Nate had gotten pretty far with just the search query BDSM the other night. He did not really know what specifically to search for and ended up diving deep into all the posts on a few different blogs, so his original search tab was still open when he got home from the gym. The first results mainly included Wikipedia, dictionary definitions, and medical or psychological sites.

He scrolled to the point where magazines began to cover the topic in article posts. Women’s Health had one, and directly after was one from Men’s Health. Nate snorted and clicked on the first one because the Men’s Health article was seemingly just another definition, while the one for the ladies had tips from sex therapists.

The first tip was to start with a fantasy.

Nate flexed his hands on the edge of the desk and pushed his chair back a couple of inches. A fantasy. He closed his eyes and thought about it. Bailey said he used to fantasize about Nate snapping and putting him in his place.

Did Nate’s dreams count as a fantasy? Bailey being annoying about something and riling him up until Nate grabbed his hair and slammed him face down, ass up. The idea of taunting Bailey about being a tease, never knowing when to leave well enough alone, and having to face the consequences made the same bubbling adrenaline bloom in his chest as when they were heckling for a fight, too large for his ribcage to contain. He was not sure if it was a good or bad feeling anymore.

Nate folded his hands over his stomach and let his head drop back. In his dreams he’d done everything from spank Bailey to outright punch him in the nose. Told Bailey he was not allowed to say no, and literally ripped off his clothes. But he realized, that—no matter how violent he was or how much Nate would expect the real-life Bailey to protest that violence—the Bailey in his dreams never actually glared at him.

He knew what Bailey’s face looked like when he was truly furious, when the playfighting morphed into actually snapping at each other’s throats. Though the Bailey in his dreams struggled and told him to fuck off, the look in his eyes was always of intrigue that made Nate’s scalp tingle and face feel hot.

It was not the violence, nor the protests that turned him on. Those made him feel vaguely ill, in all honesty. It was the fact that, while Bailey put up a resistance at the beginning, he was always drooling for it by the time Nate woke up and came. Telling him to go rougher. Calling himself a slut because Nate told him to.

Because Nate told him to.

He tapped his thumbs against his belly and frowned when he felt his cock stir at the thought. At least it was easy to identify one thing that made him hot—Bailey listening to him.

He liked the gasps of surprise and the way Bailey had clung to him so he wouldn’t fall when Nate fucked him against the wall. He liked how Bailey looked a little pole-axed when Nate did something he did not expect, such as remembering how he liked his coffee.

More blood rushed to his cock, which probably was not the most productive place for it to go while he was trying to think. He bit his lip.

He also liked how Bailey’s shock settled into that look of intrigue, his brows a little furrowed and his expression a bit awed. Nate could only admit that to himself in the safety of his bedroom with his eyes closed. Even then, he had to chuckle at himself. But he did like it when Bailey smiled shyly at him because of the coffee, looking like he’d never seen Nate before. His eyes had been bright with excitement about Nate holding him up against the wall.

Nate’s dick was growing hard against his thigh. He groaned and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. So, he liked it when Bailey was caught off guard and looked at Nate like he hung the moon. Soft and vulnerable in ways that nobody else got to see. All for Nate. Because of Nate.

He was a possessive bastard. After all, he had gotten immense, probably inappropriate, satisfaction from making Tanner back down. The memory of Bailey’s lower lip trembling and the way he looked in the passenger seat of Nate’s truck made his cock twitch. Now that he admitted that he wanted Bailey, he wanted him all to himself. But they were hardly in that kind of relationship. So, he steered his attention back to less dangerous waters.

He liked it when Bailey begged him to go rougher and called himself a slut for Nate’s cock. He wanted Bailey to want him. Maybe fight him a little and be embarrassed about it so that Nate had to coax him into admitting it. Had to spank him until he would be good for him.

The idea that Bailey might like that kind of thing had his hand snaking into his shorts to wrap around his cock.

He remembered how Bailey had been immobilized against the wall, having to trust Nate to support his weight in that bathroom. He remembered the way Bailey called him Daddy, which he never fucking thought would turn him on, but it had. He liked that he was bigger and stronger, and he could make Bailey look at him with those suddenly shy, awestruck eyes.

