The Bench
After the session in Daniel’s Play Room, Daniel guided Nick into bed like a father tucking in his beloved son and climbed in behind him, naked, warm, solid. He wrapped his arms around Nick’s torso and pulled him close, chest to back, their bodies fitting together with the ease of a lock and key.
Nick swallowed, “Sir, can I tell you something?”
“Of course, little man.”
Pausing, he whispered, “Tonight was the most important night of my life.”
Daniel pulled Nick into him even harder, letting him know, wordlessly, how much it meant to him as well.
They lay like that for a long time—bodies pressed, breath syncing. Just before Nick began to drift off, Daniel whispered, “Antonio will be here at 9 a.m. sharp. Time for your next session.”
“Ahhh…Antonio.” Sensing Nick’s surprise, Daniel chirped, “He’s going to help shape your body into something worthy of your new role.”
“My new role,’ Nick thought to himself and smiled. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered, with a smile.
Antonio arrived early the next morning to find Nick cooking breakfast in his sexy jockstrap and Daniel ready for his workout.
As they enjoyed breakfast, Daniel reached in his pocket and pulled out a card which he gave to Nick. “Here,” he said casually, “it’s a membership for LA Fitness, where Antonio trains. I asked him to keep an eye on you…shape your body to be worthy of your new role. You’re sexy as hell, little man and I want every man and woman in the room to envy me when they see you on my arm.”
After another grueling workout, Daniel sent Nick home citing an afternoon of meetings. It gave Nick time to reflect on the weekend and the strange but satisfying trajectory his life was taking. And nothing signaled this more dramatically than the workout clothes Daniel had bought for him. As he tried them on he heard Daniel’s words…”I took the liberty of picking out some more workout wear for you. They’re not quite as slutty as what you wear here, but pretty close.“
Nick opened the package and saw Daniel wasn’t kidding. It hit Nick like a thunderbolt, he would be acknowledging his sexual preference—gay—when he wore these clothes in public. There would be no turning back. But then he thought of Daniel, and it was 100% worth it.
Nick longed to be with Daniel that afternoon and evening but understood he had priorities outside his private life. He relaxed into the glow of the past 36 hours. As he was getting ready for bed, a text arrived from Daniel…
You’ve only been gone six hours, and I already miss you. Your breakfast skills. That jockstrap you wear like you were born in it. The way you fall asleep against me like you belong there. We have another busy week, but I’ll expect you at my place Wednesday night at 8PM. We’ll pick up where we left off.
Nick simply replied..
I miss you too, Sir. More than I can say.
For both of them, Monday and Tuesday felt like two weeks rather than two days.
In Nick’s world, Nathan grabbed him for lunch and shared that the rumor mill was revving up about Daniel and him. Both of them left the celebration party early Friday night and Daniel went MIA on a couple important work events over the weekend. Nick shared this with Daniel on a quick call early in the week and Danile assured him not to worry. Daniel seemed unworried and said he had it covered.
Meanwhile, Daniel found himself distracted in a way that surprised him. Even unnerved him.
He’d had submissives before. Beautiful men. Eager ones. But Nick was different. What had started as an unrelenting fantasy about molding a bright, athletic mind into something servile and obedient, had slowly revealed itself to be something more profound. More dangerous.
At the office, Daniel did his best to maintain the carefully cultivated barrier between them. But it was becoming increasingly difficult. Nick was excelling. Rising faster than anyone Daniel had ever hired. He had instincts. Discipline. Poise. And when he spoke in meetings, people listened. Clients leaned in. Senior creatives nodded. Even the most jaded account directors had begun to praise him.
That made Daniel proud. But it also made him protective. Possessive.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Because Daniel was many things—a dominant, a leader, a man who had trained his body and will to be untouchable—but what he had sworn off was weakness. And Nick made him feel…soft. Not weak, exactly. But cracked open. Like there was still some part of him that wanted to cradle the boy after breaking him. To nurture what he had first bent. He wanted to correct Nick, yes—but also comfort him. Guide him. Fuck him hard and then hold him until morning.
And that tension, between discipline and tenderness, made Daniel both delirious with desire—and uncertain of himself in a way he’d never had.
He couldn’t lose control. He was the dom. The father figure, in a way, though that word carried its own baggage. Nick needed structure. He needed a firm hand. And Daniel owed him that. Not indulgence. Not romance.
