Transforming the Basement
by David Heulfryn

 

My drive to get business brought me several small jobs. I wasn’t working full-time, but I had plenty to keep me busy. I was asked to quote for a basement conversion, but I never heard back from the man, either because he went with someone else or decided it was too expensive. But when I got his email accepting my quote and asking when I could start, I couldn’t stop smiling all day.

It was the type of job I enjoyed, as it combined decorating, minor electrical work, and carpentry. I went round to see the man to firm up the details. I knew his full name, but when I called him John, he insisted that I call him Mr Kiely or Sir. He was middle-aged, and I supposed he was a stickler for formality.

He showed me the colour he wanted painted on the walls and ceiling, a dark purple. I explained it would make the room look very dark, but he was adamant. He then showed me the light fittings he wanted and where I needed to put them. He wanted small LED lights embedded in the ceiling. Once this was done and the basement was an empty shell, he would discuss what furniture he wanted me to make. I knew he wanted a large table, which I would have to build onsite, but he wanted it all bespoke, no shop-bought flat-pack cheap wood. He wanted a proper old-fashioned hardwood table.

Mr Kiely was very trusting and let me have a key to his house. He worked at Cockaigne Pharma but had only just moved to the area. He said that he bought the house specifically because of the basement. It was the star attraction. It was a good size, matching the footprint of the house. But it was rundown. I spent the first few days clearing it of the rubbish the previous owners had dumped down there. I gave the walls a thorough rubdown, and since there was no evidence of damp, I could prepare them for the horrible purple paint Mr Kiely had chosen. He also wanted some large hooks in the ceiling, strong enough to hold two hundred kilograms each. That is a lot of weight, four hundred and forty-one pounds in old money. But I did what I was told.

I was busy putting the final coat of paint on the walls, my small radio blasting out tunes. The weather was still hot, and the basement was stuffy. I wished there were some windows to open, but instead I took off my shirt. My chest was splattered with spots of purple paint from pushing the roller up and down the walls. My new work trousers now looked well-used, with marks of white and purple paint. Now, if Old Lady Lovecock made me cum in them, the stain would be unnoticeable amongst the genuine work stains.

I didn’t know how long he’d been looking at me when I got the strange feeling of being watched. I looked around to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs in his suit. He had come home early. I climbed down the ladder and turned off the music.

“Hi, Mr Kiely. You’re home early.”

“Yes,” He continued looking at my naked torso. “You have quite a nice body, Boy. A little too skinny, but enough muscle to have a good time.” I didn’t like being called ‘Boy’, but as he was paying me for my time, I didn’t want to say anything. “You have done some excellent work.”

“It should be finished tomorrow, Sir. Then I can start on the furniture.”

“Yes, about that. Come upstairs, and we can discuss what I want.” I reached for my shirt. “No need to put your shirt back on, it’s still quite warm.”

I followed Mr Kiely upstairs, and he showed me into the kitchen. It was cooler upstairs, and I felt my nipples harden. It didn’t go unnoticed by Mr Kiely.

We sat at the kitchen table, and he outlined three major pieces he wanted me to build. First was a six-foot table.

“Wide enough and sturdy enough to take the weight of two grown men and stable enough that it won’t move easily.”

The second was a large X-shaped piece. “It needs to be long enough that a man can stand in front of it, legs wide and arms outstretched so the hands and feet don’t show above the wood.”

The third was something he called a birching stool. I never heard of one, never mind seen one, so he drew me a small sketch. “It needs to be about six feet in length and curved so the man drapes his body over it, bending his back and has some protruding hand holds for him to hold on to.”

I took the sketch. I found the courage to ask Mr Kiely what he was building.

“I’m building a BDSM Dungeon, Boy. If you are unsure about the size of what you’re building, use your body as a guide. The table needs to be large enough for you to lie on it. I also want restraints at all four corners. The same for the X-Frame. If I can secure you to it, naked and ready for a good flogging, I will be happy.”

“You’re not going to, though, are you?” I laughed nervously.

