After dinner, I follow Keith to his place. It’s in some country club with houses that are better called mini-castles. Why anyone would need a place so large is beyond me. Whereas others might see picturesque brick and stone mansions of various architectures, I see money, money, money. His neighborhood isn’t too unlike some of the others I frequent except that the properties are larger.

When we pull in to his drive, a pair of horses come running alongside the cars following us up the path. The entire drive and surrounding area are well-lit. This guy probably spends more on electricity just to keep the expansive acreage lit up than our whole household does for basic living.

His place has a stone front and tall columns creating a spacious front porch. It’s a lovely home.

While Keith parks in the garage, I step up beside the fence where the horses are naying and kicking for attention. If they come running when someone pulls in then it means they’re well taken care of and likely given treats frequently. Keith must take a lot of pride in owning them. I bet the property line extends around to the back a good bit since most homes here don’t look like they would have the acreage for horses.

The female horse comes right up to me, but the male keeps back a few steps.

“Hey, girl.” I run my hand across her neck just under her well-groomed mane. She responds by dropping her head and nudging me gently.

I had a friend growing up whose family raised horses. I always loved to be around them. They’re majestic and loyal creatures. When you speak to them, it’s as if they understand.

“You ride?” he asks.

Keith comes up behind me with a cut up apple in hand.

“Not in a long time.”

No one in my life these days knows about my love for horses. They’re therapeutic. I understand why someone would invest the time and energy into them.

He places a piece of apple in my palm and I flatten my hand for the gorgeous animal to take up the treat with her lips. The more reserved male has no reservations about trotting up to Keith and demanding his fair share of fruit. He’s very comfortable with the suited man. I’d guess Keith handles a lot of their care himself rather than paying others to handle it for him.

“This is Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Haha. Nice. They’re gorgeous.” I resume petting Bonnie who lightly bumps my shoulder with her head.

“She’s usually the timid one. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“Well, I doubt we’ve ever crossed paths before.”

“She’d remember if you had. Horses have excellent memories.”

“If I had come upon her in the past, I’d remember too. I don’t imagine I’ll forget such a pretty face. Huh, girl?”

I catch Keith staring at me. I’d almost forgotten why I’m here. It isn’t exactly a social call. I’m not supposed to be reminiscing or having fun. I’m working. I need to retain that image.

Keith evaluates. “Funny enough, I’ve never brought a man home that one or the other of them haven’t hated. She’s the one that’s tough to sell.”

The number of men he’s brought home is likely a plethora too.

I kid with him, “It just means she has good taste. It’s about time you caught up with her.”

His laugh is so natural. “Maybe so. Let’s head inside and wash up.”

Yeah, there’s nothing sexy about our hands smelling like horses. I fight the urge to lean in and give Bonnie a light kiss on her head. I don’t do it. That’s not why I’m here.

Still, it’s a nice treat to see them. If I ever had the money, I’d want a pair of horses too. Hell, maybe even just the enjoyment of spending a few days a year with one on a trail would be nice.

Not in this lifetime. I’m expected to be attractive and available. That doesn’t come with camping, mud, or the possibility of rope burns or injuries. I’m a city boy, like it or not. My looks have determined that for me.

Before stepping inside, I give Bonnie and Clyde one last glancing smile.

Once indoors, I take in Keith’s home. It’s not simple, but also not overstated. There isn’t a set theme as much as what appear to be decorative pieces accumulated from his life adventures. There is an African mask and a Venetian vase. There’s a large carved bowl with a few smaller coconut shell bowls beside it.

He catches my glimpse. “It’s called a Tanoa. It was a gift from a Samoan friend. Have you ever heard of kava?”

“No.”

“It’s a plant where the root is used to create a drink that helps people … relax. The Tanoa is the bowl used to mix it. I’ll never use fresh kava root again, but dried kava root is a pretty good experience. Remember that if you’re ever in the South Pacific and don’t make the same mistake that I did.”

Sure, because that’s in the cards for my future with my expected grade school teaching salary. It’s right up there with buying a yacht.

I glance around. “Most people’s homes help me define them. Yours makes you more puzzling than anything.”

“And I’m more and more curious about your backstory, but I wouldn’t dare ask because I know I’d hit a wall. However, I’m an open book.”

Conversation is usually a sign of nervousness, but it flows from him naturally.

Why hasn’t he touched me? It’s not like he has to win my appeal. I’m not a date, I’m an escort.

Helping him along, I take his hands in mine. “Where should we go to clean up?”