But that didn’t mean Daniel didn’t fantasize about it. About spoiling him. Feeding him. Buying him things. Stroking his hair while he drifted to sleep, spent and used. The contrast thrilled him—this boy who could dominate a boardroom presentation, then kneel at his feet in nothing but a jockstrap.
By Tuesday night, Daniel was a storm of contradiction. He couldn’t sleep. He’d jerked off in the shower but stopped himself before climax—honoring his own version of House Rule #3. If Nick had to suffer denial, so would he.
But damn, it was getting hard. He’d flip through his phone—photos of Nick sunning by the pool, the way his speedo clung wet and dark to the cleft of his ass—and feel himself throb. But he wouldn’t cum. Not without permission. Not even from himself.
Because he wanted to ache just as much as Nick did. He wanted to earn the moment they’d both been building toward.
And that moment was coming Wednesday night.
He’d told Nick to arrive at eight, knowing he himself wouldn’t get there until closer to 8:30. It was intentional. He wanted Nick to prepare. To wait. To wonder.
He had debated whether to find Nick in bed, like the first time, face down and pliant—or to escalate. Leave him a note. Instruct him to go to the Play Room. To position himself on the fuck bench. Spread wide and waiting.
He chose the latter.
Across town, Nick could barely function.
The days leading to Wednesday felt like being edged emotionally. He moved through Monday and Tuesday with mechanical focus—reviewing decks, running analytics, attending creative reviews—but beneath his sharp exterior was a feverish storm.
His cock hadn’t been soft in days.
Every time he was alone, he fought the urge to touch himself. His hands ached to stroke. He'd get hard just thinking about Daniel’s voice, about the look in his eyes when he called him “boy.” He’d taken to wearing compression shorts over the mandatory jock under his work clothes just to mask the bulge. And still, the throbbing didn’t stop.
Each night, he’d crawl into bed, close his eyes, and picture himself bound. Spanked. Ridden. Gagged. Used and then held by Daniel—and maybe others.
He’d wake up sweating. Grinding into his sheets.
And then there was the gym.
Three workouts this week at LA Fitness, and each one more charged than the last.
Daniel had left him clothes—slutty things that clung to him like skin. They left nothing to the imagination—every curve of his thighs, the subtle line of his cock—it was all on display.
He looked at himself in the mirror and barely recognized what he saw. Daniel had a keen eye for slutty apparel.
If his old baseball teammates saw him now, they’d either think he lost a bet or joined a circuit party.
But Nick wasn’t ashamed. Not anymore.
This was who he was now. This was who Daniel wanted him to be. And he loved it.
Strutting onto the floor like someone’s trophy boy, he caught more than a few looks. Side glances from trainers and meatheads. More than one guy came up to him between sets with flirtatious energy and thin excuses to talk.
He declined them all. Politely. Smiling. But no.
During his Tuesday session, he spotted Antonio. Breathless, sweaty, pushing through dumbbell snatches. Their eyes met. Antonio gave him a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Looking good.”
Nick flushed hot. Antonio was wearing nearly identical gear—tight shorts, nothing underneath, oiled skin that caught the light. His body was a temple. His smile, filthy.
That night, lying in bed, Nick replayed the image of Antonio’s body—and imagined Daniel watching the two of them. Touch him, boy. Nick would obey. Show me what you’ve learned. He’d drop to his knees. Use your mouth. Then your ass.
He groaned into his pillow. Thrust into nothing. Came dangerously close to breaking the rule.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Daniel’s approval meant too much.
He had never wanted anything more in his life than to serve that man well. To be trained. To be owned.
To be used.
By Wednesday afternoon, Nick could hardly sit still.
He’d triple-checked his calendar to ensure Thursday was light. He’d cleared his inbox, over-prepared for the 10 a.m. meeting, and left the office precisely at 5:00. No one questioned it—he was the golden boy.
Back at his apartment, he moved on autopilot—he cleaned himself thoroughly, inside and out, taking his time to follow the routine Daniel had ingrained. Every motion felt ritualistic. Sacred.
He packed a small bag with his Thursday work clothes, just in case. He hoped—prayed—he’d be invited to stay the night.
