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Smith took his hand away, but he didn’t release Hunter from his stony gaze. Licking his lips nervously, Hunter got off the couch and settled himself on the floor at the man’s booted feet. He’d encountered very few SM people in his time bopping around the clubs. Most of the places he favored were upper-class bars of the sort that served neon-colored drinks and had tasteful little bouquets of eucalyptus and dried flowers on every table. That was kind of bar he’d met Smith in - the few men Hunter had ever noticed in there wearing leather were obviously making a fashion statement, nothing more. Smith, obviously, was different. Hunter wasn’t sure whether he was excited or afraid. He knew he could - theoretically, at least - simply get up and announce he wasn’t interested, then walk out of the apartment and get a cab home. He’d never actually been in a fight before, but he had the advantage of age and size, after all. He was comfortably certain he could take Smith if he got crazy. But maybe this would be interesting. Maybe he should give it a chance. He’d just have to make his position clear from the start. "Listen," he said, his voice considerably less forceful than he’d hoped it would be. "I’ll play with you, but I have some limits..." "Shut up," Smith said coolly. He lifted one boot, positioned it firmly against Hunter’s shoulder, and shoved. It happened so quickly Hunter had no time to do anything but fall over. Smith got up and Hunter found himself cowering on the carpet. He was uncomfortably aware that his dick had gotten hard. But the man only walked past him to the small bar in the room’s corner and began filling a glass with ice. "Don’t get up," Smith told him. "If you try to get up, I’ll take you to the backroom and tie your ass to the bed and do some rather interesting things to your body - interesting from my point of view, anyway. You and I are going to talk for a while. If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. If you’re interested, then we’ll talk further. But for the moment, you’re mine. Take your pants down. Do it." Smith’s voice remained calm, even humorous, but Hunter realized he meant every word. He also realized his hard-on had grown to monstrous proportions. He was breathing quickly and it felt like his guts were filled with hot steam. No politeness here. No flattery or simpering declarations of adoration. Just cold orders. Take your pants down. It was getting him hot, hotter than he would have believed possible. Hunter unzipped and wriggled his tight jeans down to his ankles. He laid back on his elbows with his cock exposed, moving his hips ever so slightly from side to side, showing himself to Smith. He wore an expression one of his former lovers used to call kittenish. "Here," Smith said, walking over and thrusting the glass of ice into his face. "Take it." Hunter took it with a questioning look. Smith folded his arms. "Take an ice cube out. Rub your balls with it." Hunter fished a chunk of ice out of the glass, held it briefly up, watching the room’s dim light crack and prism out into small rainbows on the clear surface. Then he pushed it down between his legs, wincing at the sudden spark of cold against his sac. "I said rub it on yourself, not just hold it there," Smith said crisply. Hunter washed his balls with the ice, rubbing it around and around, whimpering as his flesh was frozen. The mixture of cold and pain did nothing to soften his dick. "I could have made you stick a needle in yourself," Smith drawled. "Or use a lit cigarette. Do you believe me?" "Yes," Hunter said deliriously, shuddering all over. He did believe it. He could imagine a straight steel needle piercing his scrotum by his own hand, at Smith’s command. He saw a glowing cigarette butt in his hand, slowly moving closer to his crotch. Because Smith told him to. He had to do what Smith said...whatever Smith said. The conviction was lovely in its simplicity, its lack of complications; Smith was his master. He belonged to Smith. He had to please him, or he would be punished. He wasn’t so nervous now. He wanted to please Smith, very badly. "Good," Smith said. "That’s a good beginning."
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