“Not if you don’t want me to.” He leered at me. “It’s not going to be a problem, you building this specialist equipment for me. If it is, I will pay you for what you’ve done and find someone else.”

“No, No, Sir.” I didn’t want to lose this job. “I enjoy carpentry the best, and I promise you will be satisfied.” Mr Kiely grinned at me, “With the final pieces, I mean.” I wasn’t about to offer up my body to him.

“Well, if what you will be building doesn’t offend you, I will enjoy explaining what else I intend to put down there.

Mr Kiely spoke animatedly as he explained about the whips, chains and canes he would use. And the ropes and cuffs to restrain people.

I rubbed my wrists. I didn’t like the idea of being restrained. Mr Kiely then mentioned his favourite piece of equipment, a sex swing. It would hang from the hooks I embedded in the ceiling, and a man would be restrained by his wrists and ankles while men surrounded him, fucked his arse and mouth and came over his body.

“Is there… are there many people into this sort of thing?” I asked.

“Oh yes, plenty. And there is a big BDSM scene here in Cockaigne. That’s why I moved here. I’ve also heard of some people getting caught by security so that they can be punished in public.”

“I’ve not heard that!” I was surprised.

“Well, you’ve not been looking, Boy. Perhaps I can show you one day.”

No, Sir. I mean, no, thank you, Sir. I’m a strict one-woman missionary man.” I tried to stamp myself as a vanilla heterosexual.

“You never know, Boy. I can already see some intrigue in your eye, even if you’re not willing to try.”

“I should be getting on, Sir.” I stood up.

“Yes, go back to the basement and finish up for the day.”

 

After our awkward conversation about me building his BDSM dungeon, he kept away from me for several days and never came home by the time I left for the day. I knew he was checking up on me, though, as things had been moved in the basement when I arrived the next day. There was a note one day. I read it. It seemed he was happy with my progress and apologised for not seeing me as he was busy with work.

When I was nearly finished, I was surprised to find Mr Kiely still at home when I arrived. He followed me into the basement, saying he had the day off, and we could do some small jobs.

I fixed up a row of coat hooks, where Mr Kiely hung up his whips and chains. A wide umbrella stand had appeared overnight, which now contained many canes. Then we fixed the sex swing to the ceiling.

I was up the step ladder attaching the bolts to the hooks while Mr Kiely held the leather swing, taking the weight of it and making it easier for me.

I was slightly out of breath when we finished. Mr Kiely pulled at the straps of the swing.

“How can I know that the bolts will hold?” He looked at me.

“I’m a professional. I guarantee it will hold.” I sounded proud of my work.

“Well, I insist we test it.”

“Would you like me to tie you to it?” I offered.

“It would take too long to show you how to handle the restraints.” He was feeding me bullshit, I knew it. They looked simple enough to me. “I think it’s best if you get in it and then I can make the necessary adjustments so it is the right height for me.” He showed me a device on each strap that allowed him to adjust the swing’s height up and down. “It’s a new-fangled invention, but I love it. It means that any man, no matter his height, can comfortably fuck the man restrained.”

It did look ingenious, and I was naïve enough to take his word for it. I positioned myself in front of the swing. “How do I get on it?”

“First of all, you are overdressed. The swing isn’t made for people to wear clothes while on it. Besides, I need to know the exact position of your anus to ensure the height is correct.”

“I’m not sure, Mr Kiely. I’m just a handyman, I don’t expect my clients to make me get naked.”

“I’ll throw in a little extra for you and spread the word about how good you are.”

Fuck! What could I do? “How little extra?” I asked. I couldn’t believe I was considering this.

“You cheeky boy. Okay, a lot extra.” Mr Kiely smiled.

Fuck it! I was only going to lie on the swing, and I would no doubt make him jealous of the seven soft inches tucked into my trousers.

I pulled off my shirt, removed my tool belt and bent down to untie my shoes. Mr Kiely watched and leered at me. As usual, I wasn’t wearing any underwear and knew the reaction I would get when I dropped trou. I looked at his eyes as I unbuttoned my trousers. He didn’t look at me; his eyes were transfixed on my crotch. I unzipped the fly and let them fall to the floor.