As he pulled into Daniel’s neighborhood, his heart was a jackhammer. His palms slick. But underneath the nerves, he was hard. He’d been hard since lunch.
Daniel had told him to arrive at 8.
It was 7:56 when he pulled into the driveway.
The house was dark.
Just as planned.
He used the code Daniel had given him—another ritual—and stepped into the hushed stillness of the home. The scent hit him immediately: cedar, leather, and something subtle underneath. Daniel.
On the foyer table sat a single piece of stationery, folded cleanly, with his name written in Daniel’s steady, elegant script. Beside it, four leather cuffs—two large, two small.
Nick’s chest tightened.
He opened the note.
“Use the cuffs. Head to the Play Room. Fuck bench. Face down. Wait.”
His knees nearly gave out.
He stood for a long moment, staring at the words, then lifted the cuffs reverently. The leather was warm, supple. Worn, but polished. Trusted tools.
He didn’t hesitate.
He stripped where he stood, leaving his jeans and shirt folded neatly on a nearby chair. He adjusted hiss jockstrap and affixed the cuffs to his wrists and ankles. Not tightly—he knew Daniel would handle that. But enough to show obedience.
Then he made his way to the Play Room.
The room was lit exactly as it had been before—dim, amber, quiet. The bench sat in the center of the room like an altar. Waiting.
Nick stepped forward, breath shallow, and eased himself onto it.
He lowered his chest to the leather pad, let his arms extend forward, legs spread just enough. His hole—clean, pink, eager—exposed perfectly between the straps of his jock.
He closed his eyes.
And waited.
Every second dragged like an hour. Every sound in the house made his heart stutter. His cock was so hard it hurt. His mind raced—was Daniel going to flog him? Fuck him? Tease him and leave him untouched again?
The possibilities swirled.
And yet, underneath it all, was one steady, unshakable truth:
Whatever happened tonight, he was ready.
Because he trusted Daniel.
Because he wanted to be owned.
Nick didn’t know how long he’d been there, only that the ache in his cock had grown unbearable. Every second stretched like a taut wire. Part of him wanted to squirm, to move, to ease the pressure in his body—but he knew better. He had been told to wait. And wait he would.
Then, a sound. The distant click of the front door. Slow, methodical footsteps. Not hurried. Not rushed. Daniel never rushed. He walked like a man who knew the world would wait.
The steps grew louder. Nick’s pulse followed suit, thudding in his ears. He braced himself, not from fear—but from longing. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to be used.
The door opened, and though Nick couldn’t turn his head, he felt the air shift. Daniel’s presence always shifted the air.
He didn’t speak right away. He let the moment stretch, hanging heavy with power.
Then, a low, smooth voice.
“Good boy.”
Nick’s chest fluttered. The sound of Daniel’s approval was like oxygen after drowning.
“I see you followed instructions,” Daniel said, his voice closer now, his shoes quiet against the floor. “On time. Clean. Ready. Waiting.”
Nick nodded into the bench, throat dry. “Yes, Sir.”
Daniel circled slowly, boots echoing now and then in the dim space. He stopped behind Nick and placed one hand on his lower back. The contact was light, but commanding.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how good you look like this.”
Nick said nothing. Could say nothing. His entire body responded—cock twitching, skin flushing, heart racing.
Daniel moved with ritualistic precision. He tightened the cuffs around Nick’s ankles and wrists, adjusting the straps that connected them to the steel loops affixed to the bench. Each motion was controlled, deliberate. Nick couldn’t move now, not really. His chest pressed down against the padded leather, arms spread forward, legs parted. Offered.
Daniel crouched to Nick’s ear.
“You've given yourself to me, haven’t you?”
Nick closed his eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
“All of you?”
“Yes, Sir”, he replied and arched his back to punctuate his point.
Daniel’s fingers grazed the waistband of the jockstrap. “Even this?” he whispered, palming the swell of Nick’s ass.
Nick moaned softly. “Especially that.”
A low chuckle vibrated through Daniel’s chest.
“Good.”
With one motion, Daniel cut the jockstrap off with a scissors leaving Nick fully exposed. Daniel didn’t speak as he took in the view—he didn’t need to. His silence was its own kind of praise.
He ran his hands along Nick’s back, slow and reverent, tracing the curve of his spine, the dimples above his glutes, the backs of his thighs.
