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What idiot said that? “Yes, sir, Ito-Sama.”

With the slow diligence of a professor, he prepares the blindfold. “Do you know what you’re saying when you say that?”

“Not a fucking clue.” I swivel my body a little to try to rub my cock against him.

He doesn’t help me, but puts his hand on my thigh to push my hips down to the mattress, the way one might lovingly push away an over-eager dog. “It’s an honorific to indicate importance.”

He puts the blindfold over my eyes. He takes his time, tucking it the way he wants, under my hair. “We call God sama.”

The way he says it sends a little shiver of terror up my spine, because with his hands on my cheeks, with my arms shackled to his bed, with my body helpless beneath him, calling him “god” does not feel incorrect.

He chuckles lightly and tugs on my shirt, arranging it just so around my neck. “Of course, in a good business email, customers are also sama, so…”

Mr. Ito shrugs at his little joke. Just enough to slice the tension. To carve the atmosphere like a stage technician. He runs his fingers along my neck, and I shiver again, wishing there was more of me to surrender to him.

“I have a word I want you to say, instead of ‘yes, sir’. It’s a little more formal. It’s hai.”

“Hai?” Simple enough. I probably won’t forget it. “Shall I scream it over and over again while you fuck me, Ito-sama?”

“No.” His lips purse inward, stifling his response. But his hand travels down towards my cock again and brushes lightly over my shaft. “Say it when you agree to a request, Omocha.”

I nod, hardly able to think with his fingers so near to my straining cock.

“So, when I ask, ‘do you want me to make you come, even though you are a God-damned faithless beast,’ you say?”

“Hai, Ito-sama.” Faithless beast? How could he know about Carlos?

“And when I ask, ‘Do you want me to fuck you like you’re my toy?’”

“Hai, Ito-sama.” He needs to teach me the words to beg.

“And if I ask, ‘Is it okay to gag you, even though you’re blindfolded and bound’?”

He’s so fuckin’ smug. Maybe I won’t give him everything he wants. “Ah, come on, man. You know I’m a slut. Do whatever you like.”

He makes an amused chuff, and then the gag is between my teeth. He takes his time to adjust the gag, to put the ball properly between my teeth, to make it comfy for me … no, to get the aesthetic he wants.

When he drops his hand to my cock, I moan past the gag. Oh, fuck yeah.

My cock pulses in his hand, rubbing like a friendly cat. Mr. Ito, distinctly not friendly, squeezes too hard, knotting his other fingers around my balls.

I flinch at the hard touch, but I need it so bad I don’t resist, just whimper like a miserable bitch for his mercy.

I receive none, but my cock is past the point of caring. Even with the rough handling, I’m about to burst. Any second now, just a few more of those wicked strokes. I feel the rise, the shudder rakes through me—

Then he lets me go.

I whine and thrash as he abandons me at the edge again. His laughter grows fainter and farther.

“Don’t go, please.” The gag reduces it to a pathetic mumble. Oh, Christ, this man.

I wallow in misery, cock throbbing, utterly unable to satisfy myself. Totally defenseless against him. He really can do whatever he likes with me, for as long as he wants.

“I want to take a picture of you for my own purposes, which might include blackmailing you.” I would laugh at his wit if I weren’t its victim. “Okay?”

I don’t want evidence of this moment, of my utter and complete desperation for him. I shake my head no. It feels like a century, but it can’t be longer than a minute. Just enough for the burning build to smolder. I hear nothing. Not the click of a camera or the tap of a phone.

It’s the first time I’ve ever refused him. I wait breathlessly for him to refuse my refusal.