Tough Guy

A heartbroken butch goes to the leather bar, flagging black on the right.

Warnings: spanking, choking, bondage, shoving, aggression, roughness, language like Sir, slut, whore, stupid, and pathetic, alcohol consumption, crying


I’m fucking heartbroken. There’s no other way to put it. Lauren broke my goddamn heart. She ghosted me after 6 months of dating. I was ready to say I love you. I’ve been waiting and waiting for her to call me back, text me, anything. But it’s been two months of nothing. Radio silence. I’m giving up for the sake of my own heart.

All I want tonight is to feel something. Anything.

I put a black handkerchief in my right pocket and head to the divey leather bar.

I try to inconspicuously scope out the bar, but no one really catches my eye. I sit down at the bar and order a whiskey on the rocks, and I sit swirling my glass in contemplation.

I sit there for minutes or hours when an older leather dyke sits down next to me, a silver fox with large muscles under her motorcycle jacket. Her dark brown eyes catch mine and she says, “What’s on your mind, kid?”

I laugh mirthlessly. I feel like a kid and not a kid in the worst way right now, grown-up enough to have my heart broken and childish enough to have my first, worst heartbreak. I haven’t taken a sip of my drink yet.

“I’m 25,” I say, not answering their question.

They raise an eyebrow at me as if to say, ‘my point still stands.’ 

I sigh. “Heartbreak,” I say, not wanting to add more.

They nod in understanding and flag down the bartender, ordering a beer.

“I’m sorry, kid,” they say. “What’s your name?”

“Max,” I say. “They/them. You?”

“Al. Call me he,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Al,” I say, raising my glass to his in a toast.

“Likewise,” he says. He leans back and looks down, smirking. “I see you’re flagging, tough guy.”

I laugh again, a little brighter this time. I feel a little hot all of a sudden, too. “Maybe I am,” I reply.

“Maybe?” he quirks an eyebrow. “I wear the same color, on the left,” he says.

“Do you?”

I sip my whiskey.

“What kinds of kinks are you into?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.

“Impact play, bondage, choking, needle play… Those are the big ones.”

I nod and swallow.

“I’m not into needle play, and choking is a mixed bag – I like a hand around my neck, but not breath play. But impact play and bondage… That’s what I’m looking for tonight.”

I sound confident, but this is also turning me on a little. I feel excited at the possibility of finding exactly what I was looking for tonight.

He nods, a smile quirking up one side of his mouth.

“What do you like to be called in bed?” he asks me. A throbbing is forming between my legs.

“I like ‘good boy’ and ‘slut,’” I say. “But, uh, ‘tough guy’ earlier did it for me too.”

“Did it?” he asks with a smirk.

“Okay, tough guy,” he says, pushing me into the wall. I swallow my whimper, trying not to let a sound out. “Show me how tough you are.”

I try to push back at him, shove him off of me, but it’s hopeless. He doesn’t budge.

He laughs mockingly. “Is that all you’ve got, tough guy?”

I flush in embarrassment, the red reaching the tips of my ears.

“That’s what I thought,” he mocks. He shoves his leg between my thighs, the friction reaching my hot cunt. I shiver.

“Please,” I say.

“Please what ?” he asks, pressing me against the wall with his arm across my chest. “What do you want, tough guy? Spit it out.”

“Fuck,” I pant. “Please. Um.” I struggle for words. What I want is for him to keep pushing me around, spitting insults at me, but I don’t know how to ask for that.

He grips my hair and tugs me around with it, and I cry out in pain, not expecting it. He turns me to face the wall and presses me against it hard, his thick frame pinning me in place.

“Are you such a dumb little slut that you can’t even talk?” he mocks. “Don’t even know how to ask for what you want?” He reaches his hand up to my throat and chokes me. “Is this what you want, tough guy?” he asks. “You want to be shoved around and hit and find out how much you can take?”

I whimper and nod.

“What a cute, pathetic little boy,” he praises. He shoves me again into the wall, choking me and reaching his free hand down to my jeans, where he roughly rubs me. It makes me gasp and he makes fun of me for it, saying, “What’s the matter, tough guy? You like having your little boy cunt rubbed?”

I groan in response, still speechless. My hips move of their own accord, grinding into his touch as I strain against the hand on my neck.

