He wouldn't do it. Wouldn't ask Blair to kneel beside his desk, stay an imaginary leash-length behind him when they walked. Wouldn't make Blair strip when they walked into the loft, wouldn't keep him naked except for a curve of leather fastened snugly around his neck.
Wouldn't order him to silence, command him to speak, wouldn't make Blair bend and spread and cry out and whimper.
Wouldn't reach down and stroke Blair's head, calming him until the trembling and the tears stopped, his other hand cool against reddened, punished skin.
Wouldn't. But he wants to.
And Blair's waiting so patiently…
Return to Home
Click here if you'd like to send feedback