Rating: NC-17
Content: M/M sex, language, domination, spanking/whipping, torment
Distribution: I don't mind. Just make sure you credit me!
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue
Spoilers: Just a house show a friend read me the report to:
Summary: Steven Richards seeks an apology from a man that would rather make him sorry. {gags} That was so lame it needs crutches!
Notes: That house show match I'm referring to is when Faarooq held Richards while Bradshaw whipped his bare ass with a strap. Mmmm...ain't that image lovely?
March 9, 2001
"I want an apology, Mr. Bradshaw, and I want it now!"
John Bradshaw looked up from his hand of cards, flicking a disinterested glance over the visibly irate Steven Richards, returning his attention to the game in progress, asking for two cards from Faarooq, who then dealt Jackie a card at her request.
Steven's anger increased a notch, bringing a rosy flush to his pale cheeks. His blue eyes glittered as he tried to bore a hole in Bradshaw's bowed head, willing him to give him the attention he deserved. When he continued to ignore him, Steven reached out and, in a brusque gesture, swept everything-chips, ashtrays, cards, beer cans (both empty and half-full)-onto the carpet. He briefly wondered if his actions were wise when three pairs of eyes fell on him with identical expressions of incredulity, which quickly metamorphosed into cold menace. He quailed under their collective stares, then, with firm resolve, he straightened to his full height and locked eyes with Bradshaw, the person he'd braved this den of inequity to see in the first place.
"I'm sorry I had to do that," Steven said carefully, squelching the instinct to flinch when Bradshaw rose to his feet with exaggerated slowness, taking the cigar from his mouth and stubbing it out on the scarred surface of the table, letting his cards float to the floor negligently.
"And just why did you feel you had to do that, Stevie?" Bradshaw drawled softly, a ribbon of steel lacing his tone.
Steven swallowed before answering, pleased to hear his voice sounded steady and cool. "I do not like being ignored, Mr. Bradshaw."
"And just what is it you want, Stevie?" the other man asked in that same dangerously quiet tone.
"I demand an apology for that reprehensible act upon my person tonight."
"You demand?" Bradshaw repeated musingly, tilting his head in mock-puzzlement. "You want me to apologize...for what? You Being an annoying asshole?"
Steven grew redder at the insult and resulting snickers from Faarooq and Jackie, his lips thinning into a displeased line. "You know very well what I am referring to, Mr. Bradshaw. Exposing and whipping me on national television. That display was both humiliating and uncalled-for."
Bradshaw suddenly grinned, his dark eyes sparkling in high amusement. "Awww, come on, Stevie...you know you liked that strap across your tight little ass. Admit it."
Steven made a noise of outrage, stepping forward, intending to slap that smirk off the Texan's face. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out in pain when Bradshaw easily caught his wrist, squeezing it until the bones ground together. "Let me go!" he ordered through clenched jaws.
"I believe he hasn't learned his lesson, John," Faarooq interjected, chewing curiously on the end of his cigar as he avidly observed the proceedings.
"I reckon you're right, my friend, Bradshaw agreed, twisting Steven around and wrenching his hand up between his shoulder blades, eliciting a yelp of anguish. "If you'll excuse me Rooq and Jacks...I have a class to teach."
******
"Let me go!" Steven squealed, attempting to keep up with Bradshaw's long strides, the pain in his shoulder, elbow and wrist agonizingly fierce. "I strenuously object to being manhandled this way!"
Bradshaw didn't respond, merely pushing open a door to a dressing room and glancing in. He grunted in satisfaction when he found it empty, propelling Steven inside, then closed and locked the door, leaning against it with arms crossed casually over his chest. "Come here, Stevie," he murmured in a deceptively pleasant voice.
Steven rubbed his abused joints, watching him warily. "No," he said, shaking his head adamantly, taking refuge behind the couch, feeling a modicum of security there.
"Stevie-"
"Don't call me that," the RTC leader snapped. "My name is Steven."
