Arms and legs stretched and bound, his stomach pressed flat against the bed, Mairon was a picture of beauty. His skin was near translucent even in the dim light, the soft dips of flesh between each bone of his rib cage rising and falling with each breath. Eyes closed beneath the black blindfold, he listened to the sound of his Master’s boots as he walked across the room, the heavy footfall echoing in the open space. Though his ears strained, trying to ascertain which of the many devices the Vala might choose. When he heard something swung through the air, a strange swishing sound driving his curiosity wild.
Tongue darting across his lower lip, Mairon’s head lifted slightly, brow creased as he waited for his Master to say something, anything. “My Lord..?” He couldn’t help himself, squirming when he heard another swish through the air and the sound of the those great, heavy boots coming toward him. Turning his wrists in the rope bindings, his mind brushed out for the Vala’s, seeking some sort of confirmation. The soft static, usually so much louder in his head as Melkor connected with him, was a comfort, and with that presence he allowed himself to relax.
Feeling the dip of the mattress as his Master kneeled on the bed between his legs, Mairon’s breath caught, anticipation stirring in his groin. The rough scratch of blackened fingers tracing long lines up the inside of his thighs. His hips arched up at the sensation, a quiet moan exhaled like a prayer against the pillow as the other’s hand sought his arousal out. It took him a moment to realize that Melkor had something in his hand, fastening it around his cock and sac in one swift movement. Just feeling the heavy weight of cool metal was enough to draw a moan from his lips.
“There,” the Vala hummed, the sound reverberating from deep within his chest, making Mairon bite his lip. “I have brought out something for you… Something you’ve been rather keen on lately.” The rattan cane touched Mairon’s back then, slowly and smoothly traveling from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine, and oh, he might have lost himself just at the thought of it. Hearing the Maia swallow, gooseflesh rising on his pale skin, Melkor couldn’t help but chuckle. “Have you changed your desire for this, little flame?”
Mairon’s teeth worried at his lip, turning his wrists once more in the rope. “No, I want you to- ah,” he paused, trying to find the words, “I wish that you would hurt me.” He couldn’t help but hold his breath, waiting for his Master’s response. When he had first brought the delicate subject up, it had been far more difficult. He hadn’t wished to say it outright, lest the Vala deny him, but while he savoured the feel of Melkor’s hand striking him, some days it was not enough to get him into the space he needed to be in. His Master is waiting some him to continue and he knows it, the silence between them enough that he can hear the mountain thrumming, the distant rumble of hard labor and heavy footfall. “Please… please hurt me,” he exhaled, quiet. “Beat me, mark me, make me yours…”
Melkor seemed to like that answer, the bed creaking as he rose once more to his feet. The rattan rod tapped lightly on his arse, his thighs, not even enough to inflame the skin, and Mairon couldn’t help but whine, pressing his hips up as best as he could. “Please-,” he mumbled, and within the span of finishing the word and his next breath the cane struck his arse, a thin line of fire instantly welling up on the milky white skin. The next strike he was more prepared for, his hips rutting hard against the bed as pain lit up every nerve ending in his body. His fingers clenched tightly above his head, taking a moment to catch his breath as Melkor lined up where his next blow might hit.
The cane struck his thighs this time, just below the crease of his arse, and Mairon had yelped in surprise when another strike landed in the same place. His back arched, body stiffening as it awaited his Master’s firm blow, but instead a coarse hand kneaded into his aching flesh instead. Melkor’s fingers traced none too gently over the first four marks, a sound of quiet contentment filling his ears. Mairon tried to press back against the hand, his hips stuttering against his will as his cock found friction against the bedsheets. With a soft moan, Mairon ground harder into the bed, but his Master’s tut had stopped him.
“Did I say you could rut helplessly?” Melkor crooned, and with a stronger hand than before the cane whipped against his arse once more. The agony, like a blazing inferno across his skin, left his head swimming. “Five more, little flame. Count,” he ordered, drawing the cane back and striking the Maia with a powerful hand. The tender flesh of his thighs split, blood springing up immediately to the surface.
It took a moment, but Mairon weakly began to do as told. “One,” he gasped, his leg muscles contracting in the pain. Blood not deterring him, Melkor landed another strike against his backside, another strip of skin torn open, and he grinned as Mairon cried out. Tears were dampening the blindfold, he could tell, but his Maia hadn’t asked him to stop, so stop he would not. Still, he had to coax the next number out of Mairon, one nail dragging down his unmarked back in the shape of the number, clearing his throat. “Two, Master,” he finally managed.
“Good, little flame,” Melkor grinned, the cane swishing through the air again and landing brutally against the reddened and swollen skin as the other’s body contorted. At least this one hadn’t torn the flesh, though specks of blood flew from the other wounds. “Three…?” Mairon’s number was a question, his voice barely audible. Without hesitation, the Vala struck the flesh again, the cane crossing over other lines instead of staying parallel with them. In response, the Maia aches nearly off the bed, pulling hard at his restraints as a broken sob escaped him. His breath was ragged, chest heaving, entire body shaking.
Melkor, despite himself, brought his hand to Mairon’s cheek, caressing it softly as he pushed up the blindfold. Though the honeyed eyes blinked open, his Maia’s gaze was glazed over and unseeing. “What number, Mairon?” “F-four,” he managed, barely above a whisper as his eyes fell shut again. “One more, little one… You are doing brilliantly.” Waiting until the other nodded, he lightly tapped the cane to Mairon’s shoulders as a warning before swatting the rattan down in a satisfying snap.
