tears by the thirteenth, but she didn't stop. The twentieth blow finally came and he whipped her around so that she was on her knees facing his bulg- ing crotch, bigger now than before the whipping. "That's more like it" he said, a trace of tenderness in his voice. He pulled her against him and holding her fiercely by the hair began to rub his leather covered bulge in her face.

"Open it," he demanded. She knew he would not like it if she used her hands so she began inexpertly tugging at the leather belt with her teeth. After a bit of struggle she got it and pulling open the buttons of his leather jeans was not difficult. His cock sprang free, head glistening with pre-come, large and hard and solid like marble. She couldn't believe she was there, that she was going to do this but she didn't have time to think- and her cunt was doing it for her. She went to put her mouth on it, but he stopped her "No you don't. Put this on."

The condom, of course. She simply hadn't thought about it. She slid the tube of latex over the gleaming shaft and with him guiding her head she took it down her throat, trying immedi- ately to quell her gag reflex. "You'd better open up, boy," he said menacingly as he began to fuck he mouth and throat. She did her best to accommodate him, but he was large and it was a strug- gle. Still she must have been doing something right because he was swelling in her mouth and fucking her face harder. She heard his moans from above her as he pressed deeper and harder, using her brutally. She struggled to keep up with him, to keep her throat open enough and not to swoon with pain and desire as he battered the back of her throat. She was seeing stars, her breathing was shallow when it was not cut off by his pubic hair.

She began to feel as though she were floating in a dream of incredible dimension, and when she finally felt him come there was a little regret mixed in with the relief of being able to breath again. He leaned against the wall, recovering, and told her to strip off the condom, patting her head as though she was a rewarded dog. "Not bad, boy," he said as he stood straight after a few moments, "Now let's see what you've got." Before she could react he had pulled her to her feet and shove his hand in her crotch. From the front it felt all right, but he was yanking open the buttons.

"Please," she whispered, "no," but all he did was tell her to shut up and continue to open her jeans. There was dead silence when the dildo popped out, too yellow and hard and not connected to anything. It took him a moment to react at all, so far from the realm of possibilities was this development. He yanked it away from her body, sticking his hand underneath as though checking for a second, real, penis. His fingers grazed her clit and she gasped with desire and anticipatory panic. For a few seconds he just stood there. "Well," he said. "Well. Shit."

She couldn't say anything. She just stood there waiting to see what he would do. Suddenly, surprisingly, a broad smile broke out on his face. He let it flash at he briefly, Then regained his Top scowl. "Well, come on, boy, I'm not done with you yet!" He shoved her further down the alley until they came to a door. He fished a key out of one of his pockets and let them in. It was a small room and a kitchenette, all bed and re- frigerator, obviously a crash and fuck pad belonging to the bar. He pushed her into the room. "Okay, boy," he said, "Now you're going to get the rest of what you came here for. Go into the bathroom and turn that thing around. Put it where it will do some good. And make it FAST."

She knew what he meant. She went into the bathroom, reversed the dildo and put it inside her cunt, held in place by the leather of the harness. She risked moving it back and forth just twice, and could not keep the groan from spilling out of her lips. She hurried back out to find him sitting on the rooms only armchair.

"All right, cocksucker, lie flat on your stomach and show me how you do yourself. Show me how your ass moves." She flopped quickly down on the bed and poked her ass up as high as she could and started rubbing herself through her jeans, pushing her knuckles against the base of the dildo and her slit, moving her ass in what she hoped was a boyish manner. She buried her face in the bedclothes as she moved against her hands, smelling piss, sweat and come on the sheets and it made her even hotter to think of all the men who had fucked and been fucked on this bed. She was making low, animal sounds as she pleasured herself and she glanced back and saw he was rock hard again and watching her hungrily. "Here I come, boy," he said, moments later, "Get ready." He dropped from the chair to the bed, kneel- ing behind her and pulling her to her hands and knees. She heard the condom package rip open and he covered his cock again. He hand his hand on her, slapping her ass through the denim, working up a burn that made her wetter and wetter. Suddenly he dug his fingers into the worn of her jeans a ripped a panel out exposing her asshole and enabling him to slap her flesh. He reached under the bed and fished around for something. He found it. She had to gasp as the two lubed fingers went into her tight asshole.

"You're probably almost a virgin back here, aren't you, boy? I told you I like fresh meat." She felt the head of his cock against her asshole and before she could think about it he was pressing himself inside her, holding her hips and thrusting into that tight aperture. Once again she willed herself to open up to this unfamiliar intrusion. There was pain like fire at first, but she was so hot she couldn't help but relax and she found herself moaning against him as he bucked into her. "Play with yourself," he grunted at her. How she managed to obey him she didn't know, but she got her fingers on her clit and was pushing the dildo in and out in time with his thrusting. She could feel his cock rubbing against the dildo through the thin wall of flesh. Harder and faster he thrust and she kept pace with him on her clit and with the dildo. They rose toward orgasm together.

"Don't come until I tell you," he gasped between thrusts, "I want to hear you with me!" She had to stop touching herself to hold back, but she didn't have long to wait. "Now, boy, now!" He grunted, thrusting so hard he collapsed them down onto the bed as she came, yelling, with him.

The next thing she knew he was fiddling with the buttons on her jeans, doing them up after he had pulled the dildo out of her and replaced it in her jeans, down the right pant leg. "Come on, boy. Time to go," He was grinning at her, "I'm thirsty and the people who always meet my new boys are waiting to see you." She smiled her gratitude at him.

"Yes, Sir!" she said as she followed him into the night.

The End (For now?)