"Stevie," Bradshaw repeated, straightening and slowly stalking the other man, a predatory glimmer in his dark eyes. "I hate repeating myself. It expends energy I could be using for more...interesting endeavors."
Steven moved away from the oncoming Bradshaw, realizing too late that he'd backed himself right into a corner. He darted panicked eyes around him, searching for an escape but finding none. "Mr. Bradshaw...John...let's be reasonable, shall we?" he blurted frantically. "If you just let me leave unscathed, I promise-"
Bradshaw's snort of derision stopped Steven's hasty flow of words. "Your promises don't mean jack shit to me." He rounded the sofa, barring his arms against the wall on either side of the other man, leaning down slightly to bring his eyes on a level with Steven's wide, frightened ones. "What does mean a lot to me, however, is your obedience."
"I don't under-"
"I'll explain it to you, darlin'," Bradshaw cut in, his gaze dropping to the full, moistly parted lips. "It's quite simple, really. You do what I say, when I say it, and I won't hurt you. Is that clear enough for you?"
Steven looked deep into the big Texan's eyes and quivered with apprehension. "Wh-what is it you want me to do?"
Bradshaw chuckled quietly, trailing a finger down the curve of the smaller man's jaw, resting the tip in the center of his chin. "Strip."
Steven blinked at the flat command, blushing hotly to the roots of his hair. "Ex-excuse me?"
"I think you heard me just fine, Stevie," Bradshaw whispered, eyes flashing coldly. And I'm not going to say it again. If you don't heed my orders instantly the first time I issue them, I'll make you pay...and pay dearly." Reading the sincerity in Bradshaw's words, he swiftly began unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off to drift to the floor, quickly followed by his trousers. He was left in his plain blue briefs and trademark white socks, to which he reached down to remove.
"No," the other man said sharply, smacking his hand away. "Leave them on. I like the idea of fucking you in them."
Steven gasped, jerking his head up to stare at Bradshaw in shock and fear. "Please...no! John, I beg of you..."
"Beg? I think I like the sound of that, too." Bradshaw indicated Steven's underwear with a curt nod of his head. "drop 'em."
"John, please don't do this," Steven whined, hating the way he sounded, but unable to help himself.
"Stevie..." Bradshaw growled warningly, enclosing Steven's throat with his large hand and squeezing just enough to make his point clear.
Steven whimpered again, resignedly hooking his fingers in the waistband and pulling them down until they pooled around his ankles. He instinctively covered himself with his hands, jumping when Bradshaw grabbed them and yanked them away.
"Don't hide yourself from me, Stevie," Bradshaw instructed gently, his eyes meandering over the bared flesh hungrily. "So pretty, darlin'," he praised, tugging him from the corner and, after nudging him to kneel down on the floor in front of the couch, commenced to removing his own clothes till he stood, proudly naked. Before discarding his jeans, he pulled his black-leather belt from the loops, doubling it and tucking the buckle in his palm securely.
Steven watched every movement the Texan made with growing alarm, his eyes widening into cobalt saucers. "John...what-please, don't..."
Bradshaw raised a brow in sardonic amusement, slapping the leather into his palm with a satisfying crack. "Face the sofa and grab the back of the cushions...and don't even think of moving them unless I give you permission. Is that understood?"
"John, I really don't think-"
"It's not your job to think, Stevie," Bradshaw retorted icily. "You're job is to do as I say. This is your last warning, sweetheart. Now, do it!"
Steven turned, holding back a sob as he grasped the cushion and waited. He bit back a scream when the first blow came, slashing across his buttocks viciously. By the time the fifth one landed he was mewling and pleading for mercy.
"I might have some mercy if you beg pretty for me," Bradshaw said, growing painfully hard at the sight of Steven bent over, his taut ass striped with livid welts. He struck him again, relishing the wail of anguish. "Spread your legs wider, bitch," Bradshaw instructed, lashing harder.
Steven was incoherent with pain, gibbering nonsense as he wept uncontrollably. He was unaware of his body rocking back into the blows eagerly, his shaft becoming excruciatingly hard.
