Lady E (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lady_elina) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} batslash,@ 2005-10-22 00:27:00 |
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Part VII of Nine Hours of Sweet Torture
I guess I'd better post this before I get even more nervous about it than I already am. Around 800 words (eep!).
The previous parts (which are all very much worth reading):
"Part I" bykyrre
"Part II" bywalksbyherself
"Part III" byphurie_dae
"Part IV" bymeletor_et_al
"Part V" byshrieking_ell
"Part VI" byimadra_blue
And as most of you know, the evil mastermind behind this istemve, whose wonderful A Long Way to the Top created a monster inspired the challenge.
Part VII: The Return of the Dagger. Warnings: bloodplay and fairly explicit slash.
NB: This is, unfortunately, unbetaed, and English isn't my first language. If you spot any mistakes, please let me know and I'll correct them.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to give you permission to come for quite some time, Bruce,” said Ducard, his tone as throaty as a lion’s.
Bruce felt large hands on his hips. They forced him to roll over, until he lay on his back again. The skin of his buttocks was still sore from spanking, but otherwise all sensations in his body seemed concentrated in one single place. His erection ached and throbbed, sensitive as an open wound. The cool ring of metal was beginning to warm against his heated flesh. Ducard’s hands were gone, and Bruce moved his hips in frustration, hungry for contact.
“I must also forbid you to move or speak until I tell you otherwise,” Ducard continued, a familiar smirk in his voice, “although restraint from speaking isn’t exactly an issue in your current state. Think of it as… a meditation on patience.”
Bruce heard rustling of fabric and clinking of buckles. He imagined Ducard standing at the foot of the bed, tall, firm and bare. He imagined himself as seen through Ducard’s eyes: bound, blinded and gagged. He imagined Ducard touching himself, and the ache in his cock grew more intense.
Damn cock ring. Damn Ducard.
When Ducard lowered his weight upon him, Bruce knew he had interpreted the sounds correctly. Ducard had indeed undressed. Bruce whimpered into his gag and trembled violently as he felt Ducard’s erection rub against his own. Ducard’s hot breath brushed his ear.
“I’m going to taste you now.” Even blindfolded, Bruce knew the predatory look on Ducard’s face. He had seen it often enough.
Ducard’s breathing moved lower on Bruce’s body, sweeping his neck and chest and abdomen – and then withdrew. Ducard straddled Bruce and his weight shifted back and forth. Bruce guessed he was reaching for something.
Suddenly, a cool blade was pressed to Bruce’s chest, no more than a couple of millimeters away from his right nipple. With controlled slowness it bit into his skin and began to move like a graceful pen that draws a flawless letter on blank paper. Bruce felt smarting pain as the dagger cut a long, thin wound on him. His body tensed and startled against his will.
“I told you not to move,” Ducard said, his voice thick with warning. “Show me what you’re made of.”
Bruce bit into the leather of the gag. The blade moved next to his left nipple and cut. The sensation rippled through him, entwining with other sensations of pain and pleasure, until they had woven a tightening web inside his skin. He might not have surrendered, not admitted his entrapment, but he was prey all the same, unable to defeat his own desire for Ducard. The revelation frightened and excited Bruce.
Slowly, the blade withdrew, and Bruce felt Ducard’s mouth on his left nipple. Ducard licked his wounds like a hungry beast before trailing his tongue ever lower on Bruce’s body.
Bruce couldn’t hold back a jolt and a suffocated moan, when Ducard’s mouth took him in deep. He regretted it immediately, because the mouth retreated for a moment.
”Do not move!” Ducard’s voice was hoarse.
The order seemed impossible to follow, but Bruce focused his strength of will. Ducard was skilled; his tongue and lips moved against Bruce’s hard flesh unhurriedly, so sensuously it hurt. Bruce felt as if he were white-hot metal, ready for Ducard to forge as he would. Bruce smelled his own blood and Ducard’s strong scent and their shared heat. His fingers curled against the ropes. The thin, tight ring at the base of his erection was the only thing preventing him from coming. The ache was unbearable. The gag was wet and heavy in his mouth, and breathing around it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Bruce didn’t know if to be relieved or disappointed when he felt his cock slide out of Ducard’s mouth.
“You’re still squirming, Bruce.”
Ducard’s weight moved away from Bruce and from the bed. Then his fingers were undoing the knot of the black silk scarf that covered Bruce’s mouth and pulling out the wet gauntlet. Bruce tasted blood as the fingers brushed over his tongue.
All of sudden, Ducard was still and quiet.
Bruce listened. The silence went on, spreading like a dark stain on snow, until Bruce began to wonder if Ducard had somehow managed to leave the room without him noticing. He hadn’t heard footsteps or felt the air shift, but he couldn’t hear Ducard’s breathing or feel his warmth, either.
“Henri?” he eventually asked. His voice was dry and weak and tense with excitement.
A sharp pain lashed across his face as Ducard slapped him. The slap was immediately followed by a violent, deep kiss that Ducard took his time to break.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” Ducard asked in a low and incomprehensibly calm voice. “Tell me, Bruce – what would you deem a proper punishment for such impatience?”
