Chapter 5: Silken Submission
The rain began as a fine mist during the cab ride from the fabricator’s workshop, blurring the lights of Johor Bahru into neon streaks. By the time they reached the hotel, it was a steady downpour, drumming against the Uber’s roof. The silence between them was tense, vibrating with the day’s unresolved business.
The fabricator, a wiry man named Raj with ink-stained fingers, had been a fortress of skepticism. For three hours, David had laid out prints, manipulated digital models on a tablet, his voice a patient, relentless force. Ben had watched, silent, as David chipped away at the man’s resistance not with charm, but with granite certainty. He didn’t sell a vision; he simply stated it as fact, until the alternative—not building this particular curve—seemed absurd. The handshake, when it came, was brisk. The man’s smile was one of dawning, lucrative obsession.
Now, in the elevator soaring to the penthouse suite, the energy coming off David was different. Not relief, but a coiled, kinetic potential. The doors opened directly into the living area. The suite was all low lighting, dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a dizzying view of the storm-lashed city and the Singapore strait beyond. The air smelled of sandalwood and rain.
David tossed his blazer over a chair and went straight to the minibar. He pulled out a bottle of Scotch, pouring two fingers into a heavy crystal tumbler. He didn’t offer Ben one.
“He’ll do it,” David said, finally breaking the silence. He took a swallow. “He’ll fucking do it, and it’ll be perfect.”
“I know,” Ben said, leaning against the doorframe. “I was there. You were… formidable.”
David turned, his eyes reflecting the city’s electric glow. “Formidable.” He repeated the word as if tasting it. He set the glass down with a sharp click. “I feel formidable.”
He crossed the room in four long strides. His hands came up, cradling Ben’s face, his thumbs pressing into the hinges of his jaw. The kiss he delivered was not celebratory. It was claiming. A sealing of the deal. Ben could taste the peat-smoke of the Scotch, a dark echo of David’s triumph.
“I want to ruin you,” David murmured against his mouth, his voice a low rumble. “I want to take this win and fuck it into you until you can’t remember your own name.”
A shiver, pure and sharp, ran down Ben’s spine. “Okay.”
David released him and walked toward the master bedroom. It was dominated by a massive four-poster bed, its frames draped in sheer charcoal gauze. Without a word, David shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the plush carpet. His belt followed. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Ben undress with a focused, predatory patience.
When Ben was naked, David pointed to the center of the bed. “Lie down.”
Ben did, the cool linen a shock against his skin. David stood and retrieved his robe from the bathroom, a heavy item of dark blue silk. He returned, not putting it on. Instead, he began to twist it, working the sturdy fabric into thick, rope-like cords.
“Hands up. Wrists to the posts,” David instructed, his voice devoid of its earlier heat, now pure command.
Ben lifted his arms. David leaned over him, his body a looming shadow. He looped one silk cord around Ben’s left wrist, tying it with a swift, efficient knot to the vertical post. He did the same with the right, pulling until Ben’s arms were stretched taut, his chest exposed. He moved to the foot of the bed, tying each ankle to the lower posts, spreading Ben’s legs wide.
Bound, open, completely vulnerable, Ben felt his heart hammer against his ribs. The restraint wasn’t painful, but the absolute lack of control was dizzying. He was a specimen pinned for examination.
David stood back, admiring his work. His cock was thick and fully hard, curving upward against his stomach. “Perfect,” he breathed. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Ben’s splayed thighs. He ran his hands up the insides of Ben’s legs, from knee to groin, a rough, possessive caress. “My living stress ball. My reward.”
He leaned down, but instead of kissing Ben’s mouth, he went lower. He took Ben’s cock into his mouth without preamble, swallowing him deep. Ben cried out, his back arching off the bed, the silk ties biting into his wrists. David’s mouth was hot, relentless, applying a suction that bordered on painful. He worked him over with a brutal efficiency that had none of the playful teasing of their early encounters. This was consumption.
Just as Ben felt the coil of orgasm tighten dangerously in his gut, David pulled off with a wet pop. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark.
“Not yet,” he said. He shifted position, moving up Ben’s body. He gripped Ben’s hair, fisting it tightly, and angled his head back. “Open your mouth.”
Ben did. David guided his own cock past Ben’s lips, feeding it to him in a slow, relentless invasion. Ben choked, his jaw straining. David held himself there, buried in Ben’s throat, for a long, suffocating moment before he began to move.
