By Atlanta Stud
The next morning Dan started whipping up a large batch of scrambled eggs, toast, juice and coffee when a shirtless Nick walked into the kitchen wearing his cargo shorts and black no-show socks. That was the first time Dan had seen Nick shirtless and was impressed with his muscular shoulders and traps and his muscular hairy chest, which he kept neatly trimmed.
“Damn that’s smells great and I’m hungry as hell!” Nick said. “We still hitting the weights after breakfast?”
“Sure thing if you’re up for it,” Dan responded.
“Definitely! Only thing, I forgot my gym bag at my ‘shoebox’ as you call it. Mind if I borrow some shorts and a shirt?” Nick asked.
“No prob. Got a drawer full of workout gear. Go find something while I finish making the eggs. Bottom left drawer has shorts and bottom right has shirts.”
Nick grabbed a pair of black workout shorts and changed into that and a light gray UA muscle shirt, the kind that fits snug and shows off every muscle movement when it’s on. As he turned to leave the room, he noticed a pair of antique-looking cuffs on the nightstand.
This was it!
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.