the Mary Ell-en Carter (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shrieking_ell) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} batslash,@ 2005-10-18 00:25:00 |
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Part V of Nine Hours of Sweet Torture
Allrighty then. It's time for me to post my small part in Bruce's nine hours of delicious torment. Sorry for the delay, I was away all weekend getting bruised and broken myself (luckily only a toe this time…) Enjoy! (All 731 words of it)
Part I -kyrre
here
Part II -walksbyherself
here
Part III -phurie_dae
here
Part IV -meletor_et_al
here
And just in case you forgot, Tem-ve started it!.
(imadra_blue, I believe the ball is in your court…)
He did choke for a moment, sputtered out a sloppy cough, as with swift alarm he realized that things were swirling and narrowing and he wasn't sure that he still had legs.
Suddenly the cock was gone from his mouth and he felt Ducard's fingers digging hard into his jaw. He tried to take a breath, couldn't. Ducard's face was the only thing he could see, black and wavering at the edges. He stared at him, mouth still hanging uselessly open. Ducard's mouth was moving. It was nearly too much effort to decipher the words.
"You will not pass out on me, Bruce. Do you hear me? You will stay with me here."
He couldn't even nod.
He felt Ducard shift down swiftly and felt the razor edge of the dagger against his chest. The rope binding him parted like gossamer threads and finally, finally, he could expand his chest again and suck life back into himself. It was then, with the surfeit of oxygen flooding through him that stars appeared against the swirling black field before his eyes and he did lose his tenuous connection with the room and with Ducard.
When he opened his eyes again, Ducard was crouched over him, taking the cut lengths of rope and doing something with his arms. His wrists were still secured firmly to the headboard and he craned his neck to see what the man was doing to him now.
"Hold still."
He pulled hard at the ropes but before he could twist and roll into a position less helpless than flat on his back, Ducard had a knee against his throat. He pushed, harder than was strictly necessary. Bruce coughed. Ducard looked warningly at him. He subsided.
Ducard pulled the last strands of the net he had woven about Bruce's arms and they drew inexorably together, bound tightly from wrist to elbow and above as if encased in one of Ducard's lace-up gloves.
Ducard moved down and straddled his thighs, using more of the pale rope to tie his legs similarly. Bruce was still diamond-hard and realized that he was no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. He struggled against the utter helplessness of his position when Ducard stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"Yes, you are beautiful like this. Now roll over."
"No." His defiance was far outstripping his endurance once again.
"Now."
"I can't, not tied like this."
"Yes, you can. Do it."
"No." He struggled again. To no avail.
"Fine. If you can free yourself in 15 minutes, I'll let you sleep the rest of the day here without disturbing you. If not…"
Bruce held his eyes, nodded.
Ducard looked at the clock and folded his hands, watching.
Bruce took stock. Exhaustion hampered his thoughts. His arousal fought with his rational mind. It would be so easy to give in.
He pulled himself up as much as he was able and started tracing along the intricate weave with his lips and tongue. He delicately picked at one rope end with his teeth, felt it slacken slightly. He pulled harder and felt the entire net tighten again. A groan of frustration escaped him. He started again. He almost understood the pattern now. He twisted hard to reach the key knot. He could almost touch it. He stretched his tongue and delicately licked it. So close. The thought of Ducard's cock in his mouth and against his tongue overwhelmed him for a moment. And then Ducard was there, leaning over him, kissing him hard, taking his breath, his concentration. When the kiss ended, Ducard wrapped a black silk scarf around his face, blinding him.
"Five minutes," he whispered.
Bruce grunted and started again. Slowly, hampered by the loss of sight. When he finally reached the solution point again, he felt Ducard's hot breath against his chest. He stopped and opened his mouth for the kiss he knew had to be coming. Something touched his mouth, soft and supple, but not warm. He smelled the leather, tasted the salt, the taste of Ducard. And something else, the gritty dirt of the ground below the wall. Ducard's gauntlet. But not on his hand. Rolled into a tight ball and thrust into his waiting mouth. Another silk scarf secured it in place.
"Time's up. Now roll over." Warning, desire and promise in that smoky voice.
Bruce struggled to twist and turn his bound and beaten body into obeying.
