It was distracting, that slide of smooth hardness over his skin. No pain, but the promise of it, and that was enough, more than enough, to have his cock a solid, heavy weight between his legs. He wasn't giving Michael's cock the attention it deserved though, so he stopped trying to anticipate where the paddle would move to next—the side of his leg, his arm, low down on his back, teasingly close to his ass—and settled into a warm anticipation instead that didn't require as much thought.
He was in no rush; hungry he might be, but that didn't matter right then with the intimacy of what they were doing filling his senses. Heat and hardness in his mouth, Michael's breath coming faster, unsteady—Steve could do this for as long as he was allowed, his hands roaming over as much of Michael's body as he could reach, then returning to cup and squeeze Michael's balls, a carefully judged caress, or fit around the base of his cock, jacking it when his jaw muscles needed a short break.
Then the paddle slid between them and Michael pushed at his shoulder in a signal to ease back.
He couldn't talk yet, gripped in a dreamy haze of lust, his own hard-on not forgotten, but ignored, because if he thought about it too much, he'd want to come, and Michael had said he had to wait. He glanced up at Michael and waited, not impatient now. He never was once they started.
"Feel it?” Michael whispered and rubbed the blade of the paddle over Steve's cock, flat, unyielding. “Fuck it. Rub off on it. Use it to get off. I'm going to let you come first after all, Steve, and you're going to come on it, all over it for me. And when it's wet and sticky, I'm going to use it on your ass until you're begging me to stop and when I think it's time, I will, but not ‘til then."
This deep in the scene, what Michael said, unless it was a direct order, didn't count as much as what he meant. He used words to whip Steve's arousal higher, spinning promises and threats that didn't have to happen to make Steve whimper and squirm, his head filled with flashes of fantasies, both his and Michael's.
"Do it,” Michael said, his voice calm as he altered the angle of the paddle just enough for Steve's cock to ride it. “And every drop goes on the paddle. You make a mess on the floor, and you'll lick it up."
"Oh, fuck!” It didn't matter that Michael wouldn't do that; Steve flushed with a deliciously humiliated heat and his hips jerked forward, the paddle accepting his thrusts with a cool indifference that fueled his heat. It wasn't sweat-slicked skin or a lube-wet hand, but he was so close to coming that anything would have done. Three, four rubs against the wood and he was spurting spunk over it in ball-draining jolts that left his dizzy, his heart pounding.
"Good boy,” Michael said, and set the paddle aside carefully, its surface smeared obscenely, cream on black.
Steve put his forehead against Michael's thigh and found himself kissing it, biting and sucking the skin with a hunger his climax hadn't sated.
"God, your mouth.” Michael shuddered, the muscles in his thigh tight and hard. “On the bed, Steve. Before I just—oh God.” Steve felt Michael's fingers latch onto his hair and pull him back onto Michael's cock, damp with spit and precome, the head flushed red and shiny. “Suck me. Just—just for a minute, just—no, fuck, stop."
Steve took his mouth away and knelt back, giving Michael some space, helping him to regain his self-possession. He'd never seen Michael so close to losing it; his chest was heaving, his eyes glazed.
"On the bed,” Michael said hoarsely, getting off it himself and walking a few paces away, his back turned. “Ass up, legs spread. Pillow—” He broke off, his voice out of control. “Just do it."
"Yes, Michael.” It felt good to say it, to give Michael the reminder of his authority. If Michael was shaken by how turned on he was, Steve was overcome by it and the strength of Michael's reaction.
Steve got onto the bed, not looking at the paddle, and arranged the pillows to support his hips, then crossed his arms and rested his face on them.
Michael left him like that for a while, until Steve was keenly aware of his exposed skin and what was to come. He'd been spanked after a climax before, but not often and it was going to make the pain more difficult to endure; he was relaxed, sure, but sensitized, too.
And still so very aroused. God, he hadn't realized he could be this turned on when he wasn't, strictly speaking, hard. Something told him that by the time this was over, he would be, though.
