Magnus weaved through the drunken crowds on the subway platform. He skipped the escalator, preferring to take the steps two at a time before emerging into the long blue twilight typical of Stockholm summer nights. The air was eerily still for the windy city and already saturated with the smell of beer and cigarettes. He continued his steady, determined pace past a group of laughing young women with long hair and short skirts. They eyed him up and down and smiled with approval. A tall brunette reached out and grabbed a corner of Magnus’s leather jacket. He turned around, slightly irritated.

“Hey” she purred pulling him to her. She caressed the lapels of his jacket between her thumbs and forefingers admiring the contrast of her long red nails against the soft black leather. He grasped her wrists firmly but gently and pulled her hands away from his broad chest. He smiled kindly in an attempt to mask his irritation before giving her a quick peck on the cheek and striding away. The brunette sighed and enjoyed the sight of his tight ass in even tighter denim until he turned up Wollmar Yxkullsgatan. There was only one club up that street and it was men only.

Magnus approached the wide industrial door; the SLM logo etched into the metal. It had been years since his last visit to the Scandinavian Leather Men Club and he’d never been on a Sunday. He paused for a moment, scanning the door trying to remember how to get in. A skinny ginger in athletic gear, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, strode up and pressed the small silver buzzer to the left of the door. The latch clicked and the ginger pulled opened the door. Magnus followed him in. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.

He found himself once again at the top of the concrete stairwell with wide, wooden stairs leading down to the dungeon. Five years of monogamy had passed since he last walked down those steps. He grinned and headed down. Each step felt like a breath of newfound freedom. The worn wooden check-in counter was exactly as he remembered as was the chubby, naked man behind it who checked his membership card.

“You’ll find gloves, lube and Crisco in and to the left,” the man directed.

That’s new, thought Magnus. But then again, he’d never been to the SLM on the third Sunday of the month. He pulled a red bandana from his jacket pocket and stuffed it halfway into the back left pocket of his stone-washed jeans. He then handed the jacket over the counter with a wink and walked into the dimly lit dungeon wearing a tight black t-shirt. The red bandana wasn’t necessary. It was more of a nod to the old school hanky codes. But the SLM was like that—all old school gay from the strict fetish-oriented dress-code to the Tom of Finland posters behind the coat-check counter and the rough cut glory holes in the bathroom. A small laminated poster to the right of the dark room provided a hanky code color key for the uninitiated—red for fisting, left side for active. Magnus liked that. It cut down on unnecessary chit chat.

The deep vibes of electronic trance music pulsed through the dungeon. In and to the left was a small metal table covered in little plastic cups of Crisco, clear condiment bottles half-filled with lube and a couple open boxes of latex gloves. Magnus helped himself to a pair of medium-sized black gloves. After further consideration, he helped himself to a second set. He shoved both pairs into the back pocket next to the bandana and headed over to the bar. At one end of the bar stood three thirty-somethings, including the ginger from outside who now leaned against an oversize chain suspended between the ceiling and the floor. Ginger had stripped down to a neon pink jockstrap and the other two wore Spandex wrestling kits—with the asses cut out.

At the small round tables in the shadows sat solitary men pushing 50, dressed in leather or the basic denim and black, slowly sipping their beers. One had a silver crewcut and matching stubble. He locked eyes with Magnus. Magnus held his gaze long enough to indicate more than indifference, but less than an invitation: a possibility. He’d order a beer first and then make a round.

A screen mounted near the ceiling behind the bar played silent porn. Magnus’s eyes settled on the screen as a grizzly bartender in a black leather vest poured him a lager from the tap. On the screen a power bottom wearing nothing but cowboy boots bent over a wool blanket draped on a straw bale. A naked cowboy with a black Stetson hat and farmer’s tan kneeled on the bale straddling the power bottom; both smooth, toned asses faced the camera. Black Stetson grabbed a handful of his mount’s sweaty blond mane in one hand and reached back to slide his other hand between his mount’s slicked up ass. Stetson’s hand slid gently up to the top of his ass, paused, then pressed in harder and slid slowly down. Fingers together and straight—the tips firmly circled the ring of the bottom’s tight asshole. The bottom’s dick was pressed down against the wool blanket, the red head peeking out from under two heavy, hairless balls. Magnus felt his own cock stiffen against his jeans. The cowboy’s glistening thumb disappeared into the bottom’s ass and immediately a bead of pre-cum pushed out the tip of his cock. The bottom let out a low guttural moan and the chains clinked.