“You’ve been thinking about this bench, haven’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Nick whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Every day.”
“I know.”
Daniel stood and walked away briefly. The first sounds were unmistakable; Daniel took off every piece of clothing with unbearable precision. Nick drooled at the sight of Daneil, unquestionably hard, waiting to take him. Then he heard the soft rustle of drawers being opened, the deliberate clink of metal and leather, the unmistakable choreography of a man preparing his tools. When Daniel returned, he rested something cool and smooth on Nick’s lower back.
A flogger.
Daniel laid the strands across Nick’s back sending chills up and down his spine.
Nick tensed—not from fear, but from craving, from that sharpened edge of desire that only Daniel knew how to bring out in him. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
“I’m not here to punish you, little man,” Daniel said, his voice low and steady, wrapping around Nick like a binding of its own. “You haven’t disobeyed. This isn’t about pain. It’s about opening you up—physically, yes—but more importantly, mentally. Emotionally.”
Nick felt a tear slip from one eye and disappear into the padding of the bench. He didn’t know exactly why. The words. The calm certainty in Daniel’s voice. The feeling of being held so completely in another man’s will, and trusted not to fall.
Daniel stepped to one side. The flogger lifted. And then—contact.
A soft strike, leather kissing flesh across Nick’s upper back. A warning shot. Then another, a little firmer. Then another. He began slow, methodical. Measured strokes that found their place along Nick’s shoulders and spine, then fanned out across the meat of his ass. The rhythm was deliberate, patient—almost ceremonial.
It wasn’t punishment.
It was precision.
The leather strands thudded into Nick’s skin with growing weight. Each strike sent ripples through his muscles, a spreading throb that began to anchor him in the moment. Daniel adjusted angle and force with every stroke, gauging how Nick flinched, how he breathed, how he surrendered. He was conducting him, molding him, breaking him open without breaking him down. Occasionally, Daniel’s stone-hard cock would brush Nick’s arm, leg, or even face, making him cry out with need.
The flogger danced lower now, punishing the tender crests of Nick’s thighs. The pain was not sharp, but dense—hot. Nick’s breath deepened, his cock stirring involuntarily against the bench as the pleasure rode in on the back of the sting.
Daniel circled him, struck from the other side. A harder thud across the upper glutes. Then two quick snaps across the lower back. Nick cried out from the thrill of being used, claimed, known. His body strained against the cuffs, but not to escape.
The rhythm grew more intense. But Daniel knew exactly where to land them. Knew how to dance on that knife edge between ecstasy and pain. Knew just how far Nick needed to go. He flogged with purpose, his face tight with focus, cock thick in his slacks, aroused not only by the sight of Nick bound and accepting—but by the meaning of it.
Nick moaned openly now. His back was flushed, welted lightly with red. His body hurt, yes—but it hurt in the way a muscle aches when it's been stretched too far and doesn’t want to go back. The pain was not something he endured. It was something he welcomed. It was Daniel's love made manifest.
Daniel paused, breathing heavily, and laid a hand across Nick’s shoulders—warm, firm, anchoring.
“You’re doing beautifully,” he said, voice thick with arousal and pride.
Nick’s breath hitched. “Thank you, Sir,” he whispered, hoarse with gratitude.
Then, slowly, reverently, Daniel set the flogger down.
Daniel’s hand moved between Nick’s legs, fingers gently parting his cheeks. He rubbed slow circles over Nick’s hole, already well-prepped and clean, already pulsing with need.
“You’re ready for more.”
“Yes, Sir. Anything you want.”
Daniel leaned in. His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the fog like a blade.
“I’m going to take you again tonight. Slowly. Deeply. And when I do, you will remember what this bench feels like. How it feels to give yourself entirely. Because this is what you were made for.”
Nick nodded, trembling. He could feel Daniel’s cock—hard and hot—pressing against him now. Not entering yet. Just promising.
Daniel moved with care. He lubed himself, positioned slowly, held Nick’s hips steady.
“You trust me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then breathe. And let go.”
Nick inhaled deeply.
And Daniel began.
Daniel stood behind him, staring at the lines he’d painted across Nick’s skin. His fingers hovered above the heat, aching to soothe and stroke, but he resisted the urge. This wasn’t a moment for affection. Not yet.
