him, he lets out an angry scream like a spoiled child. NOW!

Finally Master eases his thick cock into Stefan. "Shh," he murmurs, rubbing Stefan's back with one hand as he glides inside. His other hand finds Stefan's dick and blunt fingers roll off the cock ring that holds him back. "There you go. How's that feel?" Released, thank you, Stefan mouths silently. He thrusts into Master's fist, finding a rhythm that matches Master's own slow fuck. He's earth-shattering, this man -- he drives into Stefan all the way to the base of his shaft, holds the position a moment or two, long enough to send bursts of pleasure shattering through Stefan like a million shards of glass, then pulls out until the head of his cock almost slips free. In again, harder, the wait a little longer, then the mind-bending slow draw back out. In, out, a steady pace. Stefan comes immediately, slicking Master's hand with his juices, and lets himself be coaxed to a second climax. He gasps with each entry, sucking in the latex that covers his mouth until the inside of the hood is slick with sweat and spit, it presses against his face with a hot dampness. He moans with desire, his throat thick with lust, but he doesn't dare say a word because he never, ever wants this to end.
****

Some time later, Master loosens the hood and pulls it up over the bridge of Stefan's nose. Fresh air floods his senses, stunning him. Then warm lips cover his in a tender kiss. "You can speak now," Master murmurs against his mouth. "You passed the test."

Stefan gulps in Master's breath. It takes a second or two for him to find something, anything, to say. When he can, he asks, "What's that mean?"
"You're mine."

Another kiss, just as loving as the first. Master licks Stefan's lips before parting them, seeking his tongue. Stefan pours everything he has into the kiss, the only touch he feels -- everything from his waist down is over-stimulated and buzzes with a faint numbness. Even his shoulders have lost all sensation, and he no longer feels the handcuffs. His fingers could have fallen off for all he knows. Never has he felt this hollow, this empty, this used. Like a well-worn tool, or a favorite toy. Master rubs the back of his neck, kisses him hungrily, whispers that he's been a good boy, he's done well. Stefan melts beneath the touch.

When the hood finally comes all the way off, Stefan has to blink back the stark light that blinds him. Both hands on the clock on the wall point at the twelve but that means nothing to him. Midnight, noon? He doesn't know, doesn't care. Master helps him stand, then turns Stefan around to face him. Disappointment stabs through him when he notices Master is fully dressed in a long-sleeved black latex shirt and pants so tight, they look painted on. If his ass didn't throb from Master's earlier ministrations, Stefan could almost believe the man just arrived. In a petulant voice, he asks, "You're going?"

"I don't want to," Master concedes. His long blonde hair is tied at his nape, just the way Stefan remembers it, and even in the bright kitchen light, his eyes are as clear as glass. Picking at the zipper pull under Stefan's chin, Master asks, "Can you handle more?" Stefan nods quickly, yes. Fuck the hour, and fuck work tomorrow, as long as this man fucks him again, and again, and again. A small