"Ohhhh, you like that, don't you, you little pain-slut?" Bradshaw cooed, redoubling his efforts, straying to his back and thighs, smiling as Steven began humping the couch wildly. Bradshaw halted abruptly, eliciting a loud cry of protest. The Texan chuckled in pleasure, falling to his knees behind the trembling man, lightly tracing each weal almost reverently. "You want to come, don't you, Stevie?"
"Please, John...let me go," Steven cried pitifully.
Bradshaw reached around and grasped Steven's aching cock, tugging on it sharply, grinning at the other man's whine of distress. "Come on, Stevie...I can tell you want to shoot. Confess."
"No, I...I just want to leave."
Bradshaw ignored his entreaty, climbing up to sit on the couch, planting his feet wide. "Get that sweet ass over here and suck me off."
Steven shook his head vehemently, knowing he was risking Bradshaw's wrath by refusing, but he just couldn't do as he dictated. "No. I won't.
Bradshaw's eyes narrowed, a dark-winged brow quirking sardonically. "Stevie..."
"I can't!" Steven whined, backing away. He yipped in dismay when Bradshaw leaned forward and snatched a handful of hair, hauling the trembling Steven to him. "You know, I'm very tempted to whip you some more," he said idly, catching Steven's flailing wrists in his hand. "Do you want that, baby? I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Is that why you're being so difficult, hmmm?"
"Please, John...I don't want any of this."
"You little liar," Bradshaw smiled, gliding an index finger up the pulsing length of Steven's stiff rod. "This is the real truth here, sweetheart. Now...blow me." Steven opened his mouth to object yet again, but Bradshaw released his wrists and laid an almost gentle finger over his lips. "Mmmm, I've got some very interesting toys back at my hotel. I think my cat-o'-nine tails would make some lovely decorations on your delectable body."
Steven gaped up at him in horror, mixed with something else he didn't want to name. "No! Please-"
"Then..." Bradshaw cast a pointed look down at himself.
Steven followed his eyes, gulping at the sheer size of him. He felt his whole body flush with heat as he imagined his lips around the glistening head of that massive shaft, a quiver of...could that be anticipation? No...it was dread. It had to be. He tentatively reached out and loosely grasped it, the velvet steel of his flesh throbbing strongly against his palm. He darted an uncertain glance up at the waiting Texan, then, taking a deep breath, he bent forward and hesitantly flicked his tongue out to lave the tip, tasting the pearly drops of precome. He was surprised by how sweet his flavor was...like...like blueberries and cream. He inched him into his mouth, tapping the tip of his tongue rapidly against the sensitive ridge, strangely gratified at Bradshaw's curses of pleasure.
"Take it all, my sweet little slut," Bradshaw growled, shoving him down firmly, nearly gagging the other man.
Steven made a startled sound, then adjusted immediately, bobbing and sucking noisily, just wanting this to be over as quickly as possible. He tried to ignore the twinge of enjoyment at the feel of the hot hardness sliding in and out of his throat, the almost hypnotic rhythm, the guttural groans from the other man. Just as he sensed Bradshaw on the brink of spilling, he cupped and kneaded his balls, sinking fully onto him, swallowing several times, the shaft swelling tremendously, nearly choking him. He mewed as Bradshaw gave a bellow of triumph, erupting in a torrid burst. He hummed softly, greedily drinking down the creamy spurts, milking him dry, then licking him clean before sitting back on his haunches to gaze up at him expectantly.
"That was very good, Stevie," Bradshaw panted, patting his cheek lightly. "I think you deserve a reward of sorts."
"You'll let me leave now?" Steven asked hopefully.
Bradshaw frowned in mock-hurt. "Why, Stevie...you seem in a hurry to get going." His expression hardened slightly. "I'm not through teaching you that lesson yet. Afterwards...well, we'll see if I'm of a mind to set you free."
Steven quaked at those ominous words, wringing his hands anxiously. "Why are you doing this? You got what you wanted."
"Did I, now?" Bradshaw questioned dubiously. "I don't believe I told you all I wanted, so how do you know I got it?"
