He woke, senses assailed by the scent of flesh, creak of leather, the taste of man.

He woke, blind to the world, eyes bound, perpetual darkness overwhelming him.

He woke, the combination of ecstacy and agony through his tortured flesh.

"You're awake," came the gravelly voice of his tormentor.

Mouth and throat so dry he could only nod his answer, the power of that voice already worked on his ravaged and spent cock.

"Ready for round two, I see." 

Blindfolded, he could only vaguely tell where his tormentor was positioned. Wriggling his body towards the voice he ground out two words. "Take me."

The quickening of breath was his only reply, a slight hitch and gasp, but that hitch and gasp told him exactly what he wanted to know.

He slowly raised his hips to display his ass, legs going akimbo, spreading to welcome his lover, torturer, saviour.

Listening carefully he heard the flick of a lighter and the unmistakable hiss of a wick being lit. 

Shivering in suspense, he knew this game; he was never to know when the next drop of wax would fall. All he would know is the bright pain of where it hit, the pain he needed, craved.

He gasped aloud as the first drops hit his groin, causing his cock to jump. More juice flowed from the tip of his cock as he felt the burning heat work its way to his balls.

Lifting his legs higher and opening himself even further he waited.

Minutes passed and the waiting became unbearable, his need all encompassing, his body thrumming with apprehension.

"YES!" he screamed, as another drop finally hit his cock, then another, and another, falling as a liquid fire, god's punishment of the heathens, a rain of fire.

Finally he felt the heat of the flame up next to his ass, the breathing of his master up close, brushing through the hair on his groin.

Through his mind's eye he saw him, candle poised above, a solitary drop of wax clinging tenaciously to it, refusing to drop, making him wait.

Making him want.

He felt a hand on him, spreading his cheeks wide, exposing him totally. He felt the blunt end of the candle being slowly, inexorably pressed inside him.

Pushed further into him; slowly leaking each drop of wax onto his hole, welding the candle in, sealing in the pain. Sealing out the anguish.

All thought bar one was pushed from his mind as his balls were roughly grabbed and twisted into a parody of puppetry.

Feeling his release starting, all he could do was to grab his nipple and twist, needing the pain to focus on the one.

The one not there, the one who should be there.

Feeling his cock begin to spurt, shuddering and quivering he screamed his release into the night.

Knowing even as it happened he was blacking out, the pain and pleasure so unbearable, he managed to croak the one word, the one name, The One.

"Fox."
 

I see him there. He wakes. All around us is the scent of sex, the raw scent of man, of leather, of him.

He wakes, blind to his surroundings, every other sense heightened.

He wakes, wanting, needing... but not me.

"You're awake," I say, my voice roughened with lust and need. The need to hurt, the need to help, the need to heal.

Looking at him lying there, I want, I need, I can have, but only this once.

He nods his head fractionally, but his cock makes more of a statement. It hardens, slowly. I watch his cock harden. I did that, it was my voice that brings him to heel, but it is not me he craves.

"Ready for round two, I see." He does this to me, not for me. It hurts.

He'll never know it, but each whimper, each cry, every shudder of pleasure I elicit, is not for me. It is for HIM.

He twists his ass around to me, opening his legs, baring his body to me, begging to be taken, to be owned... but not by me.

"Take me," is all he manages to say, but it's enough. What he gives is what I'll take.

A quick, ragged breath is all the response I am capable of; a gasp of air into starved lungs, but it is enough to betray me.

Spreading himself wider, even more open, I glance around to find what it is I know he needs.

A cold smile graces my face as I see it. Leaning over, I take it from the shelf. 

I imagine how and where it would be best employed, but even as I do so, he takes the choice from me.

Opening his legs wider and rolling even further onto his back, I know. I want.

Flicking the zippo, I watch it ignite and with it, my own lust reignites, knowing what I can do, and how I can do it.

I smile coldly to myself. I will make him mine.

Lighting the candle, I see him quiver. He knows, he wants, he needs.

Quietly I stalk over to him, trying not to let him know where, or when.

I watch, I look at his form; his cock, so recently used and abused, still red raw. But still needing.

My eyes light on his ass, seeing the sheen that anticipation and desire has placed there.

I see the swollen ring, used hard. I see it quiver in lust and terror, opening and closing to its own beat.

I see him become more restless, wanting, needing this. I want to prolong it, make him want me, but my own needs are overpowering.

I give in and let a solitary drop of wax fall, just above his cock. So close, yet so far.

His response is immediate, the clench, the gasp, the sheer need that his cock shows me as it jumps and forms a pearl drop on the tip.

I tilt the candle again and let a few more drops land directly onto the head of his cock, watching as they slowly drip down onto his balls, seeing him react to the pain with only need, watching him want this pain.

I right the candle and watch and wait. I know when to continue. He won't.

I move around so I'm looking straight at his cock and balls. Seeing him so close, I wait...

I blow softly across his cock, seeing the hair move in the slight breeze, and watch the sweat drip down and collect in his hole.

I place a hand across his ass, opening him further, stretching his ass open. 

His hole has a mind of its own. It wants, it needs and it doesn't care that I am not the one the rest of him wants.

I give, I give to it, not him, what it wants. Slowly I push the candle in, rocking left to right, teasing his hole, letting a few drops drip down, sealing the candle in.

I push harder. I want him to take it in, feel it deep. More wax drips down and hardens against his ring.

He cries out louder now; he is close. I can see his balls drawing up, and with a final push I shove the candle in further. He screams at the force, but it is not a scream of pain.

Grabbing his balls I heft them high, trying to prevent the unpreventable. Twisting hard I feel his ball give within my fist; it is too late, it has started.

I watch as he comes, listen as he screams into the dark. I have lost, again. I'd lost him when he first met the one.

I pull tighter as I see his eyes glaze, knowing he will black out.

I may have lost him, but I've still won this fight.

As the light leaves his eyes, his solitary word disabuses me of that thought.

"Fox."

I look down at his still form. I have lost him.

Looking up a the door, I see a form, the form of a man.

The One.