The sun laid itself over the city like a thick quilt, stretching long and gold over the quiet of an autumn afternoon. It slanted through the thinning trees, turned their branches into lace against the wide blue sky.
Adam walked. Noah walked. Side by side, in step, not quite touching.
Noah’s hair, a little longer than when they met, lifted in the breeze. Adam saw it first in flashes, when the wind caught it just right, when it lay just so against the line of his jaw.
Adam reached, catching the fine strands between his fingers.
“You’re letting it grow?”
Noah turned, a small smile, pleased that Adam had noticed. “I thought you would like it.”
Adam let his hand fall, his fingers flexing once before settling at his side. He did like it. He liked it very much.
They moved through the park like they belonged there, but Noah belonged everywhere now. There was no tightness to him anymore, no shrinking away from space. He took it up. Let the world see him. Let the light touch him.
People watched. Adam noticed.
Then the man appeared.
Not much older than Adam. Taller. Broad in the way that men who know their weight are broad, carrying it steady, letting it settle just right into the ground.
Beside him, the dog.
White as winter, lean muscle and careful steps. Beautiful, regal. It did not strain against its leash, did not lunge or whimper. It was not bound. It walked beside its master, not because it had to, but because it knew where it belonged.
Adam watched the man. Noah watched the dog.
“Beautiful,” Noah murmured.
Adam smirked, flicking a glance toward him. “The dog or the man?”
Noah huffed, nudged him with a loose elbow. “The dog.”
The man and his companion walked on, easy and unbothered, disappearing past the bend in the path. But something stayed. Something lodged itself inside Adam’s ribs. He looked at Noah. At the curve of his neck, the smooth slope of his throat. He thought of the leash. The quiet, steady guidance. The knowing.
“Maybe I should get you a collar.”
Noah turned his head just slightly. A slow glance. An unreadable smile. Adam felt the weight of the words settle between them like a stone dropped in still water.
Noah turned forward again, the breeze catching his hair, tousling it against the line of his jaw. Adam exhaled, deep, slow, rolling his shoulders once like a man shaking off a thought before tucking it away for later.
A collar could be a way to say: Go freely. Move easily. Let them see you. But when you return, you will know where you belong.
They kept walking.
Luther sat behind the counter. He was broad in the chest, his short stature packed with the quiet strength of someone who had spent his life working with his hands. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped close, a touch of silver in his beard. His dark eyes swept over Adam like he already knew him, already understood why he was here. He didn’t waste words.
“You want something made,” he said.
Adam nodded.
“For someone special.”
Adam exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
Luther gestured for Adam to follow him deeper into the workshop.
“Tell me,” Luther said, rolling his sleeves up.
His forearms were thick, lined with old burns, his fingers dusted with silver shavings. Adam hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
“I want something… seamless. Something he won’t think about but he’ll always feel it.”
Luther nodded once, as if this made perfect sense. “Around his neck?”
“Yes.”
Luther grunted and reached for a leather-bound sketchbook, flipping to a blank page.
“You need exact measurements.” His voice was steady, deliberate. “Not just for fit. For balance. Weight. This isn’t just about metal, it’s about how it feels against the skin.”
Luther was already sketching. A slim band. Brushed steel. A hidden loop tucked into the back, invisible unless someone knew where to look.
“Smooth edges,” Luther murmured, mostly to himself. “No sharp lines. This isn’t meant to cut.” He glanced at Adam. “It should feel like it’s always been there.”
Adam nodded. Luther turned the page, his gaze sharpening.
“Now you,” he said.
Adam frowned. “What?”
Luther gestured vaguely toward Adam’s body. “For you. If he wears something for you, you should wear something for him.”
Adam swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that. Luther watched him carefully.
“You want to be part of something too, don’t you?”
The words settled deep in Adam’s chest. Something shifted. A weight, but not a burden. A grounding.
Adam inhaled slowly, nodding. “I do, yeah. How?
Luther set his pencil down. “A ring.”
Adam furrowed his brow. “On my hand?”
“No,” Luther said.
They stood in silence for a moment. Adam had a moment of clarity. Then, without hesitation, Luther pulled a measuring tape from his pocket and stepped forward.
“Let’s measure now.”
Adam paused, then unbuttoned his pants, pulled them down, then his briefs. His large floppy cock lay against his big full balls. The lights from the workroom made his pubic bush glow like fire or a crown. Adam stood there, naked, his hands loosely by his side. Luther seemed pleased, like finding a particularly high quality piece of wood.