Mr Kiely’s face lit up when he saw my soft seven inches. He licked his lips. “I’ve only agreed to be tied into this contraption, nothing more.” I reminded him.

“Trust me, Boy. That’s all I want and all I expect. Anything more is entirely up to you.”

I lay on the swing, and Mr Kiely placed the leather cuffs around my wrists; my arms were now fixed above my head. He tied my ankles and then stood back, admiring my naked body. I felt vulnerable and a little anxious. I was surprised when he started to remove his clothes.

I’d never watched a man take his clothes off before. Sure, I’d been in a locker room and stripped with twenty-odd other guys, but I never watched them. I was merely in the same room as them. This time, I watched Mr Kiely strip naked and was breathless in anticipation as he pulled down his briefs.

His cock was hard. He stroked it a few times as he looked at my sleeping cock that lay on my trimmed tuft of pubes.

Mr Keily walked towards me. His cock connected with my buttocks, but didn’t touch my hole. It was too high. He walked around me, adjusting the straps. Still too high. He went around again. As he was near my head, he raised himself on tiptoes and let his hard cock touch my forehead. It was leaking precum, and it dribbled on me. I shook my head, trying to get his cock off me.

“Oh, sorry, Ollie. I didn’t realise.” Like fuck he didn’t.

He went back to my legs and retested the height. His knob connected perfectly with my hole. I didn’t feel any pressure; he wasn’t trying to push it inside. It’s not what we agreed. He pulled back and knelt on the floor. He pulled my cheeks apart, and when he licked my hole, I shuddered. It was a surprise, and it also felt good. He kept licking, and I started to groan and writhe in the swing, which gently rocked soothingly.

Mr Kiely pulled his tongue from my hole. He came round to me and stood above my face, his cock dangling in my eyeline.

“I’m glad you were the first person to enjoy my new dungeon. But everyone who uses it must have a safe word. Your safe word is ‘Sausage’.”

“Safe word?”

“Yes. If you ever want me to stop anything I’m doing, just call out ‘Sausage’ and I’ll stop. We avoid using words like ‘stop’, ‘take it out’, or ‘you’re hurting me’ because they are often cried during play. So everyone has a safe word. And yours is ‘Sausage’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. If I tell you to stop or whatever, you won’t. But if I say ‘Sausage’, you will stop what you’re doing.”

“Good boy.” Mr Kiely stroked my leg, feeling the short hairs on my skin run through his fingers. “You are a bright young thing.”

“Why sausage?” I wondered.

“Because no one would ever cry out sausage in the middle of sex.”

“Oh.” I felt stupid. But this was all new to me.

Mr Kiely went back to sticking his tongue in my arse. He’d adjusted the swing, so I supposed he should have released me, but instead, I was feeling the most intense sensations coming from my arse. For the moment, I didn’t want him to stop; my cock didn’t either. It had grown to its full eleven hard inches and swayed above his face as I kept squirming. I wanted to touch myself, grab my cock and wank it. I instinctively pulled against the straps, trying to stroke my cock, but I knew it was useless.

I saw Mr Kiely’s face rise above my cock, he was smiling. He knew I was enjoying this. The restraints were enhancing my sexual desire. His tongue then returned to my hole. Despite the tension I felt in my cock, my hole relaxed and allowed his tongue to delve deeper. If I thought too much about it, I may have been disgusted, but it felt too good to be disgusting.

Something firmer penetrated me. It was his finger. He could go deeper inside me, and I gasped when he touched that special place inside me. I could see his face looking at mine. We looked at each other, my hard cock partially shielding his face.

I felt him stretch me further as he pushed two fingers inside me. “You just have to say one word and I’ll stop.” He reminded me.

I groaned and shut my eyes. All I had to say was ‘sausage’ and he would stop. But why would I do that? If I needed another reason not to say the word, he gave it to me. He grabbed my cock and stroked it while two fingers on his other hand fucked my arse and rubbed against my prostate. My cock was leaking precum, dribbling over his hand.