Crying out, the Maia’s mouth fell open, panting in desperation for the breath that didn’t want to come. His body felt on fire, the marks across his arse and thighs angry and red against his pale skin. The single line across his shoulders burned, especially with his arms stretched over his head as they were, and he could feel the muscle quivering in response. A strong hand carded through his hair, lifting his head slightly, and he could barely blink open his eyes to see his Master’s handsome face. That quirked brow, ached as if he was waiting for something reminded Mairon he was short one number. “Five.”
“Five. Good. Very good,” Melkor hummed, lowering the Maia’s head back onto the pillow. “Do you want to come?”
Mairon’s brow knit, his thoughts too jumbled to truly think. His hips shifted, pain glaring on his backside even as his cock, still painfully hard, brushed against the sheets. Nodding, the Maia’s face inclined toward his Master’s hand, nuzzling the charred skin there without hesitation. “Please,” he asked in a small voice, and Melkor cannot help but smile at the sight before him. “Please, let me come…”
Reaching over him, Melkor cut through one binding at Mairon’s wrist, but instead of releasing his other arm as well he cut through the rope at one of his feet. “Turn,” he grinned, a wicked glint in his eye, and the Maia struggled to obey. Hissing in pain, Mairon tried his damndest to turn, but the stripes that tore his skin on his thighs and arse made it difficult. His Master watched him struggle for a long moment before his strong arm looped under the small of his back and helped him flip. Biting his lip, Mairon looked up at the Vala, a picture of agony and desire, eyes wide and skin flushed. Melkor leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to the bitten and swollen lips.
“You have done well,” he praised, charred hand caressing his chest, the fingers finding and teasing the golden hoop through his nipple. Mairon gasped in response, back arching at the touch, but the fire that lit his backside made the movement all the more dizzying. The Vala showed little mercy on him, even now. He wasn’t too far gone yet, wasn’t fully broken and needy and begging for his release, no matter how close he stood on the precipice of his peak. Chest heaving with each breath, Mairon’s eyes closed, reveling in the sensation of being touched.
Melkor’s hot breath against his skin had the Maia whimpering, a weak sound, and the Vala wanted more. His sharp teeth nipped at the rosy bud upon Mairon’s chest, tongue lavishing over the nipple before sucking it hard. The other squirmed below him, his open wounds sticking to the silken sheets making him whine, hips pressing upward as his cock sought friction. Melkor tugged sharply at the golden hoop, grinning with the metal between his teeth as Mairon gasped. The Maia’s free hand flew into his dark hair without thought, curling fingers against his scalp, and Melkor made a low sound akin to a growl in his throat, yet Mairon didn’t let him go.
His blackened hand shot to the other’s throat, fingers gripping the yielding flesh and tightening, cutting off air. His lieutenant’s hand immediately left hair, grasping and clawing at the hand that choked him instead. Melkor loved to see the desperation in those honeyed eyes, loved even more as he could see the effect of darkness warping around the edges of his Maia’s vision. He released his grip before the other completely blacked out, pressing soft kisses to Mairon’s chest as the other inhaled sharp breaths of life into his neglected lungs. His fingers entwined with the other’s, a kindness that was almost too gentle. Mairon’s glazed gaze met his, a hint of fire still burning in them, and Melkor knew he was getting close to being completely submerged in the submissive headspace at last. It wouldn’t be much longer until he allowed his charge to meet his end.
“Now,” Melkor began, tone sickeningly saccharine, “I asked you if you would like to come.”
Mairon’s tongue felt heavy and dry in his mouth, even as it darted across his cracked lips in a vain attempt to moisten them. Nodding, the movement almost staccato in its jerkiness, he tried to make some sort of sound of confirmation, yet a soft hiss of ‘pleasssssse,’ was all the same. His Master’s fingers stroked down his flat stomach, agonizingly slowly, until at last reaching his straining cock. The entire length was almost purple, tip glistening with precome, the glint of metal keeping him from coming vibrant against his skin. In a swift movement, Melkor unfastened the device and tossed it to the side. His rough hand wrapped around the Maia’s cock, the other that had been twined in his hand going back to his throat, and with just a few strokes Mairon’s release hit him. Thick ribbons of white coated his chest, drops hitting as far as his cheek and lips.
Milking every last drop from him, Melkor’s fingers released Mairon’s throat, his gaze firmly on the other’s face. His Maia seemed to glow in his release, his expression pure bliss, tears streaming down his face, skin flushed to perfection as he quaked under Melkor’s touch. When at last the other’s body slunk back down against the bed, the Vala’s thumb rubbed against the head of the oversensitive cock, drawing little cries out of him. At last, he let the other bask in the moment, his hands gently running up and down the Maia’s sides and whispered words of praise and encouragement.
Mairon’s body was limp against the bed, wracked with some small aftershocks, for what seemed like hours. His eyes stayed closed, lips parted as he drew in breath after breath. When at last those honeyed eyes blinked open, small smile curling up on his face, Melkor leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, soft and barely audible. “Thank you, Master… Thank you…”
Cutting through the remaining rope that secured the Maia to the bed, Melkor gathered Mairon carefully in his arms, mindful of the lashes from the cane. His fingers carded through matted and damp crimson hair, lips against the other’s temple. “You did so well, little flame. So very well.”
They stayed together for a long while, sweat damp skin drying long before the Vala parted himself from his Maia. Without any other words, he hoisted Mairon against his chest and brought him to the bath, running the scalding water as Mairon so enjoyed. He spent the rest of the night washing and caring for the wounds, his own arousal long forgotten, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.