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I clench my fist, still clad in a leather glove to hide the identifying Bernardi Family tattoos across my fingers, and hold it up in front of his face. He always comes to Romeo’s Room perfectly prepped, clean as a whistle, but there’s still a part of me that expected him to at least flinch.
He just looks excited. “Really?” he says. “Romeo, you are a wonder.”
“Blindfold first. I want you to be totally focused on your ass when I break it open.”
He doesn’t even protest as I bind his eyes. Then I strip off my leather gloves and press my fingers into his mouth.
“Wrong end,” he gurgles.
I keep pushing in until he opens his mouth wide, lets me in to the knuckles. I push deeper still, make him gag and squirm, and smile when he lets out a low moan.
“You were right,” I say at last. “Wrong end. Time to open you up.”
His breathing intensifies and a flush of anticipation washes over his chest as I stroke my fingers against his asshole. I kneel down between his widespread thighs on a leather footstool, pulling his cheeks even further apart, and lick hot and flat right over his asshole. I slap his asscheek as he moans. “Ask for it.”
“Do it,” he begs. “Get that tongue inside me.”
I lean in again and press my tongue against his perfect Castellani asshole. The muscles of his ass loosen up as I eat him. The scent of his arousal, a mixture of musky sweat and salty desire, fills my nose, and I’m hard myself, starting to wonder if I could just fuck him in the sling, if that would be enough.
But no. I need to completely humiliate him if this is going to work.
I need to wreck him.
His breaths become shorter and quicker, and when I slip two fingers into him, he cries out with pleasure.
I keep up the rhythm, licking and sucking when I’m not fingering him, and little by little I open him up. His skin is like velvet against my face, and I feel every tiny movement of his ring when I press my tongue into him, his muscles gripping me as I explore further. When I pull away finally, he writhes and jerks, desperate to get back onto my face.
I stand and growl into his ear. “I’m going to make sure you can’t walk tomorrow. Tell me you want my fist in your ass.”
“Yes,” he pants. “I want it. Hurry up.”
I give his cock a few strokes and then I leave him there while I put on black nitrile gloves—“No gloves,” he complains, and I guess he must have heard me putting them on; “Yes gloves,” I tell him—grease up with the thick lube, and press three fingers right into him, deep in, until I hit the sweet spot. He shudders, pushes back against me, begs without words formore.
“That’s it,” I murmur, pressing harder. “Open up for me.”
I move in and out of him, stretching him wider, get all five fingers in, up to the knuckles. He moans, his entire body strung tight—lost in the moment, in the sensations, and if it wasn’t for the camera I’m so hyperaware of, I’d be into this, too. My body responds to it anyway, to the feel of his ass, warm and tight around my hand, to the pants and pleadings that escape those perfect lips.
But when I think about the video, I pause.
“Don’t stop,” Julian complains, lifting up his head as though he can see me. He can’t. I know he can’t; I tested that blindfold myself.
I don’t think I can do this. Not all the way, not the way I planned.
But I’ve done enough. It’s time to reveal myself.
“I want to see your face for this,” I tell him, and I push his blindfold up and off. I leave him there, blinking, as I move away to the sink in the corner, where I strip off the gloves and wash my hands.
“What are you doing?”
I ignore the question. He’ll understand soon enough. I come back, position myself in front of him, and reach behind my head to unzip my mask.
“Oh,” he breathes, as I pull it off. He stares straight back at me, head slightly tilted, taking in my features. “Hello,” he says.
Not a hint of fear.
Not a hint ofrecognition.
I uncuff his ankles, pull apart the sling entirely until he’s hanging by his wrists alone, tiptoes scrabbling on the floor.
