Someone wrote in [personal profile] cabinpres_fic 2012-05-08 06:42 pm (UTC)

Fill: On Tender Mercies (2/2) (Spanking, D/s)

Douglas's aim was impeccable; cruel but beautiful, the even tempering of each slap blurring the transition of Martin's flesh from pink to red to blotchy. The steady, beating throb of the heavy, leather paddle made Martin tremble and whimper in pain, his reactions growing more vocal the harder Douglas hit him. He barely seemed aware that he was flinching, gasping at the bruise-deep hurt even as he pleaded brokenly for more. He was aroused, achingly so if the fine string of pre-come drooling from the tip of his cock was anything to go by and Douglas growled possessively, lengthening the arc of each strike against the upturned curve of Martin's perfect backside until he was sweating with the effort. The swelling increase of force made Martin mewl and tense, tears leaking from his eyes as the percussive blow of the leather against his seat jolted through his flesh hard enough to shiver teasingly into his tightening balls. Martin trembled desperately, arching his back and spreading his legs wider to present his perineum as if in open invitation to hurt him more and Douglas clenched his fist around the handle at the temptation of it.

Douglas growled possessively, focusing his efforts just to either side of Martin's crack, bruising the join where thigh met buttock until Martin was almost sobbing in pleasure at the painful ache of each blow. His hips were twitching, visibly mirroring the urge to thrust that pooled low and hot between his parted legs. He could come like this, Douglas knew. It had happened a few times; a climactic howl that left Martin wrecked and shivering, quite impossibly beautiful in his flushed depravity. It was an image Douglas stored faithfully in his memories, but he still had other plans for the evening and he forced his grip to loosen on the paddle's handle as he beat a last, sadistic tattoo back and forth across the white flesh of Martin's vulnerable inner thighs.

The sound Martin made was desperate, verging on orgasmic as Douglas tossed the paddle onto the pillows above Martin's head.

"Oh..." Martin gasped weakly. "Oh please, please..."

He barely seemed to know what he was begging for any longer; either release or a surcease of pain. An anguished cry escaped his lips when Douglas's palms pressed firmly against his bruise-hot buttocks, squeezing hard before wide thumbs pushed into the warmth of his crack to part his cheeks, spreading the heated globes far apart enough to see the puffy, slick hole hidden within.

Douglas paused, lips parting on a breathless curse.

"You've been busy," Douglas growled. Martin's hole was already slick, glistening with lube that must have been hastily pushed inside himself while Douglas was still dawdling in the lounge. Douglas was almost disappointed he'd missed it. The thought of those long, elegant fingers disappearing into Martin's greedy body rolled heat straight into Douglas's belly. He pinched Martin's buttock cruelly, the tight pucker squeezing sharply closed as Martin squealed pathetically at the sting of it.

"Reach back. Hold yourself open," Douglas said firmly. "I want to be able to see."

Martin shivered roughly at the promise in Douglas's voice, his hands shaking as he reached back, palms spread over his aching buttocks to keep his cheeks pulled firmly apart. His fingers gripped so hard they left white spots in the scarlet flesh, his body tensed in expectation as Douglas walked over to the wardrobe.

It was not something they did often, but Douglas knew Martin had been dropping hints about a repeat performance for a while now. He heard Martin's breath catch, his lip trembling as Douglas reached for the little-used tawse that hung at the back of the rail. The last time Martin had begged for it, braced much as he was now, he had ended up howling from the pain as Douglas had mercilessly whipped his cleft. Martin's hole had been so tight and puffy when Douglas was done that Martin had cried when Douglas fucked him. He'd cried and come harder than he'd ever done before and still gaspingly sobbed for more. He'd been left so raw he'd had to bury his teeth into his bottom lip with a hiss every time he sat down for almost a week afterwards.

The image had stuck with Douglas, a sharp burn in the back of his mind as he let the strap feather over Martin's hot flesh, teasing for a moment before he flexed his wrist back and flicked it sharply across the rim of Martin's hole.

The noise Martin made was incomparable; a broken whine so desperately needy Douglas just had to do it again. He aimed each snap of the leather at a slightly different target, peppering up and down the length of Martin's exposed crack. Sharp taps stung randomly across vulnerable flesh, the narrow strip of leather delivering a much crueler bite than the brute force of the paddle before it. Below him, Martin whined almost continuously, his voice breaking as each strike seemed to burn brighter, legs starting to fail as Douglas finally let the force of his blows increase.