A little bit of precum blurted out of his tip, and Nate spread it around as he stroked himself.

There were plenty of other ways to manhandle Bailey around. He could hold his wrists above his head and ride his cock. Most people didn’t peg him for a bottom, and he wasn’t really, but he did consider himself a switch. Nate could imagine ordering Bailey not to come, then riding him to his heart’s content while Bailey tried hard to control himself from fucking up into him.

Yeah, he liked the sound of that. Or he could be the one laying back with Bailey riding his cock, ordering him how to move and controlling whether Bailey was allowed to touch himself. Or maybe for an extra challenge, he’d tie Bailey’s hands behind his back. And when Bailey got tired, Nate could help him out by holding his hips down and thrusting up into him. He would be in charge of Bailey’s movements, his pleasure.

He gripped the arm of his chair and adjusted how he was sitting, listening to it creak beneath him, all while working himself closer to an orgasm.

Bailey would have to rely on him to feel good. Legs shaking. Too tired to keep bouncing up and down. He would be looking at Nate with those big, expressive eyes. Maybe they would be awestruck and grateful. Or maybe they would be pleading. Wet with tears. Maybe if Bailey liked pain, he liked crying. Nate could spank his ass until he was in tears like he had in his dream, then fuck him and make him come on his cock, all while his ass was still hurting and he was still crying.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, speeding his hand up.

He could figure out every little button to push to reduce Bailey into a trembling, needly little mess. His little toy to play with.

That was a super fucked up thought, and as soon as it popped into Nate’s mind, he immediately felt guilty. But he also came all over the inside of his shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he let out a shuddery breath.

Then, the post-nut clarity bowled him over like a truck. All the blood drained from his face. He had just thought of Bailey as a toy. Not just a slut, but a toy for him to manhandle around and play with and make cry as he pleased. And he’d cooked that thought up while awake and sober.

He glanced wide-eyed at the Women’s Health article and angrily closed the tab. The desk chair spun behind him as he stumbled to his feet and grimaced at the mess in his shorts. At least his mom was not doing his laundry anymore. All the bedsheets might raise eyebrows, but these shorts he could just shove into his hamper and forget about until he did his laundry.

He grabbed a new pair of shorts and hurried into the bathroom to take yet another shower and wash off the feeling of ickiness settling over him.

Where on earth had a thought like that come from?

What was he even doing, thinking any of this stuff about Bailey? What right did he have? Just because they were messing around did not mean Bailey would be comfortable entering a power dynamic with him.

He gently banged his head against the shower tiles.

Eventually, his brain overheated and flatlined into a string of nonstop expletives.

He wrapped a towel around his waist without bothering to dry off and went back to his room. Determined, he sat down at his computer and reopened the most recent closed tab.

The next tip was to communicate with your partner. Nate braced his elbows on the desk’s edge and put his face in his hands.

How the hell was he supposed to tell Bailey that his fantasies were forcing him to take his cock on the floor of the principal’s office while he had blood on his lips from one of their fights. Or using him as a sex toy.

The last thing he wanted was for Bailey to think Nate expected this kind of thing just because they were having sex. Just because Bailey told him about his preferences didn’t mean he would want this kind of dynamic. He did not want to be the same guy as Tanner, who took Bailey’s vulnerability and used it to do whatever he wanted.

He could just never ever bring it up.

Or maybe their fantasies lined up nicely. Bailey wanted to be put in his place, and Nate wanted to put his handprints all over his body. They could probably experiment with some light spanking. Yeah. Or he could hold Bailey down or tell him what to do. Maybe break out a pair of handcuffs and role-play cops and robbers or whatever. No need for Bailey to be his mindless fuck toy or anything.

Jesus Christ.

Nate scrubbed his hands over his face and looked around his room, trying to ground himself in reality. His phone lay face down on the bed. He wheeled over to grab it and navigated to where he’d saved Bailey's number. He gnawed on his lip a little more, then reminded himself he had balls and sent a text to see if he was free to hang out sometime soon.