Nick was still strapped to the bench, head turned to the side, breath ragged. His wrists and ankles tugged slightly against the cuffs—not to escape, but to ground himself. He was leaking precum, his cock so hard it ached against the leather padding beneath him.
Daniel pressed two fingers against Nick’s slick hole, gently spreading him open. A low moan rose from Nick’s throat.
“Nice and clean,” Daniel murmured approvingly, voice rich with command. “Good boy.”
Nick whimpered. The praise hit him more deeply than the fingers.
Daniel lubed his hand, slowly, methodically, like a ritual. He circled Nick’s hole with long, purposeful strokes, loosening the tight ring of muscle, massaging it open. “Relax. Breathe. You’re ready for this.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll take you either way. But I want my boy to enjoy it.”
One lubed finger slid in. Nick gasped. It still shocked him—how intense it felt. Not pain. Pressure. Heat. Fulfillment.
Daniel worked slowly, lovingly cruel, stretching Nick open as if coaxing a truth out of him. Daniel loved exploring Nick’s hole with his fingers. He lingered over every wall, pushing, pulling, pressing, scraping, teasing. Nick whimpered like a puppy with a broken leg, knowing his daddy would make sure he was all right. Daniel moved his finger inside him, as if he was motioning him to join him. It made Nick groan even more. Then he found it. That place where every man meets his maker. At first he just brushed his finger over it, as if he hadn’t noticed. Nick tensed a little, disappointed Daniel wasn’t focusing on it. But then….it landed on ground zero and circled and pressed like a homing pigeon. Electricity jolted through Nick’s body. “Oh fuck, Daddy, fuck…” Nick wept.
Then a second finger joined the first. Two fingers now tortured his most precious gland, the landing spot for all life’s pleasures. Two fingers, beckoning it to a level of euphoria that shouldn’t be legal. He pressed, pushed, circled, teased even more.
Every time he felt Nick’s prostate, he didn’t just brush across it, he pressed in with deliberate intent, daring Nick to respond. Nick didn’t disappoint, his body jolted. He tried to buck but the restraints won the battle. He screamed, not from pain, but from the pleasure crashing through him.
“Oh my god, yes Daddy, please, please—more.”
Daniel’s cock throbbed at the sound of those words. His boy, begging, restrained, undone. He added more lube, fingers moving in and out in slow, torturous rhythm. Nick writhed beneath him, sweat running down his flanks, muscles twitching involuntarily.
Daniel suddenly moved to the front of the bench. Nick’s face was flushed, wet with sweat and tears, his mouth open like a starving man.
“You know what to do,” Daniel said, guiding his cock toward Nick’s lips.
Nick, restraints notwithstanding, lunged for it without hesitation, like it was air. If Daniel was denying him one hole, the other would be stuffed. He swallowed Daniel’s cock hungrily, choking as he did. He stretched pathetically trying to take it all, but his movement was limited due to the restraints. Daniel watched as he tried, unsuccessfully to lunge for more. “My little man still hungry?” Daniel sneered. Nick was desperate for cock, “Please sir, PLEASE”, he begged. He had no dignity left…just lust.
Finally, feeling mercy, Daniel inched in closer, letting him take it deep.
“Good boy. That mouth is learning.”
Nick swallowed him more deeply than he’d ever done before and with an expertise that surprised even him. He imagined Daniel’s cock all the way down his throat reaching his stomach. He claimed it as his own.
Daniel groaned. The heat of Nick’s throat, the desperate suck—God, he could’ve finished right there. Nick was going insane. But not yet. Not until he claimed everything.
He pulled out, his cock slick with spit. “That’s enough.”
Daniel walked back behind the bench. Nick’s cock was still pinned beneath him, pressed between his torso and the bench in a painful, rigid arc. Daniel reached underneath and repositioned it, pulling it down so it pointed straight to the floor. Nick cried out, hips jerking.
Nick, near delirious, knew he’d blast at the slightest provocation. He cried, “Please…don’t…mak …me…”
Ignoring his pleas, Daniel lubed his fingers again and stroked Nick’s cock—slow, relentless strokes, watching as Nick’s body spasmed with effort not to explode.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Daniel growled, stopping just in time. Nick let out a sound that was half-sob, half-gratitude.