Wait…chains? Magnus blinked and heard the clinking of chains again. A second moan escaped the adjoining room. The three jocks stopped chatting amongst themselves and looked over with interes as well. It sounded like the evening’s activities were getting off to a solid start. Magnus leaned back on the barstool and peered around the corner. Two bare legs covered in a thick carpet of light grey curls stuck up in the air forming an eager V; each heel hooked over a black leather loop hanging from the ceiling. The legs lead down to a man in his mid-fifties swaying back and forth in a worn leather sling suspended on four metal chains. A younger, darker partner stood between his legs with his right hand already buried in curly-haired ass up to his wrist. His left hand rested on the older man’s chest gently squeezing and rolling one of his pale pink nipples between his dark thumb and fingers. The man in the sling reminded Magnus of his boss. The thought brought a sly smile to his lips. If only old, married milquetoast Jakob really did visit gay sex clubs to be fist-fucked by a younger, presumably African, lover. He grabbed his beer and headed in for a closer look.

Jakob was an incredibly dull professor of veterinary medicine who ended up as the head of the large animal hospital in Uppsala on account of no one else willing to commit to that level of paperwork and bureaucratic headaches. Magnus often wondered how it was possible for a man to be so entirely devoid of passion, Jakob was even boring in the coffee room and a lunch. As far as Magnus could tell his only hobby was birdwatching and he ate the same sad meatballs, boiled potatoes and peas every day. He circled around the young fist-fucker until got a good look at the other man’s face and then quickly retreated into the shadows behind the sling. There was no doubt about it. Magnus wasn’t the only one who had traveled to Stockholm from Uppsala tonight. He took a long sip of his beer and leaned back against the grey cement wall in disbelief.

The thought that he might run into a student or the owner of one of his canine or feline patients had briefly crossed his mind on the train to Stockholm that night. But it was a Sunday and a very particular fetish night at a very particular club; what were the chances? Now he wondered for a moment if he should look somewhere else or move-on to another room. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away the top of his boss’ shiny bald head reflecting the dungeon’s red lighting as the sling swung toward him with every slow, deliberate thrust.

Jakob’s moans slid out with increasing intensity. Magnus found his cock responding despite the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He watched as sweat beaded on the young black man’s forehead and dripped down onto Jakob’s pale, hairy chest. Magnus felt a pang of horniness, longing to slide his own fingers into a tight warm hole and feel that familiar throbbing clench around his wrist. It had been so long since the last time. The closest he got to his ex’s ass was the occasional rim job. For years he thought he would never again feel the incredible power of a man’s orgasm gripping his cock, or even better, his entire fist. What would it be like to trade places with this guy and feel his boss’s body tremble as he sank his hand deep inside him?

Before he realized what he was doing, Magnus had taken his dick out and was gently stroking the thick uncut shaft with one hand while sipping the cool beer in his other. The sounds of his boss letting loose no longer made him nervous but instead filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction he hadn’t expected to experience tonight. How many guys got to jerk-off to their boss getting fist-fucked in a sling? He was smiling to himself and reveling in the circumstance when he felt fingertips brush his nipple.

Ginger had appeared by his side, his right thumb gently caressing Magnus’ nipple, and raised his eyebrows. Magnus nodded. Ginger stooped his head and took Magnus’ nipple between his lips. He didn’t merely lick his nipple or kiss it, but pulled the entire areola in over his warm wet tongue and gave a hard suck. The sensation sent a lightning bolt down to Magnus’ crotch. His nipples hardened and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He let out an involuntary whimper. Ginger unlatched with a wet pop, but kept his lips touching Magnus’ nipple as he glanced up, uncertain. Magnus set his beer down on the ledge behind them and thread his fingers into the ginger curls at the back of the man’s head pulling his face hard into his chest. The man’s mouth slid open wide against his chest and he sucked greedily on Magnus’ hard nipple.

Magnus pressed his bare cock against the bulge beneath the fabric of the man’s jockstrap. He wiped a strand of precum down the length of the small but stiff bulge, leaving a damp streak on the hot pink fabric. Slipping his hand under the jockstrap, he wrapped his fingers around the little cock. He pulled it out and took both dicks in his fist. Magnus loved feeling the full thick length of his own cock against a sensitive smaller one. The man’s moan vibrated against Magnus’ nipple as he suckled in synch with the rhythmic cock stroking.

Feeling his nipple become tender, he pulled the ginger curls back and lifted the man’s face to his own. The kiss was deep and warm. Magnus felt caught off-guard by the tenderness of it. He let go of their needy cocks and pressed the palms of his hands against the stranger’s smooth ass, pulling their bodies together. The man’s tongue was soft as it slid in along side his own, pressing and sliding as their dicks pressed and slid against each other.

Magnus relaxed his grip and gently kneaded the taut muscles of the deliciously bare ass. He felt the man’s strong, confident fingers encircle one of his wrists and guide his hand down between his ass cheeks. Magnus leaned into the request and expertly probed the tight asshole with his fingertips. He felt it spasm beneath his touch. The man moaned into his mouth and then pulled away suddenly.

“Come,” he ordered and led Magnus deeper into the dungeon.

