Mysterious stranger

Mysterious Stranger’s POV

The boy was light, carrying him was no sweat. 

Slender and fragile, just how I like. 

Once I got him out from under the bar’s neon haze and into the back of the cab. 

His head lolled against my shoulder the whole ride, breath shallow and uneven, lips parted like he was still trying to form words that never quite made it out. 

I kept one arm looped around his waist, casual to anyone watching, possessive to anyone who mattered. 

The driver didn’t bother to ask questions.

 It’s normal around here to go out with your partner and come back drunk, I guess that’s what he’s thinking.

My hotel room wasn’t very far from the bar, it was the kind of hotel that don’t ask questions when you come back late or with an unconscious person.

Third floor, corner room, soundproofed enough that the hallway carpet swallowed our footsteps. 

I carried him the last few steps, bridal style, because why not indulge the irony? And  kicked the door shut behind us.

Inside, the lights were low, amber from the single lamp I’d left burning.

 I laid him on the bed, still fully dressed, hoodie rumpled, jeans clinging to narrow hips.

 His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. 

A soft, confused sound slipped from his mouth, half protest, half plea, it was beautiful when they act like this.

I started with the shoes, laces already loosened from the stumble out of the bar. 

Then his socks. His feet were pale, his toes curled when they felt the cold air brushed on them. 

The hoodie came next, I took it off slowly, so I could feel the way his ribs expanded under my palms as I tugged fabric over his head. 

He didn’t resist Orr try to fight me, it’s funny how I expect him to fight when I drugged him.

Jeans were trickier, I had to lift his hips, slide them down inch by inch. 

Underwear followed, simple black briefs that left nothing to imagination once they were gone.

 He was bare now, skin goose-pimpled, cock soft and vulnerable against his thigh.

 I stepped back for a moment, just staring at his beautiful skin. 

The drug had painted him in shades that made him look irresistible, flushed cheeks, slack mouth, chest rising and falling too fast. 

I retrieved the blindfold from the nightstand drawer, it was a soft black leather blindfold. 

I lifted his head gently, slid it over his eyes, tied it snug at the back. 

His breathing hitched when the world went dark. 

A small, lost whimper.

 I brushed my thumb across his lower lip, and felt it tremble.

“Good boy,” I murmured. “Just let go.”

I didn’t rush it, things like this are not to be rushed.

I have to restrain him first, leather cuffs, padded, buckled around wrists and ankles.

 I clipped them to the metal frame I’d already bolted under the mattress weeks ago. 

 He tugged once, weakly, then stilled. 

The drug was doing most of the work, but I could see the moment awareness flickered back, a sharp inhale, a twitch of muscle, the way his blindfolded head turned toward the sound of my belt sliding free.

I took ice from the minibar bucket first and slow circles around one nipple until it peaked, then the other. 

He arched, gasped, a broken little sound that made the heat coil low in my gut. 

Then heat, the flat of my palm, warmed by friction against my thigh, pressed hard enough to leave a pink handprint. 

Alternating, from cold to hot, cold to hot, his body jerked each time, confused and seeking attention.

The flogger came next soft suede tails, more sting than thud.

 I let it dance across his chest, his stomach, the sensitive insides of his thighs.

 Light at first, then heavier, heavy enough to hear the swooshing sound in the air and the cracking sound on his skin.

Each strike pulled a new noise from him, sharp yelps melting into low, shuddering moans.

 His cock had started to fill, twitching against his belly with every lash.

 I smiled, my little twig was loving it too.

I paused long enough to drizzle lube over my fingers, then teased the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks.

 One finger, slowly turning to two. 

He keened, hips lifting despite himself.

 I curled them, found the spot that made his whole body seize, then withdrew just as quickly.

He can’t have pleasure, not yet.

I went again with the whip, ten measured strikes across his ass, hard enough to bloom red, not hard enough to bruise yet. 

After each one I soothed the skin with my palm, felt the heat radiating back. 

He was crying quietly by the eighth, blindfold damp at the edges, body trembling so hard the cuffs rattled against the frame.

I leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” I whispered. “Look at you,  all open for me, all mine tonight.”

He didn’t answer, of course he didn’t, because he couldn’t but his hips rolled upward, instinctively. 

I rewarded him with my mouth on his throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, then biting just hard enough to leave a mark.

 He sobbed once, it sounded raggard and raw. It sounded like bottled up emotions, my little  twig was holding on to a lot of things.

I took my time after that

Switching from ice and heat again. 

Clamps on his nipples, gentle tension at first, then tighter. 

A vibrating plug, slick and relentless, seated deep while I stroked him slowly, never quite enough to let him tip over. 

Edging him until he was babbling, “please, please, I don’t know, I can’t,” voice wrecked, body slick with sweat.

When I finally let him come, it was brutal, hand tight around his cock, plug still buzzing, my other hand pressing down on the fresh welts across his ass. 

He screamed, was high, broken and it sounded beautiful.

Spilling over my fist in long, shuddering pulses.

 His whole body locked, then collapsed, boneless.

I wiped him down with a warm cloth, slow and careful, then settled beside him on the bed. 

One hand resting possessively over his heart, feeling it beat so fast until it calm down to it’s normal rhythm.

I’ll take him back to the club later but first he needs to rest.