Daniel positioned himself and pressed the head of his cock against Nick’s stretched, slick hole.
Nick went still.
“Beg for it,” Daniel whispered.
Gasping for air, he pleaded, “Please, Sir. Please take me. I need to feel it. I need to be yours. I want your cock. I need it. Please…”
Daniel pushed in slowly.
Nick’s moan turned into a keening cry, every inch of Daniel’s cock claiming new territory inside him.
“Shhhh,” Daniel murmured, pausing when he was fully inside. “Feel that? That’s ownership.”
Nick couldn’t speak. He nodded frantically, chest heaving, legs trembling, thankful he was restrained, forcing all his concentration to his rapidly filling hole.
“You’re mine now,” Daniel said, beginning to move. “Every time I do this—every stroke, every thrust—I remind you. You don’t belong to yourself anymore. You belong to me.”
The rhythm started slow. Measured. Daniel angled his hips to target Nick’s prostate again and again.
Nick bucked helplessly, restrained by the cuffs but completely possessed by the pleasure. His cock dripped, untouched and tortured. His body shook.
Daniel felt it too—the overwhelming hunger to fuck, to own, to break Nick apart and hold him together at the same time. He wanted to cradle him, kiss his face, tell him he mattered—but he wanted utter domination more.
He fucked deeper. Harder. Each thrust a lesson.
“This is what you’re made for,” he growled. “To be used. To be taken.”
Nick cried out, “Yes, sir—yes, Daddy—please don’t stop…”
Daniel reached beneath Nick’s body and grabbed his cock again. It twitched violently in his hand.
“Not yet,” Daniel hissed. “You’ll cum when I tell you. Not a second before.”
Nick groaned, body wracked with tension. Daniel slammed into him harder, slapping sounds echoing off the dungeon walls, sweat flying from their bodies. He was close.
He angled his body once more to target ground zero…Nick’s g-spot. The moment the tip of his cock landed there, Nick screamed as if he were being physically harmed. Daniel smiled with smug satisfaction and escalated his thrusts. With the precision of a surgeon, his cock rubbed and pressed and tortured Nick’s spot to the point where Nick’s was nearly hoarse from screaming. He had never in his life experienced the sensations he was now. It was pleasure, elevated to a level that was incomprehensible.
And then, with a sudden, primal snarl, Daniel pulled out and slapped Nick’s ass with his open hand. Once. Then again. Back and forth for at least six painful slaps. Nick lost count.
Nick screamed. Not from pain. From need.
“You’re my bitch,” Daniel snarled. “Say it.”
“I’m your bitch!” Nick shouted. “Your hole, your slut, your fucking bitch!”
Daniel, moving faster than usual, raced up to Nick’s face and shoved his cock back into Nick’s mouth. “Take me. Swallow every drop.”
Nick opened wide, moaning as Daniel drove deep. Daniel’s cock in his mouth was the culmination of the fantasies of the past 72 hours. Nick had imagined countless scenarios for this night, and they’d all ended like this…restrained, humiliated, slapped, fucked, and forced to swallow his mentor’s cum. He was in his own personal kink heaven.
Daniel gripped both sides of his face and slammed in once—twice—and then froze.
With a guttural roar, Daniel came. Hard. Hot. Deep.
Nick could feel the contractions of Daniel’s cock, but it was so deep in his throat he didn’t immediately taste his seed. As if reading his mind, Daniel pulled out slightly so his hot, salty goodness landed on his tongue. Nick greedily drank every drop, choking slightly but not stopping, not pulling back. His mouth was a vacuum of worship, swallowing hungrily, reverently.
Daniel shuddered and finally collapsed over him, breathing hard. His chest pressed against Nick’s sweaty back, Daniels face buried in Nick’s sweaty asscrack. Their bodies heaved together.
After several minutes, Daniel lifted himself off Nick and slowly began to undo the restraints.
Nick didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was paralyzed with contentment. He knew he had pleased Daniel.
He remained hard as a rock. Leaking like a bad faucet. But he knew better than to ask for release.
Daniel curled up next to him on the bench, stroking his face softly.
“You were perfect,” he whispered.
Nick, still gasping, eyes glazed, whispered, “I hope so, Sir.”
His cock throbbed, still denied. But he didn’t care.
He had pleased Daniel.
That was enough.
For now.
