Blindfolded and shackled to the St Andrew's Cross at wrists, ankles and waist, the only sounds he heard were those of his own harsh breathing and the whoosh of the flogger sailing through the air before it landed. From the sound it made and the light sting as it hit his upper back, he knew his partner had started with the rubber flogger. He knew, also, that at some point the rubber flogger would be traded for the suede one before eventually being replaced by the strict leather one.
He didn't find himself in this position often, but there were times, usually after a particularly tough case, when he needed this, needed the release he could find only in this manner. There would be so many pent up feelings inside him, roiling around, screaming for release, and he would find himself here, in this way, with this man. And he wouldn't even have to ask. His partner knew him better than anyone and always knew when he needed this.
It wasn't easy, though, getting here. He didn't like giving up control, even when he needed to lose himself. He fought hard against it, starting from the moment he was ordered to strip. The fight was mostly verbal and mental. The only physical manifestations were the rigidity of his body, the clenching of his fists by his sides, and the lifting of his chin. His gaze would be hard and flinty as he dared his partner to make him obey.
But his partner knew him well. While they didn't do this often, there were still certain triggers he was conditioned to. His partner would let him rant and resist for only so long before taking him down to the next step, and that was allowed only because the man in control knew he needed the verbal release as well as the physical and mental.
A large hand wrapped around his wrist, applying just the right amount of pressure, induced him to give in and remove his clothes. But then the fight began anew when he was ordered over to the St Andrew's Cross. Sometimes he allowed him to fight a while longer, but other times, when the need for release was the greatest, like today, the squeeze to the back of his neck would be almost immediate, and he would cross the room to stand in front of the large, red-leather-padded X.
Still there was fight in him, his very nature telling him not to give up control. But rather than order him to assume the position and garner yet another fight, his partner would merely wrap his large hands around both wrists, applying pressure to his pulse points as he lifted his hands above his head and spread them out on the cross before shackling his wrists.
His heart rate would begin increasing at this point, and when his legs were kicked apart so the ankle restraints could be attached, his cock would begin to twitch. When the belt was attached around his waist, he would inhale sharply. But when the blindfold was applied, depriving him of one of his senses, a shudder would go through his body as he went down another notch.
A large hand stroked over his hair and down his back before running down the cleft of his ass. By this time his cock was definitely interested.
"You are so beautiful like this," his partner said, his voice dark and rich, reverberating along his nerve endings. "You're going to be even more beautiful when your back is marked, your ass is glowing and you've submitted fully." Leaning closer, placing his mouth against the bound man's ear, he whispered seductively, "And then I'm going to fuck you into tomorrow so you know just who you belong to."
Today, though, he knew it would take a while to get to that point where he could fully submit. The length of time it had taken the lubed fingers to loosen him up enough to accept the butt plug was a sure sign he wouldn't go down easy.
The flogger swished again, criss crossing the first strike, the tiny rubber strips creating a nice sting with light marks that would fade within hours. It wasn't enough to take him down into subspace, but this, he knew, was merely the warmup, the opening band before the headliner.
The flogger was administered in a criss cross pattern, right-left, right-left, from shoulders to thighs, lulling him into a zone much like comfort. That was when his partner unexpectedly broke up the rhythm, striking a stinging blow between his thighs, making his body jerk and his breath hiss inward when his balls felt the sting of the blow and the butt plug was jostled inside him.
A hand ran over his ass cheeks as the whip-wielder spoke near his ear. "Your ass is turning pink and starting to warm up, but you want more, don't you? You want that ass to burn. Isn't that right?"
But there was fight still in him, and he refused to answer.
The hand that had been caressing his ass was suddenly in his hair, pulling his head back. "Say it! Tell me how much you need this."
Still he refused, shaking his head in denial.
The hand in his hair tightened even more. "Say it, or this stops right here."
"No," he managed through gritted teeth.
"No, what? No, you don't want this?"
"No, don't stop," he whispered, the words seeming to force themselves out. "I need this. I want you to take control."
"Good boy."
He made a strangled sound when teeth suddenly clamped down where his shoulder met his neck. The flesh was then sucked into a hot mouth before being soothed by the swipe of a broad tongue. There was no doubt he had received his first mark of the night, and he felt the first bead of precum pearling on the head of his cock at just the thought of the possessiveness it represented. It was visible proof that he belonged to this man. Even if no one else saw it, he would know it was there.
The next blow was delivered, and he gasped at the feel of the suede flogger. The fronds were broader, flatter and knotted on the ends. These strikes were felt more, and the half-pain, half-pleasure feeling began to whirl around with the dark thoughts in his head, thoughts of the two little girls who had been kidnapped, raped and murdered. It was a fight for dominance, the want, the need, to give it all up, to let go of the pain and slip into his own private place, the place where only this man could take him, but he wasn't going down easy. The two tiny faces frozen in horror for eternity still stared accusingly back at him.
