By GratDelay
How dumb did my best friend think I was?
“If it has ‘unfortunate side effects’, why do you think I would let you dose me with it?”
“I mean ‘unfortunate’ like I won’t be getting a bonus this year. It’s just as safe as the other analogs we’ve been testing… well, if you get comfy before you take it.”
“Huh?”
“The lab’s not going to be able to market it. No way the FDA will pass it, and if they did, almost no one would buy it.”
“Dude, I’m really not interested in your company’s bottom line — or your Christmas bonus. Tell me why I should take some un-tested drug from your lab.”
“Oh, it’s tested. That’s how it got cancelled. And it passed all the usual safety trials. It won’t make you sick or elevate your blood pressure like the original peptide. It won’t give you a weird splotchy tan or a tomato-red face. Etcetera etcetera.”
A reward? What did that mean? His hole was hungry? Was he going to finally be able to fuck his Sir for the first time in months? Sir was typically not up for being on the receiving end of anything but a tongue up his ass, but sometimes when the wind blew just right…
I entered the playroom wearing nothing but a tight skimpy Speedo – and an old sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was small and hung above my waist, so the bulge in the front of my speedo was plainly visible below it. I did this because – in my mind – feeling covered above concentrates the sense of vulnerability I feel onto my Speedo below, and on my bare legs…. it makes me feel naked vulnerable and HORNY. I felt the sensation of near nakedness below my covered torso, and this sense of vulnerability was intense because I knew what was in store for me, especially after seeing a spreader bar with clips on either end, hanging from a chain from the ceiling in the center of the darkish room. I had entered the lair of a leather uniform wearing man I know to be a sadist, to whom I had freely admitted I wanted to experience the sense of complete and utter helplessness with, while indulging in my fetish of wearing a skimpy Speedo. I was walking into a trap of my own making.
In Ian’s storage confines he heard the earbuds in his hood turn on, and he knew that SIR was up to something.