Florentine

by Mazarin Stone

  “Isn’t there a better route?” he whines. “I really can’t be late.”

  “Look, you do your job, I’ll do my job,” the driver says. “Just relax. You’re pretty amped-up, my friend. I’d offer you a smoke if I’d not get fired.”

  “No, thanks,” Alex says and glances out the window. He literally spent two hours getting himself ready: shower, trimming, sugar scrub, shave, aftershave, moisturized everywhere. He despaired of his feet, toes covered in bruises from his skate Wednesday. He hopes Mahiro won’t mind.

  Finally, finally the cab creeps up to Mahiro’s house and Alex swipes his card. He hits the top step at 6:55.

  Okay. Five minutes. He flicks through Instagram, Twitter, ignores Chris’s three texts full of porn gifs and emojis. Taps his foot against the railing. Paces. His alarm goes off. He silences it, and his heart starts to beat in his throat as he watches the clock count toward 7:00.

  The time flips over. Alex counts to ten and opens the door.

  The hallway is long and imposing in their turn-of-the-century townhome, a set of ornate panel doors to his left. They’re closed, and he assumes they go toward the living space in the house. There’s a swinging door in the back he’s been through on his way to the kitchen, and a long, long staircase to the right twists its way up to the second floor. The door to the basement is tucked around the back of the staircase, painted black, whereas every other door in the house is natural wood, and stands out for the ornate brass filigree doorknob that matches absolutely nothing else yet that Alex’s seen.

  He doesn’t have time to admire, though, and hustles through the door, clatters down the stairs with his fingers already on his buttons, and has his shirt half-off as he walks through the playroom door. He inhales the soft scent of cinnamon, likely the two red candles Mahiro has burning on a shelf across the room, and lets out a sharp breath.

  Okay. Shoes, socks, pants, underwear, all in a folded pile on the chair, shirt hung over the back. 7:03. He silences his phone and drops into his waiting position on the cushion in the center of the room, pleased.

  He’s got a couple of minutes, so he takes the opportunity to really have a good look around. The playroom is narrow but long, and the furniture is pretty sparse. He sees a St. Andrew’s cross tucked against a wall, and a frame of some kind along with it. The two cabinets at the far end, next to the bathroom door, are closed and locked. His eyes follow the cabinets up toward the ceiling, and he blinks when he sees all of the metal loops and hooks anchored in the exposed beams; he’s done enough research to know those must be for holding ropes, or chains, or just about anything else Mahiro and Adam came up with. A few small benches and the chaise longue are about all there is, but the room is a warm reddish orange hue that keeps the space from feeling desolate or empty. It’s strangely comfortable.

  He shifts on his cushion, trying to find the best way to settle himself, when he hears the doorknob turn. He stills immediately, head up, hands on thighs, as poised and perfect as if he were starting his routine at the last Grand Prix Final.

  He doesn’t turn his head to the door this time and holds his breath. His ears strain to hear Mahiro’s graceful steps whisper across the dark wood floor, and his heart flutters when he feels the impression of heat behind him.

  “What a beautiful sight you make, Alex,” Mahiro says quietly from behind him, and this time it’s two slender fingers drawn down his spine instead of his riding crop, and Alex closes his eyes, breathes out, settles himself until he can feel his shoulders relax ever so slightly. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week.”

  “Me too. I’ve had a hard time focusing this week.”

  Mahiro chuckles and walks around to face Alex. His smile is breathtaking. “I’m flattered. Are you ready, then?”

  Alex almost nods, struck dumb by Mahiro’s low-slung, incredibly tight black leather pants and… nothing else. Alex can see the very tops of his hip bones and the tantalizing curve of his abs, and his eyes are caught by a gleam on Mahiro’s chest. His nipples are pierced, and tiny gold barbells wink and flash in the flicker of candlelight.

  “Yes, sir,” he chokes out, and Mahiro grins like a shark scenting blood in the water.

  Alex quietly ogles Mahiro’s smooth back when he walks over to the cabinet, imagines pressing kisses to the dip in his spine. Mahiro, absolutely unaware of Alex’s scrutiny, pulls out a few things and once again leaves the door open so Alex can very easily see what’s inside: floggers and whips and racks of black cuffs, the gleam of metal chains.