Michael walked over to the night table on his side of the bed, got lube and a condom out and tossed them onto their bed. He sat beside Steve and put his hand lightly on Steve's ass. “You're something, you know that? So fucking hot. I love what you do to me and I hate it, too.” His hand fondled Steve, his fingers pushing between the cheeks of Steve's ass, one finger pressing firmly against Steve's hole without penetrating. “Mine,” Michael said without a trace of doubt and Steve nodded, knowing Michael would see it.
"Years of this and you're the only one who's ever made me get so turned on that I can't breathe, there's no air.” Michael sighed. “There's just you. Geeky rich boy. Self-centered genius. You don't belong in my world in the day and I don't fit in yours—and then we walk in here after work and none of it matters, because we fit."
Steve bit down on his arm to stop himself from talking. He talked too much, babbled and bored people. Not Michael, who would listen to him for hours, eyes warm with interest, but just about everyone else. Of course, they couldn't shut him up the way Michael could, with a kiss, or his hand, or a gag.
Right now, he wanted to listen to what Michael was saying in a room lit by sunlight filtered through dark curtains, diffuse and dim, Michael who'd been the first man to tell Steve he loved him and who'd kept on saying it ever since.
"We fit,” Michael repeated and fell silent for a moment. Then he leaned over and said quietly into Steve's ear, “And now I'm going to smooth down all those ragged edges of yours and mine, fill in all the cracks the world keeps leaving. Make it a perfect fit again, no room between us, no empty space at all."
"Do it,” Steve said, his voice rough and his throat closing up. “Take it as far as you can. Please, Michael."
The flat slap of the paddle, wet with his come, was like a jolt of electricity. He cried out once, a startled yell because he'd forgotten how the paddle felt against his ass and it hurt, God, it hurt beautifully. After that, he didn't need to make much noise. The pain built and deepened and he panted, each breath timed to match the moment the paddle blade connected with his skin. His ass was blazing hot after a while, cooled only by the rush of air the paddle forced against it as it descended.
Michael didn't say much, allowing Steve to settle into the paddling, commenting now and then when Steve felt himself drifting too far away with as little as Steve's name or a murmured encouragement to ground him.
Steve felt his cock harden again, but it was a distant sensation. That physical sign of his arousal didn't matter. This turned him on, yes, but it was enough in itself. Michael had once spanked him hard and forbidden him to come, keeping the ban in place for two days over a long weekend and leaving Steve aching with arousal. Michael had stripped him naked and stayed dressed himself, never let Steve out of his sight, and touched him constantly, wickedly inventive touches and slaps that brought Steve to the edge over and over. His climax, when it had eventually been permitted, had been less of a release than an end to the fun, but as Michael had pointed out, Steve couldn't really go back to work in that state, not without raising some eyebrows.
It was starting to hurt a lot. Steve writhed against the pillows, still offering his ass up, but he was crying, the tears trickling down his face, and grunting out a frantic protest with each exhaled breath.
"Three more,” Michael said suddenly, the words as green apple crisp as the sound the paddle made. “Hard as I can make them. You know why."
Impossible to agree verbally, so Steve settled for holding still, his body strung out on a rack, and waited.
One, then another, and the agony of the final strokes was unbearable, huge, encompassing his whole body, not ju
st his punished, bruised ass. He couldn't take the last one. He just couldn't. He opened his mouth to force out his safeword and felt Michael hesitate, waiting.
That confirmation of how aware of him Michael was made Steve close his mouth again. Michael had said ‘three’ and that meant that Steve could take three. One more to go and then he could rest, forgiven, shriven, and savor the afterglow. One more.
It landed squarely a moment later with all Michael's strength behind it and Steve let himself scream in his head, his mouth too dry for sound.
"Finished,” Michael said, the single word ending more than the paddling. He lay down beside Steve, close but not cuddling him, not even touching him, just there, waiting for Steve to recover, with the patience that Steve had come to think of as inexhaustible.
Steve drifted, half-asleep. “You didn't come,” he said an endless while later, his words slurred and drowsy. “Sorry. Want me to take care of you?"
"Later,” Michael said and his hand, cool now against the scald of Steve's skin, stroked it slowly, lightly. “Want to see to you, first. Rub in some arnica cream."
"Can't keep your hands off me,” Steve said and yelped as his ass got swatted.
