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fellowshippers2005-11-06 10:54 am
telesilla.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-11-06 10:54 am
Just Might Find 6 (Bill Fichtner/Sean Bean) NC-17
Just Might Find 6
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
telesilla and helens78
Bill Fichtner/Sean Bean
NC-17
warnings for BDSM, with particular emphasis on D/s, and some pain play with spanking
Note: Due to RL circumstances, this is late. Sorry, my bad. *sheepish grin*
Summary: It's the first day of their week-long contract, and Bill and Sean have brunch at the Establishment. Given the kind of club it is, that means Sean's naked and on his knees, hands cuffed, licking milk out of a bowl. And after brunch, nobody's going to mind if Bill bends Sean over the table and gets his ass nice and red...
~*~*~
Once more Bill's left instructions at the front desk. Sean's to strip and leave his clothes and suitcase to be taken up to Bill's room, and then he's to be sent into the more casual of the club's restaurants. Bill has a nice pair of steel cuffs sitting on the table along with the leash and his coffee.
This, he thinks, is going to be a good week.
Sean's right on time, and he figures that won't surprise Bill in the least. He nods to the concierge and grins as he gets his orders, stripping down neatly and sending his suitcase off with the bell boy.
Into the restaurant, then. Sean's hungry, looking forward to being fed or shown off or whatever it is Bill plans to do with him. And he's hard, of course; could hardly help it. He's just hoping Bill's looking forward to seeing him as much as he's looking forward to seeing Bill. I've needed this so much.
"I like your promptness, boy," Bill says, angling his chair so that Sean can kneel in front of him. He also likes seeing Sean here, and he's honest enough to admit to himself that he likes the way the people around them at looking at Sean out of the corners of their eyes.
"Thank you, sir," Sean says, and he sinks to his knees at Bill's feet as if he belongs there. Which for this week I do, he thinks. He's got a grin across his face that's lighting up the room, and it feels bloody fantastic having that grin back.
"Wrists," Bill says, and when Sean offers his wrists, Bill locks the cuffs on, pleased at the way they fit. He hooks the leash on to the right one and gives it a little tug. "Mine."
Sean can almost feel himself melting, a warm feeling running through him and landing squarely between his legs. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, looking from the cuffs to the leash to Bill and grinning all the more for it.
"First things first, then," Bill says, with a slight smile. "I need to take the edge off, so want your mouth on me." Only way I'll get through the rest of the day without coming the minute I finally start fucking him.
"Yes, sir," Sean says, scooting closer on his knees and sliding his tongue over his lips. "May I use my hands to get your trousers unfastened, sir?"
Once Sean implies he can undo trousers without the use of his hands, Bill's tempted to test that particular skill. But really, right now he's more interested in the blowjob itself. "Go ahead."
"Thank you, sir," Sean says, crawling between Bill's legs and reaching up to get his fly undone. He's glad he's not openly salivating at the thought of getting his mouth on Bill's cock; there's nothing like serving a dom first thing in the morning to settle and comfort and put Sean in his place. But he gets Bill's cock out and holds it steady while he slides his mouth down on it, quickly getting into a nice fast rhythm, firm and smooth, tongue stroking up the underside as he keeps his lips tight around the shaft.
"God," Bill mutters. Sean's going all out, but Bill doesn't want fancy technique, he wants to get off. Leaning forward, he grabs the back of Sean's neck and then shifts his hips, thrusting his cock hard in Sean's mouth. It's only going to be a few minutes, so he's not giving Sean a whole lot of opportunity to catch his breath. "You said you liked choking on it, boy," he growls.
Bloody hell, Sean thinks, and it's all he can do to keep from choking, to keep his throat open wide for Bill to use, and Christ, if this is how the week's starting, Sean couldn't be happier to be under contract. I'm here, I'm yours, thank you, oh fuck, feels so fucking good...
With Sean taking him in like that, it's only a matter of a few more thrusts before Bill comes with a low grunt. His hand drops to Sean's shoulder as he slumps back in the chair. Now I can take a full day of this man wearing my leash.
