Premium Subscriber Story: Corset Strings

In which a richman seduces a young twink into a more feminine role

Hello darlings! I owe you more treats! Don’t worry. You’ll be rewarded for your patience with a lot of these microstories over the months leading up to my next release.

These are all little flash fictions. I don’t know what to do with these little story threads I start sometimes, so I realized these are the perfect things to put here.

All told there are about 20 of these on my computer at the moment. So you’ll hopefully have lots to enjoy.

XOXO Solar

Corset Strings

Martin had just a moment to wonder if he made a mistake. If he needed the money that badly. But there was SO MUCH money on display here.

The study was every rich masculine man’s perfect leather-and-oak retreat. Heavy drapery, maroon and plush as theater curtains, denied all but a trickle of dusk. Brass sconces and a bedside lamp suffused everything in the sort of buttery incandescence that made bare skin seem liquid and antique. Even the air was padded, humid with the ghosts of cigars, cologne, and warm vanilla.

And then there was the man. Martin. Just a delivery that needed his signature, but he’d been so arresting, so commanding. Martin had felt instantly deferential to him, somehow agreeing to come at the appointed hour, to open the box he’d delivered to this man. Colton Barrow. Rich guy. Powerful guy. Offering a thousand dollars just to show up, freshly showered and bathed, and to open a box.

Martin had done that. What was inside made him speechless, but so was what happened next: Colton explaining the money would double if he allowed Colton to try it on him.

Colton’s held up the corset for Martin’s inspection as one might offer a rare artifact. “You ever seen one up close before?” he asked, voice gentle but faintly amused. Martin shook his head, eyes refusing to leave the brutal geometry of satin, steel, and ribbon.

“I had it made in Montreal,” Colton continued, stepping into Martin’s field of vision. Even relaxed, Colton’s presence was a kind of physical pressure. His sleeves were rolled; forearms dusted with salt-and-pepper hair, gold watch heavy at his wrist.

Colton rotated the corset in the air, allowing the lamplight to chase across the satin. “Steel stays. The way it should be. Most of what you see online is junk—plastic boning, synthetic panels. No structure, no discipline.” His gaze lingered on Martin’s wrists for a moment, then drifted upward, taking in the nervous set of his jaw. “But this… This is the real deal.”

Martin looked up, meeting Colton’s eyes for the first time since entering the room. “You want me to put it on.”