Pulling away, he leads me around a corner. “The mud room is fine.”

What he calls a mud room is in fact a nicely sized, wide hall with cubbies and bench seating and a full bathroom coming off it complete with laundry facilities.

He waits until I’m finished washing my hands before he washes his.

What’s this guy’s deal? He was eying me all evening and now he’s standoffish. Maybe I fucked up by not giving him all of my attention when we first arrived at his house.

He orders, “Follow me.”

At least we’re going somewhere with this, but not exactly as I expected. Maybe he’s one of those get in the right room and then pounce types. He comes off as possibly having a neat freak gene.

Walking down a corridor, he prods, “What are your hobbies, Ian?”

He doesn’t honestly think I would open up my life to him, does he?

I answer, “Murderous rampages, skydiving, growing poppies in the basement. You know, every day naughty boy stuff.”

When he laughs, I’m convinced I’m regaining traction with him. And I do like his laugh.

I’m led into what could be considered an office but is more than likely some kind of man den.

“Take off your clothes.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“How slowly?”

“I’m after the end game, not the show.”

That clarifies a disinterest in a striptease. He’s a tough one to figure out. What is he after?

He doesn’t bother to remove a single article of clothing from himself. When he approaches me, I reach for him and he gently grabs my wrist and lifts it out into the air. It takes me a moment to realize he’s posing me.

“Spread your legs wider.”

When he’s finished directing me, I’m standing with my arms and legs stretched out resembling an X. Stepping back, he takes me in. He’s assessing me like a thoroughbred trying to win best in show rather than a body for his erotic pleasure. There’s a notepad on his desk that he uses to jot down a note.

This isn’t about his enjoyment. It’s about him finalizing the positions he intends to put me in for his event. He expects for me to be bound and repositioned throughout. He’s a disciplined man that puts his work before his play. I can respect that.

“Put your hands directly overhead.”

I obey and he comments, “You’re too tall for that one to work. Bring them down and cross your wrists … that’s better.” He adds a note to his sheet of paper. I remain silent.

“I want you at full mast.”

He’s not bashful and his command is flawless. He doesn’t hesitate with his orders and has no reservations with the words he selects.

It becomes clear that he wasn’t in any way holding a conversation with me earlier out of delay or reluctance. If he was taking the time to chat, it was because he was choosing to do so. My eyes don’t leave him as I stroke myself to deliver what he’s demanded.

At least that’s one part of my body that solicits a response from him whether he’s trying to hide it or not. I see it in the way he licks across his lips and adjusts his stance. He can play foreman all he wants to; he covets me and I look forward to what follows this planning exercise.

Over the course of about fifteen minutes, he bends me into dozens of positions that tell me my wrists, ankles, and neck will likely end up bound. Other than what he deems necessary for posing, he doesn’t touch me. His slacks are uncomfortably tight under the scrutiny of my eye and he does nothing about that either. It makes me want to free him into my mouth. The longer this goes on, the hungrier I grow for him. His self-control is astounding.

“I’ll agree to five. Do you accept my offer?”

Five grand for five hours of ‘work.’ I would have agreed to four.

“Yes.”

After he’s finished treating me like a rag doll, he pulls out his wallet and counts out a few hundred dollars and places it into my hand. “Good. I’ll text you the date and time tomorrow. Let me know if for any reason it doesn’t work. You can get dressed and go.”

What?!

That’s it?!

I’m standing here in the buff, cock erect and ready, he’s paid me the cash, and he’s telling me to leave?

“That’s all you want from me tonight?”

“Yes. You see, I’m one of the eight and I prefer to conquer slowly. Instant gratification isn’t rewarding enough for me. I’ll let my desire for you build until I’m ready to make you my plaything.”

Hot damn! I can get behind that. He’s a naughty one and will play a nice dom. As pissed as I am that he isn’t touching me tonight, I can hardly wait until he does. A tactful male dominant with the emotional maturity it requires is something I’ve been missing out on. I’m a true submissive to a woman already. I wonder how he’ll compare.

He’s standing beside his desk and I step up to him, letting my erection rest on his leg.

“Desire is best built with temptation. At least kiss me before I leave, or can’t you handle it?”

With a grin, he leans up. “I like the way you toy with me. It’s right up my alley.”

My body presses against him as we kiss. I want more, but my goal is to achieve his goal which means I only tease and taunt; I don’t push the envelope.

When we’re done kissing, I step away and lean over exposing my ass to him as I gather my clothes from the floor.

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