Sean swallows around Bill's cock but doesn't make any move to push back. He's breathing again, which is good enough for him. Christ, this is going to be so fucking good.
After taking a deep breath, Bill pushes Sean away and tucks his cock back in his pants, zipping up. "All right," he says, reaching down to brush a hand across Sean's cheek. "Now that we got that out of the way, let's have brunch."
Sean nuzzles up against Bill's hand, grinning, and then he crawls back to Bill's side, wanting to get out of his way but stay near enough that Bill can get at him without having to move. It's been a long time since he's been put in his place quite this firmly, at least for more than a day or two, and part of him's nervous about fucking up while the rest of him's just enjoying it. He doesn't want to get caught up in thoughts of the past, so he gets his hands behind his back and takes a deep breath, exhaling softly. Just be here. Don't think about anything else.
"Lean forward a bit," Bill says, pulling a clip out of his pocket. He fastens the cuffs together, and then drapes the leash over Sean's shoulder where Sean can see it. "I've got muffins I can feed you; do you want anything to drink?"
"Milk, sir, if you have it?" Sean asks. And as much as he doesn't have an inner kitten, he can easily imagine leaning down to lap it out of a bowl. Or a saucer.
Bill gestures to the nearest waiter and orders milk for Sean. "I don't really want to see you without marks or bruises of some kind this week," he says as he breaks off a piece of blueberry muffin and hands it down to Sean. "And I think the leash will only come off when it absolutely has to."
Sean nibbles at the muffin -- I never remember to get the recipe from the Establishment services -- and grins up at Bill. "Thank you, sir," he says. "Sounds brilliant."
"And I'll give you some time on the computer this evening if you need it, of course," Bill continues. The waiter brings Sean a bowl of milk and Bill leans forward, wanting to see how well Sean manages.
"Thank you, sir." Sean's going to be saying that a lot this week, he's sure. He spreads his knees for better balance and leans down slowly, leash sliding against his skin as he bends his face down to the bowl and starts to lap at the milk. Maybe everything just tastes better here because of the way it's delivered...
God, but he looks good. It occurs to Bill as he watches Sean, and then feeds him more muffin, to wonder if Sean ever did any kind of formal training when he was with Pierce. It's unlikely, given the impression Bill got of Pierce after seeing him scene in New York. Seemed like the type who wanted to be all hands on and was arrogant enough to think he could do it all himself.
"Ever had any formal training?"
Sean shakes his head. "No, sir." He wonders if that's something Bill looks for, if it's something that would get in the way if this week goes well and... and we're not thinking about that, he decides, licking his lips and bending down for another lap at the milk. "Do you mind if I ask... do you like your slaves formally trained, sir?"
"It depends on the circumstances and what I'm looking for in the individual boy," Bill replies, after a drink of coffee. "It won't get in the way of anything we do; you have damn good instincts."
That's a relief, and Sean nods. "I'm glad, sir." And now he's curious about circumstances and just how many boys Bill's had. But that's a pair of questions he probably shouldn't worry about over breakfast, instead turning his attention to licking crumbs off Bill's fingers between bites, trying to make himself look good. He's a little more self-conscious than usual this morning, just owing to it being the first day of a contract, a real contract, not something he's doing to fill time or get his mind off Los Angeles. He's got more at stake here.
They make their way though several muffins, another cup of coffee for Bill and the rest of Sean's milk in silence. Bill hadn't expected Sean to be awkward with the quiet, and he's glad to see he was right about that. By the time the meal's over, Bill is more than ready to move on.
"Up on your feet, boy," he says as the waiter clears off the table.
Sean nods and rolls up on his feet; the balance is a little off with his arms behind his back, but it's a skill his body remembers and he's able to do it more or less gracefully.
Moving up behind Sean, Bill puts a hand on his back. "I've seen you take pain in private," he says. "Let's see how you are in public." With that, he gives Sean a hard shove, pushing him face down onto the table.
"Oh, fuck, yes, sir," Sean gasps, spreading his legs wider, almost squirming against the tablecloth. "Please, sir, please let me hurt for you, sir, please."
