Randoms:
Cruising, drugged and fucked 8
The remote forest car park near Glastonbury Tor was swallowed by mist rolling thick off the Levels, turning the night into soft, suffocating white. Headlights cut nothing; the only sound was wet gravel under tyres and the distant low of cattle somewhere beyond the trees. He appeared from the fog like a figure stepping out of old woodcuts, long black coat sweeping the ground, hood up, silver rings glinting on every long finger. Pale skin, intense eyes the colour of storm water, late thirties, radiating the quiet certainty of someone who believed the world bent to his will.
He crossed to me without hurry. Gloved hands framed my face, gentle at first, thumbs brushing cheekbones like a benediction, then he leaned in. The kiss felt ceremonial: slow, deep, lips parting mine with deliberate reverence, tongue sliding in to taste, to claim, to anoint. His mouth moved like liturgy. Then the sting - needle swift beneath my jaw, a brief burn that spread like incense smoke through veins. Darkness folded over me soft as velvet.
I woke on a low stone altar in the heart of an old hunting lodge remade into something profane and sacred. Candles burned in iron stands, dozens, flames steady in the still air, casting amber pools across rough-hewn beams and walls hung with dark tapestries. Thick incense coiled: myrrh, frankincense, something sharper and greener beneath. Beneath me, chalked on the flagstones, a perfect pentagram, its lines passing exactly under the altar so my body lay at its centre. Wrists and ankles bound with soft black rope to iron rings set deep in the altar’s edges, spread wide, spreadeagled, every inch exposed. Naked. Skin warm from whatever aphrodisiac they’d dosed me with; cock already rigid, flushed dark, glistening with steady pre-cum that pooled in the hollow of my navel.
