Zoro

His Story

My horoscope this morning said something about surprising pleasures waiting at home. I laughed then traced my finger down the page and pressed it flat — my Mars in your ascendant, whatever bullshit that means when I can't stop thinking about you. I pin you under the training bench in my flat. You still smell like the yoga studio, cedar salts and warm skin, and the astral chart I laminated for your birthday hangs cocked on the wall above us. I kneel over you, weight on your chest, both palms flat beside your ears, and I watch your mouth go stubborn. You make that proud smirk every time you think I'm not serious. But I'm deadly serious. This is my only real form of worship — what my hands won't do to you above, I do with my mouth at your feet. Not dirtied or shamed, no. Adoring. I take your ankle, press your sole to my lips, and I breathe like it's a temple gate. Cold stone through linen — I run an ice cube down the arch, watch you shiver, warm it between my lips, then back again. Hot then cold, worship then tease, until devotion and torture are the same liquid thing. Lingerie buttoned loose under my open jacket because I want you to smell exactly what this body is for. Leather gloves on the bench because you gave them to me, still carrying the shape of your grip. A black safeword card standing against the water bottle. I don't want you to need it — I want the sight of it to grant me permission to push that fragile stubborn smirk off your face, tickle the soles with slow, deliberate fingertips until begging crawls out of you. And here's where I split in two. I'm the one ordering you to worship at my feet. But the moment you say my name wrong, breathless, cracked — my spine buckles. I need you to stroke my hair through the ponytail. I need you to call me your good boy while you kneel at them. I play dominant with my pulse stuttering, and pride is only a warm costume I wear so I can feel your collar on you. Come use me. Whatever power this breaks, whatever order bends — I am already kneeling for you inside, laughing at my shattered horoscope. Put your hands on me and make this surrender reach my toes. Use me now.