"I really can't,” Michael said, unrepentant, and did it again.
Gently.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Boredom Through the Ages
By BA Tortuga
Sometimes Knox thought Isaac was crazy.
Watching the old fart do tai chi on the porch of their big old house, Knox pondered the chain of recent events. Sometimes he thought Isaac was crazy, all right. Today, he knew it.
The chain of suspicious events had started with a trip to the used bookstore, had fallen to a trip to the hardware store in the middle, and had ended with an explosion the likes of which Knox hadn't seen since he quit the demolition business. The fact that his favorite pair of sweat pants were what blew to pieces? Well, that proved Isaac's insanity.
Of course, that didn't account for the fact that all the remotes had the batteries removed this morning, his razor was missing, and the good coffee had been replaced by some girly fucking herbal tea. Maybe he'd been spending too much time on that schematic he'd been working up for that building take down in Paris. Who knew? All he knew was that Isaac had lost his mind, and it was time to hunt for it.
Isaac moved along the porch, humming tunelessly, the rhythm at complete odds with his motions.
Knox cleared his throat, making the sound as rude as possible.
"I'm meditating, Pup."
"Not a pup.” It came out as a growl, just like it always did. “We need to talk, baby."
"We do?” Butter wouldn't melt in that mouth.
"We do.” Knox scrubbed a hand over his bristly face. He hated being all scruffy. “C'mere, baby."
Watching Isaac walk was like sex, like watching one of them amazing hootchie-cootchie girls, but a thousand times better. His mouth went dry, and he almost forgot how crazy making the man was. At least until Isaac surveyed his second-favorite pair of sweatpants and sniffed.
"Touch them with malice, and I will beat you,” Knox growled.
"Promises, promises. They're atrocious."
"What's wrong with them?” They'd been together a long while; this argument came up monthly.
"They walk on their own. And they're saggy in the butt."
Right, like Mr. Sweaters-are-eight-sizes-too-big knew from saggy.
"At least you can see my ass. I don't wear knitted wool masquerading as artist smocks.” Asshole.
"Don't be ridiculous. They're works of art. Bastard."
"Bullshit. They're saggy crap.” Knox leaned over Isaac, trying to loom.
"You know, it will take you at least three hundred years to get that right."
"Maybe four.” He'd take every fucking year he could get. “Come closer."
Isaac stepped forward, eyes on his. “You want something, Pup?"
He grabbed Isaac's upper arms, dragging the man so close their chests bumped. “I do. I think you need it, too."
"Need what?” Isaac's eyes were wide, rolling. Knox knew that look. He'd become a motherfucking master of knowing that look.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, it had meant Isaac was fixing to run, to hide out in some musty archive for a hundred years, leaving the world behind. Now, Knox had a better solution.
"A little hands on,” Knox said before bending to take a kiss, hard and deep as anything.
Isaac opened right up, tongue hot as a two dollar pistol, that flat belly pressed tight against him. He reached around and put one hand on Isaac's ass, knowing what he needed to do, wanting to do it so bad it hurt. God, he loved that skinny ass.
"Grabby Pup.” Isaac bit his bottom lip, teeth stinging, pleasure jolting through him.
"Grumpy old man.” He lifted Isaac up and hauled that sweet ass inside, knowing they were going to need a nice, flat surface for this.
"Do you have a point?” He wasn't sure if Isaac'd figured it out yet, but it didn't matter. The fight, when Isaac did, was only for show.
"I do. One of these days, baby, you're going to learn to ask for what you need without blowing things up.” He flung Isaac down on their bed, watching the boneless sprawl fondly.
"You like explosions.” Isaac's sweater crept up, showing off that belly, the lean, lean hips, the dark trail of curls under the man's bellybutton. “Besides, you can't teach an old dog new tricks."
"Sure you can.” Knox couldn't resist tugging at those black curls, letting his fingers trail down under Isaac's pants.
"Nope. No learning for ... Anthony.” Oh, he hated that name.
Without another thought, he flipped Isaac over and yanked the soft pants down, splaying his hand over Isaac's ass. “I bet I could think of something new. Maybe a way to save my hand."