  “Stand up and give me your hand, Alex,” Mahiro says, and Alex tries to get up as gracefully as he can, keeping any hint of stiffness to himself. He holds out his hand and waits, wondering. Mahiro takes his finger and attaches what looks like a pair of tweezers with rubber tips, with a small loop that slides up the arms of the tweezers to keep it in place. There are some black beads that shimmer at the end. They squeeze but don’t really hurt. Oh! They’re—

  “Nipple clamps, yes. I thought we’d try these tonight, and maybe we’d have fun with a little game after we get you ready. Hands down, now.”

  Alex puts his hands to his sides, almost vibrating with anticipation, nipples already starting to pebble from the goose bumps that have broken out over his body. Mahiro smirks, reaches forward, and splays his hand across Alex’s right pec, his nipple between Mahiro’s first two fingers. “Mmmm, you have such a beautiful body, Alex. You’ve taken such good care of it.” Mahiro closes his fingers, trapping his nipple between them, and rubs tiny circles on his skin with his fingertips. The pull and tug of his skin is a lightning flash to his groin, and Alex moans low in his throat. “That’s it, lovely. Let’s hear it.” Mahiro pulls his hand away and attaches the clamp to Alex’s nipple, a steady pressure that has Alex’s arousal ramped up in a second.

  “Color?” Mahiro asks.

  “Green, yes,” Alex says quickly.

  “Shush, don’t be in such a hurry. We’ve got time.” Mahiro attaches the other clamp and steps back to admire. “Perfect. Such a good boy, Alex.”

  Alex looks down at his chest. His nipples are getting a bit puffy from the clamps, which carry a slight weight. As he shifts around a bit to look more closely, they swing ever so slightly and tug on his skin.

  Mahiro reaches up and traces one with his finger before he flicks at it, sending a spark zinging through Alex’s body. “Oh my God,” Alex breathes.

  Mahiro puts both hands on Alex’s hips and sways close before bending his head and dragging the flat of his tongue over the sensitive bud. Alex almost melts, and Mahiro growls under his breath.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  Alex does, immediately, and knows what’s next. But is Mahiro planning to fuck him? Like that?

  “Stop thinking about it,” Mahiro says, and instead of the rope, he shows Alex a set of black leather cuffs with a clip between them. He buckles them on, and they’re just as effective a restraint as the ropes were last week. He shifts his shoulders around, but the restraints don’t really bother him as much as he feared they might.

  “I’m trying,” Alex says, and Mahiro hooks a hand under his elbow and pulls him over to the chaise longue. He sits down and tugs at Alex until Alex straddles him, ass against Mahiro’s thighs, the leather smooth and warm beneath him. It’s a bit precarious, with Alex’s hands behind him like they are, but the position pushes his chest out and his hips forward, his cock on full display. He feels like he should be somewhat shy at the brazenness of it, but instead he feels proud and beautiful under Mahiro’s admiring gaze.

  “I thought we’d find out just how much stamina you’ve really got,” Mahiro purrs, both hands splayed possessively over Alex’s hips. “I’m going to touch you, and I want you to hold off coming as long as you possibly can. If you make it more than ten minutes, next time I’ll get you off with my hands.” Alex sways forward just a tiny bit, until his cock comes in contact with Mahiro’s abs. Mahiro slaps him on the r
ear and Alex jumps. Was that wrong? But no, Mahiro is still smiling.

  “Cheeky, Alex. Don’t do it again, understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alex breathes and shifts back a tiny bit so his weight is now on Mahiro’s thighs. His ass is sticking out a bit more this way, but at least he’s not completely shoving his dick in Mahiro’s face.

  “Good boy.” Mahiro taps the beads on his nipples again, and Alex sucks in a breath. “If you make it fifteen, I’ll suck you off next time. More than twenty and you can suck me off.”

  “What if I make it a lot more than that?” Alex asks.

  “You won’t.” Mahiro slides his hands from Alex’s hips up his back, until he’s cradling Alex’s shoulder blades in his palms. His tongue flicks out to taste Alex’s nipple again, sucking, biting, tongue playing with the edges of the clamp, which sends sparks of pleasure up Alex’s spine. His skin is running hot, fire building in his veins as Mahiro pulls him into his groin more tightly and Alex can feel his erection under his ass.