"Oh, you will, boy," Bill says, grabbing up a napkin. He reaches around and pries Sean's mouth open before shoving the napkin in as a makeshift gag. "And you'll do it quietly this time."
Sean's startled, but not about to object; he settles down, teeth sunk into the fabric, and holds still. Oh, Christ, this is going to feel so good...
Picking up the plain leather strap he had hidden under another napkin, Bill puts a hand on Sean's wrists. The first blow to Sean's ass is sharp but not at full strength, and Bill sets a brisk pace, working on getting Sean's skin red before he really gets going.
The wonderful thing about being gagged is it's easy for Sean to blunt all the sharp yelps he's making, easy for him to melt into the table and concentrate on being there for Bill to hurt. He can feel every individual slap as his skin starts going dark, and this is just the warmup. This is Bill just getting started. Sean moans and lets his eyes close. Yes. Christ. Thank you, yes, yes...
"People are looking at you," Bill says, pausing for a moment to brush a hand across Sean's ass. "You look good like this," he adds, before starting up again, landing harder blows this time.
People are looking at you. Sean's eyes come open again, and he glances around. There are people looking at him, at them, watching the way Bill's beating him and the way Sean's taking it, and it feels so fucking good -- he's got a master who thinks he deserves to be shown off.
Master? Dom, Sean corrects himself, jerking into the table and biting down harder on the gag when the next blow lands, don't get ahead of yourself.
"Oh yeah," Bill says, really leaning into it now. "I thought you'd like being shown off. You're a bit of a slut, aren't you, boy?" And now, of course, he's thinking of taking a vacation at one of the Est properties, Napa maybe, or some other warm place, where he could show Sean off more. Focus on this week and plan the rest of it later, he tells himself firmly, landing blow after blow on Sean's ass.
Sean's getting more and more grateful for the gag; he's starting to lose the ability to bite back his cries. A few of them are coming loose, getting blunted by the napkin, and he stops trying so hard to hold them in, letting the sound out and letting the fabric muffle it. It's right there, that perfect edge between a pain that's just right and a pain that's too much, and oh fuck he hopes Bill's not ready to stop just yet.
Bill's nowhere near ready to stop. He wants to see more than just red skin on Sean's ass; he wants to see welts. Everything he's done with Sean up to this point suggests Sean can take a lot more than this and so he keeps it up, wanting to give the impression that he can do this all afternoon if he has to. Thank God for all the working out I do.
Oh, God, fuck, yes. Sean's going to be bruised by the time Bill's done with him; he'll have marks that are going to hurt him for days. This is how it starts, he thinks, this is what it's like going under this man for a week, and then thought flies out the window as the cries behind the gag lead to pleas, muffled groans between words he can't form.
Now Bill's getting what he wants; not only are the welts coming up, but he can see that Sean's losing himself in the moment, going to the place that Bill is taking him. Going? Hell, this boy runs full speed to that place.
Dropping the strap on the table, Bill leans on Sean's wrists just a little harder and brings his bare hand down on Sean's ass. There's always something very different about using your hand, and he wonders if Sean finds it as humiliating as some subs do. Have to remember to ask later.
Humiliation is the last thing Sean's getting out of it. It's skin-to-skin contact, it's Bill's hand on his flesh, and the sting is worse than the sting from the strap somehow, maybe because of how red his skin is. Worse and better, all at once. And if it's not humiliating, it does make him feel more like a slut -- more like the kind of boy who'd kneel and beg and lick come off the floor or beg his dom for anything his dom wanted to give him.
By the time Bill's done, his hand is stinging -- not as much as my boy's ass, though -- and he gives Sean a tap on the ass. "Stand up, boy."
Sean groans but somehow manages to do it. His cheeks are wet -- eyes watering more than he could hold back, but not quite up to full-out tears -- and his cock's dripping, a wet spot smeared across the tablecloth. He realizes both at once and ends up blushing, the red creeping all the way down into his chest.