It wasn't long until he was laying into Martin's arse viciously hard, beating with surprising strength as he alternated between lashing the tender, red-raw flesh of Martin's pucker and the delicate, hairless skin behind his balls. He kept the strokes evenly distributed, thin weals raising bare moments after each strike until the inside of Martin's cheeks and the very tops of his inner thighs were cross-hatched with lurid, scarlet welts.

Martin squealed and wiggled beneath his ministrations, but his grip did not falter, clenched hands holding himself spread open for abuse even as he flinched away from the stinging bite of the tawse. Douglas aimed a final, vicious crack right against the top of Martin's opening, forcing a breathy sob from Martin's lips before Douglas tossed the thin strap onto the pillows to join the discarded paddle.

Douglas dropped to his knees behind Martin, easing the boy's stiffened fingers free of their desperate grip. Relieved of their duty, Martin's arms flopped down uselessly onto the bed beside him, his face scrunched and wet from sobbing even as his cock strained desperately up towards his belly. Douglas cupped Martin's purpling buttocks, rubbing at the hot flesh as he bent closer, carefully inspecting the soundly abused little hole. Martin flinched, shivering even as he tried to force his body to relax, the reddened pucker yielding fractionally as Douglas dragged his thumbs heavily down either side of the bruise-dark entrance. Stretching Martin's aching buttocks apart, Douglas paused only long enough to see the glistening flash of lube still lingering at the centre before he dragged the flat of his tongue heavily over Martin's hole.

Martin let out a desperate cry, thrashing in Douglas's grasp, his head arching back as he groaned helplessly. Passion had thickened his voice, words barely decipherable beyond "Please," and "Yes," and "God," his cock engorged and dripping with pre-come as Douglas replaced his mouth with the hard push of a broad, insistent finger. Martin's entrance eased open grudgingly around the probing digit, the flesh inflamed and hot, and Douglas twisted his finger meaningfully in the tight warmth before stretching the opening just enough to push in a second. Martin's sharp whimper of pain at that larger invasion seemed to flush straight down into Douglas's belly, the image of pinning that writhing, clenching body on the end of his prick latching hungrily into Douglas's mind.

Douglas growled, pumping steadily into Martin's hole, fingers squishing wetly from how slick it was inside. He must have used an obscene quantity of lube, Douglas thought. He pulled his fingers out and fumbled for the bottle still sitting in the bedside drawer. He paused, hissing at how empty it was before smearing the remainder on his hardened cock and slicking himself as much as possible. He got to his feet, leaning over Martin domineeringly before lining up the head of his erection and pushing it up tight against the cringing, resistant heat of his boy's well-thrashed opening.

The push of entry was a battle just to breach his tender rim, Martin so swollen and tight that Douglas wondered for a second if he'd even manage to fuck him after all. It was a long, torturous moment of breathless indecision before Martin finally reached back to hold himself open once more, pleading for it brokenly until Douglas finally forced the reluctant flesh to part. Martin's body hitched before suddenly seeming to surrender as, with a choked, anguished whimper from beneath him, Douglas sank deep, straight down to the root.

The unexpected pressure of hips against his bruise-tender backside made Martin sob and hitch, his shoulders hunching as he pushed back into the sensation. He couldn't help clenching down on the base of Douglas's cock, the thickness filling him like a stinging burn to counterpoint the throbbing ache of his battered rear. Douglas cursed above him, arching over Martin's prone form and grinding roughly into his offered hole.

The urge to thrust was intense, the need to pound into this willingly sensitised body overtaking all other thought in Douglas's head. He could hear Martin underneath him, breath choppy and gasping, his face screwed up in some euphoric mix of endorphins and discomfort as Douglas drew most of the way out before slamming back, hard, into the heated flesh pinned beneath him.

Martin's yell was deep and guttural, each shove of Douglas's hips slapping against his backside, re-igniting the flare of painful bruises. When Douglas's fingers tangled in Martin's hair, yanking his head back, Martin couldn't help but arch gloriously into the calculated cruelty of it. Douglas knew the boy's cock was a rigid line of need between his legs, the eager flesh jerking neglectedly with every jarring pump of Douglas's hips, and he grit his teeth to resist the temptation of relieving it.

