GENRE: Gay BDSM Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 6,360 words
RATING:

CEO of a large, family-owned business, and with both parents involved in state politics, Ian prefers to keep his private life private. Especially since home is the place where he indulges in his deepest, darkest desires, and lives out his fantasies with his husband.

Taren, investigator with the state police and known for his forceful character, is a perfect match for Ian. He knows exactly what he wants, and being Ian’s Master at home, behind closed doors, is most certainly it.

Outwardly, Taren and Ian look like any other happily married, upper middle-class working couple. So far, they’ve kept their life at home private, but now Taren is planning a special trip for their anniversary. Not knowing any details, how prepared is Ian to let Taren fulfill his dark desires away from home?

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Their bedroom was originally two rooms, but they’d knocked a wall out to create the perfect play space. One end was a traditional bedroom, bed, dressers, night tables. What wasn’t traditional was their bed was fitted with restraints and a heavy duty, iron canopy style bedframe, sans a canopy, with a few modifications and capable of supporting Ian’s weight. Built-in drawers underneath stored a variety of spreader bars, cuffs, whips, gags and floggers among other things. The cock cages, butt plugs, nipple clamps, sounding bars and a variety of lubes were in the top drawer of one of the dressers. On the other side of the room was housed an adjustable Saint Andrews cross. Beside that was a floor to ceiling wardrobe with mirrored doors. Several of their ‘special’ outfits they’d wear to clubs hung inside.

Would he be strapped to the cross, wriggling under Taren’s flogger? Or perhaps tied spread eagle on the bed begging for release while Taren teased him right to the edge but never let him tumble over? An electric wand, hot wax, ruined orgasms -- none of them considered off limits by Ian.

Ian’s belly tightened and his breath quickened.

His phone chiming made him jump. “Sir,” was all Ian said.

“Are you prepared for me?”

“I’ve only been home a few minutes. I barely made it home before five, sir,” Ian confessed and Taren chuckled. Ian continued, “So, still working on it, sir. I just got out of the shower.”

“In that case I’ll enjoy prepping you myself. I’m about five minutes away. Get an ice pack and wait by the door for me.” Taren disconnected before Ian could respond.

Ian smiled and shivered as he hurried to the kitchen. Taren was pleased and that was the greatest thrill of all for Ian. The thin, leather strap still rested above Ian's hips. It attached to another strap that hooked under his navel, went between his legs, and tucked into his ass crack holding the butt plug he wore in place. The leather was well oiled, so waterproof. He could wear it in the shower, and anywhere. The buckle keeping it cinched tight was held closed by a small padlock. Taren had the key. The lock, and strap didn’t come off unless Taren took it off. As with the door, Ian had a spare key in case of emergencies, but he’d never had cause to use that key. Ian’s cock wasn’t caged during the day but tucked into a leather cod-piece. That had come off during his shower, but that didn’t mean Ian was allowed to touch himself, even to wash.

Any touching of himself was strictly regulated by Taren. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t felt his own fingers brush against his sensitized cock and balls while he showered, his cock wasn’t completely hard, but full enough. The hair between his legs, dark as that on top his head, was moist and curly. He used two fingers to reposition his cock, closing his eyes and taking a few seconds to appreciate the brief touch of his fingertips against the smooth skin covering his shaft. Swallowing slowly and licking his lips, Ian carefully cinched the cod piece into place. His touch was minimal and this was the only time it was permitted. His fingertips were still moist and didn’t slide easily over the length of his cock. That slight bit of catch sent a tendril of excitement zinging through his groin.

Ian knelt on the floor a few feet from the door, knees wide apart, causing his groin hair to alternately pull and tickle. The feelings were delightful mini bits of pleasure pain, hints of what was to come later. He shoved the ice pack down the cod-piece and pressed it firmly to his groin, gasping and wheezing for a few seconds. His Master’s words told Ian he required Ian to be soft and this was one sure way to accomplish that goal. Ian was nearly giddy with anticipation. A milking or over stimulation might be in Ian’s immediate future. Certainly, some sort of sounding bar was on the menu for tonight, otherwise Ian wouldn’t need to be completely limp when Taren arrived.

He quivered and not from the cold between his legs.