Kris had known that Kyungsoo was worried about him.
“You’re killing yourself,” his boyfriend would say, on more than one occasion. “You’re not Superman, you need to learn how to let go of some things.”
But, thanks to the untimely death of his parents, Kris is the sole owner and chief executive officer of a fast-growing fashion house at the tender age of 29, and there is just too much resting on his broad, but bony, shoulders. Too much he can’t delegate, too much he can’t trust to anyone else.
The worst part is, he knows it isn’t fair to Kyungsoo, who has been a champ about supporting him through the shitstorm that has been the past three years. Now, he’s finally sorted through the fortune his parents left to him, split up into properties and investment funds and assets, all with their own risks and taxes and weighed down with grief and obligations. Now, he’s finally convincing his senior officers and designers that he is just as capable of running the label as his mother, has just as discerning an eye for fashion as his father.
He finally feels like the ground is no longer sliding out from underneath him, but he knows the only reason he never actually fell was Kyungsoo behind him, holding him up.
Kris tries to repay his lover for his devotion. Kyungsoo knows he can have anything he wants, anything money can buy. He never asks, though, which makes Kris all the more eager to spoil him, though he tries to match Kyungsoo’s austere taste. Expensive but understated jewelry, taking him along on business trips to enjoy the sights while Kris is in meetings, having lunch delivered to his work from nice restaurants, that kind of thing. Kris tries to carve out enough time to actually see Kyungsoo, to spend time with him. It’s the brightest spot in his week, but it’s never enough.
Which is why, when Kris finally gets home after yet another twelve hour day - exhaustion in his bones and wanting nothing more than to curl his long body around Kyungsoo’s smaller one and fall asleep - and finds a stranger sitting with Kyungsoo in the kitchen, his heart sinks into his toes.
“Hey, you're home,” Kyungsoo says, and oh no, he sounds nervous, Kyungsoo is never nervous. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
The other man stands and turns, and Kris gets his first look at the man Kyungsoo is leaving him for. To his dismay, the man is extraordinarily handsome, as tall as Kris is himself in a dark suit nearly as expensive. His hair is cropped stylishly short in back, but long on top, and dyed a deep silvery blue-gray, the exact hue shifting in the light as his head moves. His dark eyes, round and expressive, meet Kris’s steadily as he extends his hand. Kris takes it, and can’t help but notice that unlike the majority of people Kris has ever met, this man’s hand is large enough that it doesn’t get totally engulfed in Kris’s own.
“This is my boyfriend, Yifan,” Kyungsoo says to the man, and wait. Wait. Kris shoots a surprised look at Kyungsoo. First of all, he’s still being introduced as Kyungsoo’s boyfriend, so is that a good sign? And secondly, Kyungsoo knows Kris goes by his professional name 99% of the time - now that his parents are gone, no one calls him Yifan.
Kyungsoo’s eyes widen momentarily, a pointed look that Kris interprets to mean just go with it. More curious now than worried, Kris looks back at the man with the silver hair. The man smiles at him, just slightly, one corner of his mouth quirked up knowingly.
“A pleasure, Yifan,” he says, and oh holy shit. Kris has a deep voice, one that sometimes catches people off guard, but this man’s voice is considerably deeper, rich and dark and resonant, with a sultry cadence that punches Kris right in the gut and leaves him gaping like a fish. “Please, call me Mr. Park.”
No given name? And an English honorific, when the man is clearly Asian, probably native Korean if his accent when he says mister is anything to go by. Now Kris is definitely curious. “Nice to meet you, too,” he says, and firms his grip around Mr. Park’s warm, broad palm. “Kyungsoo, what’s going on?”
Kyungsoo opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking sheepish. He glances up at Mr. Park, as if to say I don’t know, you explain.
To Kris’s surprise, Mr. Park is the one to explain. “Your lover is concerned about your stress levels,” he says, his fingers trailing against Kris’s palm as their hands separate. “He’s asked me to help you.”
Kris glances between them. “I don’t understand.”
“Simply put,” Mr. Park murmurs, “I am a Dominant in the local BDSM community.”
Kris blinks in surprise. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”
“It’s just a thought,” Kyungsoo says hurriedly, reaching out to put his hand on Kris’s shoulder. “You’re just under so much pressure all the time, I thought maybe you might enjoy letting someone else be in control for a change.” His teeth sink into his lower lip nervously. “If it’s stupid, just say so.”
“No, I -” Kris halts, looking Mr. Park up and down with fresh eyes. His posture is perfectly straight, his suit perfectly pressed, and he looks so much more perfectly in control than Kris feels that Kris finds he really could see himself letting Mr. Park dominate him. Not that he… really knows what that entails, exactly. “I’d be open to trying it,” is what he finally says.
It wins him a smile from Mr. Park, slightly wider than the first, but still a bit crooked. He is very handsome. “I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Park says. “We have a lot to discuss, then. Perhaps you’d like to get settled first?” He gestures at the briefcase still in Kris’s other hand, the heavy coat still around his shoulders. Kris nods, and sets his case down and hangs up his coat before rather awkwardly moving past Mr. Park and down the hall to his bedroom to change.
Generally, he would be changing directly into his pajamas right now, or something comfortable and ratty if he was planning to be up for a while longer. But there’s a stranger in his house, and one that he rather feels he should impress, so he only hangs up his suit jacket and changes from his slightly sweaty white button-down shirt into a clean one, more stylish than formal in dark wine red. He rolls his sleeves up and leaves his fitted charcoal slacks as they are and returns to the living room.