  “Don’t you dare move,” Mahiro says and slides his hands back down to Alex’s rear. He cradles his cheeks a moment, then pulls back and gives one a soft, open-handed swat. The impact is dull and Alex doesn’t quite get the appeal, but after a couple more smacks he can feel the skin get warm, and as Mahiro continues each impact intensifies, building on the one before. Alex gasps after a few—five, ten, who knows?—and Mahiro rubs circles over the stinging flesh. Alex bends forward and rests his head on Mahiro’s shoulder. He’s so aroused by Mahiro’s hands on him, by the feel of his cock under Alex’s body, that he’s having a hard time focusing. “Color?” Mahiro murmurs into Alex’s collarbone.

  “Ah. Green.”

  “You sound uncertain,” Mahiro says and kisses the base of Alex’s throat, sweet nibbling kisses and the bare edge of teeth.

  Alex swallows. “I’m not. Sir. I’m sure.”

  “Then lay over my lap for me, on your knees and head on the seat.”

  Alex pauses. He won’t be able to hold himself up at all with his hands bound. His weight will be on his knees and the side of his head.

  “Now, Alex,” Mahiro snaps.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex says, and then arranges himself so he’s lying with stomach and chest over Mahiro’s thighs, folded on his knees and the side of his face resting on the soft leather. He can see Mahiro’s hip and the side of his face, right arm now settled across Alex’s back. Mahiro uses the other to tug Alex’s thighs apart, leaving him spread open and vulnerable.

  “You’re so pretty,” Mahiro says and drags a fingernail over Alex’s ass, the sensation sharp and on the edge of unpleasantly painful, “when you do what I tell you.” Mahiro spanks him again, and then drags a finger down over his balls, down his cock. It feels so good it almost aches, the soft burn of pleasure and sharp hit of pain mingling together, and Alex wasn’t sure he could get harder but he is, cock swaying between his legs.

  The fingers of Mahiro’s right hand slip under the cuffs on his wrists for a moment, and then he moves them to Alex’s mouth. “Suck,” he says, and pushes his first two fingers between Alex’s lips. He allows the intrusion willingly, grateful to have something else to think about rather than being spanked again, and tries his best to make it feel good from his awkward angle on the sofa.

  “Yes, show me how you’d suck me if I let you,” Mahiro murmurs, and his other hand traces patterns on Alex’s burning skin. “How you’d take it if I fucked your mouth like this.” The fingers on Alex’s ass slip down to rub at his perineum, and Alex chokes a moan around Mahiro’s fingers. It’s like he’s in a strange sort of threesome: Mahiro’s hands on either end of him and his own locked tight behind his back. His shoulders are beginning to ache slightly, and he shifts, which makes the clamps twitch, and Alex gives a full-body shudder. Mahiro pulls his fingers back. “Color?”

  “Green,” he whispers, spit gathering at the corner of his mouth and spilling over onto the leather seat.

  Mahiro pushes his fingers back inside and Alex slips his tongue around them, sucks deep, and Mahiro’s other hand, the one on his ass, presses a thumb against Alex’s hole. Alex squeaks.

  “Pretty,” Mahiro whispers again and rubs soft circles against his hole, not dipping inside, not really pushing, just massaging. It might be the most intimate touch Alex’s ever received, and he’s had guys eat his ass for breakfast. His orgasm is starting to build, and Mahiro hasn’t even touched his dick. He tries to keep sucking on Mahiro’s fingers, but his tongue is getting tired, and he’s losing focus. Mahiro’s hands have him balanced on the knife edge of pleasure, and it becomes almost unbearable when Mahiro’s hand dips down and fully takes his dick in hand and strokes.

  “Mmmph,” he whimpers and sucks in a deep breath, trying to think of something, anything, other than Mahiro’s long fingers squeezing and pulling at him, massaging his balls.

  Mahiro just hums, the sound dark and satisfied. “You’re doing really well, sweetheart,” he says, and Alex arches and strains against Mahiro’s thumb on his hole, the touch so delicate Alex wonders if he’s feeling each and every ridge and furl of the skin there. “I’m so proud of how long you’ve lasted.”

  Alex twitches, knees slipping on the leather, drool leaking out of his mouth where he’s utterly failed at continuing to suck Mahiro’s fingers and they rest against his tongue. His entire being is focused on the point of contact of Mahiro’s fingers on his ass, the occasional slap that warms his skin and jolts sensation through his perineum when Mahiro’s strokes are off-center.