"You need to let it go."
"I can't," he said, gasping when a particularly stinging blow struck the backs of his thighs. "I can't get those faces out of my mind."
"It's not your fault."
"I know that!" he snarled. Sweat was stinging his eyes under the blindfold, and his back was burning pleasantly, but it wasn't enough.
"Then let it go."
"I can't," he whispered brokenly.
A hand in his sweat-soaked hair pulled his head back roughly. "You...are...not...responsible. The only people responsible are Seaman Lawrence and the psychiatrist who released him saying he was cured."
"I can't help how I feel."
"You caught him."
He shook his head as much as possible with the hand gripping his hair so tightly. "You caught him."
"We caught him. It was a team effort."
The shake of his head was slight.
"You will let it go," his partner stated forcefully, releasing his grip on his hair and squeezing the nape of his neck.
He cried out when he felt the first slash of stiff leather across his back. It hurt, and he knew he would be marked, but the pain was not unbearable, and he knew his lover would never break the skin. He was too good at this.
By the fourth stroke the pain was turning to pleasure as a rush of endorphins flooded his body, forcing out the mental pain as well as the physical. He was slipping down, going into his subspace where the only thing he was aware of was the release of what haunted him and the love flowing into him from the man wielding the whip.
With the last of his rage released, his body went limp, quivering with the sensations rushing through him.
His breath caught in anticipation when the butt plug was carefully removed. He groaned when it was replaced by a hard, slick cock sliding into his loosened hole. His partner didn't stop until he was buried in him fully, his clothed body resting against the flaming welts on his back, ass and thighs. He only had a moment to enjoy the thickness within him before it was pulled out, only to be slammed back in again.
"Who do you belong to?" was growled into his ear on the next in-stroke.
"You," he answered breathlessly. "I belong to you."
"Yes, you do. You have from the moment we met."
And it was true. He had belonged to him from the moment they met. No, that wasn't quite right. They had belonged to each other from that first chase and subsequent flying tackle in an alley in Baltimore. It had just taken them a while to admit it and even longer to do something about it.
Grunts, groans and harsh breathing mingled with the sounds of two bodies slapping together as his lover fulfilled his promise to fuck him into tomorrow. It was hard, fast and deep, and he felt it in every inch of his body and soul.
His head fell back, mouth open in a silent moan as a hand slid around and grasped his hard cock, pumping in time to the cock thrusting in and out of his ass.
This was all there was in his world right then, the two of them connecting in the most elemental of ways.
"You are so beautiful like this, wearing my marks, submitting to me fully. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes."
The silky words were whispered in his ear, the hot, moist breath sending shivers over his hot, sweaty, naked body. Combined with the hand stroking his cock and the cock slamming into his ass, it was enough to undo him.
He shouted out his release, his hot cum squirting out and coating the hand still wrapped around him. The clenching of his internal muscles sent his lover over the edge as well, his movements becoming short and fast before he thrust in fully and reached his own climax, his mouth clamped over the pulse point in the exhausted man's neck, leaving yet another mark of possession.
Quivering bodies pressed together in the aftermath of their passion, it was a while before either could move.
His hands were uncuffed first, brought down slowly and massaged gently as the blood flow returned. Next came the ankles and then the waist. He leaned back against his partner, his body limp and pliant.
"I'm going to remove the blindfold now," his lover said, knowing the return of a deprived sense could be jarring if you didn't let yourself adjust slowly.
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking lethargically. Nothing about the basement had changed, yet everything appeared hazy from the space he now occupied in his mind.
Loving arms were wrapped around him as a gentle kiss was placed on his forehead.
"Let's get you upstairs so I can put the ointment on your back and then we can go to sleep."
He was led upstairs and helped to lie down on his stomach in the bed. His eyes closed and a smile of contentment curled his lips while his lover went to the bathroom for the tube of soothing ointment.
The bed dipped, and from the brush of bare skin against his leg, he knew the other man had shed his clothes as well. Soft kisses, mere whispers of lips, were placed over his burning flesh before the cool ointment was gently rubbed in. When every inch of his marked skin had been attended to, he was helped under the covers, careful to remain on his stomach.
Once his lover had turned off the bedside lamp and crawled in beside him, he snuggled closer, resting his head on the hair-roughened chest and sighed contentedly before saying quietly, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. You know I'll give you whatever you need." He tilted up the head that rested on his chest, bending down so their lips could meet in a gentle kiss that spoke of devotion. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Tony."
THE END
Story Notes:
This is my first sojourn into writing BDSM, so please don't judge too harshly
Author's Chapter Notes:
He needs to give up control, but it isn't easy
Chapter End Notes:
This is my first sojourn into writing BDSM, so please don't judge too harshly