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Seeing Red

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It had taken Kocoum a while to become acclimated with this foreplay the white men call a "spanking."

It's been worth the wait as far as Thomas is concerned, and he grins as Kocoum's hand collides with the ever reddening flesh of his buttocks again, making every part of him quiver.

He's unsure of where this lust for pain has arisen from because, from what little he remembers of his early childhood, he always loathed being spanked. But here, over Kocoum's lap, a strange ecstasy mingles with the pain and drives all the blood from his head down to his cock where it swells horribly, leaving him a wretched, begging mess.


He still turns red when he remembers how the subject of this foreplay was first brought up, when the pair were fishing at the river. Or rather Kocoum was doing the fishing and Thomas was busy making a fool of himself per usual by losing the bait and falling out of the canoe. He blames the raccoon entirely for what happened. If the damned creature hadn't leapt into the bow of the boat without warning, it would never have capsized and plunged him head-first into the water below.

Of course it was Meeko's fault that he had fallen in and scared off the rest of their catch. Of course it was Meeko's fault that Kocoum had been forced to evacuate his own canoe in order to dive in after the Englishman, who had quite forgotten how to swim.

But what happened next he can't really blame Meeko for, no matter how hard he tries.

He still wonders how on earth something so embarrassing could enter his mind as he clung to the half naked warrior who carried him back to dry land, both of them cold and dripping wet. How he had the nerve to look into Kocoum's steely black eyes without breaking out in a flush and mumble something so painfully moronic.

'I'm sorry I fell out of the boat again. I think I deserve to be punished...'

One of Kocoum's thick brows arched in confusion, 'why would I punish you over an accident? It wasn't your fault.' And he actually smiled. Not a spiteful smile; more of an attempt to be reassuring in a detached, Kocoum-like sort of way. 

But Thomas had gone too far to back out of this proposition and once he had the image of being punished by such a powerful man planted in his brain, he was determined to make it happen. He remembers - though he cringes at the memory - drawing closer to Kocoum, water running down his nose like sweat, and mumbling something along the lines of -

'Perhaps you should give me a spanking?' 

Kocoum's smile disappeared and he was confused again. He craned his head over his shoulder to scan the land around them and then turned back to Thomas in defeat. 'Tell me what it looks like and I will find you one.'

What followed was a jumble of flustered words and embarrassing hand gestures until Kocoum finally got the basis of what Thomas was actually asking for. It turned out, rather to Thomas's surprise, that spanking was not a common form of discipline in Kocoum's culture and the native really couldn't understand how anyone could feel any sort of pleasure from being hit repeatedly with an open hand. Hitting was a fighting gesture used for combat. The idea of hitting Thomas for no valid reason was rather unpleasant.

But Thomas gradually brought Kocoum round over time, assuring him that spanking was incredibly safe if done properly, left no lasting marks and really wasn't considered, to his people at least, a violent act.

Kocoum still hesitates every once in a while, mistaking Thomas's appreciative noise for cries of distress and abruptly halts the spanking to make sure he hasn't overstepped a line and hurt the boy. It's early days yet, Thomas knows. Eventually Kocoum will ease out of his shell. But Thomas finds his indecisiveness endearing. At least it shows Kocoum cares beneath that emotionless glower he always carries around.


Thomas cranes his head up over his shoulder and smiles at his lover's uncertainty, as Kocoum rests a hand between his shoulder blades and extends his thumb out in a consoling stroke. It's hard for him, laying a hand on someone he loves so dearly. So Thomas needs to constantly assure him that he wants this, he wants it. As confusing as it might be, he gets pleasure from the pain.

Kocoum still finds the whole thing utterly bizarre. Why anyone would want to have a hand vigorously applied to their rear end was beyond him - and how anyone could be aroused by it was virtually mind-boggling. But he does it anyway, because Thomas enjoys it. Or seems to, when he isn't yelping or squirming or silently sobbing over the native's lap. Funnily enough, this is all part of the foreplay, Thomas says; the pain is desirable, it makes him excited. Though like Kocoum, he's unsure why. 

Thomas drops his head again, Kocoum's hand remaining between his shoulders as the larger man continues, slamming his palm against that awaiting backside and wincing as the boy inhales sharply in response.

Now that Kocoum considers it, there is something oddly satisfying about having Thomas over his lap, naked from the waist down, his bottom glowing red from being swatted so many times. There's a sense of power, yes, but most importantly of all, complete trust. That is certainly desirable. 

'The others can hear us, can't they?' Thomas whispers, as another smack lands on his blazing right cheek.

