Best Gay Bondage Erotica, page 7
The suit fits like a second skin. A long zipper runs from the waist to the raised collar, which Stefan tugs up with relish, enjoying the slow tightening of latex around his body. He smoothes his hands down his chest, savors his own touch through the plastic, cups his throbbing cock and works the latex against his balls. The material glides along his skin easily, frictionless from the baby oil. The tab of a small zipper dangles between Stefan’s legs and he thumbs it open an inch or two, just enough to slip inside and strum his perineum. Grabbing the edge of the sink, he squats a little to finger himself and wonders when Master will arrive.
Master. Reluctantly Stefan zips the suit shut. His hands shake as he washes them in the sink, his entire body humming with the pleasure that radiates from his crotch. He won’t come now, he won’t give in, not yet. Not alone. He heads downstairs then, where he’ll try to think of something other than the stretch and pull of latex across his skin. But each footstep is a spark that ignites his blood, each movement cranks his lust up another notch. He barely makes it down the stairs, gasping as he descends, grabbing at the rail to keep from passing out from sheer ecstasy. At the foot of the stairs he has to catch his breath, the suit is so tight, it pinches him in all the right places, and his whole body aches with the need for release. Somehow he makes it across the living room to the couch. His hands are drawn to the bulge at the front of his suit as if magnetized—he can’t stop touching himself. Again and again he brings himself to the brink of orgasm, but each time he manages to bite it back, hold it in.
Wait for Master, he tells himself. It takes all the strength he has to keep that thought foremost in his mind. It’ll be better together, don’t do it alone, he said not to come, he said to wait… Somehow, incredibly, Stefan forces himself to wait.
Minutes pass, each one an eternity. Stefan sits on his hands as Master told him to, palms down to keep from rubbing his fingers along the crack of his ass. He watches the clock on his VCR and the green numbers blink at him like staring cats. Seven o’clock comes and goes, eight running to catch up behind it, nine looming on the horizon like a death sentence. By nine-thirty every part of him beats in time with his heart. How much longer? Another moment more and he’ll explode.
When the telephone rings in the kitchen, Stefan feels the front of his latex suit dampen with a quick spurt of precum. “Shit!” That was too close. Let it ring, he thinks as one hand absently begins to rub at his crotch, but after several minutes of the insistent noise, a thought occurs to him. Master. Launching himself off the couch, Stefan staggers into the kitchen and answers the phone with a breathless, “Yes?”
In his ear, Master purrs, “Did I set you off?”
“Almost,” Stefan admits. He leans back against the wall, sated just hearing his Master’s rough voice. “Where are you?”
Master counters the question with one of his own. “What if I said I can’t make it tonight?”
Discouragement floods Stefan—he wants arms around him, kisses across his brow, someone else’s fingers in him for once. Is that asking too much? “Why not?” he asks. It sounds like an accusation but he doesn’t care. “I’m waiting—”
“Good boy,” Master says.
“What?” Stefan asks, confused. Then it hits him and he has to ask, “Is this some sort of game to you?” The thought angers him—what if this guy is laughing right now because he got Stefan so worked up just waiting for him to show? “Don’t fuck with me, Master.”
A lengthy silence stretches between them and Stefan fights the urge to apologize. He listens to Master’s breath, tries to imagine what might be going on behind those crystal clear eyes. It seems like forever before Master finally speaks. “This is not a game,” he says, and Stefan believes him. “It’s a test. I’ve met lots of guys who say whatever they think I want them to say just to get fucked, and that’s not what I’m looking for here. I want someone to spoil, Stefan. I want someone to worship, someone to protect. I want someone who wants me, who wants every part of me. Someone who trusts me enough to know that I will never, ever let them go. That sort of relationship isn’t easy to come by.”
“I know,” Stefan whispers. Doesn’t he want those things too? He wants to be spoiled, worshipped, protected. I want that someone you’re talking about to be me.