The moment was not sexual. It was something else, something Adam couldn’t quite name. The way a father might teach his son to tie his first tie or shaving for the first time. Adam couldn’t imagine this moment with his father, but to just be naked and appreciated by another man, without it being about sex– this satisfied
Adam stood still as Luther unrolled the tape and wrapped it around his penis and under his balls. The cold brush of it against his skin sent a ripple of awareness through him. Luther was methodical, taking several measurements, muttering under his breath, making notes. Finally, he stepped back.
“A band. The same metal. No loops, no embellishments. Very simple.”
Adam exhaled, nodding. “Yes.”
Luther tapped the sketchbook. “One week.”
A week later, Adam ran his fingers over the cool surface of the ring, its weight pressing into his palm. It wasn’t large, wasn’t ornate. Two bands of metal, fused together, twisted subtly at the front like a bend in a river. It was deliberate. A mark of something that could not be undone.
Luther watched him closely. “Soft first.”
Adam exhaled, let Luther expertly slide the ring over his floppy penis. Luther settled the ring firmly at the base of his cock, the cool metal a quiet pressure against his skin. Luther stepped back. Adam adjusted slightly, rolling his shoulders, grounding himself. Already, it felt like it belonged. Luther observed him, dark eyes steady.
“Good. Now hard.”
Adam quirked a brow. “You always get this personal with your clients?”
Luther’s lips twitched, just slightly. “Only the ones who take it seriously.” He gestured, slow and patient. “Think of him.”
A pause. Then, quieter:
“Think of how he’s connected to you.”
Adam’s breath left him in a slow exhale. He didn’t have to try. The image came immediately.
Noah, pretty and perfect, warm and soft, wrapped around him. Noah’s parted lips, showing him that mouth full of sperm. The way he played with it with his tongue, just because Adam asked. The way Noah knew that sperm belonged inside him. Adam wanted to seal it inside of him.
His thick cock stirred, thickened, filled. The metal pressed snug against him, accommodating his size, pressing lightly against the heavy ridge of his shaft before curving back into alignment. It fit perfectly.
Luther studied him with something close to satisfaction. “Good.” His voice was steady, approving. “Now you know it belongs there.”
Adam exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. The weight of it, the presence of it, wasn’t constraining. It was grounding. A silent force pressing back against him, shaping his awareness.
Luther folded his arms. “Take it off.”
Adam glanced down. His cock stood thick and proud, veins pulsing beneath the band’s grasp. He didn’t move. The ring wasn’t coming off. And he didn’t want it to.
Luther hummed, tilting his head. “Ah. That’s the way of it.”
He stepped forward, not touching, but watching. His gaze dragged over the shape of Adam, the quiet power in his stance, the way he bore the weight of the thing without flinching. The ring. The sheer presence of him.
There was something else here. Not admiration, something deeper. A knowing. A recognition. The silence stretched between them, thick with something unsaid. Then, finally, Luther inhaled, slow and deep.
“Fine craftsmanship,” he murmured. Then, softer, with something like reverence:
“And a fine man to wear it.”
Adam felt the words land deep, unexpected. His smirk was slower this time. Measured. Pleased.
“Yeah?”
Luther only nodded. A slow inhale. A steady exhale.
Adam buttoned his jeans carefully. The ring didn’t let him forget itself. It was there with every movement, every shift of his body, a silent presence, a quiet possession, like the weight of Noah’s devotion against his skin.
When he walked out, he carried it with him. Not just the metal. Not just the fit.
He was part of something, and now, there was no taking it off.
The house is quiet when Adam steps inside. He locks the door behind him, strips off his clothes except for his briefs, padding barefoot through the house. Adam looks at himself in the bedroom mirror, his reflection stares back: his broad chest, the lines of muscle down his torso, the heavy shape beneath his briefs. He smirks slightly to himself.His body is accustomed to being naked here, to feeling uninhibited in his own space; but tonight, he doesn’t undress completely.
Not until Noah wears his collar. He had decided that in the car ride home and he knew it was true as soon as he thought it. That’s the new rule. Noah won’t see him fully naked until the collar is introduced. No sleeping together. No full nudity. A test of patience.
The door opens, and Noah steps in, kicking off his shoes with practiced ease. The sound of his movements is familiar—the rustle of fabric as he sheds his jacket, the soft exhale when he finally relaxes into the space. Adam doesn’t move to greet him immediately. He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching as Noah moves through the space. Noah turns, catching sight of Adam. His face softens instantly.