Fuck. Why can’t I talk right now? His hand is tight around my throat, but not tight enough to stop me from speaking. Sounds escape my mouth, but none of them are words, just pathetic whimpers and moans.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers in my ear in a low voice.

“Please,” I gasp. “Please.”

“Come on, you stupid boy. Use your words.”

Goddammit. This is so hard. I want his hard hands on my ass, making me red. I want to hurt before I get to feel good.

“Please spank me,” I whimper. “Make me cry.” I haven’t been able to cry in the past two months. I need to feel something.

“Good boy,” he growls, rubbing my cunt harder and whispering other dirty things in my ear, telling me I’m a good slut, a good little whore, that he’s gonna spank me until I cry.

He pulls me away from the wall, throwing me to the bed with ease. I cry out in surprise more than anything. He tugs me back to him and starts wailing on my ass, the smacks dampened by my jeans. I try not to gasp at every strike, try to be tough enough to take them.

He orders my jeans off and I rush to obey, unbuttoning and wiggling out of them awkwardly. He shoves me back down onto the bed, covering my body with his, forcing my legs apart and grinding into my ass. “You slutty boy…” he says. “You want this ass spanked raw, huh?”

I whimper. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me that again,” he orders.

“Yes, sir,” I say again, louder and more confident.

He brings his hand down hard on my ass and I yelp, I can’t help it. He does the same to the other cheek, not relenting, just repeatedly hitting my ass as I choke on air and try to breathe through the stinging pain.

“Please, sir,” I gasp, when it’s too much.

“What, boy?” he asks, pausing and rubbing my ass.

“Please,” I say, saying nothing.

“What a cute, dumb little boy you are,” he says sweetly. “Can’t think of any words to say.”

“I just -” I start to say. “I just needed a break.”

“Oh, poor little boy can’t take it anymore?” he mocks. He pulls my underwear down my ass, leaving it halfway down, and grasps my cheeks firmly, rubbing and massaging me.

Then he surprises me with another smack on my bare ass, and I cry out in shock and pain.

“Please, sir,” I beg.

“Please what, tough guy?” he says punctuated with another smack.

“Please, it hurts,” I say. And it does. My ass feels like it’s on fire, stinging and hot.

But he doesn’t stop. He promised to hit me until I cry, and I’m starting to feel tears prick my eyes.

“Please,” I cry, begging for it to stop, begging for more. “Please, sir. Fuck. Please.”

It hurts so good, just like I needed and wanted. It’s all I can feel and think about. There is nothing but the thudding rhythm of his hand beating my sensitive ass.

Finally, the pain is too much and the tears that have been stinging the back of my eyes pour out, and I sob, “Please.” I tremble and let the tears come that have been waiting for so long. He slows and stops, rubbing and soothing my sore ass while I cry. I cry more than I planned too, needing the release so badly.

“Shhh,” he says, “That’s a good boy.”

The tears stop and I wipe at my eyes, trying to dry my face. He grabs me a tissue and I nod gratefully, blowing my nose. I feel my puffy eyes and know that my face must be red and sore, like my ass. He takes my used tissue and tosses it in the garbage, and I feel embarrassed but cared for. He lies down next to me and takes me in his arms, holding me tight. I relax into his touch. He strokes my hair and I feel my breathing slow down, my muscles relaxing. We stay like this for a long time, I don’t know how long, until I feel myself waken from a slumber, opening my eyes to a gentle smile on his face.

“Did I fall asleep?” I ask, embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You were so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“God,” I say, burying my face in his shoulder.

He laughs. “Really, it’s okay.” He looks at me intently.

Then he lunges for me, pinning me back down to the bed, and I yelp in pain as the sheets scratch at my sensitive ass.

“Now I get to make you feel good, tough guy,” he growls. And he does.

He starts with taking off my shirt and tying my wrists above my head, then to the headboard. My heart pounds and forms a throbbing between my legs. I watch his face while he methodically wraps and ties the rope, studying the crow’s feet and smile lines, seeing a life of joy written across his face. I hope to look half as hot as he does when I’m his age.

He ties the last knot and my wrists feel tight and secure. My body relaxes into the bondage.

“That’s a good boy,” Al praises.

My eyes flutter closed and a small smile creeps onto my face. “Thank you, sir.”