  “Commph,” he says around Mahiro’s slack fingers.

  Mahiro doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t change the rhythm of his hand that’s again on Alex’s cock. He just strokes until Alex’s brain scatters into white noise and he comes hard over Mahiro’s hand, mouth open on a silent scream, Mahiro’s fingers still resting in his mouth.

  “Good boy,” Mahiro says and pulls his fingers from Alex’s mouth and unsnaps the clip that holds his wrists together. Alex’s arms flop almost uselessly to his sides, and Mahiro wraps his arms around him with surprising strength and guides him down to the lounge, arranges him on his back as he’s still twitching with aftershocks. He slips the nipple clamps off, and as the blood starts to flow, Alex shudders even harder, everything almost too much: too sensitive, too much pleasure, too much everything.

  “Look at you,” Mahiro says and climbs over Alex’s body and kneels across him again, but this time across his hips, Alex’s spent cock smearing come all over the front of Mahiro’s pants. Mahiro unbuttons and unzips and parts the front, and Alex’s brain snaps back online because Mahiro isn’t wearing any underwear. There’s a sharp V of skin right between the flies, sparse hair trailing down from his stomach to a neatly trimmed line just above his groin. Mahiro lifts his cock out and Alex’s mouth goes dry. He can finally see what he’s getting without an oversized shirt in the way. It’s big, fat and red and uncut, not exactly long but certainly thick.

  Alex licks his lips.

  “You made it twenty-one minutes, so next time you get a nice little reward. But I think you’ve been so good you deserve a preview, don’t you?”

  Alex nods, eyes never leaving Mahiro’s cock. “Please, Mahiro.”

  “That’s ‘please, sir,’ Alex. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  “Sir. Please. I’d like that.”

  “Good.” Mahiro leans over and pumps lube into his hand from the bottle on the table next to the lounge and slides it, slick, down his shaft. “Oh, that feels amazing,” he sighs. “Watching you under my hands, feeling your body respond to me. You were starting to open up to me. Did you even realize that?”

  Alex flushes and shakes his head, enraptured with the way Mahiro’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, how he bites his bottom lip every so often as he strokes with long, luxurious pulls that end with a twist over the head.

  “You were. I’d touch your hole and it would twitch and flex, soften as I rubbed it. Your cock was growing ha
rder in my hand as I touched you.” Mahiro closes his eyes and shuffles forward on his knees. “Open your mouth, Alex,” he demands. Alex obeys but gathers enough strength to lift his arms and clamp his hands over Mahiro’s thighs, fingers digging into the leather. He’s ready, he knows what’s next, and he wants it, wants everything Mahiro can give him.

  Mahiro huffs out rhythmic breaths as he strokes himself, and he leans forward to brace his hand on Alex’s chest, fingers around one of his nipples. They’re swollen and stiff and incredibly sensitive, and Alex’s eyelids flutter on a gasp. “Watch, Alex. Don’t take your eyes off me.” As if Alex could look away from this, could ever stop looking.

  “I won’t,” Alex says, overwhelmed. “I promise I won’t.” He opens his mouth again, his breathing almost as rough as Mahiro’s, and waits.

  It’s only a few more moments before Mahiro throws his head back and his orgasm overtakes him, his come striping Alex’s chest, hitting his chin, and then, as Mahiro pulls himself together, landing on his tongue when Mahiro leans forward enough that his cock touches Alex’s bottom lip.

  “You can have more,” Mahiro rasps. “Taste it.”

  Alex sticks his tongue out and Mahiro lays his cock on the flat of it, the last drops of come slick on Alex’s lips. He laps at the head and swallows before opening his mouth again to reach forward and take another taste. Mahiro, however, leans back and sits on Alex’s legs, trying to catch his breath.

  Alex leans up on his elbows and stares at him, utterly blown away. The playroom is silent save the sound of their heavy breathing, and Alex can’t stop staring at Mahiro’s chest and the gold barbells through his nipples, his red and softening cock.

  “Are you okay?” Mahiro says and touches Alex’s stomach lightly. His ass is settled against Alex’s groin, and Alex nestles into the feel of his leather-covered ass against his dick.