tender spot just below his slit and sucks until Stefan comes with an explosive orgasm that threatens to rip him asunder.

Stefan bucks up off the stool, his hand knocking aside the untouched Russian waiting for him, and white liqueur splatters the bar like the load he shoots into the stranger's willing throat. As he stands, Stefan sighs, "Please." His hand trails down the guy's arm, catches for a moment in those strong fingers, then falls to his lap, spent. Take me home, he wants to say, his mind filled with images of the two of them entwined together in someone's bed, but he can't seem to remember how to put those thoughts into words so he just murmurs again, "Please."

The stranger pulls something from his back pocket -- a business card. Tenderly he lifts Stefan's now-limp member and slides the card into the sticky wetness between Stefan's cock and thigh. Then he rolls the latex down again to cover the too-tender tip of Stefan's dick. The paper feels like cardboard shoved into his shorts.

Then the guy fades back into the crowd. No words, not even a name. Stefan reaches for the White Russian, needing a drink, only to find ice cubes melting on the bar.
****

It takes him half a week to work up the courage to call the number on the card. He dials it from work, waiting until the office empties out at lunchtime to pick up the phone. The first try, he hits a six instead of a two and has to start again. The second try rings once, twice, three times before Stefan thinks he hears someone in another cubicle and lets the phone slip back into the cradle. He stands, stretches, looks around but he's just hearing things -- he's alone. This time he dials quickly before he can lose his nerve, but someone answers on the first ring and startles him speechless. "What is it?" a gruff voice asks. If Stefan had to give a sound to the nameless stranger from the Code, this would be it.

Beneath his desk, Stefan shuffles his feet together like a nervous teenager. "Um, hi," he starts, then remembers he's at work and lowers his voice. He glances at the business card again but only sees the number he's dialed and the word Master beneath it. The fact that it's spelled out in black and white stirs his blood. Unsure of how to begin, Stefan admits, "I got your card."

"Did I give it to you?" the voice wants to know. Master, Stefan thinks, mouthing the word to try it on for size. "Or did someone else pass it along? Because I'm very select in who I give this number to and if you didn't get it from me, hang up."

"No," Stefan hurries to explain, "I got it from you. At least I think so. Saturday night, at the Code?" His words are met with a stony silence so loud, it hurts Stefan's ears. "I was at the bar. Getting a drink? And you ... I don't know, you came up to me and just sort of ..."
He trails off. "Sort of what?" Master prompts.

Stefan lowers his voice. "I had on these shorts. Made out of latex?"

"Are you asking or telling me?" Master wants to know.

"Blue shorts." Stefan remembers how he had to peel them off when he got home, digging the latex out of his ass after that blowjob. "You rolled back the leg and then ..." His