This was face-fucking in its rawest form. David set a punishing rhythm, using Ben’s mouth with a focused, detached intensity. His grip on Ben’s hair was unforgiving, controlling every inch of the plunge. Saliva pooled and spilled down Ben’s chin. Gags were swallowed, breaths came in ragged snatches through his nose. His world narrowed to the stretch of his lips, the taste of skin and salt, the overwhelming presence of David claiming this part of him, too.
David watched himself disappear into Ben’s mouth, his expression one of deep, almost clinical concentration. “Take it,” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “You wanted to be useful. Be useful. Swallow it.”
He fucked his throat until Ben’s eyes streamed tears, then finally pulled out, his cock glistening with spit. Ben gasped, sucking in air, his chest heaving.
David didn’t pause. He spat into his own palm, slicking his fingers. He moved back down Ben’s body, his eyes locked on Ben’s leaking cock, his exposed hole. He pushed two fingers inside without ceremony, scissoring them brutally. The stretch burned.
“You’re still so tight for me,” David mused, curling his fingers. He pressed hard, searching.
Ben yelped as David found his prostate, a bright, electric bolt of sensation shooting through him. David pressed again, relentlessly, watching Ben’s face contort.
“There it is,” David whispered. He began a ruthless rhythm with his fingers, pounding that sensitive bundle of nerves with pinpoint accuracy. Pleasure, sharp and almost intolerable, radiated out in shockwaves. Ben thrashed against his bonds, moans ripped from his throat. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
“Please… David, fuck, please…”
“Please what?” David’s voice was calm, even as his fingers worked Ben open with brutal efficiency. “You’re going to come just like this. You’re going to come from my fingers in your ass, and you’re not even going to be touched.”
He was right. The pressure built, terrifying and inevitable, centered entirely in that deep, internal place David was assaulting. Ben’s cries became incoherent. His body bowed, every muscle locked. With a final, targeted thrust, David wrung a climax from him that felt like a seizure. Come striped Ben’s stomach and chest in silent, pulsing jets, his vision whiting out, a broken sound tearing from his raw throat.
David didn’t stop. He kept his fingers buried deep, milking the last spasms, while Ben shuddered and whimpered, oversensitive to the point of agony.
Slowly, David withdrew his fingers. He looked at the mess on Ben’s stomach, then at Ben’s wrecked, tear-streaked face. Something in his own expression finally cracked, the cold focus melting into something hotter, more possessive.
He positioned himself, his cockhead nudging against Ben’s well-used hole. He leaned close, his lips against Ben’s ear. “You screamed for me,” he breathed, the words a dark caress. “Now you’re going to scream my name.”
He sheathed himself in one deep, relentless thrust. Ben did scream, the sound raw and shattered. David set a pace that was pure ownership, each slam a declaration. The bedframe groaned in protest. The silk ties strained. David fucked into the clinging, oversensitive heat, his own control finally fracturing.
“Mine,” he snarled, the word a punch of air with each drive. “This perfect, responsive fucking body. This hole that takes me so good. All mine.”
Ben, floating in a haze of sub-space and brutal pleasure, could only babble his agreement. “Yours… god, yes, yours…”
David’s rhythm broke, his thrusts becoming shallow, frantic jerks. With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the room, he came, pumping his release deep into Ben’s clasping heat. He collapsed forward, his weight pressing Ben deeper into the mattress, his face buried in the crook of Ben’s neck.
For a long time, the only sounds were the rain against the windows and their mingled, slowing breaths. David’s sweat dripped onto Ben’s chest, mingling with the drying come.
Finally, David pushed himself up. He moved with a sudden, tender efficiency, untying the silk bonds. He rubbed feeling back into Ben’s wrists and ankles, his touch now gentle.
Without a word, he gathered Ben into his arms and carried him to the sprawling ensuite bathroom. He set him in the large, sunken tub and turned on the taps, filling it with warm water. He fetched a washcloth, soaked it, and began to clean Ben’s stomach, his chest, his face.
Ben let himself be handled, boneless and spent. David’s ministrations were methodical, silent. When he was done, he slid into the tub behind Ben, pulling him back against his chest. The hot water soothed their aching muscles.
David pressed a kiss to Ben’s damp temple. “The curve will be perfect,” he said quietly, his voice rough with spent passion.
Ben nodded, his head lolling back against David’s shoulder. He knew they weren’t just talking about the building anymore. They were talking about the precarious, brutal, beautiful arc they were tracing together. It had no blueprint. It was being forged in steam rooms and on balconies, in silent kitchens and in hotel rooms far from home, bound by silk and something infinitely stronger.
Outside, the rain softened to a whisper. The city lights shimmered through the wet glass. David reached for Ben’s hand beneath the water, their fingers intertwining. No more words were needed. The contract, for now, was complete.