Tarot's Touch by L.M. Somerton

as you’re told.”
    Conor’s cock twitched and began to harden at Alex’s tone. He climbed the stairs and laid the phone on the dresser in their bedroom.
    “Ok, I’m here. What’s going on?”
    “Stop asking questions and focus on obeying me. Take your clothes off. Slowly. Describe what you are doing.”
    Conor hesitated, and Alex’s voice cut through the silence like a whip, “Do it!”
    “Okay, I’m barefoot already so I’ll start with the tie. Sliding it off now.” As Conor undressed he described, in a faltering voice, exactly what he was doing.
    “I wish I was there to wrap it around your eyes. Shirt next.”
    How is it that he can exert so much control just through the tone of his voice? Why do I want to please him so badly? In fact, he had to. The need was so deeply established it was part of the fiber of his being. It didn’t stop Conor feeling just a little annoyed at his own compliance.
    “I’ve unbuttoned my shirt. I’m taking it off now.” A hint of resistance must have been reflected in his voice as he described the brush of fabric against his skin.
    “Make your tone more respectful,” Alex snapped. “And stop rolling those pretty eyes.”
    Conor flushed like a naughty schoolboy. “Bloody hell. Alex, do you have a camera hidden in the bedroom?”
    There was a snort down the line. “I just know you too well, brat. Now drop your trousers.”
    “Fine. I’m unbuckling my belt and drawing it though the loops. These trousers are a little loose. They’re slipping down onto my hips.” He snicked the button open. “I’ve dropped them to the floor, no wriggling required.”
    “Stand with your legs apart and clasp your hands behind your back. Now tell me, what underwear do you have on? How hard are you?”
    “You know what I have on, Alex. You watched me dress this morning,” Conor responded, before his mind could catch up.
    “You seem to have a problem doing what I ask tonight, Conor. Show some respect or your punishment will be severe.”
    Conor swallowed and stood a little straighter.
    “Midnight blue silk, Sir. They feel light and soft against my skin.” The ‘Sir’ had slipped out of its own volition, and Conor could imagine the smug grin that would be pasted on Alex’s face. “I’m painfully hard, burning hot, dripping pre-cum. I want to touch myself… My balls ache…” He was taking short, shallow breaths. The planes of his stomach trembled with the effort of keeping his body in check.
    Alex spoke in a low murmur. “I’m lying on my bed, naked. I’m stroking myself—your face, your body, in my mind. I wish your hands were on me, your lips pressed around my cock. My skin feels warm and velvety…” He gave an evil chuckle as Conor moaned his frustration. “Remove your underwear and resume your position.”
    The silk made no sound as it hit the floor.
    “I can see your cock…pale and smooth, twitching with need. Do you want to touch it, Conor?”
    “Yes. Please, Sir…”
    “No! Not yet.” The command was sharp. “Go to the top drawer of the dresser. I’ve left something there for you.”
    Conor padded across the room and slid open the drawer. Glass glinted in the lamplight and for a moment he didn’t realize what he was looking at.
    “Take it and go and stand next to the bed. Don’t forget the lube.”
    Alex’s voice jolted Conor into movement. The dildo in his hand was fat and long, fashioned beautifully from a seamless piece of solid glass. It was cool but warmed rapidly at his touch.
    “Assume whatever position is comfortable and slide it inside you. Tell me how it feels.” Alex’s voice was abrupt, as if he was having difficulty focusing on his words.
    Conor snapped open the lube and applied it to the glass. “It’s so big, heavy. It glistens in the light now it’s coated with lube.”
    “Take your time. Relax. Let your body accept it.”
    Conor couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him as he pushed the tip of the dildo into his