Kyungsoo is curled in the corner of the couch, looking hopeful and nervous and generally adorable. Mr. Park, on the other hand, is sprawled with casual elegance in the armchair, one long leg crossed over the other knee. His eyes slide down Kris’s body as Kris enters, and Kris’s ears warm. He takes a seat next to Kyungsoo, automatically holding out an arm to invite his lover to cuddle him. Without hesitation, Kyungsoo does so, tucked under Kris’s arm with a reassuring hand on his knee.
“If you’re ready,” Mr. Park says, “I’ll be asking you some questions. It’s important when entering into a relationship like this that everyone agree on exactly how it will work.” Kris and Kyungsoo both nod, and Mr. Park smiles. “Alright, then. You’re in a committed relationship and so the very first thing we must discuss, before anything else, is how involved Kyungsoo will be in my relationship with you.”
Kris looks at Kyungsoo, who looks back but remains silent, clearly intending for it to be Kris’s decision. “What are my choices?” Kris asks carefully.
“Anything you like,” Mr. Park says, his smile gentle. “If you want to keep the two relationships completely separate, we can do that. If you would prefer Kyungsoo be an active participant, that is also possible. Or, perhaps, he may have the option of watching, but not participate. It is completely up to you.”
Sitting back, Kris thinks about it. “I… I think I’d prefer if he was involved,” he says finally. “Is that okay, Soo?”
Kyungsoo nods. “I’d prefer that too,” he admits. “But I’m not interested in being a submissive.”
Mr. Park nods back. “That’s perfectly doable. Would you prefer to know my plans for a scene ahead of time?”
Clearly, that possibility had not occurred to Soo. “Um. I think… At first, maybe?” He’s still chewing on his lip, the only outward sign of his discomfort. “It’d give me peace of mind, I think.”
“Good, that’s important.” Mr. Park nods to Kyungsoo. “We can work out the details of that separately. If that’s settled, let’s talk about limitations.”
Kris assumes he’s talking about Kris’s limitations, but to his surprise, the first thing they discuss is the limitations of the relationship itself.
“I’m a paid Dom,” Mr. Park says. “This should be treated as a professional service, not a relationship. Whatever we do is negotiated ahead of time and this -” he gestures between himself and the couch “- doesn't exist outside of that.” He smiles. “I’m not your boyfriend, and not trying to be.”
“What about your rates, then?” Kris asks. He's got the money, he's sure, but he wants to know anyway.
“I’ll handle the payment, babe,” Kyungsoo says, to Kris's surprise. “Don’t worry about that.”
Kris wants to protest, but he knows Kyungsoo is well-off in his own right, and he also knows arguing with Soo on this would be fruitless. So, he keeps his mouth shut, and just nods.
Mr. Park goes on to ask them about where they want to see him, when, how often. Then come the more intrusive questions - how do you feel about trying bondage? How about sensory play? Roleplaying? Crossdressing? Which sex acts are off the table?
Kris tries to answer, but for most of the questions, all he can come up with is I don’t know. Half of the stuff Mr. Park mentions, he’s never once in his life considered doing with any seriousness, and some of it, he’s never even heard of.
“Alright, then,” Mr. Park finally says. “I suppose for most of this, we’ll simply have to try it and see.” He eyes them both. “I generally prefer not to start the first session immediately after the interview, and it’s getting late. Shall we call it a night?”
Kyungsoo nods, but Kris blurts out, “When is the first session?”
A crooked, enigmatic smile. “I will let you know. We will also discuss safe words to be used in-scene later, before the session. Is that acceptable?”
Safe words. That’s only a tiny bit freaky. “That’s fine,” he says.
Mr. Park nods. “Good.” He stands, and Kris automatically stands as well. “I have Kyungsoo’s number, so expect me to reach out in a day or so, alright? Yifan, it would be wise to let Kyungsoo know what your schedule looks like so that I may coordinate with him.”
Shrugging, Kris says, “He’s already copied on it.”
“Excellent. Then, good night, gentlemen. Yifan… I look forward to seeing you again.” This time, his smile is sharp and toothy, like a shark’s. It leaves Kris’s heartbeat stuttering a little as he watches Mr. Park let himself out of the flat without another word.
Kyungsoo lets out a long breath. “Well,” he says. “That went much better than I expected.”
Kris turns to look at him. “When I saw him in here,” he says, speaking without thinking, “I thought he was your lover, and you were going to tell me you were leaving me.”
Dark, round eyes go painfully wide, and Kyungsoo hurriedly gets to his feet. “No no no,” he whispers, wrapping arms around Kris’s waist and squeezing him tight. “Never think that, baby. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Burying his face in Kyungsoo’s hair, Kris sighs. “Thanks, Soo,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, well, I just hope Mr. Park can help you,” Kyungsoo replies. “It kills me to watch you kill yourself.”
Kris closes his eyes and doesn’t answer. He just holds Kyungsoo closer.
Mr. Park wants to see you tonight.
Kris stares at the text. It takes him a moment to remember what Kyungsoo’s even talking about. Once it comes to him, he sits back in his chair, digesting that.
When and where?
8PM, and he sent me an address. I figure I’ll come pick you up and we can go to dinner first?
