<em>I'm crumbling..</em><br/><em>...to a whore.</em><br/><br/>He smirked inwardly. One quiet spark of focus left.<br/>Of course he was crumbling. Who cared how Lessard made his bread.<br/>He was sure no businessman would ever make him feel this way.<br/>Would ever be this good.<br/><br/>"I need you," he mumbled, frowning while he focussed deeply to be able to speak.<br/>"Please," he added, breathlessly "Please,<em>Master</em>."<br/><br/>He couldn't feel the bounds that held him any more. They didn't matter. All his attention - what little there was left of it - was on Lessard. The only man he'd ever called Master. And he'd done so on instinct.<br/><br/>He arched up from the bed, lips parted for a deep moan when pain and pleasure bloomed on his chest. Though the teasing touch to his aching erection was hardly felt, it was still too much.<br/>"Please...," he begged, eyes shut again, tremors running through his slender frame "Please."<br/>