I sat on the chair next to him, suddenly feeling self-conscious and shabbily dressed, despite having spent what felt like forever trying to get my tie to look just so in the mirror. He smelled expensive. He looked expensive. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head. Even his stubble looked well-groomed.

I didn’t know why I was there. They said it was an interview, and they said there was nothing I could do to prepare for it. I just had to be there, on time, looking as sharp as possible.

Master Stone told me I needed to be completely honest with him, which immediately made me feel like I’d done something wrong. He seemed aware of this, but wanted me to admit to whatever I was guilty of in my own words. I racked my brain to think of past misdemeanors, but I was too nervous to process thoughts. His voice was low, resonant.

He placed his hand somewhat disconcertingly on my thigh and asked if I’d ever been attracted to other boys. I immediately said that I hadn’t. To be honest, it seemed weird to me that he felt he needed to ask. I’m a good boy. I take my studies really seriously. I’m certainly not the kind of person who entertains thoughts of that nature.

He continued to rub my thigh and all the words I was trying to say started to fall out of my mouth in the wrong order. He asked if I was attracted to older men. I hesitated momentarily, largely because my mouth was suddenly so dry, but he took this to mean that I wasn’t being entirely honest with him.

Then he told me to stand and, as he himself stood up, I was engulfed by a wave of his scent—a deep, rich aroma which intoxicated me. He towered above me. He ordered me to remove my shirt. It seemed like the strangest request in the world, but it didn’t cross my mind to question it. I dutifully started to undo my tie, and then unbuttoned the shirt I’d spent the best part of an hour ironing earlier.

I felt vulnerable. I dared to look at him and became suddenly aware of how his gray eyes seemed to match the many shades of salt-and-pepper in his hair. At that moment he instructed me to take off my pants. Again, I didn’t question the order, but I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as I pushed my pants down to the ground.

And there I was, in my semi-see-through garments, wanting the earth to swallow me up, shaking uncontrollably and panicking about what was to come next. He instructed me to sit down again, which was just as well because I could feel that my legs were about to buckle.

The next thing I knew, he was restraining my hands behind the chair. My mind started jumping all over the place. Was he about to punish me? Should I have put up a fight? Was my compliance a problem? When he told me to undress, should I have refused? He bound my hands together with some sort of silky rope. It didn’t hurt, but there was no way I was going to be able to shake myself free or stand up.

He pulled his chair up. He sat with his legs spread wide, one thigh pushing against mine, the other pressed against my knee. It felt curiously intimate, especially when he started to touch my thigh again with his hand. His touch made me shudder. It probably should have felt utterly invasive, but for some reason it felt good. He asked if he was arousing me. I said he wasn’t, but not knowing if that was the truth. I liked the attention; I liked feeling close to such a powerful man. He pushed his fingers up the leg of my garments and I felt goosebumps all over my body.

Then all sorts of conflicting thoughts started flooding into my head. Was I failing the test? Should I have been fighting to suppress the erection which was forming between my legs? And yet the more his fingers traveled under my shorts and up my thigh, the higher I wanted them to go. I looked into his eyes and suddenly experienced a sensation of want. My body wanted him.

He pushed his hand underneath my shirt and started to play with one of my nipples, sending a rush of intense pleasure through my body and down to my crotch. Then he took my other nipple and squeezed it firmly. I gasped reflexively.

Before long, he was rubbing the palm of his hand over the bulge between my legs. From then on, it’s all a bit of a blur. His fingers were suddenly under the fabric, running up and down the shaft of my penis, which was now about as hard as I think it’s ever been. He pulled one of my legs onto his, so that I was sitting in an ungainly, but somehow sexual position. It was as though he were somehow freeing up my loins.

I have never felt like the object of someone’s affections before. I could tell that the Master was enjoying giving me attention, and that my intense arousal was pleasing him.

He did things to me with his lips and hands which I couldn't believe. My entire body started to hum the tune of his touch. I felt utterly helpless and completely out of control. Yet, somehow, that also felt right.

When he touched the tip of my penis with his mouth, I thought I was going to explode. I have never felt such excitement or desire. Then, when he licked his finger and started to push it into my hole, I felt a sense of purpose for the first time in my life. I was his. My body belonged to Master Stone.

He started to jerk my dick and the levels of intensity suddenly went through the roof. I tried to control myself. I tried to hang on, but somehow I knew I was going to shoot… and furthermore that I was meant to shoot. He released my hands and allowed me to stroke myself as he continued to push his fingers inside me and explore my body with his lips and tongue. It was magical.

I felt my balls prickling and I knew I couldn't hold on any longer. I gripped the base of my dick and suddenly felt the semen seeping out of the tip and slowly rolling down the shaft towards my fist. It was an orgasm the likes of which I’d never experienced before—Master Stone drained it out of me, reducing me to the puddle of my own making.

If he could do that to me… I needed to know what else he could do to me.