Who's next?anvar?
I guess I'd better post this before I get even more nervous about it than I already am. Around 800 words (eep!).
The previous parts (which are all very much worth reading):
"Part I" by
kyrre"Part II" by
walksbyherself"Part III" by
phurie_dae"Part IV" by
meletor_et_al"Part V" by
shrieking_ell"Part VI" by
imadra_blueAnd as most of you know, the evil mastermind behind this is
temve, whose wonderful A Long Way to the Top Part VII: The Return of the Dagger. Warnings: bloodplay and fairly explicit slash.
NB: This is, unfortunately, unbetaed, and English isn't my first language. If you spot any mistakes, please let me know and I'll correct them.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to give you permission to come for quite some time, Bruce,” said Ducard, his tone as throaty as a lion’s.
Bruce felt large hands on his hips. They forced him to roll over, until he lay on his back again. The skin of his buttocks was still sore from spanking, but otherwise all sensations in his body seemed concentrated in one single place. His erection ached and throbbed, sensitive as an open wound. The cool ring of metal was beginning to warm against his heated flesh. Ducard’s hands were gone, and Bruce moved his hips in frustration, hungry for contact.
“I must also forbid you to move or speak until I tell you otherwise,” Ducard continued, a familiar smirk in his voice, “although restraint from speaking isn’t exactly an issue in your current state. Think of it as… a meditation on patience.”
Bruce heard rustling of fabric and clinking of buckles. He imagined Ducard standing at the foot of the bed, tall, firm and bare. He imagined himself as seen through Ducard’s eyes: bound, blinded and gagged. He imagined Ducard touching himself, and the ache in his cock grew more intense.
Damn cock ring. Damn Ducard.
When Ducard lowered his weight upon him, Bruce knew he had interpreted the sounds correctly. Ducard had indeed undressed. Bruce whimpered into his gag and trembled violently as he felt Ducard’s erection rub against his own. Ducard’s hot breath brushed his ear.
“I’m going to taste you now.” Even blindfolded, Bruce knew the predatory look on Ducard’s face. He had seen it often enough.
Ducard’s breathing moved lower on Bruce’s body, sweeping his neck and chest and abdomen – and then withdrew. Ducard straddled Bruce and his weight shifted back and forth. Bruce guessed he was reaching for something.
Suddenly, a cool blade was pressed to Bruce’s chest, no more than a couple of millimeters away from his right nipple. With controlled slowness it bit into his skin and began to move like a graceful pen that draws a flawless letter on blank paper. Bruce felt smarting pain as the dagger cut a long, thin wound on him. His body tensed and startled against his will.
“I told you not to move,” Ducard said, his voice thick with warning. “Show me what you’re made of.”
Bruce bit into the leather of the gag. The blade moved next to his left nipple and cut. The sensation rippled through him, entwining with other sensations of pain and pleasure, until they had woven a tightening web inside his skin. He might not have surrendered, not admitted his entrapment, but he was prey all the same, unable to defeat his own desire for Ducard. The revelation frightened and excited Bruce.
Slowly, the blade withdrew, and Bruce felt Ducard’s mouth on his left nipple. Ducard licked his wounds like a hungry beast before trailing his tongue ever lower on Bruce’s body.
Bruce couldn’t hold back a jolt and a suffocated moan, when Ducard’s mouth took him in deep. He regretted it immediately, because the mouth retreated for a moment.
”Do not move!” Ducard’s voice was hoarse.
The order seemed impossible to follow, but Bruce focused his strength of will. Ducard was skilled; his tongue and lips moved against Bruce’s hard flesh unhurriedly, so sensuously it hurt. Bruce felt as if he were white-hot metal, ready for Ducard to forge as he would. Bruce smelled his own blood and Ducard’s strong scent and their shared heat. His fingers curled against the ropes. The thin, tight ring at the base of his erection was the only thing preventing him from coming. The ache was unbearable. The gag was wet and heavy in his mouth, and breathing around it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Bruce didn’t know if to be relieved or disappointed when he felt his cock slide out of Ducard’s mouth.
“You’re still squirming, Bruce.”
Ducard’s weight moved away from Bruce and from the bed. Then his fingers were undoing the knot of the black silk scarf that covered Bruce’s mouth and pulling out the wet gauntlet. Bruce tasted blood as the fingers brushed over his tongue.
All of sudden, Ducard was still and quiet.
Bruce listened. The silence went on, spreading like a dark stain on snow, until Bruce began to wonder if Ducard had somehow managed to leave the room without him noticing. He hadn’t heard footsteps or felt the air shift, but he couldn’t hear Ducard’s breathing or feel his warmth, either.
“Henri?” he eventually asked. His voice was dry and weak and tense with excitement.
A sharp pain lashed across his face as Ducard slapped him. The slap was immediately followed by a violent, deep kiss that Ducard took his time to break.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” Ducard asked in a low and incomprehensibly calm voice. “Tell me, Bruce – what would you deem a proper punishment for such impatience?”
Who's next?
anvar?
