I haven’t pre-gamed in years, but with the erotic dreams that assaulted me this morning and the self-restraint needed for my new boy, there’s simply no question. As the shower works its warmth into my muscles, my thoughts drift to dance-floor Dane. I imagine myself behind the lithe body, warmed by his heat, pressing my erection into his ass as his hips grind and sway. Slippery with sweat, ripe with exertion and musk, we move as one, lost in the lights and the beat. Growing desperate for the slide of skin against skin, I fold him forward and yank down his pants, grabbing those plump cheeks, opening him for me, readying him with my fingers even as I force my own clothes aside.
My cock in hand, hard and eager meet tight and hot . . . slapping, pounding, gyrating, slamming . . . fuck! My release hits hard and fast, with groans echoing off the tiles as ribbons of cum slip through my fingers. This young boy is either the best or the worst thing that’s happened to me. I’m almost afraid to find out which.
I choose my outfit with great care. Dane needs a master to respect and serve, not one to fear. Commanding, not intimidating, is my goal. Though I rarely wear underwear in scene, I won’t risk spooking the boy today. Pulling on black cargo pants and fastening the belt, I catch my reflection. It’s not exactly a pleasing sight.
I work out, keeping my whipping arm sharp and my upper body strong; I squat and thrust, because what kind of a lover would I be without those moves? But I may have added an extra cocktail or two to my weeknight routine, may have allowed the dreaded carbs to sneak back into my diet, and may not have paid as much attention as I should to how I might look without clothes on through the eyes of a much younger man whose singular pleasure is cock worship—and my cock stirs.
With a heavy sigh and a pledge to lay off the bad stuff, I pull on one of my numerous plain black t-shirts. Finishing the uniform off with simple black boots ought to do the job. I brush my teeth again—like a nervous teenager—and pass the comb through my silver hair.
“You are an old fart, you know that?”
I actually stick my tongue out at my reflection to punctuate my disgust.
The doorbell rings, and all inadequacies and insecurities are filed away for another time—the Master can allow himself no such luxury. By the time I reach my front door, I am fully in control of all my emotions, ready to master the boy who stands on the other side.
Opening the door to the puddle of nerves standing on my stoop, I reaffirm my vow to be my best self, for both our sakes. Dane’s anxious brown eyes catch mine only for an instant before he hides them away. He seems to have a “Sir” on his tongue but gives up before it is spoken.
“Good to see you, Dane.” I offer my hand in a gesture of friendship and respect. Protocol would insist that he not refuse me, but I’m well aware that he might be reluctant. There’s a beat before he shakes my hand, and though his eyes don’t participate, it’s a good start. “Come in, please,” I urge, opening the door wide and moving out of his path.
Dane steps through the doorway and assumes a submissive’s pose: eyes down, hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly spread.
“You may hang your coat up in the closet—when you’re ready.”
Despite my intention, he takes my suggestion as a command, immediately peeling off his down coat. I take in his graceful gait as he moves to the closet and right back to his pose. I step close enough that he can see my boots, but I refrain from touching him.
“Your clothing choices please me. Are you comfortable?”
He nods and I take in his “dance rehearsal casual” outfit: white tank top, black stretch pants, and black sneakers.
I long to make him do a slow turn for me, stopping halfway so I can take my time studying his well-toned ass, but that’s a move to use on a sub who needs to be shown his place, and Dane is not that man.
I itch to trace the contours of his narrow but muscular shoulders, to brush my fingertips over his firm abs, to explore the bulge in his pants, but I will wait for the right time. Instead, I tuck my hands deep into my front pockets so Dane can see I will not take what is not yet mine.
“Two things before we get started, Dane. First, I’d like you to speak freely with me unless you’re commanded otherwise. I realize I’m asking for something you’re not accustomed to giving, so I’ll be patient, but I need to get to know you—no, let me fix that; I want to get to know you. Will you try?”
Dane nods, then answers with a soft but unmistakable, “Yes, Sir.”
Elation threatens my restraint. My fingers curl into the pocket lining, fighting for a stronghold like a cat digging his claws into the edge of a cliff to keep from going over.
“Well done,” I manage, hoping he can take the genuine compliment without feeling patronized. “As for ‘thing number two,’ I need to see your eyes, and I want you to see mine.”
His lips flatten into a determined line before he lifts his gaze. The poor guy looks pained. I want to ruffle his hair and tease him about how hard it must be to look into my ugly face. Instead, I hold stock still and smile. “Thank you.”
He blinks a few times, clears his throat, and nods.
“It’ll get easier,” I promise.
We have some serious work to do.
GAH! These two! Now, about that SERIOUS work . . . don’t you think they should get started right away? Love you guys for loving my guys, and I love my amazing team for all kinds of help. Jean, Jayme, Sue, and Meredith, you put the cherry on my hot fudge sundae!