“So this is a test,” Master says again. “I want to see how far you’ll go for me, how long you’ll wait. I might not show up today, or tomorrow, or two weeks from now. But if you’re as serious as I am about this, then you’ll be ready whenever I come for you. Can you do that, Stefan? Can you wait for me?”
Stefan doesn’t know. He chokes back tears that clog his throat and whimpers, “I’m so close.”
Master tells him, “Wait for me. If you pass the test, Stefan, I promise to make every single one of your dreams come true. But if you fail…”
He trails off and lets Stefan imagine what failure will bring. Another long moment passes, then Master whispers in Stefan’s ear, “Don’t fail me, boy. I want you.”
Stefan leans back against the wall as the phone slips from his nerveless fingers. When he starts to slide down to retrieve it, the latex suit squeezes against his erection with a sweet pain that pounds through him like a toothache and he doesn’t dare squat down any farther just in case he comes all over the place. Pushing away from the wall, he glares at the clock on the wall above the kitchen sink and replays their conversation in his head. Did Master honestly say it’d be two weeks? Dear god, Stefan will die before then. He can picture it already: dead at thirty-two, found wrapped in plastic with a smile on his face and a hard-on to make rigor mortis look limp. Beneath his breath, Stefan mutters, “Two weeks, my ass. I can’t wait that long.”
Behind him, a familiar voice growls in his ear, “Me either.”
Stefan starts to turn but a black hood descends over his head, blinding him. “Master?” he asks, hands fluttering to his neck as the hood tightens beneath his chin. It cuts off all sensation—he can’t see, can’t hear, can barely breathe, and the sudden rush this gives him is like a jolt of adrenaline to his heart. Strong hands grab his wrists and pin them behind his back. Very faintly, Stefan hears the metallic click of handcuffs closing into place and an experimental tug proves that his arms are secured. “Thank you,” he sighs. “Master, thank you. I didn’t think—”
Master interrupts him. “Two rules.” He speaks close to Stefan’s ear to be heard through the hood, his breath hot through the material. Latex, Stefan would recognize this heady vinyl smell anywhere. “One, don’t fight the cuffs. They tighten the more you struggle and I want this to be fun.”
Stefan nods. “Two,” Master continues, stepping around Stefan to face him, “I’m not gagging you for a reason. This is fun for us both, you hear me? And you might be the one trussed up but you call the shots. One word—any word, even if it’s my name, or God’s, or holy fuck yes—and I stop. One word and this all ends. I walk out, it’s over. You got that?”
Again, Stefan nods. Beneath the mask, he clamps his lips tight together. No words. He wants this, he needs it, he’ll never talk again if he has to. Just please, he thinks as the first drop of sweat trickles down his brow. His hands itch to wipe it away but he doesn’t dare move a muscle. Please.
Trailing a finger down the front of Stefan’s suit, Master traces the zipper with one short nail. Lower, his finger outlines Stefan’s cock, then finds the small zipper that closes off his crotch. “What do we have here?” he asks. From the sound of his voice, he’s kneeling in front of Stefan now, god. When he plucks at the zipper behind Stefan’s balls, teasing him, Stefan moans but doesn’t speak. He won’t say a word. He won’t.
That zipper opens slowly, one notch at a time, an excruciating wait. Wisps of cool air sneak beneath the latex to soothe his fevered skin. Another notch, two, and his testicles slip free from the suit. Then the zipper opens a little wider and his tortured cock finally finally escapes the tight confines of its prison. “Hello again,” Master says, playful. He runs his thumb along the bottom of Stefan’s shaft from base to tip and kisses the damp head. Stefan bites his lower lip until he can taste the coppery tinge of blood. His control is slipping, he feels it loosening with the dribble of precum he can’t hold back. Master licks it away. “Not yet. I’ll tell you when.” His hand eases between Stefan’s legs to rub at his latex-sheathed buttocks. “I want in there,” he tells Stefan, tapping against the taut material that separates his finger from Stefan’s quivering hole. “What do you think? Can I come in?”