Stepping in front of Sean, Bill pulls the napkin out of Sean's mouth. After dropping it on the table, he holds out his hand under Sean's chin, palm up. "Lick it," he says. "Get it wet for me."
No hesitating; Sean's tongue comes out, flat of it gliding across Bill's palm, and he gets it wet as fast as he can, slick strokes with his tongue gliding across Bill's skin, tip of his tongue just barely poking between Bill's fingers.
"Good boy," Bill says, reaching down to stroke Sean's cock slowly and gently. He watches Sean's face as he keeps up the pace, knowing it has to be maddening.
Sean's fingers curl into his palms, fingernails digging in hard, and he cries out more than once -- almost with every stroke. "Sir -- please -- please -- Christ, please..."
"You'll learn that sometimes I want to hear you beg, and sometimes I don't," Bill says, picking up the napkin/gag while continuing to slowly jerk Sean off. He smiles reassuringly at Sean and stuffs the napkin back in Sean's mouth.
Another groan, but then Sean does his best to stop, almost shaking from being so close to the edge. Every stroke of palm against cock burns; it's torture, absolutely torture, and Sean's got no choice but to take it, take it for as long as Bill wants him to take it, and pray that he can keep from coming until Bill wants him to.
Still watching Sean closely, Bill slows down a little. He's not trying to maneuver Sean into a situation where he has no choice but to fail. While that can be a fun game to play, right now he's not sure how Sean would react to it. Just want to keep him on the edge for a little while longer, just want to push that edge.
Oh God don't stop... Sean bites down hard against the napkin, growling softly. He's not going to thrust against Bill's hand. Goddamnit. It's killing him not to, but he knows better than that. And more to the point, it'd probably have him coming in seconds, and he doesn't want to do that. Just hold on. Oh, fucking Christ...
Impressed with Sean's ability to hold out, Bill gives him another minute or two of the slow gentle strokes. Finally, guided by Sean's increasingly desperate noises and the look on his face, he speeds up.
"All right, then," he says. "Come for me, boy."
Sean almost screams the gag right out of his mouth. It's a damn good thing he's got it, or he'd probably have made the whole restaurant stare -- those who haven't been watching the whole time, anyway. And coming hurts as much as it feels so fucking, insanely, unbelievably good, but then the pain's part of that, part of feeling like he's given Bill everything he's got.
He ends up winded, trying to pant for breath, and he'd be grinning if the gag allowed for it. Everything he's got? The week's young yet. Hell, the day's young.
Although Bill tries, he really can't understand why anyone would want to top a woman. This is the real power trip, having this kind of surrender from a man who could just as easily take you down as go down himself. "Fuck," he murmurs as he pulls the napkin out of Sean's mouth again. "Damn."
"Please," Sean breathes, as desperate for contact now as he was for the orgasm half a second ago. "Sir..."
Leaning in, Bill kisses Sean hard. "Good boy," he murmurs against Sean's lips. "You're being a very good boy for me."
Sean kisses back, calming down bit by bit. The kiss is just right, and the reassurance is perfect. "Thank you, sir," he whispers.
"Now," Bill says, holding up his hand again. "Clean this off and then we can go upstairs."
There's that grin again, that ear-to-ear grin that says just how happy Sean is to be here, how grateful he is to be Bill's for the week. He threads his fingers around the leash and slides his tongue over Bill's hand, taking up his come lick by lick, drop by drop, sucking on Bill's fingertips along the way.
Bill allows Sean to take his time, enjoying the fact that they're here doing this in the middle of this nice restaurant. Glad he doesn't mind that, he thinks, once more pondering showing Sean off.
"Come on then," he says, when Sean's finished. Reaching around, he unhooks the cuffs and takes hold of the leash. "Oh here," he says, grabbing the strap and holding it up to Sean's mouth. "Carry this for me."
Sean's cock twitches hard, not that there's a chance in hell he's going to get it up again for a few hours. His teeth sink down gently against the leather, not enough to mark it, and he can almost taste his own skin and sweat against it. Fuck, sir, you're good.