Kris glances at the clock. It’s already almost five, and his stack of work is actually higher now than it was when he walked in the building this morning.
I can’t, baby, I’m sorry. Come get me at 7:30 and we’ll go?
There’s a long pause. Kris can practically see Kyungsoo pursing his lips unhappily, but there’s nothing to be done. He’s already behind, he can’t let it get any more out of hand.
Okay, I will. Make sure you eat something.
And Kris intends to, really. It’s just that these new designs are terrible and he’s getting increasingly frustrated with his creative director’s appalling taste. Nothing like this ever came out under his father’s regime - was that because his father was overruling it, or because the creative director just knew better than to present this kind of avant-garde crap to him?
Every design needs to be reviewed and either approved or denied, with comments. Kris is nearly halfway through when his phone rings, startling him. He glances at the caller ID, glances at the clock, and swears.
“Shit,” he says when he picks up the call. “Is it 7:30 already?”
“Good job,” Kyungsoo says dryly. “You ready to go?”
Kris glares at the stack of designs in front of him. “No, but if I see one more design with spiked shoulder pads I might pop,” he growls. “I’m on my way down, gimme just a minute.”
One minute turns into ten as Kris scrawls down comments on the last design he was looking at, and he ends up sprinting down the stairs three at a time with his jacket over his arm instead of actually on him. “I’m here, I’m here,” he breathes, sliding into the passenger seat. “Sorry.”
Kyungsoo eyes him. “It’s not me you’re going to have to apologize to,” he says, “it’s Mr. Park.”
Kris sobers. It’s a good point, and one he contemplates as Kyungsoo pulls away from the curb. He doesn’t really know how this is going to go, how… well, how strict Mr. Park will be. And, honestly, the whole Dom thing aside, being late for his first, um, appointment is not exactly good manners.
When Mr. Park answers the door, though, he doesn’t comment, doesn’t ask. He just gestures for them to come in and closes the door behind him.
Both Kyungsoo and Kris look around the small flat curiously as Mr. Park takes their coats. It’s painted light grey and accented with pretty, sleek furniture in royal purple, black, and darker grey, and it looks completely and utterly unlived in, sterile. It can’t possibly be his home - he must maintain it for these purposes only.
“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Park says. The depth of his voice startles Kris slightly - he’d forgotten about it. He sits on the purple couch, Kyungsoo at his side, and Mr. Park in his light grey suit sits on the dark grey armchair, a near-mirror of how they sat in Kris’s own living room the first night.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Kris says. “I got caught up with work.”
Mr. Park glances briefly at Kyungsoo, but when Kris looks over, his lover is impassive. “It seems that happens a lot,” he murmurs, and, well, Kris can’t argue with that. “Tonight is your introduction, Yifan, so this will be very mild. I’ll be touching on some light sensation and flogging play, nothing serious, and nothing sexual. Is that okay?”
Flogging. Kris blinks. “Will it hurt?”
A shadow of a smile. “Not unless you want it to.”
Kris isn’t sure how that works, exactly, but he supposes he’s about to find out.
“Why are you asking me?” Kris asks, confused. “Shouldn’t you be telling me what to do?”
One dark eyebrow raises. “Once we go through that door,” Mr. Park says, “I will be, and you will obey me.” And though Mr. Park has not made a move his direction, has been nothing but perfectly genteel and polite, Kris feels his heartbeat starting to pick up, a thread of adrenaline sliding into his veins. “What we’re about to do right now, though,” he continues, “is called negotiating. We’ll do this before every play date. We’ll decide, together, what will go on in the playroom.” Another smile. “Once I have a feel for your limitations, and you trust me, then we can establish ongoing rules.”
“That makes sense,” Kyungsoo says. He sounds relieved. Kris wonders how much he’s been questioning his decision this past week.
“Okay, so what else?”
Mr. Park cocks his head. “How do you deal with pain?” he asks. “Or intense sensation?”
Kris frowns, not understanding the question. “I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt,” he says.
“I said it wouldn’t hurt unless you wanted it to. Chances are good, though, that you will want it to. How will you react? Do you swear? Cry? Lash out?”
What the heck does that mean? “Um… I tend to lash out, actually.”
A nod. “Do you object to being restrained, then?”
Beside him, Kyungsoo sits up a little straighter. “Restrained how?” he asks, before Kris can get to it.
“Standing, with padded cuffs at the wrist and ankles,” Mr. Park says immediately.
Kris blows out a breath and nods - that doesn’t sound terrible. “That will be fine,” he murmured.
“Good. I will be checking in with you regularly, but even so I require a safeword. I usually use yellow to mean slow down, and red to mean stop everything. Understand?” Kris nods again. “Good. Any questions for me?”
Kris feels like he should have questions, but his mind is blank. “No.”
“Alright then. When you go in the playroom, you’ll see a table with my tools. Look them over. Touch them, swing them, whatever you like. Get to know them a little. Kyungsoo and I will be in to join you in just a moment.” He gestures at the door. Awkwardly, Kris gets up off the couch and goes through, closing the door behind him.
This room is bigger, and even more bare. The walls are the same rich royal purple as the couch in the previous room, illuminated by the gentle glow of precisely placed track lighting, and the carpet is pale grey and very plush. Kris feels odd walking on it in his Italian leather shoes.
