“Undress me.” Quiet, authoritative. A command, not a request.
I reached out, hesitant at first, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Before I could grasp them, he grabbed both arms at the wrist.
“Look at me.” I dared not disagree or disappoint. “I’ve given you a direct order, do not hesitate, do not second guess yourself. In this situation, there is no choice – I’ve made those choices for you and I trust you to do as I say. Let go of the thoughts that cause you to hesitate.”
He looked at me, waiting until I nodded that I’d heard and understood him. Then he released my hands.
This time I didn’t hesitate – I started unbuttoning his shirt from collar to waist, focusing, making my movements efficient. The entire time, I breathed deeply… steadying my nerves and inhaling his scent.
His shirt hadn’t been tucked in to begin with, and in short order he stood with his shirt fully unbuttoned, his skin warm beneath the cloth. In turn, he held out his left and then his right wrist, and I unbuttoned the cuffs. I reached to push the material off of his shoulders and he gently stopped me. “Unfasten my belt.”
Looking him in the eye, I reached for the buckle, but he stopped me.
“No, I want you to kneel in front of me to do that.”
Without hesitating, I knelt. His jeans were faded, worn, fitted perfectly to his body. The belt buckle silver, the belt black leather. Old. It was almost as supple as kid leather after years of use. I unfastened the belt and… stopped. From my knees, I looked up into eyes that were observing my every move.
“Good boy,” he said while a small smile played across his lips. “Next, boots.”
Black boots, short, under the rolled cuffs of his jeans. I looked from the boots to his eyes, “Yes Sir.” Another smile. He took my hand, and helped me up. Walking to a small sofa, me trailing behind him, still holding my hand. He sat on the sofa’s edge, me kneeling before him, and presented his boot to me. I reached to the heel, grasping the leather while my other hand held his calf. Gently pulling the heel toward me, I felt the boot begin to slide off. As the boot came free, the sole pressed against my abdomen, I leaned back feeling the boot move with me. Leaning back, naked, with his boot in my hand, I could feel the tread of the sole against my skin, while the buttery softness of the leather was in my hand. The smell—of the leather, and of his foot, wafted towards my face. I inhaled deeply and held my breath, slowly exhaling. Another deep breath. “Next boot, boy.” I realized I’d stopped focusing on his face and, when my attention was drawn back, another encouraging smile.
After removing the other boot, I sat there… continuing to inhale the scent. He stood quickly—barefooted, with his belt unbuckled. “Now… the jeans.”
I reached to his waist, staring into his eyes, and unbuttoned his jeans. As I pulled them to the floor, I found he was wearing jock strap. As he stood before me he remained in his unbuttoned shirt, his jock strap and socks. Standing up had placed the pouch of his jock in front of my face—so close I could feel the heat he generated. He placed one hand on the back of my neck, drawing my face into the warmth of his crotch. I could feel the cloth of his jock against my face, my nose buried in the crevice where his groin met his thigh. So warm, against my face, the smell intoxicating. I buried my face, stroking his skin with my cheek. The feel of his warmth against my face.
“Do you like that, boy?” I was almost purring. “Yes Sir.”
“Good, then maybe later…,” leaving the promise hanging there. The implication, at least in my head, was ‘If you’re a good boy.’
Love stopped coming easy to me when I was still a child. Love always had some condition, some price from that point out. Oh, not literally—or, perhaps more accurately, not financial or monetary. Sex had been a form of collateral. And when I grew older, while I wanted to be held, sex was a surrogate, as close an analog as I got, at least from my standpoint.