“You remember the safeword?” Dirk asks, pulling the rope out of the drawer. He stretches it out tight and looks up at you, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, daddy!” you sing-song, smiling like a fool.
“Say it like that again,” Dirk warns, “and I will actually stop this before we begin.”
You laugh, rocking from the balls of your feet to your heels. You’ve been waiting for tonight for weeks. You and Dirk finally got a free night to do something special, and this scene has been on our wishlist for a while. Complete control handed to Dirk. No use of anything of your own. He has a VIP pass to spank town. It’s going to be the most intense scene you’ve probably ever done, you hope.
Your smile fades out as he comes around the bed and stares at you. His heeled boots make him a few inches taller than you, and though you find it funny you’re both completely naked save for his shoes, you feel a stirring in your gut. Halfway there, Lil John.
You hold your hands out, prompting him to tie up your hands. “Oh no officer,” you say, trying to contain your laughter. “You can’t arrest me, I’m just a poor little kitty cat.”
He takes the leash hanging off your collar and tugs sharply, and your head bows.
“Better,” he says, and you hear the smirk in his voice even though you can’t see it.
He lets go and you stand up straight to glare at him, but he’s gone. You feel him behind you. He brings your arms around and wraps the rope through your wrists carefully.
“Use your powers,” he says into your ear, finishing up the knots tying your wrists together, “and you get nothing.”
He doesn’t tell you he’s done, doesn’t give you any warning when he kicks the back of one of your knees with his boot, sending you stumbling. “Down,” he says, and you go.
You hear him circling you, his heels clacking on the floor as he does, and you shift restlessly. “Take a picture,” you say, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “It’ll last longer.”
He slaps you. Your head is whipped to the side with the impact and it burns so good , the tingles from where his hand hit your cheek like a ripple over the rest of your face and down your neck.
“Shut up,” he says, leaning down to pick up your leash. He tugs it, soft velvet wrapping around his fingers. The collar around your neck pulls you toward him and you can’t help but look up. He smirks down at you, petting your hair. “Good boy,” he praises.
You roll your eyes, not even trying to hide your annoyance. You’re humiliated. You… shift your thighs to get some friction on your aching cock.
“Sit, boy,” he says, and brings his heel up to rest on your shoulder. You don’t go down, stubbornly staying up on your knees because no, your ass is not touching the floor, thanks. He frowns, then, and pushes at your shoulder, his pointed heel digging painfully into your collarbone. He’s not about to put both feet on your shoulders- now that would be a sight- but he does increase the pressure until you’re sure he’s drawing fucking blood, and you sit on your calves. “Listen to me when I tell you what to do.”
“Oh yeah,” you snark, shaking your head. “You look real high and mighty right now.” You scope out his frame, the freckles littering his hips and his chest, smatters thickening up on his face. He raises his chin to try and seem more intimidating. You smile and lock eyes with him. “I can see your dick twitch every time you push me down farther.”
He brings his foot back and you think he’s going to slap you again, but instead he crashes his foot into your chest and knocks the breath out of you as you fall backwards. Your legs bend painfully and Dirk wastes no time, pulling your leash and putting weight on your chest. It’s hard to breathe like this, the collar digging into your neck and your heart pounding beneath his boot.
“I said shut up,” he drawls, shaking his head. “You better behave, Egbert, or I’ll leave you like this.” His foot trails down your chest, continuing down to press up against your dick. The edge of his boot is so rough and you huff, your hips bucking of their own accord. He laughs at you and presses down, his heel digging into your balls and making your head fall back. He harshly rubs his foot into your crotch. You’re panting, legs shaking as you restrain from grinding up into Dirk’s fucking shoe. There’s- they’re clean, he bought them and keeps them for nights like these, where you want him to just fuck you up completely. But still, the mortification that comes with rutting against your boyfriend’s knee-highs keeps you from letting yourself enjoy it too much.
“Fucking look at you,” he says, and you know it’s too late to save any scraps of your dignity. “Humping the bottom of my shoe and acting like I don’t own you. You are completely at my mercy, Egbert.”
