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“Uh … Dante, s-sir …?”
I peel my eyes off the blank wall ahead of me. In the adjacent room, in clear view, my beautiful muse and lover Tye is tied spread-eagle to my new X-shaped stretch-rack table, tilted at a slight ten-degree angle so his head and arms are lifted up. He looks so gorgeous, no matter what contraption I have him in, no matter what outfit he’s got on that tight, slender, creamy body of his, no matter the damned day of the week.
We are finally doing it. After over a month of working together and creating some of the most striking, devastating photography I’ve ever known, we are finally hitting some success—real success.
“Did it go well?” he asks in the tiniest, sweetest, cutest fucking voice. “The … The phone call?”
He strains a bit to speak. He’s tied so tightly on that table—per his request and demands for me to stretch him more and more, the glutton for punishment he is—that his muscles are no doubt starting to feel the ache. I know Tye can take so much more than this, but I won’t push him too far; it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s cared for first, safe, and secure, no matter what. Sometimes, I’ve learned, deep sexual appetites can be dangerous, and they need as much tempering and painstaking finesse as my damned hours of photography editing work do.
I set my phone down, then saunter over to the table Tye is bound to, placed in the center of my studio where my big leather sling usually hangs. I put myself right between his legs—and his exposed cock and balls—which I know excites him to no end. He is completely at my mercy, with no way to hide himself, no way to stop whatever it is I wish to do to him, as vulnerable as a bug beneath my palm.
Of course he’s nothing like a squishy bug.
And I’m nothing like a cruel, uncaring palm.
The truth is, Tye is always the one in control. The moment he says he’s had too much, he’s freed from whatever predicament I’ve trapped him in. As soon as he shows signs of actual pain, I ease up and ensure he’s alright. It’s only fun when we’re both completely into it.
I glance down at his dick.
It’s rock hard.
Yeah. He’s completely into it. “Do you know who I just spoke to?” I ask him as I stare down at that hard, throbbing dick of his, contemplating whether to give him the delight of my big hand wrapped around it. “Just now? Do you have any idea in that horny, worked-up brain of yours who I just had an enlightening conversation with?”
Tye seems to be wanting his dick touched too much to look at me. “I … I imagine it was someone important …? Mmm …” He bites his lip as his dick jumps, throbbing harder by the second.
“Hey. Eyes up here.”
He flicks his pretty eyes up to mine. “Sir?”
“It’s someone who has the power to make you a worldwide fucking phenomenon.”
All thoughts of horniness vacate Tye’s stunned stare at once. Now it’s Tye who can’t close his lips.
I take hold of his dick right then, the moment he’s least expecting it, dumbfounded by my words. Ah, it’s still very slick from the lube earlier, I’m pleased to discover, my grip on his dick not quite steady, as my fist ever so gently slides up his pulsating shaft half an inch. Tye’s eyes rock back from the slightly pleasurable, exquisite sensation.
“Your favorite red leather harness you so love to wear …” I start.
Tye’s eyes flap open again. “Yeah?”
“And that red rubber wrestling singlet with the black stripes down the side,” I go on. “And the cat o’ nine tails you love playing with. The sling I had hanging in this very spot. Half my wardrobe full of leather. Even the rubber jock you just had on your tight body an hour ago … before I peeled it off of you. What do all of these items have in common?”
It doesn’t take Tye long to produce an answer. “They’re all that, uh … that ‘Bad Bastian’ brand?”
“Bad Bastian,” I confirm with a nod. “And that is, to answer your damned question, precisely the individual with whom I was just speaking.” I give his slick cock another excruciatingly slow, taunting stroke. “Bad Bastian, himself. Or, more specifically: Bastian Kalogeropoulos, but I guess he figured that that’s too much of a mouthful for the average Joe. Anyway, our work promoting Club Copper and Destinies has gotten in front of the right eyes. And it was not lost on said eyes that you were wearing Bad Bastian in nearly every shot.”
Tye, who is doing a rather impressive job of not exploding all over my hand with his long-pent-up sexual frustration, trains his eyes on mine. “You mean … Y-You mean he likes our work?”
