-- he's modified it himself, adding a rubber cock sheath that juts from the front like a handle and a tiny ball sewn into the butt to press between his buttocks. That's his solo suit, the one he puts on when it's just him and his hand, and unfortunately that's all too often. He likes to put it on and sit in the bathtub, the shower pounding down around him as he massages his cock through the sheath and grinds his hips back against the spigot to work that little ball around and around his asshole. "I have things to wear," he admits.

"Get dressed, then," Master tells him, "with me in mind. This is the important part now -- you can't get off before I get there, you hear me? Sit on your hands if you have to but keep them out of your ass and away from your cock. You understand?"
"Yes," Stefan breathes. "Yes sir."
"What's my card say?" Master prompts.

Stefan raises the business card to his nose and can still smell his own spunk lingering on the paper. "Yes Master."
****

Per Master's instructions, Stefan doesn't lock the front door to his townhouse when he comes home from work. His is a quiet neighborhood, no one will enter, but it turns him on to strip down to his underwear in the foyer knowing that someone could walk in on him. Kicking his clothes aside, he takes the steps two at a time to the bedroom, where he peels off his underwear and snags the zippered latex suit from his closet. He's hard already just thinking about wearing it, but he wants to prolong the anticipation, do things right. Into the bathroom then, where he leaves the door open just in case Master comes in and hears the shower running. Stefan takes his time, lathering his cock and balls and ass, slipping one finger inside him and gasping at the sting of soap on hidden flesh. By the time he cuts off the water, his dick is tender to the touch but he promised he wouldn't get off until Master arrives and it's all he can do to hold back. He empties half a bottle of baby oil into his palms, rubs it over his nipples and chest, down his belly, slathering his erection and balls and the trembling skin between his legs. There's a cock ring he keeps stretched around a hairbrush; he rolls it off and slides it down into place against the base of his shaft, to help him stay hard without blowing his wad. More baby oil on his buttocks, lifting and spreading them apart to coat the cleft between them, then he steps into the suit and begins to zip it into place.

The suit fits like a second skin. A long zipper runs from the waist to the raised collar, which Stefan tugs up with relish, enjoying the slow tightening of latex around his body. He smoothes his hands down his chest, savors his own touch through the plastic, cups his throbbing cock and works the latex against his balls. The material glides along his skin easily, frictionless from the baby oil. The tab of a small zipper dangles between Stefan's legs and he thumbs it open an inch or two, just enough to slip inside and strum his perineum. Grabbing the edge of the sink, he squats a little to finger himself and wonders when Master will arrive.

Master. Reluctantly Stefan zips the suit shut. His hands shake as he washes them in the