"Hey," Noah murmurs, stepping toward him.
Adam lets him come, lets him press close the way he always does, his smaller frame tucking neatly into Adam’s, tilting his face up, waiting. He lets the moment stretch before he responds, his hands coming to Noah’s waist, firm and steady. He pulls him in, but not fully. He keeps space between them, just enough for Noah to notice. Noah’s brows knit together slightly.
“Are you okay?”
Adam smirks, playing it off. “I’m fine.”
Noah hesitates. He picks up on everything, on the restraint in Adam’s touch, on the way his body isn’t pressing fully against his. But more than that, he notices Adam is still dressed. A small thing, but wrong in a way he can’t place.
“You didn’t shower yet?” Noah murmurs, tilting his head.
Adam just shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Noah presses closer, trying to close the space between them. Adam allows it for a moment before shifting just slightly, redirecting the energy, keeping control. Noah huffs a small, barely-there breath, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.
Later that night, Noah follows Adam into the bedroom as he always does, moving on instinct, reaching his shirt like he’s going to undress until Adam stops.
He doesn’t sit on the bed. Instead, he stands at the foot of it, watching as Noah climbs into the sheets in his cotton thong and his pretty little cage.
“We’re not sleeping together tonight,” Adam says. “Probably a few nights.”
The words are quiet, steady. No hesitation. The small room suddenly feels larger, the space between them stretching in a way it never has before.
“What?” His voice is soft, but there’s something fragile at the edges.
Adam exhales slowly, rubbing his hands over his face before meeting Noah’s eyes. “I need a little space.”
Noah’s lips part slightly, his hands hovering at his sides. “Did I… do something?”
Adam is already shaking his head before the question fully leaves Noah’s mouth. He steps forward, pressing his palm against Noah’s cheek, tilting his chin up.
“No, baby.” Adam’s voice is low, calm. “Just trust me.”
Noah’s lashes flicker. Trust. He trusts Adam more than anyone, more than himself, most days, but this is different. This is something he doesn’t understand yet. He doesn’t push. Not this time. Instead, he just nods, pulling up the sheets.
Adam looks at him for a long moment, then he breaks away and walks out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the guest bedroom.
Noah wakes up feeling off. It’s subtle at first, just a heaviness in his chest, a tightness in his stomach. His bed feels too empty, too cool without Adam’s warmth beside him. The space between them last night had been thin but unbearable, stretching like something fragile about to snap.
He rolls onto his back, exhaling sharply, staring at the ceiling. Adam had never asked for space before. By the time he drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen, Adam is already there. He stands at the counter, his posture relaxed, stirring sugar into his coffee. Everything about him is the same—calm, solid, unwavering.
Except it isn’t. Noah watches him closely as he moves around the kitchen, his gaze flickering over small details. Adam is still dressed. Normally, by now, he’d be shirtless, his broad chest on display, his body at ease in their shared space. But not today. Today, his t-shirt stays on, the fabric clinging to his torso, covering what Noah is now certain he isn’t meant to see.
Adam showers with the door locked. He changes in private. Noah isn’t stupid. He doesn’t know what Adam is hiding, but he knows he’s hiding something. He doesn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, he presses—testing, pushing at the edges, waiting for something to crack.
When Adam passes by, Noah moves into his space deliberately. Their bodies brush. His fingers slide over Adam’s chest, his stomach, the band of his sweatpants. Adam lets him. He always does.
But that’s all. He doesn’t pull Noah in. Doesn’t lift him onto the counter like he might on any other morning. His hands settle at Noah’s waist for a brief moment, firm but restrained, before he steps back.
The rest of the day should be normal, but it isn’t. Noah goes through the motions at work—the familiar rhythm of sessions, of listening, of guiding, but underneath it all, there’s a sharp undercurrent, something unshakable. Something is off. He knows he should let it go. Trust Adam. Trust that whatever this is will reveal itself in time. But it sits under his skin, simmering.
Then, in the quiet between sessions, his phone vibrates on his desk.
Adam: How’s your day, baby?
Noah stares at the message longer than he should. It’s normal. Sweet. Nothing out of place. But it feels like distance. Like Adam reaching out just enough to keep him steady, but not enough to let him in. Noah exhales, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Noah: Good.
Noah: Thinking about you.
Adam doesn’t reply right away. But when he does, it’s simple, heavy with something unspoken.
Adam: Me too.