“Fuck you,” you say, arching your back to keep your hips as close to the floor as possible. That pulls at the leash, though, and Dirk doesn’t look happy about it, putting his foot back on the ground and tugging until you’re sitting up again. He’s going to slap you. You want him to slap you.
He hooks a finger in your collar and you rise to your knees, shuffling closer as he directs you until you’re face-to-face with his dick. It’s leaking precum, standing tall and fucking proud, almost as if it’s trying to intimidate you like Dirk is. You could almost roll your eyes.
“Go on,” he says, nudging your cheek. Your lips bump against his tip and he stretches his neck, closes his eyes. “Put that mouth to better use.”
Oh, you’ll fucking show him. You’ll make him choke on that attitude. You lick a stripe from balls to tip, pressing a kiss to the side and sucking shallowly on your way back down. His finger catches the ring in your collar and pulls. You snort and move to wrap your lips around the head, tonguing the slit. He shudders and twitches in your mouth, and you’d grin if you didn’t know he’d kill you for introducing any teeth to the equation. (And, to be fair, it’d be Just.)
You flatten your tongue on the underside of his dick and hollow your cheeks, tucking your lips over your teeth and bobbing your head down slowly, moaning low and quiet. You hear the creak of the bed springs as Dirk plants a hand behind him, hips twitching as he pulls more forcefully at your collar. You throw caution to the wind and give up sucking to just take him all in, relaxing your throat and slathering his dick in saliva. You slide down, down, breathing heavily through your nose and making way too many low rumbling sounds to count. He bucks his hips, pushing the rest of the way into your mouth. You choke, throat constricting around him and struggling to swallow. He moans, letting go of your collar to cup your jaw. He presses at the hinge of it and you loosen it as much as you can, knowing fully well what he wants from you. After you’ve recovered from nearly gagging on his dick, he shallowly thrusts, fucking your mouth sans haste.
“Much better,” he comments, roughly pushing back into your mouth before you can react, and you groan at the suddenness of it. He leans fully back on the bed, winding a foot around your thigh and pulling you closer. You open your eyes to see his blissed out expression, small smile on his face and heavy breaths cycling through his chest. He senses it somehow and cracks an eye open to look down at you. Something about the way you look triggers a reaction in him- maybe it’s your swollen lips or your burgundy cheeks- and he pushes you off of him and stands up straight. He wobbles.
He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, staving off his arousal, and your dick throbs painfully between your legs. God, you want to touch yourself. You pull at the rope binding your wrists behind your back, hissing at the pain as you do. He did good, does better every time. Ever since you made it out of the knots and slammed into him that one time when he wasn’t expecting it, he’s been upping the effort he puts into your bonds. This is your punishment for being a brat, you guess.
“On the bed,” he says, breathing heavily. He drops your leash and makes his way around the bed to dig through your drawer. You delay, watching him, and he snaps his head up to look at you. “ Now ,” he demands, staring at you and leaving no room for argument. You lean on the bed, scrambling up onto your feet, and flop onto the sheets gracelessly.
“Would help if I had hands,” you say, wiggling up to lay down in the middle of the bed, legs bent. You should probably shut up and be grateful he didn’t fuck you on the floor, but your shoulders kind of hurt and your knees ache from kneeling on the floor for so long. Can’t help but complain about something.
He smacks your thigh hard enough to make you howl, and if you could turn your leg the right way you’d probably see his handprint. He huffs, annoyed, while you try not to pay attention to the way your thighs quiver in anticipation. You close your eyes and take in deep breaths, biting your lip and thinking of all the things he could do to you right now. He might gag you, use a spreader bar and cock ring so he can fuck you with his fingers until you’re crying. He could blindfold you, take out the riding crop…
You blink your eyes open when you hear the click of a lube bottle. Dirk is laying on his side next to you, ass towards you, and you feel your soul exit your body. He’s not doing this.
