Originally published online at Tit-Elation.com. 2nd Place winner in Tit-Elation's 2006 "Please the Baroness" BDSM/Latex Fetish contest and first gay fiction story to appear in their online journal.

Mastering Stefan
By J.M. Snyder

Three years and Stefan's yet to find that certain someone who can take him to the precipice of lust, dangle him over the abyss, and shove him headlong into the darkness of his own desire. Someone who drives him to the edge but won't let him fall. Someone he can trust completely, body and soul, someone he can lose himself in. When a local gay bar called the Code hosts a Fetish Night, Stefan goes looking to be conquered.

August in Richmond is sweltering -- even at quarter to midnight, the air is sticky like a wet rag and the humidity takes Stefan's breath away. He settles for a black latex vest, no undershirt, and a pair of bright blue latex boy-shorts so tight, Daisy Duke would be jealous. The shorts make his buttocks look like two round rubber balls, high and tight, and the outline of his cock bulges along the top of his upper left thigh. The vest, tapering to twin points just above his narrow waist, only accentuates both assets.

But when he enters the bar, he's just one more body in the crowded sea that undulates over the dance floor. Music pounds around him like the surf, washing him up to the bar with the rest of the driftwood. He orders a White Russian, his first mistake. Then he eases onto a vacant stool, his second. Just to wait for the drink, he reasons, but sitting at the bar in a place like this is social suicide. After his next Russian, Stefan stops trying to make eye contact with anyone other than the bartender. By his third, he thinks this party is a bust.

He stays, if only because the night is young and the drinks are cheap. Between refills he swivels around in the stool, leans back against the bar, surveys the room around him. In the dim lighting, the bodies meld into one, a primordial animal that gyrates obscenely in time to the music as if masturbating to the beat. The thought turns Stefan on. He has to slide down a little to ease the chafe in his shorts -- his dick tries to swell beneath the latex but the shorts won't give an inch, and the restriction only makes him harder. He shifts his package a bit, rearrange the goods, until the swollen tip of his cock ends dangerously close to the bottom hem of the shorts. As he presses against the stiff length, his eyes slip shut at the sweet ache that blossoms in him. And no one to share it with, he thinks.

As he turns back for his drink, a shadow detaches itself from the dance floor, heading his way. When Stefan spares a glance over one shoulder, the stranger takes that as an invitation and sidles up next to him at the bar. The guy is a few years older than Stefan, early forties at the most, with long blonde hair tied back from his face with a thin leather strap at the nape of his neck. The arm closest to Stefan bulges with strength, the skin rough and ruddy from long exposure to the sun. Raising his glass, Stefan gives the stranger a drunken grin and has to shout over the crowd to be heard. "Hey."

A hand falls to Stefan's thigh, large fingers