The words settle deep in Noah’s chest. He thinks about breaking the rule. Walking into Adam’s room that night. Pushing until Adam gives in. Until he tells him what this is, what he’s been holding back. Instead, he locks his phone, pressing it face-down on the desk.
Noah is home before Adam. The house is still, warm from the heat of the day. He moves through the space quietly, peeling away the layers of his work clothes, his mind already set. If Adam won’t give, then Noah will take.
He opens the drawer where Adam keeps his things for him. But tonight, he chooses something simple. A soft, white thong. Barely there. Clean. Innocent. It’s not just for Adam—it’s a statement.
Noah stands in front of the mirror, his breath slow and measured as he pulls the fabric up over his hips, letting it settle into place. The waistband is thin, sitting high, the cotton snug between his thighs, covering nothing, concealing nothing.
When Adam walks through the door, Noah is waiting. Adam pauses just inside the entrance, his dark eyes sweeping over him. Taking him in. Noah doesn’t move at first. He just lets Adam look. Lets him see. Then, deliberately, he steps forward, pressing into Adam’s space, bare except for the thong.
Adam’s hands are on him in an instant, gripping his waist, sliding over his hips. For a moment, Noah thinks he’s won. Thinks Adam will break, that he’ll finally touch him, finally take him, finally give him what he needs. But then, Adam exhales. Slow. Measured. Controlled. And Noah knows. Knows before Adam even speaks.
"Maybe tomorrow, baby."
Noah freezes. The words hit like a wall, thick and immovable, closing him off from exactly what he wants, exactly what he’s burning for. He feels his own body react—not just frustration, but something deeper, something worse.
Why does it feel like surrender? Noah’s stomach twists, something ugly in his chest. He should be angry. Should push back, but he doesn’t. Because it isn’t just about Adam saying no. It’s about Adam holding Noah’s pleasure in his hands, deciding when he gets to have it.
That should make Noah furious. But it doesn’t. It makes his clit ache in its cage, makes his skin buzz, makes his breath come faster even as he tries to pretend it doesn’t. His thighs clench, his fingers twitch, and all he wants is to be touched.
But Adam doesn’t move. He stands there, his grip on Noah’s hips steady but unwavering, as if he’s waiting for Noah to understand. When Noah looks up and meets Adam’s eyes, he sees it. A flicker of satisfaction. Not cruel. Just knowing. Adam is holding it. All of it. Noah’s need, his ache--Adam is holding every single part of it, and he knows it. His fingers tremble just slightly, and that’s all Adam needs to see.
Adam doesn’t gloat or tease. He just lets Noah feel it. The weight of his own surrender. Then, slowly, Adam pulls back. Noah follows without meaning to. His body leans in on instinct, drawn to the heat, to the presence, to the power he just let slip through his fingers. But Adam is already stepping away.
"Goodnight, baby girl."
And then, Adam is gone. Leaving Noah burning.
The next night was Friday and Friday nights have their own rhythm, their own inevitable pull. Noah knows this. He feels it in the way Adam moves through the evening, in the unhurried way he clears the dishes after dinner, in the weight of his gaze when he looks at him. As if everything leading to this moment was already decided.
Noah exhales slowly, standing by the bathroom door, waiting. It’s not a rule—he could just go inside, undress himself, turn on the water—but that’s not how this works. So, he waits.
And when Adam finally looks up, smiles at him, Noah feels the same quiet thrill he always does. The way the smallest shift in Adam’s presence changes everything. He gets up and walks to Noah. His hands are warm when they settle on Noah’s hips.
“Let’s get you ready, baby.”
The words settle inside him, low and deep. They are not a question. They are not a command. They are permission.
The water runs hot, steam curling around them as Adam undresses Noah—slowly, deliberately, as if peeling back something deeper than just fabric. Noah holds still as Adam works, feeling the heat bloom across his skin, feeling the moment stretch in the way Adam doesn’t rush. Everything is slower tonight.
Adam doesn’t just remove the thong. He lifts it off Noah’s hips. He lets the fabric linger against Noah’s thighs before finally slipping it down, letting it fall into a forgotten heap on the tile. Adam sits behind Noah on his knees and he turns him around so his pretty bubble butt is right in his face, the head of the pretty pink plug peeking out. A pretty pink plug for a pretty pink pussy.
Adam slowly, gently guides the plug loose. Noah lets out a long breath. Adam sets the plug down and leans in, his breath warm on Noah’s cheeks. Noah feels Adam’s hands gently separate them and kiss right against the most vulnerable, most hidden part of him.
