face feels hot and he has to rub his hands down the front of his slacks to dry his sweaty palms. "You ... you --"
Master demands, "Say it."

"I'm at work," Stefan whispers. More silence, and beads of sweat break out along the back of his neck just below his hairline. With a furtive look around at the empty office, Stefan whispers, "You sucked me off. Remember?" It's almost a plea.

But warmth floods the voice on the other end of the line, and Stefan sighs with relief. "Ah yes. You. I wondered when you'd call."

"Really?" A silly grin tugs at Stefan's lips but he twists his mouth into a frown to tamp it down. Hoping he sounds suave and nonchalant despite the pounding of his heart, he shrugs and asks, "So, you busy tonight? Or something?"

He expects a coy answer along the lines of, "What do you have in mind?" But Master cuts to the chase. "Tell me what you're wearing."

"Now?" Stefan asks, surprised. "I'm at work."

"If I drop by this evening," Master clarifies, "what'll you have on? Better yet, what will I have to take off to get to that sweet candy ass of yours?"

"I'm ... I --" Stefan stutters, searching for something to say. What on earth will he wear? Anything Master wants, anything at all. Did he honestly say he's coming over tonight? Oh God. Lamely, he whispers, "I don't know."

"Shit." For a moment Stefan thinks he's angry at him, but before he can stumble through an apology Master says, "What's your fetish? Leather, Saran Wrap, what?"

Stefan mumbles, "Latex." He likes the smooth feel of the thin plastic -- wet, slick and molded to his body, or hot against his sweaty skin, unyielding as he strains against it. He likes wetsuits and galoshes and latex gloves that snap into place, the way they feel rubbing along his flesh, the way they smell pressed to his nose. Once he masturbated in the dressing room of a department store while wearing nothing but a raincoat so new, it squeaked every time he moved. Scuba magazines are porn to him -- pictures of men in form-fitting suits that he imagines ripping apart to get at the tender meat inside. He dreams of running in the rain wearing nothing but a slicker, a cold rush of air breezing against his balls as someone unseen chases him. It's a familiar dream, one he's had since middle school, and though he's never been caught, he knows that whoever hunts him down wants to pin him down and fuck him right there in the mud and the rain. He can almost picture the slicker rucked up over his ass and knows just what the rain would feel like running down his pale skin. Whenever he has that dream he wakes up so hard, it only takes one or two good jerks to get him off.

In his ear, Master murmurs, "Latex." The word sounds like a promise in his voice. Before Stefan can reply, Master continues, "This is what I want. You'll be home by what, six?"

"Yes," Stefan says. His voice cracks and he clears his throat to try again. "Six, yes, I'll be there."

"Leave your door unlocked," Master commands, "and put on something -- you have a full body suit, right?"

Stefan has two, both black latex. One has zippers strategically placed for easy access, which he has yet to put to use. The other has seen more wear