After smearing the lube around his fingers and deeming it warm enough, he lays his head back on your thigh, forcing your legs to straighten out on the bed. He reaches around to press his fingers to his hole, and yes, he’s doing this, he’s totally fucking doing this. He doesn’t even give himself a break, pushing two fingers in to the second knuckle and letting out a breath. You look down to see his face scrunched up- probably in pain- as he scissors his fingers, slowly and surely stretching himself out. All you can do is watch, fingers curling as his do and hips twitching, jostling his head.
“Bit off more than you can chew?” you tease, wiggling the knee he’s resting on. His brow furrows as he concentrates, pushing his fingers the rest of the way in and spreading them again.
“Keep joking,” he says, opening an eye to look back at you. He looks pissed, and your dick throbs. He pulls his fingers out only to slam them back in, letting out a moan as he does. He puts on a show, teasing his hole with another lubed finger and licking his lips when he inserts it, arching his back.
He draws it on for much too long, in your opinion, letting out moans that are way too loud and curving his body in ways you didn’t even know possible. Your neck aches from watching both his fingers’ work and his face smoothing out as he goes.
“Do I get a participation award at the end of this?” you complain, as if watching him open himself up for you wasn’t making you embarrassingly aroused. He sighs, removing his fingers from his ass and wiping them on your bicep. “Gee, thanks.”
“I will stuff my cock so far in your mouth you can’t breathe,” he threatens, straightening his back and glaring at you. You blink, surprised by his sudden aggressiveness. “And then I’ll gag you and fuck myself on top of you until I come, and do some fucking work while you sit there making a mess of the bed.” He flicks the head of your dick and you gasp, curling up to shield your crotch from any more abuse. He is… really tired of your shit, wow. You’re so flustered you can’t even come up with anything snarky in response.
“Good,” he says, and straddles your abdomen, just out of your dick’s reach. Fuck this beautiful man. He leans down, kissing your temple and across your forehead, and you scrunch your nose. He knows you’re ticklish, why’s he- ohhhh , his hand’s on your dick, firm and tight, and you buck up into it. He laughs into your skin and slips a cockring on you, that motherfucker, jerking you a few more times as soon as it’s settled at the base.
“You suck,” you sigh, shifting your arms beneath you. They’re going to be sore and cramped for a while after you’re done and you’ve never been so glad. He rolls his eyes, scooting back to grind on your dick. Your back immediately arches, the leftover lube on his hole covering you and making the slide perfect .
“That was you, actually,” he says, smirking. His legs turn in as he lifts himself above you, straightening your cock and pressing it to his entrance. The heels of his boots are digging into your calves and you want to bend your legs to get away from it but at the same time… no thanks, you can live with the tiny bruises those are going to leave.
“Please, for the love of fuck,” he says, wiggling his hips so your dick catches and slides against his hole teasingly, “keep your mouth fucking shut .”
You’re about to do the opposite of just that when he sinks down onto you, moaning out your name as he does. You have to force yourself still, spitting out a fuck when he doesn’t even hesitate to sit right down on your cock, taking all of you in at once. His hands grip your hips like they’re a lifeline and his face goes slack, eyelids fluttering as he shifts. You want so badly to run your hands down his chest, spread his asscheeks apart and rub over his hole where he’s taking you in; but you can’t , and it’s driving you mad. His nails dig into your skin and you whimper, bucking your hips.
He moans, raspy already, picking himself up just to drop back down on you at an angle that has him keening. The next time he lifts off your dick his heels dig into your skin and you thrust into him on his way down. He whines, swiping his nails down your chest with no conviction, and you know you’ve done it. He loses his rhythm, bouncing on your lap and chasing his release while you feel like you’re so close- so close but can’t make it, you’re going to explode.
He lets out a particularly high-pitched whimper when you fuck up into him again, hitting his prostate dead-on. “What a dom you are,” you pant, gripping onto the bedsheets beneath you. “Whining like a bitch in heat on my dick.”
“God damn it,” he says, slamming down on you and taking a deep breath. You laugh before you feel his hands wrap around your throat, right over your collar, cutting off your air. “Shut up .”
