Intricately secured by ropes, locked in handcuffs, or bound simply by a lover's command, these dangerously explicit stories of restraint will grab you, tie you down, and never let you go. From professionals letting loose their inhibitions on an office retreat to a garden full of earthy 'bound' delights, this cornucopia of kink shows men put in their place and then held there firmly. Edited by Richard Labonte.
Contains my story, Mastering Stefan. Stefan meets the man of his dreams at a local gay bar's fetish night, but can he pass Master's test and prove himself worthy of such a man?
215 pages | BUY AT JMS BOOKS :: UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK :: AMAZON
EXCERPT:
From Mastering Stefan:
"If I drop by this evening," Master clarifies, "what'll you have on? Better yet, what will I have to take off to get to that sweet candy ass of yours?"
"I'm ... I --" Stefan stutters, searching for something to say. What on earth will he wear? Anything Master wants, anything at all. Did he honestly say he's coming over tonight? Oh God. Lamely, he whispers, "I don't know."
"Shit." For a moment Stefan thinks he's angry at him, but before he can stumble through an apology Master says, "What's your fetish? Leather, Saran Wrap, what?"
Stefan mumbles, "Latex." He likes the smooth feel of the thin plastic -- wet, slick and molded to his body, or hot against his sweaty skin, unyielding as he strains against it. He likes wetsuits and galoshes and latex gloves that snap into place, the way they feel rubbing along his flesh, the way they smell pressed to his nose. Once he masturbated in the dressing room of a department store while wearing nothing but a raincoat so new, it squeaked every time he moved. Scuba magazines are porn to him -- pictures of men in form-fitting suits that he imagines ripping apart to get at the tender meat inside. He dreams of running in the rain wearing nothing but a slicker, a cold rush of air breezing against his balls as someone unseen chases him. It's a familiar dream, one he's had since middle school, and though he's never been caught, he knows that whoever hunts him down wants to pin him down and fuck him right there in the mud and the rain. He can almost picture the slicker rucked up over his ass and knows just what the rain would feel like running down his pale skin. Whenever he has that dream he wakes up so hard, it only takes one or two good jerks to get him off.
In his ear, Master murmurs, "Latex." The word sounds like a promise in his voice. Before Stefan can reply, Master continues, "This is what I want. You'll be home by what, six?"
"Yes," Stefan says. His voice cracks and he clears his throat to try again. "Six, yes, I'll be there."
"Leave your door unlocked," Master commands, "and put on something -- you have a full body suit, right?"
Stefan has two, both black latex. One has zippers strategically placed for easy access, which he has yet to put to use. The other has seen more wear -- he's modified it himself, adding a rubber cock sheath that juts from the front like a handle and a tiny ball sewn into the butt to press between his buttocks. That's his solo suit, the one he puts on when it's just him and his hand, and unfortunately that's all too often. He likes to put it on and sit in the bathtub, the shower pounding down around him as he massages his cock through the sheath and grinds his hips back against the spigot to work that little ball around and around his asshole. "I have things to wear," he admits.
"Get dressed, then," Master tells him, "with me in mind. This is the important part now -- you can't get off before I get there, you hear me? Sit on your hands if you have to but keep them out of your ass and away from your cock. You understand?"
"Yes," Stefan breathes. "Yes sir."
"What's my card say?" Master prompts.
Stefan raises the business card to his nose and can still smell his own spunk lingering on the paper. "Yes, Master."
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