Stefan clamps his mouth shut, he won’t be tricked, but he gives Master a vigorous nod to show that he wants to let him in. Still, it takes years for Master to stop fondling him and stand. His hands smooth up Stefan’s hips and around his waist, and when they find Stefan’s bound hands, his fingers lace through Stefan’s as Master pulls him into a tight embrace. That hot breath again, matching Stefan’s own; this time it flutters along the face of the hood, tickles the small holes that allow Stefan to breathe, the smell of sex on it like a breath mint. Master presses his mouth to Stefan’s and tongues the latex keeping them apart with an urgency that makes Stefan’s knees buckle. In a harsh whisper, Master asks, “How badly do you want me?”
A wordless cry of frustration tears from Stefan’s throat and Master laughs. “This is a test,” he reminds Stefan, releasing him. One hand trails along Stefan’s shoulder as Master circles to stand behind him. “Remember that. You’re doing well. Good boy.”
Master pets Stefan’s back then moves lower, rubs down between his asscheeks and up again, tantalizing. When he dips along Stefan’s crack a second time, his other hand presses against the small of Stefan’s back, leaning him forward. Stefan complies, his ass now sitting in Master’s firm palm. A thick thumb follows the curve of his butt, feeling through the latex for an entrance, and to himself, Master mutters, “How the hell am I supposed to get in here?”
Stefan has a few ideas, but he doesn’t offer them. With a displeased grunt, Master moves away to rummage through one of the kitchen drawers and Stefan almost stumbles from the sudden lack of support. “Where do you keep the knives?” Master wants to know. Beneath the hood, Stefan closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddery breath. So many questions…testing me, Stefan reminds himself. He hears Master opening drawers, cursing when he can’t find what he’s looking for. You’re here for me, Stefan wants to say. Tear through the suit with your teeth if you have to, just get back to me.
“Aha.” A drawer closes and Stefan waits to be touched. When Master returns, though, he grabs Stefan’s upper arm in a stern fist and pulls him along to another spot in the kitchen. Stefan follows, obedient—what else can he do? He loves this attention, the details, the thought behind each movement. The latex binds him into his own inner world where Master looms as the only reality. His hands are all Stefan can feel; his voice, all Stefan hears. Without sight, his other senses have taken over and he can even sense Master breathing, as if they’re both part of the same beast.
When Master stops, Stefan bumps into him. “Down,” Master commands, the strong hand against Stefan’s back forcing him to bend at the waist until he finds himself facedown on the kitchen table. Booted feet kick his legs apart, spreading them wide. Master rubs at his ass, seeking entry. “Let me at this apple bottom of yours,” he says, stroking between Stefan’s legs. Once or twice the tips of his fingers brush Stefan’s balls and he gasps. Now, he thinks, the word a litany in his mind. Now, take me now, Jesus Master, now! If only he could beg out loud…
Finding a spot he likes, Master pinches the latex and pulls it away from Stefan’s skin. “Hold still,” he cautions. Stefan hears the snip snip of scissors and catches his breath, his mind a whirl of white panic. What—“Trust me.”
The scissors pierce the latex easily. For the briefest moment Stefan feels a cold blade of steel on his heated flesh, then the latex tears enough for Master to throw the scissors aside and work at the material with his hands. The latex splits a bit more, gaping above Stefan’s puckered hole. “There you are,” Master says with a laugh. Stefan laughs too, but the sound dissolves into a sharp intake of breath when Master’s hot tongue licks beneath the latex to taste him. His legs slide wider apart, he sinks into the table, his entire body numbs from desire and lust, and his cock stands tall as Master rims him. “So tender,” he sighs, the words kissed into Stefan’s buttocks. His tongue delves under the latex to touch the base of Stefan’s sac and saliva trickles down in its wake. Soft, maddening, Master’s tongue swabs Stefan’s ass, wetting him, readying him.
