Mastering Stefan
By J.M. Snyder
Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords
This story is included in the print book Eight by J.M. Snyder.
Visit http://www.jmsnyder.net for more information.
Copyright 2010 J.M. Snyder
ISBN 978-1-93575-312-4
For more titles by J.M. Snyder at Smashwords visit https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jmsnyder
Cover Photo Credit: Marc Palmer
Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design: J.M. Snyder
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
NOTE: “Mastering Stefan” won 2nd place in Tit-Elation.com’s 2006 Please the Baroness contest and appears in the anthology Best Gay Bondage Erotica published by Cleis Press.
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Mastering Stefan
By J.M. Snyder
Three years and Stefan’s yet to find that certain someone who can take him to the precipice of lust, dangle him over the abyss, and shove him headlong into the darkness of his own desire. Someone who drives him to the edge but won’t let him fall. Someone he can trust completely, body and soul, someone he can lose himself in. When a local gay bar called the Code hosts a fetish night, Stefan goes looking to be conquered.
August in Richmond is sweltering—even at quarter to midnight, the air is sticky like a wet rag and the humidity takes Stefan’s breath away. He settles for a black latex vest, no undershirt, and a pair of bright blue latex boy-shorts so tight Daisy Duke would be jealous. The shorts make his buttocks look like two round rubber balls, high and tight, and the outline of his cock bulges along the top of his upper left thigh. The vest, tapering to twin points just above his narrow waist, accentuates both assets.
But when he enters the bar, he’s just one more body in the crowded sea that undulates over the dance floor. Music pounds around him like the surf, washing him up to the bar with the rest of the driftwood. He orders a White Russian, his first mistake. Then he eases onto a vacant stool, his second. Just to wait for the drink, he reasons, but sitting at the bar in a place like this is social suicide. After his next Russian, Stefan stops trying to make eye contact with anyone other than the bartender. By his third, he thinks this party is a bust.
He stays, if only because the night is young and the drinks are cheap. Between refills he swivels around on the stool, leans back against the bar, and surveys the room around him. In the dim lighting, the bodies meld into one, a primordial animal that gyrates obscenely in time to the music as if masturbating to the beat. The thought turns Stefan on. He has to slide down a little to ease the chafe in his shorts—his dick tries to swell beneath the latex but the shorts won’t give an inch, and the restriction only makes him harder. He shifts his package a bit, rearranges the goods, until the swollen tip of his cock ends dangerously close to the bottom hem of the shorts. As he presses against the stiff length, his eyes slip shut at the sweet ache that blossoms in him. And no one to share it with, he thinks.
As he turns back for his drink, a shadow detaches itself from the dance floor, heading his way. When Stefan spares a glance over one shoulder, the stranger takes that as an invitation and sidles up next to him at the bar. The guy is a few years older than Stefan, early forties at the most, with long blond hair tied back from his face with a thin leather strap at the nape of his neck. The arm closest to Stefan bulges with strength, the skin rough and ruddy from long exposure to the sun. Raising his glass, Stefan gives the stranger a drunken grin and has to shout over the crowd to be heard. “Hey.”