When two fingers pulled out of me, three fingers forced their way inside. I yelped as, for the first time, I felt some pain as he continued to stretch me. If I were in my right mind, I would have realised what this was all leading to. But my mind was concentrating on the pleasure he was giving me.

The pain wasn’t severe enough for me to shout the word. It quickly dissipated, and I soon felt that familiar pleasure from him pressing against my prostate. He couldn’t go as deep inside me with three fingers, and it felt less intense. I wished that he would go back to two fingers.

Then there were no fingers.

I let out a loud, disappointed sigh from my lungs.

Mr Kiely stood between my bound ankles. He pushed his stiff cock between my buttocks and rested against my relaxed sphincter.

“Is there anything you want to say?” He asked me.

I was about to get fucked! Just saying one word would stop it. I’d never been fucked before. I’d fucked a few girlfriends, but never been in this position with a man. His cock was at my entrance, waiting for permission to enter. I didn’t say anything.

Mr Kiely grinned and pushed his cock against my hole. Despite his ministrations to relax my hole, I felt an intense pain as he pushed his cock deep inside me.

I yelled in pain as his cock stretched me beyond my limits. With his cock deep inside me, his balls pressed against my cheeks, he froze. I pulled at my restraints, the pain wanting me to pull away from the invader, causing me agony.

Mr Kiely grabbed my cock and slowly started stroking. He rubbed my exposed, moist knob with his fingertips. I shuddered in pleasure, and my knob oozed precum.

“Anything you want to say?” Mr Kiely said softly as he stroked my cock.

One word, and it would be over. But his cock was now inside me. I had been fucked by a man. Even if I said the word, the fact would not be untrue. A man had put his cock inside my arse.

I panted as my arse relaxed against his cock. It was beginning to feel better, less painful, more pleasurable.

Mr Kiely slowly pulled out until only the head remained. I sighed. Did I really miss the feel of his cock inside me? He pushed back inside, and my face lit up. His cock slid past and over my prostate, which caused my cock to leak.

He started to fuck me, in and out. I felt ecstatic. Is this how a girl felt when I fucked her? I doubt it; her face never showed the intense pleasure that mine now showed. That one word left my mind. I would never say it while this man fucked me. He was taking me to levels I never knew existed. My cock merely bounced and rocked as he fucked. It didn’t need to be touched; if it were, I would blow immediately. Instead, my precum flew in all directions.

Mr Kiely started to fuck me harder and faster. I couldn’t believe it, but he turned up my pleasure dial further than it had been before.

I was groaning, moaning and writhing in the swing. Mr Kiely held my ankles to prevent me from swinging too much and forcing his cock to slip from my hole. He didn’t want it, I didn’t want it.

My cock throbbed. With every stroke, his cock rubbed my prostate. The best part was when my cock slapped against my belly, the touch of skin on cock brought me closer, and his cock inside me, rubbing my prostate, took me over the edge.

My body shuddered like I was having a fit. My cock throbbed, and I came. Mr Kiely kept fucking me, and my cock erupted like a volcano. Cum flew in all directions.

Mr Kiely never let up on pounding my arse, but he did grab my cock as my orgasm faded. He stroked my sensitive knob and extended my feelings. When he knew my cock was totally spent and lifeless, he released it and allowed it to flop against my belly. He gripped the leather that held my ankles and fucked me as hard as he could. I watched as sweat dripped from his brow.

He carried on pounding my arse, and I knew he was about to cum when he held his breath and thrust hard and deep inside me. He gripped my waist to keep my body still. One last deep and hard thrust, and he came inside me. He closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling like he was braying to the moon.

We both relaxed after our intense orgasms. He kept his cock inside me and leaned forward. His face was above mine. We looked at each other, and Mr Kiely closed the gap and kissed me. He pushed his tongue into my mouth.

When he pulled back, we smiled at each other. I said, “Sausage.”

 

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