With a grin he feels no need to hide, Bill leads Sean out of the restaurant. "This is going to be a very good week, boy."
-end-
by
telesilla and helens78Bill Fichtner/Sean Bean
NC-17
warnings for BDSM, with particular emphasis on D/s, and some pain play with spanking
Note: Due to RL circumstances, this is late. Sorry, my bad. *sheepish grin*
Summary: It's the first day of their week-long contract, and Bill and Sean have brunch at the Establishment. Given the kind of club it is, that means Sean's naked and on his knees, hands cuffed, licking milk out of a bowl. And after brunch, nobody's going to mind if Bill bends Sean over the table and gets his ass nice and red...
~*~*~
Once more Bill's left instructions at the front desk. Sean's to strip and leave his clothes and suitcase to be taken up to Bill's room, and then he's to be sent into the more casual of the club's restaurants. Bill has a nice pair of steel cuffs sitting on the table along with the leash and his coffee.
This, he thinks, is going to be a good week.
Sean's right on time, and he figures that won't surprise Bill in the least. He nods to the concierge and grins as he gets his orders, stripping down neatly and sending his suitcase off with the bell boy.
Into the restaurant, then. Sean's hungry, looking forward to being fed or shown off or whatever it is Bill plans to do with him. And he's hard, of course; could hardly help it. He's just hoping Bill's looking forward to seeing him as much as he's looking forward to seeing Bill. I've needed this so much.
"I like your promptness, boy," Bill says, angling his chair so that Sean can kneel in front of him. He also likes seeing Sean here, and he's honest enough to admit to himself that he likes the way the people around them at looking at Sean out of the corners of their eyes.
"Thank you, sir," Sean says, and he sinks to his knees at Bill's feet as if he belongs there. Which for this week I do, he thinks. He's got a grin across his face that's lighting up the room, and it feels bloody fantastic having that grin back.
"Wrists," Bill says, and when Sean offers his wrists, Bill locks the cuffs on, pleased at the way they fit. He hooks the leash on to the right one and gives it a little tug. "Mine."
Sean can almost feel himself melting, a warm feeling running through him and landing squarely between his legs. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, looking from the cuffs to the leash to Bill and grinning all the more for it.
"First things first, then," Bill says, with a slight smile. "I need to take the edge off, so want your mouth on me." Only way I'll get through the rest of the day without coming the minute I finally start fucking him.
"Yes, sir," Sean says, scooting closer on his knees and sliding his tongue over his lips. "May I use my hands to get your trousers unfastened, sir?"
Once Sean implies he can undo trousers without the use of his hands, Bill's tempted to test that particular skill. But really, right now he's more interested in the blowjob itself. "Go ahead."
"Thank you, sir," Sean says, crawling between Bill's legs and reaching up to get his fly undone. He's glad he's not openly salivating at the thought of getting his mouth on Bill's cock; there's nothing like serving a dom first thing in the morning to settle and comfort and put Sean in his place. But he gets Bill's cock out and holds it steady while he slides his mouth down on it, quickly getting into a nice fast rhythm, firm and smooth, tongue stroking up the underside as he keeps his lips tight around the shaft.
"God," Bill mutters. Sean's going all out, but Bill doesn't want fancy technique, he wants to get off. Leaning forward, he grabs the back of Sean's neck and then shifts his hips, thrusting his cock hard in Sean's mouth. It's only going to be a few minutes, so he's not giving Sean a whole lot of opportunity to catch his breath. "You said you liked choking on it, boy," he growls.
Bloody hell, Sean thinks, and it's all he can do to keep from choking, to keep his throat open wide for Bill to use, and Christ, if this is how the week's starting, Sean couldn't be happier to be under contract. I'm here, I'm yours, thank you, oh fuck, feels so fucking good...
With Sean taking him in like that, it's only a matter of a few more thrusts before Bill comes with a low grunt. His hand drops to Sean's shoulder as he slumps back in the chair. Now I can take a full day of this man wearing my leash.
Sean swallows around Bill's cock but doesn't make any move to push back. He's breathing again, which is good enough for him. Christ, this is going to be so fucking good.