Steven wet his lips nervously, blushing brighter than before. "I-just thought-"
"What did I say about thinking, Stevie?"
Steven whimpered in despair, realizing that he wasn't going to escape anytime soon. "Wh-what else do you want?" he asked tremulously.
Bradshaw stared at him contemplatively for a long moment, then stood. "Hold on to those cushions again, darlin'," he murmured, picking up the belt from where he'd tossed it.
Steven sniffled faintly, but didn't protest, submissively presenting his back and clutching the couch. When the blow came he jumped, but made no sound as tears trickled from his closed eyes. He couldn't keep his silence for long, however, and by the time Bradshaw stopped, he was sobbing again, his backside scintillating with pain and his cock aching with desire. He let one hand go of the cushion and surreptitiously clasped himself, pumping furiously, needing to come so badly, it hurt. He squeaked in anguish when Bradshaw wrenched him to his feet by his hair, shaking him a little in anger.
"Now, Stevie," Bradshaw hissed sibilantly. "I don't recall giving you permission to touch yourself."
"I-I'm sorry...please, I'm sorry!" Steven stammered. "I didn't mean to...I just needed to come. I-"
"Quiet."
Steven instantly shut his mouth, tense with apprehension as Bradshaw remained still and silent, his breathing deep and calm.
Finally, the huge Texan shoved Steven face-first onto the sofa, discarding the belt and jerking him onto his hands and knees. "Stay put, hear me?"
Steven nodded, expecting to feel the lash of the strap again, but nearly jumped out of his skin at the sensation of wet heat on his shoulder blade. He gasped when fingers skimmed down his spine to rest on his tailbone, sending a delightful tingle through him. "John...what-?"
"Shhh," Bradshaw admonished curtly, nipping the spot in the small of his back for emphasis. "Spread your legs more, baby."
Steven obeyed, inhaling sharply when Bradshaw fondled his balls from behind, all the while sucking and lathing his back, eventually working his way down to the reddened globes of his ass. "John, what are you-oh, my God!" He stiffened in both shock and sizzling delight as Bradshaw tickled the tip of his tongue around his sensitive entrance. He was unconscious of the purring moan coming from his throat, only aware of the sensation of slick fullness as Bradshaw thrust into him, curling his tongue to brush against his prostate, startling a cry from him, instinctively rocking back into the other man.
Bradshaw grunted softly, pulling on Steven's hips as he delved deeper, scraping his teeth over the skin around the anus. He drew back, pressing two fingers inside him as he rose up to mold his body along Steven's, slowly easing them in and out. "Mmmmm, you're such a responsive little bitch, Stevie. Love those little sounds your making. They really turn me on."
Steven mewed, tilting his head in silent invitation, to which Bradshaw accepted, fastening his lips to the juncture between neck and shoulder. "Please, John..." Steven rasped. ""Will you...could you...?"
"Could I what, darlin'?" Bradshaw whispered, grinding himself into Steven's ass.
"I...want you."
"Want me? Want me to do what?"
Steven bit his lip in consternation, twitching at the nip to the nape of his neck. "You know."
"Oh, yes, baby, I know," Bradshaw murmured, probing deeper, deliberately nudging his sweet spot, grinning ferally at the resulting whimper. "But I want to hear you spell it out."
"But, John," Steven complained plaintively. "I did everything you told me to do. Can't you please...?"
"Hmm...let me think." Bradshaw withdrew his fingers, much to Steven's objections and sat on the end of the couch, admiring the display of Steven spread wantonly before him. When Steven tried to sit, too, Bradshaw smacked his thigh, the sound loud in the room. "Did I say you could move?"
Steven chewed the inside of his cheek and resumed his position, flushing as he imagined what he must look like. He decided to risk a glance back when the seconds stretched into minutes and Bradshaw didn't do anything. He was half reclining against the arm of the sofa, his dark eyes trained on him, a fathomless expression on his handsome face. He shivered at the slow smile that crossed his lips, swallowing audibly, wondering what wicked plan he had in mind for him now. "J-John?"