The centerpiece of the room is a large black St. Andrew’s cross against the far wall. There’s metal O-rings bolted at intervals along all four arms, and a padded section up the center, and it hits Kris very hard that he is about to be tied to that. The only thing that keeps him from turning right back around and marching out of that room is Mr. Park’s careful, controlled attitude, and the fact that Soo will be right there with him the entire time.
There’s another piece of furniture in the corner, just as black and imposing, but its purpose is not immediately clear. There’s also an armchair, a cabinet, and a sideboard along the wall atop which the toys Mr. Park mentioned are laid out.
Kris goes to check them out, and has to brace his hands on the sideboard and stare. Laid out in a neat line are three leather floggers in different colors and thicknesses, several different paddles, a riding crop, two canes, and an honest-to-God bullwhip. There’s also some weirder things - a feather duster, a piece of what appears to be real rabbit fur, three pairs of gloves (satin, leather, and leather with metal-spiked palms), and a weird spiked wheel thing Kris doesn’t have a name for.
He stares for a long moment. Never before has he been so intimidated by inanimate objects.
But Mr. Park said he should get to know them, so Kris does just that, picking them up each in turn to feel their textures, their weights. The gloves are just big enough to fit over his massive hands, and Kris, who is used to having the largest hands in the immediate vicinity, can’t help but shiver a little bit at the thought that Mr. Park’s are as big as his own.
The door opens, and Kris jumps as if shocked. He reminds himself that he’s not doing anything wrong and turns.
Mr. Park closes the door behind Kyungsoo, who goes silently to the corner and sits rather gingerly in the armchair. “If you are ready,” Mr. Park says, “we will begin.”
Well. Here goes. “I’m ready,” Kris says.
Mr. Park’s chin raises. “Remove your shoes, socks, and shirt and kneel in the center of the room.”
Kris blinks in shock. The politeness is completely gone from Mr. Park’s voice, leaving behind a deep, chest-rumbling growl that smacks Kris right in the gut. Mr. Park’s eyebrow raises, and Kris is suddenly hurrying to comply.
He’s got his shirt in his hands and is toeing off his shoes when he realizes he’s not sure where to put his clothes. He looks up, the question on his lips, but Mr. Park must have been anticipating it, because he points at Kyungsoo. Kris pads over and hands his clothes to Kyungsoo, who takes them, and reaches out to run a hand down his arm.
“I’m only going to watch today,” Kyungsoo murmurs softly. Kris nods, takes a deep breath, and returns to the center of the room, dropping to his knees as instructed.
Mr. Park comes near, standing over him. Kris looks up. From this angle, Mr. Park looks very tall, and quite imposing. He’s pulled on the plain leather gloves, and is holding a pair of thick, black leather cuffs in his fingers, the insides padded with black-dyed sheepskin.
“Give me your right wrist,” Mr. Park commands. Kris presents his arm, and Mr. Park’s leather-clad fingers buckle the cuff snugly around it. “Yifan,” Mr. Park says, as he gestures for the other wrist. “These cuffs are yours. They have never been used on anyone else, and never will be. They were purchased especially for you, and when you wear them, they mark you as mine. Do you understand?” Kris nods. “Good. Did you see any tools you do not want me to use on you?”
Kris raises his other arm and thinks about it. “The bullwhip,” he says softly. “The spiked gloves.”
“Address me as Mr. Park or Sir when you speak. Only those two things?”
Oh. Kris thinks about it. “I don’t think… the biggest paddle, either. Sir.”
A nod. “Very well. Are these comfortable?” Kris nods. “Good. Stand.” He does. Mr. Park drops to one knee, producing a second set of cuffs from somewhere, these bigger, thicker. “Stand still.” Kris obeys, and Mr. Park’s big hands fold up the hem of his jeans, slide a cuff around his ankle and buckle it firmly. He tests the fit with two fingers, and then repeats the action on the other leg.
Mr. Park stands, rising until he’s eye-to-eye with Kris. “Comfortable?” he asks, and Kris nods. “Get on the cross, face down.”
He’s moving before his mind catches up, already standing in front of the imposing black-painted contraption when it hits him. He smiles at himself, amused at how quickly and mindlessly he follows Mr. Park’s orders. That deep, commanding voice makes it easy to obey.
The cross has footplates bolted to the bottom of the legs. Kris steps up onto them, letting his chest and belly rest against the padded section. The cross is bolted to the wall at a slight angle, and it’s actually… rather comfortable to lean on it. His long legs are spread enough for stability, not too far apart, and there’s a padded headrest against the wall that his forehead can fall against.
A light touch of leather between his bare shoulderblades lets Kris know that Mr. Park is behind him. “Hands,” he says shortly, his fingers trailing up one shoulder and down to the wrist. Kris lets Mr. Park move him, clipping the rings on his cuffs to the rings on the cross with heavy black carabiners, wrists and ankles both. He keeps in contact with Kris’s skin at all times, so Kris always knows where he is and can predict what he’s going to do next.
Then he steps back, and his touch falls away. “You look beautiful, Yifan,” he murmurs, and Kris hears Kyungsoo make a small noise of agreement. “You’re built perfectly for the cross.” Soft footfalls move away and then come back - Mr. Park has gone over to the sideboard. Kris finds out why in the next moment, when soft strands of leather trail delicately up the length of his spine, from the small of his back all the way to his hairline.
