He was already hard when the ropes went on. Thick hemp looped around his wrists and ankles, pulling him spread-eagle to the bed frame, cock standing straight up from his belly. No blindfold. He wanted to watch. The other manolder, heavier, calmknelt between his thighs and just looked at it for a long minute.
Nice piece, he said finally.
Voice low and rough. Gonna take my time with it.
Fingers wrapped around the base, not moving yet. Just holding. Warm and firm. The bound mans hips twitched once and the ropes creaked. The hand stayed still.
Easy, the older man muttered. Were doing this slow.
He started with a single long stroke from root to head, thumb dragging over the slit to spread the first bead of precome. Then back down. Another pause. Another stroke, just as slow. The bound mans breathing went ragged fast. Every upward pull made his cock throb visibly in the loose grip. The man on his knees watched it happen, eyes half-lidded, like he was studying the way the skin stretched and the head darkened.
Fuck, the bound man hissed. Faster.
No.
The next stroke took even longer. The hand twisted slightly at the top, knuckles brushing the sensitive underside. A clear string of fluid stretched between thumb and cockhead when the grip loosened. The bound mans balls tightened, drawn up tight already. He tried to thrust into the hand but the ropes held him flat. All he could do was watch his own cock get worked at that maddening pace.
The older man spat in his palm once, then wrapped back around. The wet sound was obscene in the quiet room. Stroke. Pause. Stroke. The bound mans thighs trembled. Sweat gathered at his temples and slid down his neck. Every time the hand reached the head it lingered, thumb circling the crown until the slit leaked steadily. Then the slow descent again, squeezing just enough to make the shaft pulse.
Gonna make you leak all over yourself before I let you come, the older man said. He sounded almost bored, but his own cock was hard in his jeans. He didnt touch himself. Both hands stayed on the bound manone stroking, the other resting heavy on a trembling thigh.
Time stretched. The strokes never sped up. Sometimes the grip loosened so the bound man could feel cool air on wet skin. Sometimes it tightened until the head flared dark and shiny. The bound mans abs clenched. His cock jerked in the loose fist, trying to fuck the air. Nothing changed. Slow up. Slow down. The head glistened, a steady drip running down the shaft and over the stroking fingers.
Fuckplease, he groaned. His voice cracked. Im close.
I know. The older man didnt speed up. He dragged his fist up again, palm sliding over the soaked head, then squeezed the base hard enough to stop the orgasm from building. The bound mans cock flexed uselessly, a thick pulse of precome pushing out and running down his balls. Not yet.
He kept going. The room smelled like sweat and sex. The only sounds were the wet slide of skin and the bound mans increasingly desperate breathing. Every slow stroke made his cock twitch harder. The head was swollen, shiny, almost purple. The shaft glistened from root to tip. The older mans hand never left it. He switched grips sometimesfull fist, then just thumb and two fingers gliding up the underside like he was tracing a vein. Then back to the full stroke, maddeningly slow.
The bound mans hips rolled in tiny helpless circles. His balls ached. Every time he thought he might tip over, the grip changed or loosened just enough to pull him back. His cock kept leaking, a constant thin stream now, soaking the older mans fingers and dripping onto the sheets.
Such a mess, the older man murmured. Told you Id make you leak.
He leaned down and dragged his tongue once across the head, tasting him, then sat back and resumed the same slow rhythm. The bound man made a broken sound. His cock jerked hard in the fist, another thick spurt of precome welling up. The strokes continuedup, twist, down, pauseuntil the bound mans thighs were shaking and his voice was hoarse from begging.
When the older man finally sped up, it was only a fraction. Still controlled. Still deliberate. The bound mans orgasm hit like a slow wave instead of a crash. His cock pulsed hard in the tight grip, shooting thick ropes across his stomach and chest. The hand kept stroking through it, milking every pulse, drawing it out until the bound man was gasping and twitching with overstimulation.
Only then did the strokes stop. The older man wiped his hand on the bound mans thigh, stood, and looked down at the mess.
Next time, he said, we go even slower.