Then he stands, his touch gone, and Stefan sobs with need. “Puh—” he starts, please, but he catches himself in time and bites back the rest. Please. He hears a belt buckle hit the floor and a second later, the cool tip of a huge cock pokes his ass. His sphincter contracts, his muscles work to draw Master in, but he’s no longer in charge here. Master holds off, probably enjoying the sight of a half-hidden ass flexing beneath his dick, who knows? Time stops, folds in on itself, turns back, and Stefan’s crying now, hot tears burn the hood that blinds him, please. When one finger finally eases inside him, he lets out an angry scream like a spoiled child. NOW!
Finally Master eases his thick cock into Stefan. “Shh,” he murmurs, rubbing Stefan’s back with one hand as he glides inside. His other hand finds Stefan’s dick and blunt fingers roll off the cock ring that holds him back. “There you go. How’s that feel?” Released, Thank you, Stefan mouths silently. He thrusts into Master’s fist, finding a rhythm that matches Master’s own slow fuck. He’s earth-shattering, this man—he drives into Stefan all the way to the base of his shaft, holds the position a moment or two, long enough to send bursts of pleasure shattering through Stefan like a million shards of glass, then pulls out until the head of his cock almost slips free. In again, harder, the wait a little longer, then the mind-bending slow draw back out. In, out, a steady pace. Stefan comes immediately, slicking Master’s hand with his juices, and lets himself be coaxed to a second climax. He gasps with each entry, sucking in the latex that covers his mouth until the inside of the hood is slick with sweat and spit, and it presses against his face with a hot dampness. He moans with desire, his throat thick with lust, but he doesn’t dare say a word because he never, ever wants this to end.
Sometime later, Master loosens the hood and pulls it up over the bridge of Stefan’s nose. Fresh air floods his senses, stunning him. Then warm lips cover his in a tender kiss. “You can speak now,” Master murmurs against his mouth. “You passed the test.”
Stefan gulps in Master’s breath. It takes a second or two for him to find something, anything, to say. When he can, he asks, “What’s that mean?”
“You’re mine.”
Another kiss, just as loving as the first. Master licks Stefan’s lips before parting them, seeking his tongue. Stefan pours everything he has into the kiss, the only touch he feels—everything from his waist down is overstimulated and buzzes with a faint numbness. Even his shoulders have lost all sensation, and he no longer feels the handcuffs on his wrists. His fingers could have fallen off for all he knows. Never has he felt this hollow, this empty, this used. Like a well-worn tool, or a favorite toy. Master rubs the back of his neck, kisses him hungrily, whispers that he’s been a good boy, he’s done well. Stefan melts beneath the touch.
When the hood finally comes all the way off, Stefan has to blink back the stark light that blinds him. Both hands on the clock on the wall point at the twelve but that means nothing to him. Midnight, noon? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Master helps him stand, then turns Stefan around to face him. Disappointment stabs through him when he notices Master is fully dressed in a long-sleeved black latex shirt and pants so tight, they look painted on. If his ass didn’t throb from Master’s earlier ministrations, Stefan could almost believe the man just arrived. In a petulant voice, he asks, “You’re going?”
“I don’t want to,” Master concedes. His long blond hair is tied at his nape, just the way Stefan remembers it, and even in the bright kitchen light, his eyes are as clear as glass. Picking at the zipper pull under Stefan’s chin, Master asks, “Can you handle more?” Stefan nods quickly, yes. Fuck the hour, and fuck work tomorrow, as long as this man fucks him again, and again, and again. A small smile curves Master’s thin lips. “How about a little game?”
“Sure,” Stefan agrees, eager to please.
Master’s hand drifts down Stefan’s chest, his gaze following. “There’s only one key to those cuffs,” Master tells him. “I have it on me. Somewhere. To play the game, you must undress me first, then probe around until you find it.” Stefan grins as Master adds, “Using only your mouth, your tongue, and your teeth.”