Kris closes his eyes instinctively, pressing his forehead to the headrest, his shoulders tightening in anticipation. A leather-covered palm smooths over them, soothing. It’s a nonverbal direction as commanding as a voiced one, and Kris takes a deep breath and consciously forces himself to relax.
“Very good,” Mr. Park praises, his voice deep and breathy and close to Kris’s ear. Kris shivers.
“This is a deerskin suede flogger; it’s the gentlest one I own. Please be vocal about how it feels. Remember, you have an audience.” His hand smooths over Kris’s shoulder blade one last time, and then he strikes.
It isn’t a hard hit - it can’t be more than a flick of the wrist. The tails land across Kris’s shoulder blades, a fleeting sting soothed quickly by the soft suede dragging down over the skin. It’s followed by the warmed leather of the glove stroking over the struck area, taking any lingering sensation with it.
“Okay?” Mr. Park murmurs. Kris nods. That wasn’t bad at all.
Mr. Park strikes his other shoulder. The same pattern - flogger, then glove. He trails the tails up Kris’s spine again, wiggling it a little so the tails tickle against his skin. Kris arches into it instinctively, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
The next set of strikes are a little harder, a little faster, but Mr. Park’s leather-clad hands soothe the sting away. And this time, the tickle is taken up his right side and out to his elbow, then back across the shoulders to the other elbow and down his left side. It makes Kris squirm away, biting his lip to keep from laughing.
Mr. Park chuckles in his ear. “Cute,” he murmurs, and Kris feels heat rise to his cheeks. The glove traces a long line down his spine, and then Mr. Park starts in with a steady rhythm of soft lashes.
Whap. Whap. Whap. They’re spaced far enough apart that Kris can feel each one sting and fade. He’s tense at first, but as the beat remains steady, he starts to go numb to the sting and relaxes into the percussion. The rhythm is meditative, the silence deafening except for the sound of leather hitting skin, and Kris feels almost like he’s in a trance. It’s… nice.
WHAP. Kris jumps, startled by the much sharper stroke. There’s no more blows after that, no soothing hand, and the sting radiates from his skin. Footsteps move away, leaving him to hang there and hurt for a moment.
“Still doing alright?” Mr. Park asks.
“I’m fine,” Kris mutters, more sharply than he means it. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting the harder hit, and he doesn’t like surprises.
“I’m fine, sir,” Mr. Park corrects. Kris purses his lips petulantly, wondering if he’s allowed to ask Mr. Park to go back to the rhythmic beat and keep doing just that, and doesn’t answer.
A sharp, stinging pain hits him right across the roundest part of his ass, making him yelp.
“Say it,” Mr. Park admonishes.
“I’m fine, sir.” Kris corrects himself. He’s rewarded with the slide of a broad palm over the seat of his trousers, kneading the pain out of his stung buttocks. It feels good. Kris bites his lip and stops himself from pushing his hips back into the touch, all too aware that Kyungsoo is silently watching, that Mr. Park specifically told him there would be nothing sexual tonight.
“Hmm. Well, you haven’t tried to punch me yet, so I’m guessing you can probably take more,” Mr. Park purrs. “Let’s find out.”
There’s a bare, aiming touch of the tool - one of the canes, maybe, or the riding crop? - against his ass. It’s enough warning for Kris to tense his muscles against the swing, and though he’s pretty sure Mr. Park hit him even harder this time, it doesn’t sting quite so badly.
This time, Mr. Park’s grip is hard on his ass, strong fingers digging in deep. “You’re cheating, Yifan,” he admonishes. “The point is to feel it. Relax.”
Kris does not relax. Kris huffs and twists to glance back over his shoulder, taking in Mr. Park’s unamused expression. Mr. Park flashes him an eyebrow and holds his gaze when he swings again, a sharp sting that hits a little lower this time, dangerously close to the tops of Kris’s thighs. Kris would have preferred to show no reaction but it startles him and it hurts and he jumps and gasps.
Mr. Park doesn’t knead out the sting this time, letting it reverberate as he moves out of Kris’s line of sight. Kris turns his head back to the head rest and huffs, shoulders tensing up the longer it takes for Mr. Park to come back.
Eventually, Mr. Park comes back into his line of sight, leaning around Kris’s shoulder and gently turning his face towards him with a leather-clad finger on his chin. “Yifan,” Mr. Park says, “I’m really not going to hurt you. You don’t trust me yet, and I understand that, but you need to relax.” He brings his other hand up, and Kris sees his arm moving, but he’s not expecting the impossibly soft touch of the rabbit fur on his back, smoothing over the still-burning skin of his shoulders. Now that feels amazing and Kris moans unconsciously, arching into the sensation. Mr. Park smiles at him, watching his face as he sweeps the fur in long, slow strokes over Kris’s back, up his neck, down the outsides of his arms, down his sides.
Mr. Park steps behind Kris. The hand not holding the fur drags down his back, leather catching and tugging on the skin, while he reaches around and sweeps the fur delicately across Kris’s collarbones, up his throat. Kris is helpless against the moan that escapes this time, arching his back and lifting his chest, head tilted back to give Mr. Park access.
“That’s better,” Mr. Park purrs, low and dark in Kris’s ear. His breath on Kris’s skin sends a shudder down his spine. “Keep that openness. I’m going to use the crop again, alright? Stay relaxed, I’ve got you.”
