He settles himself, letting the hardened cock lay in his palm for a moment before swaddling his hand around its girth. He admires its delicacy, tenderly tracing the veins that run like some type of erotic roadmap. With a squeeze, he can feel the thrumming pulse through his fingertips. It matches his own.

Ashton looks up to see a single bead of spittle dangling at the end of an elongated strand of drool. It glistens—for a second reflecting the flickering candlelight of the room—then releases. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The cherry-red ballgag in Daniel’s mouth tiredly bobs up and down in reply.

He has been standing tethered to an x-cross: hands stretched out overhead, legs spread wide below, dick sticking straight out in front. Twelve black rubber straps tightly secure his pale naked frame in place. 

Ashton continues to rhythmically stroke with a twisting motion. “Good. We’re almost there.”

Before today, Ashton never cared to psychoanalyze his client's motivations. They all have their paraphilias and corresponding reasons for wanting to explore them. His self-defined role is to play with his subjects, providing them with excitement in whatever form they please. No judgment, no sagacious reasoning, no long-term wistful exchange.

A moan signals Daniel’s approval of the methodical throttling his cock is currently receiving. Reddened skin already forms small nefarious halos around dried splotches of wax dotting his chest and upper thighs.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ashton whispers, still kneeling, eye-level with the package he’s groping. “Like some piece of art with no beginning and no end.”

Daniel’s head hangs, his balls swollen and most likely aching from the prolonged edging. Ash leans in and suckles one, pulling it gently into his mouth and rolling his tongue over the soft outer flesh. As he releases with a pop, it stays there, momentarily frozen and distended. He then watches it slowly retract, ready to surrender.

Ashton nuzzles even closer, arousal saturating the air around them with a musky scent. He takes it in through his nose like he’s inhaling for deep meditation.

“It's time,” he says, gazing back up. “How do you want me?”

Even in the dim light, Ashton is taken by the amber in Daniel’s eyes; a marriage of warm honey and deep caramel. Time has allowed him to see the longing in the story they hide.

He recognizes the narrow path they depict. A stroll he himself has taken. A lonely walk along a bluff where rocks below absorb a frenzied sea. But, if he looks deeper, way out into the distance, there’s a calm. A motionless horizon, each night swallowing the sun, exchanging its heat for a soul filled with fire. Spiritual energy patterned with wonderment.

Ashton stands and retrieves a small carpeted platform from the other side of the room. A makeshift dungeon he hides in the basement of his mid-century-modern suburban home. He drags the box over to Daniel’s feet and steps up, now face to face. Running his tongue across the lifeless plastic gag, he savors the sweet saliva still clinging to its edges.

“None of my other clients affect me,” he says. “They’re just money. They pay me to fuck them. You pay me to fuck you. And I’m happy to oblige. Hell, it’s the one fucking thing I’m good at. I know exactly where that edge is and how to get you there. I know exactly what will satisfy you.” He pauses and brings his lips to Daniel’s ear, “In this place, I know exactly who we are.”

Ashton gathers more of Daniel’s drool. He coats it on his palm, quickly transferring it to the already semi-soaked cock below; never breaking eye contact. It feels perfect in his grip like it’s meant to be there. Like he could blindly trace every detail of Daniel's body from memory in the sands of a windswept beach. He feels himself tumbling with nothing but a storm below to catch him. 

Fuck.

Ashton pulls away from the stare and turns around. Reaching a hand under and through his legs, he cups the swollen balls behind him. Daniel’s cock nestles neatly in the crease of Ashton’s bare ass. He lets it rest there. He’s had it several times before, but never once like this. 

“I can always feel you holding your breath, Daniel.” 

With a hard swallow, he eases forward until the length is in his hand, then guides it to where he wants. 

The head penetrates his ring. He pauses. Flashes ripple through his mind. Strobe-like flickers of memories, emotions, feelings like being lost somewhere dark. He tries to relax, tries to let his body meld and form around the welcomed intrusion. 

A moan from behind pulls him present.

Ashton pushes back firmly, slowly, gently until skin meets skin, then another pause. He grits his teeth and lets the girth inside him replace everything else. 

Pulling forward, the ensuing emptiness reminds him of his individuality and it’s surprisingly gratifying. 

He pushes back once again with a strangled exhale. Forward, then back, over and over. Slapping. Pulling. Grunting. Each thrust erasing a bit more. 

Daniel begins to cum and the heat of his ejaculate starts to supplant Ashton’s void, filling more than just his sex. And Ashton doesn’t relent, he fucks harder against the body behind him. 

For a moment it feels primal, violent. Like he is trying to break the cross free from its mount. Savage guttural cries echo off the paneled walls. 

One final push back and Ashton straightens up to let their bodies press together. He pivots slightly, needing to see him: his face, his chiseled jawline, his gorgeous lips still stuffed with cherry-red. 

Ashton suddenly feels small, diminutive. His world just collapsed and expanded at the same time. 

“If I agree to it—to give up all of the others—will you…” He struggles to pivot more. 

“You promise you’ll stay with me?”

Connected by a silent gaze and warm cum lazily melting from between them, Daniel’s eyes provide Ashton with every answer he will ever need.