Ducard's hands were warm on his back, his ass. They stroked and petted him soothingly. Stopped at the small of his back and pressed hard.
"Good boy."
Allrighty then. It's time for me to post my small part in Bruce's nine hours of delicious torment. Sorry for the delay, I was away all weekend getting bruised and broken myself (luckily only a toe this time…) Enjoy! (All 731 words of it)
Part I -
kyrre here
Part II -
walksbyherself here
Part III -
phurie_dae here
Part IV -
meletor_et_al here
And just in case you forgot, Tem-ve started it!.
(
imadra_blue, I believe the ball is in your court…)He did choke for a moment, sputtered out a sloppy cough, as with swift alarm he realized that things were swirling and narrowing and he wasn't sure that he still had legs.
Suddenly the cock was gone from his mouth and he felt Ducard's fingers digging hard into his jaw. He tried to take a breath, couldn't. Ducard's face was the only thing he could see, black and wavering at the edges. He stared at him, mouth still hanging uselessly open. Ducard's mouth was moving. It was nearly too much effort to decipher the words.
"You will not pass out on me, Bruce. Do you hear me? You will stay with me here."
He couldn't even nod.
He felt Ducard shift down swiftly and felt the razor edge of the dagger against his chest. The rope binding him parted like gossamer threads and finally, finally, he could expand his chest again and suck life back into himself. It was then, with the surfeit of oxygen flooding through him that stars appeared against the swirling black field before his eyes and he did lose his tenuous connection with the room and with Ducard.
When he opened his eyes again, Ducard was crouched over him, taking the cut lengths of rope and doing something with his arms. His wrists were still secured firmly to the headboard and he craned his neck to see what the man was doing to him now.
"Hold still."
He pulled hard at the ropes but before he could twist and roll into a position less helpless than flat on his back, Ducard had a knee against his throat. He pushed, harder than was strictly necessary. Bruce coughed. Ducard looked warningly at him. He subsided.
Ducard pulled the last strands of the net he had woven about Bruce's arms and they drew inexorably together, bound tightly from wrist to elbow and above as if encased in one of Ducard's lace-up gloves.
Ducard moved down and straddled his thighs, using more of the pale rope to tie his legs similarly. Bruce was still diamond-hard and realized that he was no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. He struggled against the utter helplessness of his position when Ducard stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"Yes, you are beautiful like this. Now roll over."
"No." His defiance was far outstripping his endurance once again.
"Now."
"I can't, not tied like this."
"Yes, you can. Do it."
"No." He struggled again. To no avail.
"Fine. If you can free yourself in 15 minutes, I'll let you sleep the rest of the day here without disturbing you. If not…"
Bruce held his eyes, nodded.
Ducard looked at the clock and folded his hands, watching.
Bruce took stock. Exhaustion hampered his thoughts. His arousal fought with his rational mind. It would be so easy to give in.
He pulled himself up as much as he was able and started tracing along the intricate weave with his lips and tongue. He delicately picked at one rope end with his teeth, felt it slacken slightly. He pulled harder and felt the entire net tighten again. A groan of frustration escaped him. He started again. He almost understood the pattern now. He twisted hard to reach the key knot. He could almost touch it. He stretched his tongue and delicately licked it. So close. The thought of Ducard's cock in his mouth and against his tongue overwhelmed him for a moment. And then Ducard was there, leaning over him, kissing him hard, taking his breath, his concentration. When the kiss ended, Ducard wrapped a black silk scarf around his face, blinding him.
"Five minutes," he whispered.
Bruce grunted and started again. Slowly, hampered by the loss of sight. When he finally reached the solution point again, he felt Ducard's hot breath against his chest. He stopped and opened his mouth for the kiss he knew had to be coming. Something touched his mouth, soft and supple, but not warm. He smelled the leather, tasted the salt, the taste of Ducard. And something else, the gritty dirt of the ground below the wall. Ducard's gauntlet. But not on his hand. Rolled into a tight ball and thrust into his waiting mouth. Another silk scarf secured it in place.
"Time's up. Now roll over." Warning, desire and promise in that smoky voice.
Bruce struggled to twist and turn his bound and beaten body into obeying.
Ducard's hands were warm on his back, his ass. They stroked and petted him soothingly. Stopped at the small of his back and pressed hard.
"Good boy."
