Chapter 35
Tristan
Nick was clearly prepared for this. He laid out several tools and toys on his duvet. They’re waiting for me when I shut the door behind me.
A tub of lube, three progressively larger dildos, a frighteningly large butt plug, a ball gag, and restraints of multiple types are lined up neatly at the foot of the bed.
And, displayed on a pillow, a black lace thong, a black silk eye mask, and a black metal cock ring, along with a hand-scrawled note: put these on.
Well, yes sir.
I strip carefully, folding my clothes and putting them beside the bed. I pause briefly to examine my naked body in the mirror against one wall. I am proud of my body, though I was sometimes self-conscious when I was with Warren.
Warren was very invested in his physical fitness, in his physical appearance in general.
On the one hand, I admired the care he took with his body, working out every day and being meticulously careful about what he ate.
On the other hand, I wasn’t sure it was healthy.
He was constantly posting shirtless photos of himself on his social media, constantly checking how many likes he got, always tracking his weight, terrified of his body fat percentage, and often suggesting that I should join him in the gym more.
It’s not that I think my body wasn’t enough for him. At least, he never said that directly.
But sometimes he would make comments about how relatively smaller I was than he was. How my shoulders weren’t as big, or my pecs not as defined, or my abs not as visible.
I was never ashamed to be on the slimmer side until some of the comments Warren made.
Sometimes, I wonder what he’d think of my body now.
While I by no means have huge muscles—I could open Instagram and immediately find ten guys who are more built than I am—I do have some muscles now.
Would this be enough for Warren?
Or was nothing ever enough for him?
I shake the thoughts from my head, a little horrified by them and how traitorous they feel.
Because that’s what you are, a traitor, a terrible little voice says in my head.
Fuck off, I tell it.
But there’s a part of me that isn’t sure it doesn’t speak the truth.
Logically, I know that I don’t owe Warren anything. As painful as it is, he’s dead. We had our years together, and they’re over.
Having sex with Nick is not cheating on Warren.
That’s literally impossible, unless the orgasms that Nick induces in me are powerful enough to rip open the space-time continuum.
Which, now that I think about it, isn’t altogether out of the question.
I will not think about Warren the first time that Nick finally sticks his cock in my ass.
The black lace thong molds closely around my cock, which is already growing semi-hard, with the cock ring tight around my base. The thong is tight between my cheeks, pressing teasingly against my hole.
Another glance at myself in the mirror has me feeling better about myself.
I’m not my type, but even I have to admit that I look sexy as fuck. Add a pair of black stockings? Yeah, that would be perfect.
Maybe some nipple clamps, too. And a collar.
Then it would be perfect.
I feel better not just because I think I look sexy, but because I know this is what Nick wants. That’s the perk of having a carefully and frankly negotiated relationship based on absolute honesty about our sexual interests.
I’m wearing this because he wants it. Because it turns him on. Therefore, I don’t even have a second thought about how I look.
Right now, I’m perfect for what he wants.
I climb onto the bed, lying on my back and slipping the black silk mask over my eyes.
And then I wait.
I don’t know how long Nick plans on having me wait, but I’ll wait forever if I need to. My cock stiffens as I think about how, right now, I’m just a beautiful little toy for him to use when he’s ready.
I don’t have to wait long.