His heat moves away, but somehow he keeps the fur moving on Kris’s skin as he reaches for the table. It’s just a moment before Kris feels the leather tongue of the riding crop trail across his shoulders, not a hit, but a caress. It leaves a trail of lit-up nerves behind it that takes a moment to fade.
Motion stops right over the biggest muscle in his shoulder, and Kris takes a deep breath, willing himself not to tense. The snap of the riding crop is much more intense than the flogger, a sharp, focused pain in one tiny spot. Kris jumps and cries out.
Immediately, the rabbit fur slides over the spot, and his raw nerves feel every individual hair acutely. It’s heaven, and Kris moans deeply.
“Better?” Mr. Park asks. Kris doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods. “Do you want the other side?”
“Please,” Kris whispers.
Solid, heavy warmth against his back as Mr. Park leans in very close. “Please, what?”
The depth of his voice slides down Kris’s spine and tugs on something deep in his gut, and Kris is vaguely aware that he’s beginning to swell in his trousers. “Please, Mr. Park,” he murmurs.
“Mmm.” Mr. Park moves back away, the tongue of the crop tracing idle, formless patterns on Kris’s skin. “Someday you will beg me to beat you in clear specifics, naming off exactly where you want me to hit you, and how hard, and with what.” It’s both shaming and evocative, and Kris finds it easier to imagine than he might have thought. “But for now, I will accept just please.”
He stops, over the muscle in the other shoulder, and Kris bites down on his own lip right before the hit connects. It keeps him from yelping, but not from jumping like he’s been stung. He arches, stretching his shoulder out in anticipation of the fur.
He doesn’t get the fur. Instead he gets hot, soft lips pressing a closed-mouth, chaste kiss right to the stung spot. Kris’s moan is embarrassingly high-pitched and choked, his cock jerking and filling further. Somehow, Mr. Park’s mouth feels wrong, taboo, even if it’s barely more than kissing a boo-boo to make it feel better.
And it does make it feel better. Kris can’t even remember the sting with the lingering feeling of Mr. Park’s lips on his skin.
Mr. Park starts up a new pattern. The tongue of the crop drags nonsense patterns against the skin of his back, trailing over untouched spots and sensitive, sore spots seemingly at random. Every once in a while it will pull back and strike in a new place, sharply stinging. Not every stung spot gets soothed, but many do, either with the rabbit fur, with the warmed leather glove, or, rarely, with Mr. Park’s mouth. The strikes have him buzzing, and the anticipation of what sort of touch might come after leaves him aching, yearning.
Then the crop falls away, and Mr. Park’s body heat falls away, and a footstep tells Kris that he’s moved back to the table where the gear is. “Breathe, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs, and oh, Kris hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath. He exhales, consciously relaxing muscles that had tensed up over time.
A tall column of grey flashes in Kris’s peripheral vision. Mr. Park smiles at him and holds up a glass of water with a straw. Gratefully, Kris drinks. He’s incredibly thirsty.
“How are you doing so far?” Mr. Park asks. “How do you feel?”
Letting the straw slide from his lips, Kris closes his eyes and takes stock. “I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m… good.”
Warm skin touches his sensitive back. Mr. Park has taken the gloves off? It feels nice, so nice, and Kris hums and arches into the touch.
“You still haven’t tried to punch me,” Mr. Park says, sounding amused. “Does that mean you can take more?”
“I think so.” Mr. Park is still watching him, his dark eyes intent on Kris’s face, so Kris keeps talking, feeling like that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. “Some of it hurts, but not very badly, and it doesn’t last long.”
A nod. “Are you enjoying it?”
That’s the real question, isn’t it? “Yes,” Kris decides. “I’m enjoying it.”
Mr. Park smiles, small but very real, the kind of smile that crinkles up his eyes. He’s extraordinarily handsome, and Kris feels oddly proud to be the cause of that little smile.
“Good.” The hand on his back slides up his shoulders to his neck, fingers carding through the short hairs at his nape very briefly before dropping away, leaving Kris shuddering. “How old are you, Yifan?”
Kris blinks. “Almost thirty.” What does that have to do with anything?
A surprised hum. “Older than you look. Alright, thirty it is.” Footsteps move over to the table, and Kris turns his head back to the headrest, shifting his weight a little. How long has he been tied to the cross? It doesn’t feel like it’s been very long, but his thighs are starting to ache a little from being spread.
It’s a measure of how much trust he already has placed in Mr. Park that it isn’t until he hears something being lifted off the table that he thinks to ask, “Thirty what?”
Oh. Obviously. “You sound like a pirate.”
A chuckle, deep and resonating. “Arr, matey.”
Startled, Kris laughs. He hears another snort of laughter from behind him, familiar, not deep enough to be Mr. Park. Kyungsoo. Kris had almost forgotten he was there.
He has a few moments to feel self-conscious before the touch of cool leather to his skin wipes away any other thought in his head besides oh god. It feels like a flogger, the same kind as before, but heavier and stiffer, the tails draping further down his back as Mr. Park drags it over his shoulders.
“This one is elk leather,” Mr. Park murmurs in his ear. “Medium weight. Has a good snap to it. Count the lashes out loud, so Kyungsoo can hear you.” He pulls back, and Kris braces himself.