After taking a deep breath, Bill pushes Sean away and tucks his cock back in his pants, zipping up. "All right," he says, reaching down to brush a hand across Sean's cheek. "Now that we got that out of the way, let's have brunch."
Sean nuzzles up against Bill's hand, grinning, and then he crawls back to Bill's side, wanting to get out of his way but stay near enough that Bill can get at him without having to move. It's been a long time since he's been put in his place quite this firmly, at least for more than a day or two, and part of him's nervous about fucking up while the rest of him's just enjoying it. He doesn't want to get caught up in thoughts of the past, so he gets his hands behind his back and takes a deep breath, exhaling softly. Just be here. Don't think about anything else.
"Lean forward a bit," Bill says, pulling a clip out of his pocket. He fastens the cuffs together, and then drapes the leash over Sean's shoulder where Sean can see it. "I've got muffins I can feed you; do you want anything to drink?"
"Milk, sir, if you have it?" Sean asks. And as much as he doesn't have an inner kitten, he can easily imagine leaning down to lap it out of a bowl. Or a saucer.
Bill gestures to the nearest waiter and orders milk for Sean. "I don't really want to see you without marks or bruises of some kind this week," he says as he breaks off a piece of blueberry muffin and hands it down to Sean. "And I think the leash will only come off when it absolutely has to."
Sean nibbles at the muffin -- I never remember to get the recipe from the Establishment services -- and grins up at Bill. "Thank you, sir," he says. "Sounds brilliant."
"And I'll give you some time on the computer this evening if you need it, of course," Bill continues. The waiter brings Sean a bowl of milk and Bill leans forward, wanting to see how well Sean manages.
"Thank you, sir." Sean's going to be saying that a lot this week, he's sure. He spreads his knees for better balance and leans down slowly, leash sliding against his skin as he bends his face down to the bowl and starts to lap at the milk. Maybe everything just tastes better here because of the way it's delivered...
God, but he looks good. It occurs to Bill as he watches Sean, and then feeds him more muffin, to wonder if Sean ever did any kind of formal training when he was with Pierce. It's unlikely, given the impression Bill got of Pierce after seeing him scene in New York. Seemed like the type who wanted to be all hands on and was arrogant enough to think he could do it all himself.
"Ever had any formal training?"
Sean shakes his head. "No, sir." He wonders if that's something Bill looks for, if it's something that would get in the way if this week goes well and... and we're not thinking about that, he decides, licking his lips and bending down for another lap at the milk. "Do you mind if I ask... do you like your slaves formally trained, sir?"
"It depends on the circumstances and what I'm looking for in the individual boy," Bill replies, after a drink of coffee. "It won't get in the way of anything we do; you have damn good instincts."
That's a relief, and Sean nods. "I'm glad, sir." And now he's curious about circumstances and just how many boys Bill's had. But that's a pair of questions he probably shouldn't worry about over breakfast, instead turning his attention to licking crumbs off Bill's fingers between bites, trying to make himself look good. He's a little more self-conscious than usual this morning, just owing to it being the first day of a contract, a real contract, not something he's doing to fill time or get his mind off Los Angeles. He's got more at stake here.
They make their way though several muffins, another cup of coffee for Bill and the rest of Sean's milk in silence. Bill hadn't expected Sean to be awkward with the quiet, and he's glad to see he was right about that. By the time the meal's over, Bill is more than ready to move on.
"Up on your feet, boy," he says as the waiter clears off the table.
Sean nods and rolls up on his feet; the balance is a little off with his arms behind his back, but it's a skill his body remembers and he's able to do it more or less gracefully.
Moving up behind Sean, Bill puts a hand on his back. "I've seen you take pain in private," he says. "Let's see how you are in public." With that, he gives Sean a hard shove, pushing him face down onto the table.
"Oh, fuck, yes, sir," Sean gasps, spreading his legs wider, almost squirming against the tablecloth. "Please, sir, please let me hurt for you, sir, please."
