Finger moving to his lips. "And so it is."He kissed it. The tip of my finger. Gracious. Eager.I almost felt sorry for what I was about to do.Almost.**...**With his mouth.And so, it shall be. He reclined on my bed. On his back. Vulnerable. His wrists strapped down, spread far from his body. His ankles, still in those boots I find so irresistible, spread equally, locked down.A tight black t-shirt. Black jeans. A belt -- hanging open a little, the buckle silver.And a tight black velvet blindfold.His. I didn't know automobiles enough to know if it was his or not.I didn't need to go to work; the world would keep spinning about its axis without me; I could have gone back to bed and sleep. Standing, though, had shifted the weight of my bladder. I decided to see to it before bringing a cup of tea back to bed.I cruised his lounge room as the kettle came to a boil. It wasn't a room I was comfortable in. It was stainless steel and black and hard. An oversize television screen dominated the space.. More

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