He does a swivel that has you wheezing under his hold and he lets go, leaning forward to press his hands into your collarbones. You open your mouth to say something, most likely about how desperate he is, when he wraps a hand around your throat again. A warning.
“Dirk,” you say, and he groans, pressing down on your windpipe. You’d moan if you could but you can’t, the edges of your mind going fuzzy, everything alight save your vision. When he lets go you gulp in air, your powers like molten gold in your veins as oxygen floods you again. You blearily look down at Dirk to find the hand not dangerously close to choking you again jerking himself off. He doesn’t even bother lifting up anymore, shifting and pushing down onto you to get what he wants.
“Quiet,” he says, splaying his fingers over your neck. Your eyelashes flutter and you shiver imagining him choking you again, controlling how much of your aspect you’re getting. He mutters something akin to your name under his breath before he comes, spurting over your chest and dribbling over his hand, his legs straining with the effort of lifting him up again just to feel you slide in him.
“Fuck, John,” he says, panting as he leans on your chest. He’s still enveloping your dick, warm heat that has you throbbing, and you ache .
“Congrats and all,” you say, shifting your hips. He grimaces, oversensitive. “But you forgot something very important.”
He lifts off you and swings his leg back over without a word and for a second you really do think he’s going to leave you here, leaking onto your stomach with come on your torso. Instead, he pops open the lube again and drizzles it out onto his fingers, hands shaking and breathing heavy.
“Dirk,” you say, worried you’ve lost him.
“I’m going to open you up,” he interrupts, spreading the lube on his fingers. “And I’m going to fuck you with my tongue. And you’re going to beg me to come, or you won’t come at all.”
“ Dirk ,” you say again, with more effort behind the syllable.
He turns around and you shut your mouth. His pupils are blown wide, mouth set in a hard line on his face. He’s gravely serious. Your dick throbs painfully.
He makes a move to get between your legs and you bend and spread them automatically. He doesn’t even praise you then, just presses his wrists to your knees and demands, “Over.”
“I want to see you,” you blurt out, knowing fully well it won’t get you anywhere.
“Turn over,” Dirk says calmly, knowingly. “Or I’ll turn you over myself.”
No thank you. He’d probably throw you on the floor so you’ll sob into the hardwood and leave you sore for days. You shuffle onto your shoulder, flipping yourself over and getting tangled in your leash in the process. Right, that’s still there. He doesn’t grab it or bother helping, so you stay there, arms flexing in the air above and behind you, finally free from its prison between your sweaty back and the bed.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, and you doubt you were supposed to hear it. You stuff your face into the pillow and thank the skies above that you’re already sex-flushed everywhere you could be, or else you’d be blushing.
His fingers press against your hole, insistent but careful. One slips inside you, slick and thin, a constant back and forth that lets you breathe for once. You’re leaking onto the bed beneath you, surely, as he thrusts his finger inside you in smooth, rhythmic movements.
You try to speak, but all that comes out is muffled garbage, arousal spread thick over your body like molasses, coating you in languid heat. He shushes you with a slap to your backside and you whine into the pillow, arching your back. His finger slips out of you and he tsks, digging his nails into your back and dragging your ass towards him again.
You feel his face coming towards you before his tongue even reaches you, and when he licks a stripe over your entrance, you keen, toes and fingers curling uselessly. Your thighs shake as you resist pushing back onto him and you’re rewarded with two fingers slipping into you with little resistance, his tongue flicking over your rim at the same time. You shake down to your core, the strain between your legs unbearable.
“Such a little slut,” Dirk says, and you push your face into the pillows, biting at the covers to keep your mouth shut. You need to come, you can’t fuck this up now. “Taking me so easy. Who’s the bitch in heat now, hm? Whine a little louder for me.”
You do, whining uselessly into the cotton between your teeth. You spit it out and turn your head as he scissors his fingers, filthily tucking his tongue between them inside you.
“Please,” you pant, unable to control your hips pushing back onto his hand. “Please, I need it-”
He spanks you again and you let out a broken moan, twitching beneath him. “Elaborate,” he says, the dickhead.