Noah gasps, his body jolting slightly, the heat of Adam’s breath sending a shudder up his spine. Adam kisses again.
“Noah has a sweet, pretty pussy.”
It is acknowledgment. Adam’s hands grip his hips, grounding him. He kisses and licks Noah’s puffy hole, massaging the smooth muscle of his bubble butt. He plants one last kiss, then his voice is quiet but firm.
“In the tub, baby.”
Noah obeys. The water is scalding, enveloping him immediately, but Noah barely notices. Adam kneels beside the tub, rolling his sleeves up slowly. He is not impatient. He is not teasing. He is taking his time. The key is still hanging from the chain around his neck. Noah’s eyes flicker to it as Adam finally takes it off. He kisses it gently then puts it to Noah’s lips.
“Kiss it, baby girl. Kiss the key.”
Noah looks at Adam, their eyes meet. Noah leans slightly and kisses the warm metal key. Adam smiles, his fingers in the water grazing the metal of his cage. He holds Noah’s gaze as he fits the key into place.
A pause. A test of patience.
Noah swallows, waiting. His body tightens, his skin prickling with awareness as Adam finally turns the key.
Click.
Noah exhales sharply. A rush of sensation. A raw, aching kind of relief that isn’t quite relief, because even though the cage is gone, Adam hasn’t touched him yet.
“Miss me?” The words are teasing, but his voice is heavier than that, something dark and proprietary woven into the syllables.
Noah nods, breathless. Adam doesn’t move. Doesn’t stroke, doesn’t test—he simply cups him. A firm, still palm resting between Noah’s legs, just holding his little cocklet. Noah’s pulse stutters. His thighs twitch beneath the water. Adam grins. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Yeah. I thought so.”
But he still does nothing more. Just lets Noah ache. The air is thick with lavender and heat as Adam pulls Noah out of the tub, a firm hand under his chin. Noah does not dry himself. Adam does. Slow, methodical, deliberate. Over his arms, over his smooth chest, down his stomach, between his thighs. Noah stands still, trembling slightly, as Adam kneels before him, razor in hand. Adam tilts his head up.
“You want to be my pretty girl?”
Noah nods quickly. Adam smirks. He already knew the answer. But he still makes Noah say it as he stands bare, skin damp and flushed. He shivered—not from cold, but from anticipation. Adam never rushed this part. Adam tilted his chin, catching Noah’s gaze, his expression unreadable.
“I made sure you were smooth before,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate. “But I think I missed a spot.”
Noah swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. He didn’t move as Adam ran his thumb along his stomach, then lower, pressing lightly against his little clit. His breath caught when Adam nudged his thighs apart with gentle pressure, guiding him into position without a word.
The first stroke of the razor was light, barely a whisper against his skin. Adam worked methodically, carefully, as if shaping something fragile. The blade glided over Noah’s inner thighs, over the smooth expanse of his pelvis, stripping away even the barest trace of hair. Every motion was precise, controlled.
Noah’s breath came shallow, the sensation of the razor, sharp but never harsh, sending shivers through him. Adam’s hand remained firm against him, tilting him slightly when needed, adjusting his stance with the smallest of movements. His fingers brushed against Noah’s clit, his little cocklet, but never lingered, never stroked. Adam’s exhale was warm against his stomach.
“That’s better.”
Noah’s pulse thrummed beneath his skin, his body attuned to every shift, every moment of stillness before the next touch. Adam rinsed the razor, setting it aside before reaching for the bottle of oil. He poured a small amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it before sliding them over Noah’s shoulders.
The musky scent thickened, heady and intimate, as Adam worked the oil into Noah’s skin. His touch was slow, intentional, moving over Noah’s arms, down his chest. He paused at his nipples, rolling them between his fingers, tugging slightly until Noah gasped. A smirk on Adam’s lips.
“These are my favorite. Noah’s pretty tits.”
Noah whimpered, pressing instinctively into his touch. The heat in his body deepened as Adam’s hands moved lower, spreading the oil over his stomach, his hips, a dab for his clit. And then—
A sharp inhale. Adam’s thumb slid along the sensitive folds of skin, tracing patterns without urgency, teasing more than claiming.
“This pretty little pussy.”
Noah shuddered, his legs trembling as Adam’s fingers dipped lower, brushing at his slick, needy hole. The words settled deep inside him, undeniable. Adam’s touch was light, just enough to make Noah ache with wanting.
“This…” Adam’s fingers pushed slightly inside, just enough to feel, to test. His voice dropped, thick with something raw. “This is a fucking vagina.”