"Oh, you will, boy," Bill says, grabbing up a napkin. He reaches around and pries Sean's mouth open before shoving the napkin in as a makeshift gag. "And you'll do it quietly this time."
Sean's startled, but not about to object; he settles down, teeth sunk into the fabric, and holds still. Oh, Christ, this is going to feel so good...
Picking up the plain leather strap he had hidden under another napkin, Bill puts a hand on Sean's wrists. The first blow to Sean's ass is sharp but not at full strength, and Bill sets a brisk pace, working on getting Sean's skin red before he really gets going.
The wonderful thing about being gagged is it's easy for Sean to blunt all the sharp yelps he's making, easy for him to melt into the table and concentrate on being there for Bill to hurt. He can feel every individual slap as his skin starts going dark, and this is just the warmup. This is Bill just getting started. Sean moans and lets his eyes close. Yes. Christ. Thank you, yes, yes...
"People are looking at you," Bill says, pausing for a moment to brush a hand across Sean's ass. "You look good like this," he adds, before starting up again, landing harder blows this time.
People are looking at you. Sean's eyes come open again, and he glances around. There are people looking at him, at them, watching the way Bill's beating him and the way Sean's taking it, and it feels so fucking good -- he's got a master who thinks he deserves to be shown off.
Master? Dom, Sean corrects himself, jerking into the table and biting down harder on the gag when the next blow lands, don't get ahead of yourself.
"Oh yeah," Bill says, really leaning into it now. "I thought you'd like being shown off. You're a bit of a slut, aren't you, boy?" And now, of course, he's thinking of taking a vacation at one of the Est properties, Napa maybe, or some other warm place, where he could show Sean off more. Focus on this week and plan the rest of it later, he tells himself firmly, landing blow after blow on Sean's ass.
Sean's getting more and more grateful for the gag; he's starting to lose the ability to bite back his cries. A few of them are coming loose, getting blunted by the napkin, and he stops trying so hard to hold them in, letting the sound out and letting the fabric muffle it. It's right there, that perfect edge between a pain that's just right and a pain that's too much, and oh fuck he hopes Bill's not ready to stop just yet.
Bill's nowhere near ready to stop. He wants to see more than just red skin on Sean's ass; he wants to see welts. Everything he's done with Sean up to this point suggests Sean can take a lot more than this and so he keeps it up, wanting to give the impression that he can do this all afternoon if he has to. Thank God for all the working out I do.
Oh, God, fuck, yes. Sean's going to be bruised by the time Bill's done with him; he'll have marks that are going to hurt him for days. This is how it starts, he thinks, this is what it's like going under this man for a week, and then thought flies out the window as the cries behind the gag lead to pleas, muffled groans between words he can't form.
Now Bill's getting what he wants; not only are the welts coming up, but he can see that Sean's losing himself in the moment, going to the place that Bill is taking him. Going? Hell, this boy runs full speed to that place.
Dropping the strap on the table, Bill leans on Sean's wrists just a little harder and brings his bare hand down on Sean's ass. There's always something very different about using your hand, and he wonders if Sean finds it as humiliating as some subs do. Have to remember to ask later.
Humiliation is the last thing Sean's getting out of it. It's skin-to-skin contact, it's Bill's hand on his flesh, and the sting is worse than the sting from the strap somehow, maybe because of how red his skin is. Worse and better, all at once. And if it's not humiliating, it does make him feel more like a slut -- more like the kind of boy who'd kneel and beg and lick come off the floor or beg his dom for anything his dom wanted to give him.
By the time Bill's done, his hand is stinging -- not as much as my boy's ass, though -- and he gives Sean a tap on the ass. "Stand up, boy."
Sean groans but somehow manages to do it. His cheeks are wet -- eyes watering more than he could hold back, but not quite up to full-out tears -- and his cock's dripping, a wet spot smeared across the tablecloth. He realizes both at once and ends up blushing, the red creeping all the way down into his chest.
Stepping in front of Sean, Bill pulls the napkin out of Sean's mouth. After dropping it on the table, he holds out his hand under Sean's chin, palm up. "Lick it," he says. "Get it wet for me."