They slipped behind a black vinyl curtain. In the dark, closet-sized space, the ginger sank to all fours on what looked like a black wrestling pad. Magnus took a pair of gloves from his back pocket and pulled them with a snap of satisfaction. He kneeled behind the presented ass and ran ten latex fingertips over the man’s bare skin, kissing the goosebumps as they appeared. He leaned over the man pressing his torso to his bare back. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered in his ear.

Magnus slipped out of the private room to find the little table with the Crisco and lube. He strode up to the table with his cock still out and at attention. A pair of strange hands encircled his chest slid their way down his muscular torso to the thick mass of blond curls at the base of his dick. Not knowing the ginger’s preference, he selected both a cup of Crisco and a bottle of unmarked lube before turning around to confront the new stranger. It was a tall, lanky man in a pair of shiny, rubber shorts. Magnus smiled but shook his head and glanced in direction of the black vinyl curtain.

The tall man pouted. “Maybe later?” he asked, stroking Magnus’ cock with the tip of his finger. But Magnus brushed past him, keen to slip inside the tight ass waiting for him.

Back inside the private, dark space, Magnus crouched down on the mat in his heavy work boots, grabbed the waiting ass with both hands and gave the eager asshole a fast, quick lick.

“Mmmm,” he murmured.

Magnus flicked his tongue over the clean, soft skin, lightly at first and then firmer, running his tongue over the folds that radiated out like spokes on a wheel. But as much as he loved to lick an ass to mercy, this was the third Sunday of the month.

“Crisco or normal lube?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Magnus lubed up both gloved hands. He reached around and slowly milked the man’s little dick inside the jock strap with one hand, while sliding the fingertips of the other back and forth over the puckered asshole. He felt the outer ring clench and then relax. He slipped in his index finger and felt it clench again on his middle knuckle before releasing and letting him slide in up to the last knuckle. He pressed down inside and gently stroked the prostate through the thin membrane. The ginger let out a moan.

“More,” he begged.

Magnus slid out his finger and slid back in with three. He twisted them slowly to the right and to the left before plunging in as far as they could reach. The man’s thighs quivered, and his dick stiffened in Magnus’ experienced grip.

“More!” he demanded.

Magnus pulled out and touched his four fingertips to the tip of his thumb, making a beak with his hand and pressed his united fingers to the center of the ring. To his surprise it gave way immediately, almost sucking him in up to his knuckles. The man let out a whimper and pleaded again for more. Magnus turned his hand clockwise and slid all the way in. The man let out a deep, guttural moan and his ass tightened around Magnus’ wrist.

Deep inside now, Magnus curled his fingers into a fist and tugged gently backward. He kept the pace of both of his hands, slow and steady. Knowing the man wanted him to go faster, harder, he held back. The man’s ass wasn’t just tight at the ring, the inner walls gripped his entire fist so tight he could feel the pulse of the man’s veins against his knuckles. He maintained the slow, steady thrusting, relishing the power and control over another man’s pleasure.

He pressed harder against the man’s prostate and suddenly the ginger let out a wild moan and the stiff, little cock in his hand jerked. A flood of piss sprayed into the jockstrap and flooded onto the mat. Magnus grinned at the wet pool that spread out around his boots.

The ginger got to his feet and Magnus followed his lead, his fist still buried deep in the man’s ass. He stepped one leg over Magnus’ arm and then they were facing each other. Slightly taller than Magnus he buried his sweaty face into the top of Magnus shoulder and grabbed both of their cocks in his own hand, pushing aside the soaking wet jock strap. With his other hand he grabbed Magnus’ wrist and shoved him deeper up inside him.

Breathing heavily with exertion and his own horny excitement, Magnus ramped up his speed and force, vigorously pulling the widest part of his fist back and forth across the man’s threshold of pleasure. Now, this was a proper fist-fucking!

The man’s thighs shook, and his moans turned to growls and groans. Then suddenly he went silent, arched his back and it was like every muscle in his taut body clenched down around Magnus’ fist in a spasm so tight it squeezed his bones and cut off the circulation to his hand. Feeling the orgasm envelop his entire hand, Magnus almost didn’t notice the hot spurts of thick cum gushing out of the little dick onto his own.

As soon as the earth-shattering orgasm released its grip, Magnus slipped his hand out. He pulled off the gloves and dropped them on the floor. The man’s body went slack, and Magnus had to catch him in a heaving, sweaty embrace.

“Thank you,” the man whimpered quietly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Magnus chuckled and then moaned as the head of his cock brushed up against the man’s warm naked flesh. The cramp in his fist combined with the memory of the man’s tight, pulsing orgasm sent pre-cum pouring out of the purple tip of his rock-hard erection. He pushed the man back against the concrete wall and straddled his leg. The intensity gathered quickly along the length of his slick shaft as he thrust his cum-covered cock against the ginger’s sweaty thigh. Their eyes locked and as they pressed their sweaty foreheads together, Magnus felt his throbbing cock explode.