Noah let out a strangled sound, his body taut with sensation, with need. His hands fisted at his sides, unsure whether to pull away or pull closer. Adam grinned, triumphant, knowing exactly what he was doing.
“Say it.”
Noah pauses. Then— “I have a vagina.”
“Yeah, you do, pretty girl.”
He guided Noah gently to the floor, onto the soft bathmat, his hands sure, unyielding. Noah let himself be moved, let himself be arranged, his mind already unraveling under the weight of it all. Adam knelt over him, his presence overwhelming, grounding.
Adam’s fingers slid inside him again, pressing against that perfect spot. No stroking, no jerking—just steady, building pressure. Noah writhed beneath him, his body arching, desperate. Adam’s mouth latched onto his perky pink tit. Adam sucked and kissed and chewed on it while he pressed deep inside Noah, right on his spot.
“You’re so beautiful, baby.”
Noah sobbed, his pleasure cresting too fast, too deep. Adam’s fingers curled inside him, knowing exactly how to push him over the edge. Noah came hard, shaking, his body tensing then melting, overwhelmed, undone.
Adam pulled back just enough to watch him, his eyes dark with satisfaction. Noah’s cheeks were wet with tears, his lips red and swollen, his entire body boneless beneath him. Adam exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to Noah’s temple.
“That’s my good girl.”
The ritual wasn’t finished. Adam reached for the cage, the lock, the plug waiting beside it. He caged him again, watching Noah’s lashes flutter as the steel closed around him. The plug slid in next, stretching him open once more, sealing everything in place.
A fresh thong—soft, cotton. Adam slid it up Noah’s legs himself, smoothing the waistband into place. He stood back, admiring his work. Noah swayed slightly on his feet. Adam steadied him with a hand on his hip, guiding him toward the bedroom.
“Sleep, baby,” Adam murmured, his voice steady, resolute. “Tomorrow’s important.”
Noah nodded, too spent to question it, too satisfied to care. Adam pressed a kiss to his forehead before pulling the covers over him, tucking him in, keeping him safe.
The guest room is quiet, dark except for the soft spill of moonlight filtering through the window. The sheets are untouched, the bed cool beneath him, but Adam is warm—his skin flushed, his body alive with energy he refuses to release.
He sits on the edge of the bed, naked except for the ring. It rests snug at the base of his cock, gleaming faintly in the dim light, the metal bending and curving like it belongs there. Like it was always meant to encircle him, mark him.
Adam exhales slowly, his thighs spreading wider. His cock is hard, full, thick with need. It pulses with every beat of his heart, heavy between his legs. He runs a hand along the length, grips the base lightly—not to stroke, not to tease, just to feel it, to claim it. His cock is magnificent. Powerful.
He remembers the way Luther looked at him. The way his voice had softened, that quiet reverence when he murmured, "I'm admiring you."
He tilts his head slightly as he watches himself in the mirror across the room. Adam's body is strong, defined, undeniably masculine. His chest broad and thickly dusted with hair, his abs firm, his arms flexed just slightly as he grips himself. His thighs are solid beneath him, powerful enough to lift, to pin, to hold. And then there's his cock.
He knows it’s very, very big and it has a classic penis shape, a thick, veiny shaft, large shiny head with a puffy piss slit, a pearl of precum. He loves how it feels between his fingers, the sheer mass of it, the way it demands to be seen.
“A fine man to wear it.”
Adam lets his head drop back slightly, breath deepening. Then: his father’s voice.
"There’s something different about you."
He’d noticed. Even before all this. Before the ring, before the collar, before the ownership of what was always there inside of him. Adam had felt it too.
"Tell me what you are."
Adam exhales sharply, running a hand up his thigh.
Then Noah.
Noah, kneeling.
Noah, mouth soft and pink, stretched around him, eager and reverent.
Noah, shivering under his touch, his beautiful breasts swollen and sensitive.
Noah, legs spread wide, pussy slick and willing, clit locked away, waiting.
Adam takes his hands off his boner with a slow breath. He won’t come tonight. Not without Noah. Instead, he reaches for the nightstand. The the thin wooden box, waiting, waiting. He opens it.
Inside, the collar glows in the low light. Cool, smooth metal, curved perfectly to fit Noah’s throat. The hidden loop tucked neatly against the back, out of sight, out of mind. Adam presses it to his chest, right over his heartbeat. He closes his eyes. He can feel a pulse coming from the ring around his cock.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he puts it on him.
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