This is a continuation of the scene from the previous fragment.
I’m high, almost dizzy, my eyes already scanning the workbench for the next prop.
There are candles there, not really belonging to the workshop, but a box of beeswax ones I brought here earlier, slim, tall and tapered. I am not entirely sure about the safety of what I am going to do next, and in a nod to that, I move couple of tins of solvents and oil away and make sure the floor around my arrangement is clear of shavings and sawdust.
“Back in a second, boy,” I say and go to the kitchen to grab a jug of water and a thick rag, which will have to do in case of any emergency.
Then I take the candles out of their box and lean over him again, running the bottom end of one along his side, across his abdomen and back up to his neck. I pick it up and move it to his face so he can smell it, then place it flat on his chest below the rope and roll it down his belly with a flat palm of my hand, all the way to the base of my cock. He's shivering.
''I have five of these, J,'' I pick the first one up and place it in his left hand, wrapping his fingers around it. Then the second one, in his right hand. ''You'd better be careful with them.''
''Yes, M. Yes. I'll try.''
His fingers clench around the candles, he tenses up waiting for the next one.
''Open your mouth, boy,'' I slide the third candle between his lips. ''Hold it there. As straight as possible. I suppose your eyes are protected... but you still don't want to bite through this one. Especially once it's lit.'' His mouth closes on the candle in response, his breathing deeper again.
I make a step down the length of the board and arrange the remaining two candles along my cock, making an arrangement with two narrow strips of duct tape. His back is slightly arched, all his muscles tense, and he makes a very muffled groaning sound, but he's still fully erect, the shiny skin on the glans stretched, balls bulging from under the ties. The candles are long enough to extend above the cockhead, looking like a strange sort of makeshift splint. I wonder how long it would take for them to burn down enough for the flames to start licking his flesh. This thought makes me shiver.
''J. If you want me to stop what I'm doing now, you'll drop one of the candles you're holding in your hands,'' I wait for a few seconds, giving him time to act, but he doesn't loosen his grip on the slim wax cylinders.
''If you want me not to light any of them, drop a candle,'' I wait a little longer than the last time. He holds on.
''OK. Good boy,'' I slowly stroke his inner thighs, then move away and pick up a box of long matches. My hands are shaking just a little bit, but I steady them, taken up by the intense focus on what I am doing.
The strike of a match sounds surprisingly loud in the silence of the room, and he flinches briefly.
''Steady now, J,'' I lean over and light the candle in his left hand. I do the one in his right hand and use another match for the one in his mouth, straightening it a little before I light it. The ones attached to my cock are a doddle after that.
They burn clean and even, with a very faint aroma of honey. It will be a short while before the wax starts dripping down and I lean back on the workbench, watching, my eyes never leaving the tableau I have created of his body. He's quiet, a little less tense, but not making many movements and the ones he makes are small and careful, even within the confines of his restraints.
''I'm going to switch the main light off and only leave the bench light. It will look better this way,'' I make the few steps to the light switch, but keeping an eye on him still.
''I wish you could see yourself now, J. It's fucking brilliant. The flames and the shadows on your skin and the wood. The ropes. I can see your every breath because the flames flicker a little when you exhale. Especially the one in your mouth,'' I reach out and stroke the side of his neck and his collar bone, to rest three fingers in the soft hollow above where his clavicles meet. I can feel him swallow, I can feel the air going in and out his lungs, and hear the slight hiss and huff when it passes through his nose.
It feels like a trance, although I am not floaty or spaced out, but so focused on what's happening to him that a large part of me is outside my own mind. I'm not performing, not just not for him, but also not for myself any more. There is no role I am playing because in some sense there is no ''me'' in the way I usually exist. Not only my self consciousness but also my self awareness has diminished, even though I feel acutely aware of what's happening with him and my part in it. It's the ''self'' part that has receded in the slow burning, quite literally at this particular moment, intensity of the now.