Martin knew better than to reach down and touch himself, not when they played this game, and Douglas could see his fingers were once more curled white-knuckle tight in the sheets. He was moaning, openly and unashamedly with every stroke of Douglas's cock inside him, and when Douglas adjusted the angle to stroke across his prostate on the way in, Martin entirely fell apart.

The feel of him clenching as he sobbed in untouched orgasm was ecstatic. Martin helplessly convulsed as he pumped a thick stream of ejaculate across the linens, his thighs giving out and head dropping limply on the duvet as Douglas released the grip on his hair. Douglas leaned down across Martin's quivering back to press his forehead against Martin's shoulder before taking firm hold of his boy's slender hips. Hot palms wrapped around Martin's waist, cupping and lifting to find the perfect angle so Douglas could rut sharp and fast into the plush heat of such a willingly helpless body. Beneath him, Martin panted and flinched, over-sensitised, toes barely brushing the carpet as Douglas lifted him higher. Captive against the onslaught, weight firmly on his shoulders, Martin squirmed futilely until Douglas finally found his own orgasm, groaning and heaving as he pushed his hips tight up against Martin's flesh and pumped a copious, thick load into his body.

The stillness that followed was almost deafening in its intensity. For a searing, shattered moment there was nothing but panted breath and sparking nerves, sudden and utter silence swallowing everything until Douglas groaned hoarsely and shuffled back enough to pull his spent cock free.

Martin winced at the feeling, hissing sharply in discomfort, going limp again as warm hands stroked soothingly up his bare sides. Now it was over, his body seemed to almost melt into the sheets, his limbs limp and pliant as Douglas kissed the back of his neck. There was come smeared on Martin's belly and a trickle of it escaping from his still raw hole but, taken with the purpling colour of his arse and thighs, Douglas thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Martin, sated for now, stretched weakly under Douglas's warmth. His bottom brushed Douglas's hip and he squeaked in pain, a minute shiver running up his spine even as he bit his lip and arched sensuously at the feeling.

Tomorrow they were supposedly flying to Antwerp. Douglas already knew that Martin would spend the whole flight perched gingerly in his seat, biting his lip and gasping with discomfort. Any hint of turbulence would be murder, his eyes glazed with need from the lingering, throbbing memory of pleasure pounding through his abused backside. When they got to the hotel Douglas would probably fuck him again, just because Martin liked the burn of being taken while still sore. And if they were really lucky the restaurant where they had dinner afterwards would have some nicely hard wooden chairs. After all, Martin may get off on the humiliation of being forced to squirm, but there was no denying he looked gorgeous while doing it.

At least Martin was predictable in his unpredictability, Douglas mused. Some judicious pain with his pleasure; a little cruelty mixed in with the sweet.

He kissed the back of Martin's neck again before grudgingly parting from the boy long enough to help him drowsily clamber more comfortably onto the bed. Martin was still sticky and the sheets would need changing before they left but, as he spooned up behind him, Douglas couldn't bring himself to care. There was a perverse sense of satisfaction in letting Martin wake with the immediate memory of being thoroughly debauched mere hours before, dried evidence of Douglas's ownership still clinging to his skin.

He reached down between Martin's buttocks idly, letting one finger swipe through the cooling, tacky trail of come that had already escaped from his body. Douglas gathered it on his fingertip, swirling a wet trail across the stinging flesh before pushing it back into Martin's unresisting hole. Martin twitched and murmured at the invasive touch but didn't properly wake, too far gone to protest, his breath growing heavy as Douglas wiggled his finger inside the faded resistance of Martin's rim. He should get a plug, Douglas thought idly. A nice fat one to keep the come sealed in.

The thought of Martin jiggling in his chair in added discomfort as a curved, deep plug stretched him out during the flight appealed to Douglas in some possessive, slightly predatory sort of way. He thought he might run it by Martin some time tomorrow and see if he liked the idea as well. Given their track record on that score he reckoned the chances were good, and he finally pulled his finger out to rest a firm, splayed palm contentedly over the heat radiating out of Martin's welted bottom. It didn't take long before he felt the first pull of drowsy contentment, and it was barely a minute later that he followed his much-adored Captain into sleep.

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