No hesitating; Sean's tongue comes out, flat of it gliding across Bill's palm, and he gets it wet as fast as he can, slick strokes with his tongue gliding across Bill's skin, tip of his tongue just barely poking between Bill's fingers.
"Good boy," Bill says, reaching down to stroke Sean's cock slowly and gently. He watches Sean's face as he keeps up the pace, knowing it has to be maddening.
Sean's fingers curl into his palms, fingernails digging in hard, and he cries out more than once -- almost with every stroke. "Sir -- please -- please -- Christ, please..."
"You'll learn that sometimes I want to hear you beg, and sometimes I don't," Bill says, picking up the napkin/gag while continuing to slowly jerk Sean off. He smiles reassuringly at Sean and stuffs the napkin back in Sean's mouth.
Another groan, but then Sean does his best to stop, almost shaking from being so close to the edge. Every stroke of palm against cock burns; it's torture, absolutely torture, and Sean's got no choice but to take it, take it for as long as Bill wants him to take it, and pray that he can keep from coming until Bill wants him to.
Still watching Sean closely, Bill slows down a little. He's not trying to maneuver Sean into a situation where he has no choice but to fail. While that can be a fun game to play, right now he's not sure how Sean would react to it. Just want to keep him on the edge for a little while longer, just want to push that edge.
Oh God don't stop... Sean bites down hard against the napkin, growling softly. He's not going to thrust against Bill's hand. Goddamnit. It's killing him not to, but he knows better than that. And more to the point, it'd probably have him coming in seconds, and he doesn't want to do that. Just hold on. Oh, fucking Christ...
Impressed with Sean's ability to hold out, Bill gives him another minute or two of the slow gentle strokes. Finally, guided by Sean's increasingly desperate noises and the look on his face, he speeds up.
"All right, then," he says. "Come for me, boy."
Sean almost screams the gag right out of his mouth. It's a damn good thing he's got it, or he'd probably have made the whole restaurant stare -- those who haven't been watching the whole time, anyway. And coming hurts as much as it feels so fucking, insanely, unbelievably good, but then the pain's part of that, part of feeling like he's given Bill everything he's got.
He ends up winded, trying to pant for breath, and he'd be grinning if the gag allowed for it. Everything he's got? The week's young yet. Hell, the day's young.
Although Bill tries, he really can't understand why anyone would want to top a woman. This is the real power trip, having this kind of surrender from a man who could just as easily take you down as go down himself. "Fuck," he murmurs as he pulls the napkin out of Sean's mouth again. "Damn."
"Please," Sean breathes, as desperate for contact now as he was for the orgasm half a second ago. "Sir..."
Leaning in, Bill kisses Sean hard. "Good boy," he murmurs against Sean's lips. "You're being a very good boy for me."
Sean kisses back, calming down bit by bit. The kiss is just right, and the reassurance is perfect. "Thank you, sir," he whispers.
"Now," Bill says, holding up his hand again. "Clean this off and then we can go upstairs."
There's that grin again, that ear-to-ear grin that says just how happy Sean is to be here, how grateful he is to be Bill's for the week. He threads his fingers around the leash and slides his tongue over Bill's hand, taking up his come lick by lick, drop by drop, sucking on Bill's fingertips along the way.
Bill allows Sean to take his time, enjoying the fact that they're here doing this in the middle of this nice restaurant. Glad he doesn't mind that, he thinks, once more pondering showing Sean off.
"Come on then," he says, when Sean's finished. Reaching around, he unhooks the cuffs and takes hold of the leash. "Oh here," he says, grabbing the strap and holding it up to Sean's mouth. "Carry this for me."
Sean's cock twitches hard, not that there's a chance in hell he's going to get it up again for a few hours. His teeth sink down gently against the leather, not enough to mark it, and he can almost taste his own skin and sweat against it. Fuck, sir, you're good.
With a grin he feels no need to hide, Bill leads Sean out of the restaurant. "This is going to be a very good week, boy."
-end-
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*runs to change her clothes*
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Um. No, she really did.
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