Henri
Inever claimed to be a good man or an honorable one. The men I loved were young when I’d met them, and I molded them to my own desires. It was what I needed, being as obdurate as I was. I trained them like vines. I was their structure, and under my steady hand, they flourished.
But my lovers had another thing in common, an iron core that was completely immutable on certain things. A conviction that could bring me to my knees. One I couldn’t bend or even influence. And when confronted with that strength of spirit, I admit that I faltered. I reverted to the arena I knew best—physical domination. I might not be able to compel you to obey me or even tell me the truth, but I could submit you to my sexual demands.
And some part of me was restored when I saw you bound, wrists to ankles, on our bed.
“Henri,” you groaned, eyes imploring me where I sat a few paces away, drinking a glass of wine, watching you struggle.
“Yes, Vincent?”
“How long are you going to make me wait?”
It had been nearly an hour already. At first, you’d been sweetly submissive, as if the restraints were your idea, but you were growing restless, as impatient as ever.
“As long as I want.”
You couldn’t touch yourself, couldn’t even slide against the bed sheets for that much sought-after friction, could only kneel with your rear in the air, utterly exposed, cheek pressed to the mattress. And wait.
“You’re being mean,” you sulked. Beneath your bent body, your cock strained, so stiff that I could see your blushing glans peeking out of your foreskin and dripping obscenely. We’d gone slowly with the restraints, for I didn’t want to conjure any bad memories. But I also knew how much you appreciated my undivided attention, and you had it.
“How does it feel, having no control of your movement?” I asked.
Your eyebrows dipped and you glared at me, realizing my little tit-for-tat. “You’re supposed to the adult here.”
“Perhaps I should gag you too. Make it so that you can’t even utter my name.”
“Henri, come on. I won’t do it again.”
“Yes, you will.”
Your mouth clamped shut. Of course, you would. I had no illusions about it. I grabbed another length of rope, soft as satin, and measured it for your mouth. “Open,” I said.
“I’d rather suck your dick than that rope,” you snapped.
“You can stop this at any time,” I reminded you, for I didn’t want to take advantage.
“No,” you said lowly, your new favorite word.
“Then open your mouth.” You obeyed me at last and I fixed the rope so that it anchored your jaw like a horse’s bit, knowing you could chew through it if you really wanted. I looped the rope around your neck before knotting it tightly at your nape. The sound of you trying to growl out my name was soothing to my spirit.
I inspected your ass then, my reward for putting up with your insolence. My handprint was still evident from where I’d spanked you, though the redness was swiftly fading. I placed my rough hand against your smooth, satiny skin, matching my fingers to the welt, warm to the touch. Perhaps I was more of a sadist than I thought, because I’d enjoyed hurting you that little bit, and even now, I liked seeing the evidence of my hands on your skin.
I smacked you again with a little more bite. You jumped and mewled through your gag, then arched backward as though asking for more. I should have figured you’d enjoy it.
“Does that excite you?” You moaned in assent. “Then I’m not doing it anymore.”
You twisted just enough to glare at me while I oiled my hands, getting them good and slick. I kneaded your glutes, then reached between your legs and stroked your swollen cock. My hand moved torturously slow, sliding back on your foreskin without rubbing over the ridge of your head, meting out pleasure and thoroughly frustrating you. You tossed your head like a stallion, so I placed my palm at the base of your skull and guided it back into the mattress. You’d made me your master, for these few hours at least, and I intended to make the most of it.
“How does it feel, Vincent?” I said as I caressed you, debating on whether or not to bind your genitals as well and really make you suffer.
“Ennnreee,” you groaned as your hands curled into fists.
“How does it feel to have your basest desires thwarted? To be robbed of your agency?”
You whimpered and called me names while I began the rewarding task of coaxing you open. Fingers, lips, and tongue worked in concert to unravel that lovely knot. Your noises were broken as you shuddered and shook on the bed. Blood rushed to your genitals, throbbing in my hands, so very tempting. I nipped at your pebbled scrotum, then laved it tenderly with my tongue. Your voice hitched as you clenched so deliciously around my fingers.
“Pleeease,” you begged.
