The next morning I asked Karen about the blond visitor. “Oh, that must have been Carl,” she said. “He used to live here. In your room.”

After that first meeting, I saw Michael only rarely and in passing. He seemed to keep odd hours, even odder than mine. He was never rude, but always distant.

I knew he was gay. The blond hunk Carl turned out to be a regular visitor, sometimes coming three or four times a week. Carl was so oblivious of me and of the band around my left arm, I decided he had to be another top. I knew they liked rough sex. Very rough. I could hear them above me at night. Flesh striking flesh with a sweaty crack. Heavier blows—the distinct whoosh and snap of a belt, or a whip. Knees knocking on the wooden floor as someone crawled back and forth, grunting.

I would have him, I told myself. I would make him do more than grunt.

No matter how often I went out, no matter how many other men I met, I found my fantasies returning to Michael. When I masturbated at night, he was the one I thought of. It was his pale skin and the long hair that set him apart, matched with his larger-than-life physique; the combination of sultry brown eyes and an innocent, nature-boy face. I wanted to own him, to possess him, to devour him.

It was a game, and I would win it. I would see his pretty face all slack and hungry, his brown eyes gazing up into mine while his thick red lips were stretched around my nine inches. I would hear him gag on it and groan. I would twist that deep grunting voice into a high-pitched whimper. I imagined him naked, erect, on his knees—arms twisted and bound behind his back, his big chest thrust up sleek and vulnerable, his long hair making him look like a conquered savage. I knew how to make those big flat nipples stand up red and swollen.

His ass had limitless possibilities. Every mark would show across the pale drum-tight flesh.

His hair would have its uses. To inflict pain, to bring hot tears to his eyes. To twist around his neck like a collar. To use as reins when I rode his face like a saddle, or mounted him like a steed. Later it might have a more important use—as a final act of humiliation, I would force him to shave it, stripping away his last shred of resistance, like Samson, chained and degraded. His naked skull would mark him as my slave for all the world to see.

I had gotten what I wanted from other men. I would get what I wanted from him. I had plans for Michael Black.