He jumps and cries out softly, arching his back in a wordless plea for soothing. There’s no kiss, no touch, no stroke of soft fur to take away the sting. And Mr. Park wasn’t kidding about the snap - Kris had no idea the type of leather could make such a difference in what he felt.
“Yifan.” Mr. Park sounds annoyed. “I don’t hear you counting.”
What? Oh, right. “One,” Kris says quickly.
Licking his suddenly dry-again lips, Kris says it louder. “One.”
“Good boy.” This time, Kris can hear the slightest sound of leather cutting through air just before he is struck on his other shoulder. He remembers to count, but it comes out on top of his gasp, sounding suggestive even to his own ears.
Three and four are similarly spaced, similarly stingy. But Mr. Park does something different with five, something that turns the sting into a deep thud like Kris has been punched in the back. Shocked, his breath stolen, his hands jerk instinctively against the cuffs, and his count comes out a breathy groan.
Six, seven, eight and nine come fast on each other’s heels, sharp, quick strokes that seem to light up his entire back. Ten is a hard snap right across his ass, so unexpected and painful that the number dissolves into a loud “Ah!,” his back arching and his head thrown back and his cock throbbing for reasons he can’t even comprehend.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Mr. Park asks, amused.
Kris starts giggling. He’s not even sure why. “T-ten,” he manages to gasp, his head lolling against his outstretched arm. “Sorry, Mr. Park, I don’t know why I’m,” he has to stop and swallow another chuckle, “laughing.”
A low hum. Mr. Park sounds pleased, which makes Kris a little bit glowy inside. “Endorphin rush. Perfectly normal, don’t worry. You’re doing very well, Yifan.”
Kris is glad to hear it, but he kind of wishes Mr. Park would touch him. His back is on fire, and all he wants is to feel warm kisses soothing it.
WHAP. Kris yells this time, jerking violently, the unexpected attack finally triggering his instinct to hit something. The cuffs around his wrists keep him snugly in place, and his fist beats the wooden cross once in frustration. “Ow!”
“You should thank me when I praise you,” Mr. Park chides. “Say ‘thank you, Mr. Park.’”
Oh goddamn. “Thank you, Mr. Park,” Kris grits out.
“And your count?”
Kris kind of wants to punch him, his ears reddening embarrassedly. What number were they even on? “Eleven.”
“Hmm. We’ll make a good sub out of you yet.” A swift, light caress to the back of his neck has Kris shuddering and arching, only just able to stop himself from begging that the touch go lower over his sore skin. The leather gloves are back on, and Kris misses the feeling of skin on skin.
Then the hand falls away, and Kris closes his eyes, waiting for the blow.
Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. It’s rhythmic, deeper and harder than the rhythm of the previous flogger, but it has the same mind-numbing effect. Kris keeps count, not even listening to his own voice anymore. Nothing exists except sensation.
Sixteen and seventeen are low, very low, snapping across the muscular outsides of each thigh and making his legs twitch violently. Kris barely has a chance to moan out his count before nineteen and twenty hit him rapidly on each shoulder, stray tails stinging his upper arms. His numbers come out garbled with each other, lost in shocked gasps, and possibly no longer in Korean.
Kris had entertained the vague notion that Mr. Park would pause after lash twenty the way he’d paused after lash ten, but he doesn’t. He keeps right on going, picking up both the pace and the power, and Kris struggles to keep up, to keep count, to keep still, to keep from screaming. Time disappears, the world becoming a hazy blur.
There is a slight pause between lash twenty-nine and thirty, and Kris only has a moment to suck in a few heavy breaths before it comes down. Horizontal across both asscheeks, the hardest hit yet, making his entire body jerk as he mindlessly screams out the number. And then, in the next moment, there is warmth over his back, hands reaching over his head, a musky cologne in his nose he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.
“It’s over,” Mr. Park says softly. “It’s over, you did it. You did so well, Yifan, I’m so proud of you.” Kris’s hands are unhooked, and the moment he can move he curls in on himself, breathing harshly and wrapping his hands around his stinging shoulders. There are… tears? He’s crying? Yes, he is crying, silently, tears running down his face in gentle streams. When was the last time he cried?
Not since his parents died.
Hands push on his legs encourage him to step off the cross, and Kris hazily realizes his ankles have also been freed. Mr. Park guides him a step backwards and brings him down to the floor, letting him curl up, letting him bend all the joints that have been held ramrod straight for who knows how long. His body is warm and curved invitingly towards Kris, he quickly pulls off his gloves and lets them drop, and his broad hands splaying against Kris’s abused skin feels so good that Kris starts to laugh again. It’s choked through his tears, but it’s laughter. He feels light, giddy, slightly confused but hardly caring.
It takes too long for Kris to realize Mr. Park is still murmuring to him soothingly. The realization helps him blink back into the world, to focus him. He finds himself staining Mr. Park’s classy suitcoat with tears, shockingly strong arms holding him close, rocking him slightly. There are… there’s more than two hands on him, and Kris lifts his head and meets Kyungsoo’s dark, concerned eyes.
“Hi,” he says, rather stupidly.
Kyungsoo’s smile is so, so beautiful. “Hi yourself,” he replies, sounding relieved.
“You want to take him for a moment?” Mr. Park asks softly. Kris is confused, still hazy, but then he realizes the question is directed at Soo, who nods earnestly. There’s a little bit of shuffling, during which Kris feels a bit like a sack of potatoes, but his legs aren’t really working and he keeps shivering and twitching, so he lets himself be manhandled.