I feel his hands on my thighs and I open my eyes again to watch him gazing at me, admiring my body.

“Do you like what you see?” I ask, feeling cheeky.

He smirks. His hands rub my thighs up and down and he massages my inner thighs. I breathe harder, watching his hands. He’s watching me, observing my responses, brushing his rough thumbs on the soft spot of my inner thighs. It’s making me wet, feeling his hands on my body and knowing he can touch me however he wants right now.

His hands travel up my body, my hips, my sides, my chest, my neck. His hand wraps around my throat and my breath catches.

“Do you like this?” he asks. I nod eagerly, eyes caught in a lustful gaze with his.

His hands are slow, in no rush, exploring my body slowly. It turns me on with every passing second, my heart pounding out of my chest.

I can feel how wet I am and I squeeze my legs together. Al doesn’t miss it, and he looks down at my thighs with a growing smirk.

“Are you wet, Max?” he asks. “Is something about this turning you on?”

“What about this could possibly be turning me on?” I ask, grinning. “What about being tied to a bed by a hot older butch and teased by his rough, strong hands would make me wet?”

“I don’t know…” he says sarcastically. His hands return to my thighs, spreading them apart. “Hmm… You look wet. Let’s find out if you feel wet.” His finger slides up my folds and I let loose a moan from my throat. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters, teasing up and down. “Is that all it takes, boy? A little teasing and it’s a fucking waterfall? Fuck…”

“Uh,” I moan. “It’s, uh, your… fault…” I trail off.

“Oh, it’s my fault you’re a dirty little slut, is it, boy?” he asks, continuing to tease my wet slit.

Being called a slut makes me wetter, and I whimper. I tug on the rope.

“Oh, god… Please,” I beg. “Please fuck me.”

“Begging for it already…”


He grins, rubbing my clit and teasing my opening.

“Fuck, fuck,” I pant. “Please, sir.”

“There’s a good boy,” he says approvingly. He slips his thick, calloused finger inside my tight wet cunt and I moan so sweetly for him.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes,” I praise. I grind my hips to match his rhythm of fucking me.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters.

“You… made me… wet…” I groan out.

“God, do you like how I fuck you, boy? Do you like being tied up and fucked, hmm?”

“Yeah,” I moan. “Yes, sir,” I add.

He brings his free hand to my neck and wraps it around my throat.

“Fuck,” I whimper. I buck on the finger in my cunt, grinding for friction, and ask for more.

“You want another finger?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I groan.

“Beg for it in a full sentence,” he orders.

“Fuck… Please, sir, fuck my pussy with two fingers, sir.” I throw in the second ‘sir’ for good measure.

He grins, delighted to order me around and watch me obey.

He pulls his middle finger out of me and brings his hand to his mouth, sucking on two fingers to get them both wet. The sight makes my jaw drop open. He slips his fingers back inside me, and I moan deep and loud, like the dirty little slut he called me.

“Fuck me, sir, god, fuck me, oh, fuck. Please. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Fuuuck!” I scream, pulling on the restraints.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, watching me come undone.

He fucks me like this, pulling moans and screams from my throat, until he bends down and murmurs in my ear, “Do you want a toy inside you, boy?”

“Fuck,” I pant. “Yes.” I nod eagerly.

He slips his fingers out of me, and I miss them already. He reaches for a dildo, a realistic looking medium sized toy, and a bottle of lube. I watch him squeeze the lube onto the cock and stroke it up and down to get it wet.

He brings the toy to my wet pussy and teases my slit up and down with it.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, sir.”

“Please what?” he asks.

“Please put it inside me.”

He slowly presses the dildo into my cunt, filling me up. I moan. My tight pussy throbs around it, feeling stretched out. .


“Do you like that, boy?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Good,” he says. I watch him reach for his sex toy bag again and pull out another loop of rope.

“What’s that for?” I blurt out.

“For your legs,” he says matter of factly.

“My legs?”

He doesn’t respond. He wraps the rope around my knees, tying my thighs tightly together, and then I’m cockwarming the dildo with my legs tied shut. I whine and whimper, tugging on my bonds.

It’s so hot to be denied like this, trapped.

“Please, sir.”

“Yes, boy?”

“Please, please.”

He laughs.

“I’m going to smoke a cigarette, and you’re going to lie here quietly like a good little boy without making a peep. Got it?”

