they think I want them to say just to get fucked, and that's not what I'm looking for here. I want someone to spoil, Stefan. I want someone to worship, someone to protect. I want someone who wants me, who wants every part of me. Someone who trusts me enough to know that I will never, ever let them go. That sort of relationship isn't easy to come by."

"I know," Stefan whispers. Doesn't he want those things too? He wants to be spoiled, worshipped, protected. I want that someone you're talking about to be me.

"So this is a test," Master says again. "I want to see how far you'll go for me, how long you'll wait. I might not show up today, or tomorrow, or two weeks from now. But if you're as serious as I am about this, then you'll be ready whenever I come for you. Can you do that, Stefan? Can you wait for me?"

Stefan doesn't know. He chokes back tears that clog his throat and whimpers, "I'm so close."

Master tells him, "Wait for me. If you pass the test, Stefan, I promise to make every single one of your dreams come true. But if you fail ..."

He trails off and lets Stefan imagine what failure will bring. Another long moment passes, then Master whispers in Stefan's ear, "Don't fail me, boy. I want you."
****

Stefan leans back against the wall as the phone slips from his nerveless fingers. When he starts to slide down to retrieve it, the latex suit squeezes against his erection with a sweet pain that pounds through him like a toothache and he doesn't dare squat down any farther just in case he comes all over the place. Pushing away from the wall, he glares at the clock on the wall above the kitchen sink and replays their conversation in his head. Did Master honestly say it'd be two weeks? Dear God, Stefan will die before then. He can picture it already: dead at thirty-two, found wrapped in plastic with a smile on his face and a hard-on to make rigor mortis look limp. Beneath his breath, Stefan mutters, "Two weeks, my ass. I can't wait that long."

Behind him, a familiar voice growls in his ear, "Me either."

Stefan starts to turn but a black hood descends over his head, blinding him. "Master?" he asks, hands fluttering to his neck as the hood tightens beneath his chin. It cuts off all sensation -- he can't see, can't hear, can't barely breathe, and the sudden rush this gives him is like a jolt of adrenaline to his heart. Strong hands grab his wrists and pin them behind his back. Very faintly, Stefan hears the metallic click of handcuffs closing into place and an experimental tug proves that his arms are secured. "Thank you," he sighs. "Master, thank you. I didn't think --"

Master interrupts him. "Two rules." He speaks close to Stefan's ear to be heard through the hood, his breath hot through the material. Latex, Stefan would recognize this heady vinyl smell anywhere. "One, don't fight the cuffs. They tighten the more you struggle and I want this to be fun."

Stefan nods. "Two," Master continues, stepping around Stefan to face him, "I'm not gagging you for a reason. This is fun for us both, you hear me? And you might be the one trussed up but you call the shots. One word -- any word, even if it's my name, or God's, or holy