The Game by Jason (M/m+) - Bdsmlibrary

".....The boy was beautiful.
There was no other word for it.
 Blond and broad-shouldered,
 he stood leaning over the sink in order to get a better look at his perfectly featured face,
 apparently concerned that the mirror might reveal
 a blemish on what appeared to be an otherwise totally clear chin.
His back had gone taut, the skin flawlessly smooth across a flexible, stretching spine.
 Well-worn denim--he had on nothing
but a pair of tight jeans--gripped his hips as he went up on tiptoe,
 the seam digging deep into the crack between his handsomely sculpted buttocks.
 A frayed slit near the left rear pocket revealed bright scarlet underpants.
 From the snug fit of his jeans,
 it would appear that his legs were going to be as terrific as the rest of him. Long.
 Lean. Muscular. A swimmer's legs.
 Or so AKA had decided
*****
The feeling that now flooded AKA was unlike any other.
 The beautiful young hunk now trapped between his thighs was his,
 his completely, his until the end,
the end that AKA and AKA alone would decree.
 There was no other sensation in the world like it,
 the feeling that he could now play god, could now control fate,
 could now call down death on the spoiled little rich-kid
who lay oh-so-sweetly cuffed and gagged below him.
AKA was hard as a rock, his breathing deep with excitement,
 his cock straining at the front of his jeans.
******
The boy dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling even as AKA pulled him lengthwise onto the bed and let go of the ankles.
 The tanned feet stuck out over the bottom of the bed,
 looking both forlorn and useless. Leaning forward,
AKA squeezed the lax, lightly haired calves. He reached higher and kneaded the knobby,
 motionless knees. He reached higher still and stroked the surface of the smooth,
muscular thighs.
For the first time the boy tensed.
AKA smiled and slowly wedged his hand between the thighs,
 deliberately grazing the base of the cotton jockeys as he did so.
 He brushed the base of the jockeys once, twice, three times,
 doing a bit more each time to make contact with the inviting bulge of balls outlined beneath.
 The boy was still staring at the ceiling, but there was no question.
 He was getting hard. Despite himself, despite his own fear,
 his own consternation,
 his own astonishment at the betrayal his own body was now in the process of committing.
AKA rose onto the bed
 and settled himself on the kid's sexy lower legs.
His hands returned to the firm thighs,
 to the boy's crotch,
to the bulging balls beneath the jockeys.
There was no question now. The boy's dick was responding.
 It began to tunnel its way up through the Calvins.
More.
Then more still.
 AKA paused,
 then used his index finger to trace the shape of it.
The boy tensed again....."