Kocoum shrugs his shoulders. 'If they do, it's their own fault for listening.'

'Pocahontas will tease you for it later.'

'I'd like to see her try.'

It amazes Kocoum how quickly the blood swirls into those two perfectly trim cheeks, bathing them in a hot, fiery red that spreads to the top of Thomas's sun-kissed thighs. He wonders if he can make them redder, as red as the boy's hair and the spanks get harder, his arm pinning Thomas to his lap as the young man begins to wriggle and buck, his cock trapped between Kocoum's closed knees.

The warrior is finally beginning to enjoy himself with this newfound obsession of turning Thomas's bottom the same colour as his hair. He puts his shoulder into the blows, pinches and squeezes the abused flesh until Thomas is on the verge of bawling like an infant, his body hot and his balls heavy. 

Perhaps there is some logic to this foreplay. It works off a lot of steam after a hard day's hunt, Kocoum decides.

'Kocoum, sto - no, ohh...' Thomas stammers, almost screaming as he's smacked again and Kocoum's fingers brush his testicles ever so slightly, 'oh God, please...' 

Here comes the part that Kocoum is most stale at. His role as the "disciplinarian" as Thomas puts it. He straightens up, using the tip of his finger to circle the small of the boy's back, listening to him moan and asks with the most robotic voice known to man, 'have you been very wicked, my little one?'

Despite being on the verge of an orgasm, Thomas bursts out laughing, sounding more like a little girl than a man nearing twenty. 'Oh my God,' he covers his mouth with one hand but that only causes his body to convulse from the suppressed laughter, 'oh love, I'm sorry, I'll stop...in five minutes...'

Kocoum rolls his eyes at Thomas's humour, 'it's a work in progress,' and he lands another heavy smack on Thomas's already red bottom.

'Ow! Yes!' Thomas sniggers again as he receives another spank. 'And you're doing so well. So very well. Though I must confess, I don't think I've quite learned my lesson yet. I think you're going soft on me.'

Kocoum takes this cheek as his cue to continue and resumes in his previous assault upon that upturned bottom, smirking privately to himself as he gazes upon the startling scarlet globes of the boy's rump and the sight of Thomas's bare feet scrabbling against the dust on the floor of their hut.

He lands a final smack and examines his work, smirking again when he realises his goal has been well and truly accomplished; Thomas's rear has indeed turned the same colour as his hair, a deep red glow that's scorching to touch. He pinches the darkened skin, listening to Thomas groan and decides to put the boy out of his misery. He parts his rosy cheeks and presses two wet fingers against his puckered hole.

'Well, my little one,' Kocoum purrs, rubbing that tight little entrance to make Thomas squeak, 'have you finally learned your lesson?'

'Yes!' Thomas chokes and he wails as Kocoum slips his fingers inside him, his free hand reaching down to grasp the young man's starved cock between his legs. 'Yes, yes, yes, I have! Oh God!'


Kocoum waits for Thomas to come and after spilling his excitement all down Kocoum's inner thigh, the young man returns the favour by taking the warrior in his mouth and sucking him until he sees stars. Eventually, they collapse back onto the furs in exhaustion and Thomas splays himself on top of the larger man so he can hide his face in that forest of dark hair. 

'Definitely getting better.' He smiles into Kocoum's neck as he feels the native's hands move down to caress his sore buttocks. 'But you're still holding back on me; I know you put more effort into skinning your bears than you do colouring my backside.'

'A bear wouldn't snap in half if you hit it too hard.' Kocoum's hands trace further down, to Thomas's punished thighs. 'I can't risk truly hurting you, little one. You mean far too much to me.'

Thomas huffs, because he's not made of glass and he wishes people would understand that, but he's too tired to protest. He leans down and brushes their lips together in a kiss, ready for another taste of Kocoum's mouth, only to be interrupted by the sound of a child crying outside. 

'It appears our twins are awake.' Thomas whispers against Kocoum's lips, chuckling as the warrior groans and tries to hide under the blankets. 'Come now, love. You know very well they're your sons at this time of the evening.'

'We'll take one each. And that's my final offer.'

'Deal.' Thomas kisses him again, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. 'Now get a move on. We can't leave Wiggins all alone to deal with the little terrors.'

'I still can't understand why you insist on leaving our children with that walking fishbone.'

'That "fishbone" happens to be very good with infants.'

'He puts them to sleep well enough, seeing as he talks like a river.'

'You're an absolute brute, Kocoum.'

'That's why you married me.'