"What? Pup?” Oh, he had someone's attention now, didn't he?
"There has to be something.” Knox said it meditatively, stroking the smooth skin under his hand.
"You're wandering, Pup. Wandering. Not paying attention."
"Oh, no. I'm paying attention.” Maybe one of Isaac's precious books. That would make a great paddle.
Isaac twisted, teeth scraping his knee, threatening his calf.
"Oh, no you don't.” He held Isaac down with one hand, grabbing a thin, hard book from the shelf with the other. And here he'd always said Isaac's books were piles of worthless paper.
"What ... you want to read? Baudelaire? Now?"
"Nope.” Now Knox was positively gleeful. He popped Isaac right on the ass with the book, relishing the thud-whack of it.
"Anthony!” Oh, he did enjoy that shock. That gasp. The way that pale ass went pink.
"My name is Knox, baby.” He let the second blow fall harder, right where thigh met ass.
"Anthony."
"KNOX.” He whacked at Isaac again, watching a red spot bloom. Beautiful.
"Oh.” Isaac's cock rose, started nudging his thigh. “Pup."
"What?” He grinned, knowing he was definitely on the right track. Knox slapped the book against that pale ass again, determined to give it some good color.
"What are you ... what do you think ... Don't you dare stop, Knox."
"I wouldn't dream of it.” That mouth always protested for a few moments, but the harder he worked that ass, the more open and giving Isaac became. It took four more solid smacks before Isaac started pushing back into the blows, humping against his legs some. Damn. That ass started to take on beautiful color, a deep, rose flush taking it over. Knox took a deep breath and wailed on the man even harder.
"Anthony.” Isaac pushed up onto hands and knees, teeth snapping close to his upper arm.
"Mine. You need something, all you have to do is ask, damn it.” Whack. Whack.
"Don't ... Don't know what you're talk ... Oh, Pup...” Isaac's cock leaked onto his thighs.
"You know what I mean. You know you're the most important thing, baby.” He hit again, then again, listening tp the
fine sounds.
"Fuck me. Pup. I need."
"You think you deserve it, baby?” Not that he wasn't tearing at those damned sweatpants.
"Absolutely.” Those dark eyes pierced him, the hunger between them like a drawn blade.
"I think you do, too.” He pushed Isaac into position on that flat belly, burning ass high in the air. Then he spread those long legs and pushed between them from behind.
That tight ass squeezed around his cock, the heat enough to make his eyes roll back in his head.
"Baby.” Knox knew that prep was overrated, at least for guys like them, so he pushed forward and took Isaac. Hard.
Isaac—his fierce, toothy lover—slammed back, taking him in deep.
Knox pulled Isaac up with one hand under the belly, holding him up, biting at the back of Isaac's neck. His hips pushed forward, slapping Isaac's hot ass. Blood poured into his lips, the taste wild, addictive, splashing onto his tongue. Knox moaned, the flavor of his lover as perfect and necessary as it had been hundreds of years ago. This time they'd gotten it right, though. This time he knew how to hold on.
He loved the sounds that poured out of Isaac, demanding and happy and all his.
Licking to close the wound, Knox rolled back up, working his cock strongly in and out of that fiery ass. He was getting damned close. Isaac was working the long, pale cock, fingers moving furiously, right in time with his fucking.
"Baby.” He pulled Isaac up a little so he could reach that sweet cock, too, working it hard with his hand. “Love how you look just before you come."
"Flatterer.” Isaac braced himself on the headboard, hips moving faster.
"No. Just the truth.” Knox gritted his teeth, holding on to Isaac's hips, thumbs digging in to the sides of those hot cheeks.
It was all coming to a head—so to speak—Isaac grunting and squeezing, ass dragging along his prick.
Grinning wildly, Knox pushed and pulled, letting Isaac feel every bit of him. Every inch.
He felt the orgasm, starting deep inside Isaac, moving up through the lean body. Then heat sprayed over his fingers, wet and hot and fucking amazing. Groaning, his mouth dropping to Isaac's neck once more, Knox came, too. He filled Isaac deep, showing his stubborn lover how much he wanted. Needed.
Toy Box: Paddles Page 5