by Raine
"Nine, Sir," Clark spat, chain cutting his palms. His pelvis rocked, his balls ached, and the thud of ten was somehow softer, not what Clark wanted, and it inspired a strange desperation. Clark didn't want it to be over.
"Ten, Sir, d-don't." Clark turned his head over his shoulder. Sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes, and Daniel was a blur. Clark sagged from the cuffs, wanted to cry and scream, but he shoved those urges to the side. "More?" he asked, the single word such a challenge to form that Clark hoped like hell it was actually English.
"More?" Daniel's voice echoed, and Clark faintly registered footsteps drawing closer. Butterfly brushes of fingertips traced over numbed patches of skin, and Clark's noise was almost a sob. Full palms spread on the planes of Clark's chest as a kiss landed on the knob of bone at the base of his neck. "You've taken so much, my soldier," Daniel said right next to Clark's ear. "You need take no more for my sake, but if you want more, you'll have to tell me how many."
Clark got dizzy with the power of choice, and despaired for a moment when he couldn't think of an answer. Daniel's touch was a balm, and the soft whispers of affection were fodder for courage. Clark trembled uncontrollably until he forced himself still.
"Five," Clark said, clearly if a little too loudly. The drill sergeant who lived in Clark's head rallied to the goal, demanded that Clark take it no matter what, and Clark straightened in sheer lunatic determination. "I want five more, please, Sir."
"Brave, beloved, Clark," Daniel's lips brushed Clark's hair. "God, I love you, your courage and will. You do amaze me, every time. All right, let's do this."
"Sir, yes, Sir," Clark gritted. Behind Clark, Daniel took his position again, got that fierce look of concentration, shook out the coils of the whip, drew back, and let it fly.
"One," Clark barked, hands in fists and jaw aching from tension. Another flick, another whiplash sting, and Clark refused to flinch. "Two." Clark focused on Daniel in the mirror. He watched the man's fluid grace and thinned lips, and the next strike was lower. "Three!" Clark bellowed, blood singing in feverish exaltation. He could do this, was doing it, and he--
The next blow struck Clark's ass cheek, and fiery energy like an orgasm that wasn't exploded in Clark's center, ripped through his limbs, and whited out his mind. Clark didn't count or give thanks or prepare for the final assault. He howled. The last strike hit the other cheek, cutting Clark's cry off, and he pitched forward and curled his knees toward his chest. Clark didn't know a goddamned thing except that if Daniel didn't fuck him right now, Clark was going to die.
The whip hit the floor with a dull thud, and then Daniel was behind Clark, swearing softly in a singsong of breathless lust. With a clunk of metal, Daniel released Clark's ankles. Clark shifted, gaining a second of stability before the loop about Clark's waist whipped away with a snap of leather.
"Oh God, oh God, Oh..." Clark babbled, and with maddeningly slow motions Daniel eased the dildo out of Clark. He bore down on the thing, yelped with the friction of a faster slide. Daniel cussed, and Clark begged between gasps because he was at a loss for anything else to do. "Nnnguh... need... need... shit, Sir, come on!"
Daniel hissed, unhappy and horrifying, and Clark instantly regretted his decision to order his Sir when a sharp, quick sting erupted on his inflamed ass. "Nnn, sorry," Clark apologized, shaking when the toy vanished. His entrance flexed around the vacancy, and Clark didn't feel long for this world. He floated, Daniel's touch his only ground. "I'm sorry, Sir. Please. Please."
"Love it when you beg me, Clark, with voice and body." Daniel's praise came as swiftly as the punishment, and Clark moaned. Foil tore, a lube bottle popped, hands positioned Clark's hips, and then Sir slid home with a suddenness that held Clark safe and aloft. He floated further out to sea while his body bucked against Daniel. Incoherent groans and cries poured from Clark's raw throat. Daniel set a pace that drove Clark wild, and the sound of flesh on flesh intensified the vision of Daniel's reflection. Release spiraled ever closer, and Clark could only take and feel, a slave to his own needs and a willing servant to Daniel's.
The professor shifted and reached around Clark. "Oh fuck," Clark cried, high and loud, as a lube-slicked palm gripped Clark's diamond hard, bound, and aching cock. Daniel pistoned in and out of Clark and stroked him with a relentless rhythm. "Shit!" Each pull to Clark's dick ended with that half-twist over the head, and Clark writhed.