“Need you,” you say, then quickly follow it up with: “Please let me come, please- need it, need you.”
He hums against your hole and you fear he’s going to draw this out longer when you feel his free hand wrap around your dick. You almost scream, the relief like a tsunami as he pumps you with his tight fist- but doesn’t get rid of the cockring. What?
“Fuck,” you grunt, thrusting into his fist and back onto his fingers, and you feel him grin, face that fucking deep in your ass.
“I don’t feel convinced,” he says, and you groan, this time in frustration. His fingers jab at your prostate and you can’t even make a noise, mouth opening and closing against the pillow. You screw your eyes shut and press your forehead down.
“Please,” you beg, and your hips twitch before you can stop them. You’re desperate. “I need you, I need your mouth- your hand- need you, damn it, please, Dirk. Please .”
He slips the cockring off you and you cry out in relief. He pumps you twice and shoves his tongue into your hole and you’re gone, coming so hard your mind blanks and all you know is white hot pleasure and him around you, nothing else. Not this bed nor this room, and definitely not that ugly, dingy orange carpet he insists on keeping. Just his hands on your cock and in your ass and his face pressed to your back to watch you.
It’s a moment or two before you blink your eyes back open. You take inventory of all the things you notice. The lights are low and you’re uncomfortably warm. You’re on your back: that’s a development. You wiggle your fingers to find your hands free from your bonds. Dirk is beside you, placing something in your drawer. He reaches back over to unclasp the collar still around your neck.
“Welcome back,” he says softly, and leans down to kiss your forehead. Your face scrunches up. Still ticklish.
“Commercial break sucked,” you say, voice rough. He gets the collar undone and tugs it off, whisking them away and into the drawer. He puts his hand on your chest and you hum.
“Was the show good, at least?” he asks, and you know that though he’s being goofy, he’s genuinely worried. His domdrop is hard and fast, his insecurities creeping in before you can shoo them away.
“Show was amazing ,” you say, and stretch your arms. Ouch. Definitely sore.
“Good,” he says, letting out a breath. Then, “I’ll be right back.” He pats your chest and stands, and you notice he took off his boots. And socks, because if he wore those boots without socks, you’re going to kick his ass. Later, though. You’re tired.
He comes back with a facecloth and bends your leg at the knee, pressing it against your thigh. You hiss at the cold but he shushes you, rubbing your other leg with his free hand.
“Bruises,” he says, and you settle. You sit there for a while until he urges you to turn your hips and presses the cold facecloth to your ass. You huff, crossing your arms in mock annoyance.
“I’m not a baby,” you say, unable to keep quiet when he’s being so tender. It’s too domestic, almost. Being taken care of is too much for you to wrap your head around.
“You’re my boyfriend,” he says simply, then uses the facecloth to wipe the cum off your chest.
“Please don’t tell me I’m in a puddle of my own jizz right now.”
“Took care of that.”
“You take care of everything.”
“I take care of you,” he says, and you snap your mouth shut, blushing.
You stay quiet as he cleans you up before he smacks his own forehead and stands, hurrying out of the room with a Fuck, idiot .
He comes back with orange juice and granola bars and your heart flips in your chest. You take them gratefully, gulping down half the glass in one go as he massages whichever wrist you’re not using, scraped up by the rope.
“Was it too tight?” he questions, examining your skin carefully. You shrug and turn them around. No blood, seems fine. You say so and he visibly relaxes, the remaining tension leaking out of him. Good.
“You did great,” you assure him, reaching over to comb back his fringe with your fingers. He leans into the touch, smiling, and takes your hand in his.
It’s quiet and dim and your body screams for rest. You pull him in and he goes, setting aside your wrapper and empty glass to clean up in the morning, and rests his head on your shoulder. He rubs your chest, fingers smoothing over the mark his boot left on your collarbone.
You hope it bruises. You hope it scars. You hope you never lose the pieces of him that are part of you now.
“I love you,” you say, eyes drooping.
He tucks in closer, kisses the mole on your shoulder. “I love you too, my beloved John.”