“That’s fine.”

I keep all the deposits in my retirement account. I tapped the kitchen screen to call it up. “I’ve opened my deposit accept screen. You can drop in the hundred by pressing pound-one, star-thirty-seven, and entering the amount plus pound.”

I heard a series of beeps, and my screen rescrolled to acknowledge receipt of a $1,200 deposit. “I think you made a mistake—”

“No mistake. I fully intend to keep this appointment.”

“But what about the extra—”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll earn it.”

“Wait a minute, here. Why are you pulling my chain? I don’t even know you, and here you are, giving me a twenty percent tip before the session, all of it up front; you want an all-nighter before we’ve even met—I mean, I guess you’ve seen my flicks, but still—that’s unusual. And you completely write off my VR playspace, one of the best in San Francisco. What’s really going on here?”

“There’s something more to this. I suppose I should explain—”

“You suppose. Yes, you should explain, and I didn’t hear a ‘Sir’ at the end of that. If you’re paying full-tilt, we might as well start right now.”

The caller groaned appreciatively. “That’s it. That’s exactly what I want. That’s exactly how I need to be treated. I want to feel something real, I want to be pushed around. I run one of the largest banks in town, I’m totally out in my public and private lives, and still everyone treats me like I’m going to break them in two. They fear my power. No one treats me like a real person.”

“Are you hard right now?”

“God, yes, stiff as a board.”

“Good. I want you to stay that way. Don’t touch your cock until you arrive.”

“No, Sir.”

“Where does the noir fetish fit in? The black trench coat?”

“Well, I do like the old black-and-whites, but what really turns me on about a trench coat is a sense of mystery. And the revealing of that mystery, what’s really behind the curtain. That’s what a trench coat symbolizes to me.”

Finally I noticed something strange. “You don’t have your video on, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” Pause. “Uh, would you mind if I called you ‘Mister’ instead of ‘Sir’?”

I grinned. “More mysterious, huh?” I was beginning to get into this guy’s headspace. “Have you ever seen one of my flicks?” Almost every queen in town owned at least one dub of my gay ones.

“No, I hate video porn.”

It figured.

“Okay. Be at my place at six o’clock sharp. My address is One South Park. Ring the penthouse.”

The doorbell rang exactly at six. I had decided to see him in the library, though we could have used the basement’s dungeon. But, as he would soon learn, the library’s leather furniture was strategically designed for more than just sitting and reading.

I saw him on the closed-circuit TV. “Hi. I’m going to buzz you in. Take the elevator to the top. Stop just outside the door and wait for further instruction.”

I stood in the doorway in nothing but the trench coat and a pair of skintight boots. I did not introduce myself, just took the black leather cap from his head and placed it on mine. The look on his face was priceless, and I swear it made his dick jump. The moment when another guy feels me take control of him is still one of my favorite experiences. I indicated the library. “Go in there. Take off your clothes and leave them on the floor at the foot of the desk. Folded.”

I followed him into the library. When he had complied, I stood over him in the center of the room and said, “Hang up my clothes.” He sported a rock-hard boner that would have been the pride of a man half his age. He also kept himself in stupendous shape. Shit, I would have played with him for free if I’d seen him out cruising. This was going to be fun.

“Wait a moment.” I took two chrome-plated clothespins (okay, bill holders) from the desk and attached them behind his nipples. “That looks much better.”

He groaned. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I did not say you could speak!” I slapped his cock with a leather glove. His cock throbbed. I kicked over his pile of clothes with my boot. “You are nothing, understand?” He nodded quickly. “You are nothing but what I say you are. And I think you are a pig. All that remains to be seen is whether you’re a stupid pig or a smart pig. I hope for the sake of your worthless nuts that you’re a smart one.” I saw a large drop of pre-cum reaching critical mass. I pointed at his dick. “Okay, pig. Take your finger and scoop your pre-cum into your mouth. Show me how much you love to suck. And keep checking yourself. I don’t want your pig-drool on my boots or on my floor.”

His dick jumped again when he stroked its tip with his finger. “Ummm,” he breathed, sucking the salty wetness into his mouth.

“Down on the floor, pig, where you belong.” He hit the deck. “I thought about collaring you, but I’ve decided you’ll have to earn that privilege.” He looked up at me. “Damn, but you’re a stupid pig! Do not look at me, do not speak to me, do not do anything unless I tell you.” I kicked him in the nuts with my boot tip, and he groaned loudly. “Shut up!” I snarled. “You were trying to look up my trench coat, weren’t you?” He started to protest, then thought better of it. “You will have to learn a lot before you get to look under there. Here, put this on,” I commanded, handing him one of my jockstraps. His dick jumped at that, but he caught the glistening drop of pre-cum before it fell. He was learning. “When you’re done, get on the bench, face down,” I ordered, indicating a leather-covered bench perpendicular to the large window. Once he was in position, I bound his wrists and ankles with leather cuffs. Then I covered his head with a hood, making sure his eyes were covered. I pushed a button on the wall panel, and as the bench started to rise, I could tell he was startled. When I had him at a forty-five-degree angle, I stopped.

“Now, the first thing to teach a stupid pig is obedience. One way I do that is to flog the crap out of you.” I took a soft deerskin flogger from the rack that hung behind me. “We’ll start easy, and work up to rough as quickly as I think you can manage it.”

We progressed rapidly through a series of heavier and heavier floggers, which I used happily on his beautiful back. I used all the technique I could muster. Once he was warmed up, I mixed up sharp and soft strokes at random, playing with his mind so he never knew how the next stroke would feel; then, hypnotically, I alternated sharp and soft strokes. Then cross-handed flogging, where I used two floggers at a time, circling each one in figure eights; after that, some really solid whacks with my heaviest buffalo flogger. I didn’t have to tell him to breathe or give me his back; he responded beautifully to my ministrations and obviously drew great pleasure from the pain. There were quite a few raised, red areas crisscrossing his back when I stopped.

“You’ve done this a lot, obviously.”

He didn’t respond.

“You can speak now. I grant you permission to reply.”

Still no response. He was still tranced out from the flogging. Unseen by him, I took a glass of ice water from a pitcher and poured it down his back. He hollered.

“Hey, pig! I said, you’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir. My lover for several years was quite into flogging.”

“You have a beautiful back. Most guys can’t take the last flogger. We’re going to work your ass next, pig.”

He brightened. “I’d love it, Sir.”

I sneered. “Of course you would. You asked for it, remember?”

I slipped my hands into a pair of form-fitting Sleeveskins, which allow far more sensitivity than those cheap latex gloves (strictly for doctor scenes these days). I put him back on the bench and started playing with his hole. He sort of gurgled and arched his back, and I watched as his sphincter quickly expanded to swallow two, then three, then four of my fingers. He clearly spent a lot of time playing with his hole. Either that, or he was just naturally voracious; just like being born with a big dick, some guys just seem to be blessed with wide-open holes. After five to ten minutes, I pressed my luck a bit, as it were, added more lube, and soon found myself wrist-deep in his hot, undulating flesh.