"No!" Clark yelled, body starting to clench in prelude to release. "No, no, no!" Clark willed delay, knowing somewhere in the mess of his mind that getting off now would not be good, but the single-word denial was not the one that would actually make Daniel stop. The professor bit Clark's throat, pace quickening, grip tightening. Clark's ending screech was a mere rasp from a gaping mouth, and he came so hard he thought he might pass out.
"Perfect," Daniel praised, but any affection got lost in the sadistic tone and the way Daniel didn't stop stroking or fucking Clark with abandon.
"Motherfucker!" Clark accused, trying to get away somehow and sobbing a snarl when he couldn't go anywhere. He retreated from the hand on his dripping, ringed dick, and Daniel's cock shoved Clark forward into a tight fist. "Asshole bastard sonofabitch, you... goddammit, Sir, Jesus... come... Oh, God, oh fuck, just come!" The protesting demands dwindled into moans. Fizzling pleasure crested, fell, and rose again, and Clark surrendered to the onslaught. He loved it. He hated it. He couldn't stop it, and every second was bliss.
Daniel's thrusts and hand slowed. That was better and worse, and Daniel adjusted the rhythm until catching the particular pulse of give and take, the exact timing that pushed the faltering swing of Clark's body back into overdrive.
"That's it," Daniel said, and Clark knew that Sir could read the tension of Clark's musculature. Clark reveled in being so known, and didn't fight Daniel as he rode Clark like he swam through ocean waves. Deeper and deeper, and Clark let the tide rise again and build in an age of slow fucking. Clark felt Daniel everywhere. He was a live wire, responding to Daniel's commands, and just when Clark thought it was impossible to break the next wave, Daniel bucked harder, faster, meaner, and Clark hung, helpless in the balance. A growl yanked a gasp from Clark's lungs, and Daniel rasped, "Clark."
Balls tightening and cock spasming, Clark stood back from himself in amazement when the second orgasm took him. It was a shadow of its former self, but it tunneled and then blackened Clark's vision. Daniel slammed into Clark, crying out with a few more rocking thrusts, but it was all so far away. Clark opened and shut his eyes, and every time the view changed. He saw the mirror, Daniel kneeling and recovering. He saw the professor working to undo the rig, worried that he didn't feel it, but put that aside with everything else. It didn't matter. Something soft cradled his cheek and side, something wet washed and rubbed his skin, and Clark didn't care if this flight ever landed. Next he opened his eyes, Daniel was wrapped around him. Hushed language that Clark didn't really understand filled his ears, and Clark hugged the professor.
Clark woke up with sore everything. The light beside the bed was still on, and Clark felt fingers in his hair. He rested on Daniel's chest, completely relaxed, and he slowly turned his head to look at his lover. "Hey," he said, hoarse.
Kissing Clark's forehead, Daniel's arms tightened and then gently cradled Clark. "Hey, love. Good to have you back."
"Mmhm," Clark agreed half-heartedly. He stretched, counted what hurt more and what hurt less, and decided all of it was livable. "New toy's a keeper," he mumbled, resettling.
"I agree," Daniel said dryly, but nuzzled Clark's hair. "You were..." The pause was breathless. "Amazing."
"And you were an evil bastard," Clark said.
Daniel huffed a laugh. "You're so excellent at bringing out the... worst in me."
"Oh sure. Blame the victim."
"If you're the victim, why am I so damned tired?" Daniel asked, sounding beleaguered.
"I'm good at what I do," Clark answered calmly.
"That you a
re."
Clark grunted. "Tell me I can sleep for a month."
"Better make it two," Daniel said, carefully rolling and reaching to switch off the lamp.
"Anything for you, Sir." Clark waited for Daniel to lie down again so he could get comfortable. "But you might want to wake me up to make an appointment with your favorite demi-god," he said, tomorrow looming worrisome on the horizon.
"Favorite." Daniel snorted and moved close to Clark. "Right. Well, the gods can wait until I can feel my shoulder again."
Clark snickered. "True. You might need your swinging arm to deal with Luke."
"Oh, one can hope."
"Always," Clark agreed. The smile on Daniel's lips amounted to all the peace in the world, and Clark fell asleep holding his lover's hand.
End.
If you liked this book you might like: Hearts Under Fire.
The New Deal
Copyright © 2011 by HJ Raine and Kelly Wyre
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Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / November 2011
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680