"Yeah, Stevie?"
"Um...won't you...I mean, will you please-"
"I might...if you tell me exactly what it is you want."
Steven licked his suddenly dry lips as he watched in fascination as Bradshaw absently stroked himself to full erectness, raising his knees and letting them fall apart so Steven had a perfect view of his ministrations. Steven's buttocks clenched as the sight sent an arc of electricity straight up his spine, then down again to pool hotly in his groin. "God, John...don't torture me any more."
"You know what you have to do for it to end, Stevie," Bradshaw husked, his head falling back slightly to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
Steven cleared is throat, mesmerized by the slow motions of the other man's hand sliding up and down, the other one palming his balls. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"It's quite simple, baby," Bradshaw said, sighing as he increased the strength and tempo of his hand. "Tell me in explicit terms what you want me to do to you."
"I-don't think I can," Steven replied hoarsely, his body practically strung as tight as a bow.
"Well, then..." Bradshaw said softly, pumping himself harder. "I guess you can just go and I'll Finnish this myself."
Steven stared at him in disbelief. He couldn't be serious...could he? Why would he have gone through all the trouble of breaking him, then not...it didn't make sense. But there Bradshaw was, his eyes completely closed now, seemingly lost in his own world as his hips arched into his strokes, quiet groans emitting from his throat, tantalizing Steven unbearably. He cautiously climbed off the couch, expecting any moment to be dragged back and punished further. But the other man didn't so much as glance at him. Steven stood uncertainly by the sofa, unable to take his eyes off the tableau before him. He whimpered again as he turned away, picking up his clothes and taking a few steps toward the bathroom. He stopped suddenly, dropping his clothes and hurrying back to the couch, arranging himself as he'd been before.
"John...please...please fuck me."
Bradshaw smiled smugly, releasing himself and rising to his knees again. He fumbled for his jeans on the floor and dug around in the pockets until he found the tube of gel, squirting a generous amount into his palm and coating himself before plastering his front to Steven's back. "Say it again, sweetheart. I want to be sure I heard a-right."
Steven curved into Bradshaw, trying to get as close as possible to the big man. "Fuck me, John. I want to feel you deep inside me. Make me yours."
Bradshaw caught his breath at the desperate need rife in his soon-to-be lover's voice. "Oh, yes, Stevie...I'll make you mine. I'll make you scream my name as I fuck you into next week."
Steven whined and squirmed against him in impatience. "Now, John...please now."
"How do you want it, darlin'?" Bradshaw asked, caressing one of his flanks. "fast and rough, or slow and easy?"
"Rough," Steven responded promptly. "I want to know I'm being royally fucked."
"Good answer," Bradshaw chuckled, guiding himself to Steven's entrance, pushing into him with minimal care, grasping the smaller man's hips and wrenching him back as he snapped his own forward, burying himself completely inside the sweet heat, reveling in Steven's wail of anguish mingled with savage glee. He didn't bother waiting for his lover to adjust, immediately pounding into him like a jackhammer, grunting with each solid impact of flesh against flesh.
Steven tasted the salt of his tears as the agony gradually eased to be replaced by burning pleasure. He reared back into Bradshaw's plunges eagerly, thrashing his head back and forth wildly. "Yesyesyesssss!" he cried, his fingers tearing through the fabric of the sofa arm in the extremity of his ecstasy. "More...more! Fuck me, John! Fuck me like the slutty bitch I am!"
Bradshaw snarled, reaching around to grip Steven's inner thighs, jerking them wider as he sat back on his heels, bringing the frantic man with him to half-straddle his legs, one of Steven's slipping off the couch to brace against the floor. "Ride me, Stevie," he demanded gruffly. "Fuck yourself on my dick."
Steven was only too happy to oblige, clutching the back of the sofa with one hand and the arm with the other, having to bend forward a little to reach it. He began bouncing with a vengeance, panting raggedly on his quest to send them both over the brink. "So good...so fucking good!" He shifted slightly and nearly rocketed into orbit as his prostate was nudged hard. "Oh, Christ...Oh, John...need-need to come! So close..."