They end up sitting on the floor, Kyungsoo with his back resting against the wall and Kris curled up in his lap like he’s not close to twice his boyfriend’s size. Kyungsoo holds him and strokes his hair, and Kris just breathes, relishing the contact, the familiar touch, as his giggles and his tears and his shakes all begin to calm.
He hears the door, and looks up to see Mr. Park re-entering the room, gently shutting the door behind him. There’s a little jar in one hand, and a water bottle in the other.
It’s a little odd to see a man in a full suit and tie sinking to his knees, but Mr. Park makes it look graceful and controlled. He gives the bottle to Kyungsoo, who holds it for Kris to drink, and opens the pot. Lotion, it looks like.
The cool touch of the lotion on his back makes him moan like a teenager who’s just discovered porn, and Kris can’t even bring himself to be self-conscious enough to care.
Mr. Park’s chuckle is deep, and as soothing as his hands. Ah, fuck that feels good. “You did extremely well, Yifan,” Mr. Park says. “You took that beating so beautifully, you must be very strong.”
That shouldn’t make him glow with pride, but it does.
“Are you alright? Was anything too much?”
It’s a hard question to answer, especially with his brain all mushy like this, but Kris licks his still-dry lips and tries to get his mental gears moving again. “It was a lot,” he admits. “There were times I almost stopped you. But I’m glad I didn’t.” A dumb grin crawls over his features, without his permission. “I feel kind of high.”
An affirmative noise. Mr. Park’s body heat is already warming the cold lotion, and if he never stops touching Kris, ever, Kris will be perfectly content. “That feeling in your mind, that place you go when I’m dominating you, we call that subspace. It’s a little different for everyone, but it should feel like a good place to be, a safe place to be, even if what I’m doing to your physical body doesn’t seem good or safe from the outside.” He reaches down and unbuckles the cuffs from Kris’s ankles, smoothing a little lotion over the area, even though the padding kept the leather from chafing. Normally, Kris is not too big on having his feet touched, but Mr. Park’s firm touch is soothing, not tickling, and he finds he doesn’t mind.
Mr. Park repeats the same treatment on Kris’s wrists, dragging the excess lotion up over his hands and fingers while he’s at it. Facing Mr. Park, watching him care for Kris in an outwardly subservient way and yet somehow managing to seem 100% in control of everything, Kris sighs and contentedly leans back against Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
“I’ll let Kyungsoo take you home,” Mr. Park says. “Make sure you get enough to drink, and you might want to eat something, too. Playtime can take it out of you, and your stomach has been rumbling at me since you came down.” He quirks a smile, and Kris smiles helplessly back. “I’d like to see you again in a day or two. Not for a session, just to talk about this experience after you’ve had a chance to process it. I’ll arrange it with Kyungsoo. Is that acceptable?” Kris and Kyungsoo both nod. “Perfect. Thank you for letting me dominate you, Yifan.”
There’s something backwards about that. “No, thank you,” Kris murmurs. “Thank you so much.”
A slightly wider smile. “You’re welcome.” He stands, and Kris feels his distance like a loss. “I’ll let you recover for a bit. I’ll be right through the door when you’re ready to leave.”
“Thank you.” Kyungsoo says it this time. Mr. Park nods and leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him.
It isn’t until the next morning, when Kris is humming happily to himself as he gets out of the shower, that he realizes he hasn’t given his job one solitary thought in the past twelve hours. Unsettled by this, but also rather delighted, he takes a moment to contemplate the idea as he shaves in the mirror.
Could he do this again? Be Mr. Park’s sub? Bare himself for a beating, or anything else that man could do to him, on purpose, trusting that it would be good?
It’s a big question, and he’s glad Mr. Park is giving him a few days to think. He felt a side of himself last night he hadn’t known existed, let alone exposed to a stranger.
But… it really did feel good. Not the flogging, really, but the release. Letting go.
And Mr. Park is sexy as sin. That helps.
As he meanders out into the bedroom, patting water and shaving cream from his face, he hears a soft buzz. It’s not his own phone, it’s Kyungsoo’s, sitting on the bedside table. Kyungsoo himself is in the kitchen starting the coffee machine, so Kris idly sweeps up the phone, intending to bring it out to his lover.
The text is from Mr. Park. Too curious not to look, Kris unlocks the phone.
I wanted you to know he slept like a baby. Thank you so much for last night.
Kris can’t help but smile.
Debriefing is surprisingly casual. Kris and Kyungsoo meet Mr. Park early in the morning at a quiet, sophisticated little coffee shop and talk for a few minutes over lattes. The end conclusion is that Kris is going to become a regular customer.
“If we're going to do this,” Kyungsoo says, “I’d like to take you out to dinner, Mr. Park.”
Mr. Park glances at Kris, as if to gauge his reaction. Kris just smiles and nods - he and Soo already talked about this. “I won't say no to dinner,” Mr. Park says. “Any particular reason?”
“He’s planning to interrogate you,” Kris says dryly.
Kyungsoo smacks his arm as Mr. Park chuckles. “I just want to pick your brain about some of the specifics of… domination. I want to be prepared.”
Mr. Park’s gaze softens. “You two are good together,” he murmurs.
Love and pride swells in Kris’s chest, and he squeezes Kyungsoo against his side. “Thank you.”