GENRE: Gay BDSM Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 11,051 words
Who is the master and who is the slave?
Fugue takes the brave reader into the dungeon playroom of a master and his boy. It's the kind of place where darkness skitters into corners, hiding in shadows where the walls disappear. A boy is chained to the pipes along the ceiling. Hooded, he can only experience the sensations his master delivers with his whips, fingers, tongue ...
But in the boy's mind, a dream state takes him places even the master can’t imagine, places where the established pecking order is flipped upside down. As he's being whipped, tantalized, and tortured, the boy takes a mental journey on a late-night train where his adventures are even more raw and erotic than what goes on in this very dungeon.
Come along for the Fugue and answer for yourself the question: who is the master and who is the slave?
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.
I feel the warmth of the candle’s flame as my master nears me, moving the flame close to my genitals, then away again, teasing. I suck in my breath sharply (even through the leather hood). I know what’s coming. I pull in my stomach muscles, in delirious anticipation, tensing, waiting.
The first drip of hot candle wax lands at the root of my cock, a bite of searing heat that settles into a wonderful, surrounding warmth, tingling. Another drop, then another, until at last, a big blob of hot wax splashes on the ultra-sensitive head of my dick. I see stars. The heat on the nerve-rich flesh is almost unbearable, and I sway in the air, testing the bonds that hold me to the pipes in the ceiling. My arms have begun to ache from being suspended like this, and I can only think of how grateful I am for this reminder of my master’s love and for my being alive just to feel his attentions.
My entire dick is now encased in hot and rapidly hardening wax.
“Very good, boy. Very good.”
I listen as my master moves about, imagining him setting the thick pillar candle down on the table he has prepared for our evening of play. I can see him in my mind’s eye: the grizzled, hard manliness of him, and can think of only one word: love.
“You have been so good, I think you now deserve a small reward.”