Bradshaw abruptly shoved Steven off him, flipping him over and descending on him like a ravening wolf, sinking into him again and again. He rose up on his elbows and gazed down at the flushed face, the passion-glazed eyes and groaned. "Jack off for me, darlin'," he hissed, looking down between them to see Steven's hands closing around his shaft and stroking himself in a frenzy. "Awww, that's right, Stevie-baby. Harder...mmmmmm, so pretty. Now, come for me...come for Johnny."
Steven pumped furiously, mewling in frustration when he felt himself right on the verge of orgasm, but not quite able to go over. "John, can't...please, can't..." Steven felt Bradshaw cover one of his hands with his, yanking and squeezing firmly a few times, eliciting a wheezing gasp. With the force of a volcano erupting, Steven shrieked, bowing high off the cushions as his climax nearly knocked him senseless.
Bradshaw watched Steven come, the clamping spasms rippling up and down his cock seeming to jerk him off the edge with a rebel yell of victory. He sagged, shuddering violently as he fell to Steven's side, his arm and leg still draping the comatose man's body.
After a long while, they stirred, Steven blindly turning into Bradshaw's warm frame, Bradshaw pulling him into a tight embrace.
"So, Stevie...have you finally learned your lesson?" Bradshaw drawled languorously, idly caressing Steven's ribs.
Steven mumbled something unintelligible into his lover's chest, snuggling deeper into his body.
"What was that sweetheart?" Steven shifted his head slightly, his breath puffing moistly against Bradshaw's skin most pleasurably.
"I don't know," he whispered, pressing his forehead into the other man's shoulder. "I think I might need a few more sessions just to be sure."
"Humph, that right?"
Steven nodded, licking the sweat from his collarbone. "You said something about a cat-o'-nine tails...?"
Bradshaw chuckled, pinching Steven's sore ass. "You really are a pain-slut, aren't you?"
"It's not something I bandy about," Steven muttered. "The RTC is supposed to be pure and moral. You know what would happen if it gets out that the leader...well, you know."
Bradshaw grunted understandingly, then laughed. "What's so funny?" Steven asked in confusion, tilting his head back to look at the man who'd given him the most incredibly intense orgasm of his life.
"I guess I just rechristened RTC to the Right To Come."
Steven flushed brightly, ducking his flaming face back into Bradshaw's chest. "That was terrible."
"But so very appropriate," Bradshaw growled softly. "Only I can give you the right to come, Stevie. Do you agree?"
Steven licked his lips, goosebumps rising on his arms at the ferocious note in Bradshaw's voice. "I guess."
"You guess?" Bradshaw repeated, a dangerous tone lacing his words as he enclosed Stevie in a crushing embrace, making him yelp in surprised distress. "Care to amend that?"
"Yes, I agree," Steven squealed, feeling his ribs creak ominously.
"Agree with what?"
"Only-only you have the right to make me come. Please, John...hurts."
Bradshaw eased up, resuming his soothing strokes to Steven's sides, kissing his forehead tenderly. "That's a good little bitch. I think I'll reward you with another lesson...back at the hotel. Would you like that, Stevie, hmmm?"
Steve moaned, scattering kisses over his chest and throat. "Oh, yes...yes, John. Want it...need it!"
Bradshaw laughed, smacking Steven's buttock smartly before climbing over him to get to his feet. "Then get your sweet little ass dressed so we can get going. I've got some plans in store for you that should have you screaming in ecstasy."
Steven jumped up and yanked on his clothes as swiftly as he could, hopping impatiently from foot to foot by the door for Bradshaw.
Bradshaw hid a smile as he took his time dressing, pretending not to hear Steven's chuff of frustration. Finally, he shoved his feet into his boots and sauntered to Steven, catching him in a searing kiss that left the other man dazed. "Come on, darlin'," he murmured huskily. "Looks like I got another class to teach."