“Cigarettes are bad for you,” I retort.

He laughs again. I watch him grab a seat in a chair at the end of the bed and pull one out. He brings it to his lips and lights it, a smirk on his face.

I hate the smell of smoke, but I don’t complain.

I’m throbbing with the cock filling me up, my thighs trapped together. I want so badly to grind on myself and try to get some friction, but it would make me whimper, and I can’t make a sound. I wiggle a little in my restraints.

He calls me things like a cute little cockslut while he puffs on his cigarette. He says I must want to get fucked so badly, what a poor little slut I am, not getting fucked like I need. He talks about how he’s going to fuck me when he finishes his cigarette, which is taking him forever to smoke. I swallow down my moans, breathing hard.

Finally, he finishes his cigarette and drops it to the hardwood floor, stomping it out with his boot.

“Now…” he says. “What to do with a tied up, desperate little thing like you?”

He reaches his fingers down to my hard clit and rubs, pulling desperate whimpers from my mouth. “Fuck!” I pant.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“Fuck yes,” I whine.

“Do you want me to fuck you, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

He unties my thighs, and the process is painfully slow. When he spreads my legs apart, the cock slips out of me a little, and he shoves it back in. I cry out.

“Fuck yes, please, fuck, sir, please fuck me, please.”

He slowly pulls the dildo in and out of me, making my moans louder and louder.

“God, you’re such a slut. Do you even care who hears you?” he asks.

“No,” I laugh. He grins and fucks me harder and I scream.

Just when I think he’s going to fuck me with this toy until I cum on it, he pulls it all the way out, and I see him putting on a harness on top of his jeans. He slips the wet cock into the harness and climbs on top of me.

I’m panting. “Please…”

“Please what , boy?” he growls.

“Fuck… Please fuck me until I cum, sir. Please fuck me like a dirty whore until I’m screaming for you. Please fuck me with your big cock. Please fuck me…” I repeat myself until he slips his cock back inside me and I cry out “Ohhhh!”

“God, you little slut,” he groans in my ear. He fucks me hard and I thank him for it.

“Fuck yes! Fuck me! Yes. Fuck. God. Ohhh.”

I tug on my wrist restraints and I can feel the rope digging into my skin and burning and it hurts so good.

He puts his thumb in my mouth and makes me suck on it to get it wet before rubbing my clit. I immediately feel the familiar building of pleasure in my clit, the electric sparks that light up with every stroke of his thumb.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I tell him desperately. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Beg for it.”

“Fuck, please sir, fuck, please, please let me cum,” I beg.

“That’s not good enough,” he chides.

“Fuck, please, please, please, I’ll be so good for you, I’ll do anything you want, sir, just please let me cum.”

“That’s better,” he says. I’m so close.


“Yes, boy, cum for me like a good slut.”

He strokes up and down my clit and the pleasure builds and spills over into a slow, explosive orgasm. I scream, my head snapping back and my body pulled taut, tugging on my restraints. Wave after wave hits me, and I moan and moan until the final aftershocks subside.

“Jesus Christ,” I laugh, pleased.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he pants. He pulls his cock from me. I whimper at the loss of sensation.

He leans down and kisses me, and I realize it’s the first time we’ve kissed all night. It’s slow and soft, with a tenderness that I didn’t expect from Al. I melt into it, and he tangles his hands in my hair and kisses me for a long time.

When we pull apart, he asks if I want to be untied. I nod, my shoulders feeling stiff. He unties me and rubs my wrists, and the sensation feels like sweet relief.

He takes off his harness and leaves to get me a baby wipe to clean myself up. He joins me on the bed, lying next to me and stroking my hair. I’m naked and he’s fully dressed, still in jeans and a white t-shirt.

“How was it?” he asks.

I laugh and smile. “Good,” I say. “Very good.”

He kisses me again and God, I can’t believe I was missing out on this all night.

I pull away from this kiss. “How… was I?” I ask shyly.

“Fuck,” he says. “You were perfect.”

We get under the blanket and he spoons me.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He holds me tight. We fall asleep together, and it’s the best sleep I’ve had in months.

In the morning, he makes us scrambled eggs and toast and mimosas, and we have slow, soft morning sex.

I leave at noon with a smile on my face and a slap on my ass.

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